Page 120 of Snared Rider

My stomach dips at his words. The right thing to do.

And isn’t that just Logan in a nutshell? Always doing the right thing, even when it costs him, even when it means throwing away something important to him.

“Come on, darlin’, let’s get you off the floor. If your dad comes back and sees you ten-sheets to the wind he’ll hit the roof.”

While this is undoubtedly true, I mutter, “I’m not a child. If I want to get rip-roaring drunk I can.”

Still, I don’t protest as Logan helps me to my feet and guides me out of the bar. I also don’t miss the fact he took the bottle from me. Bastard.

Getting up the corridor is tricky because my legs seem to be on holiday. But getting up the stairs when you’re drunk is more than a challenge. Logan loses patience fairly fast and scoops me into his arms.

I shriek, scrabbling to hold onto his neck as my feet leave the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He grunts as he shifts his grip on me. “It’s taking too long.”

I thought I was doing well getting up the stairs, particularly since I’ve lost all feeling in my extremities.

Clearly not.

“Put me down!”

“No.”

“Logan, put me down!”

He doesn’t. He continues to carry me bride-style up the stairs while I cling to him, terrified I’ll fall. His grip never falters, though, and he moves with confidence up the corridor, coming to a stop outside Dad’s room.

I’m not going to lie, being in his arms like this feels right. It shouldn’t, but it does. I feel his heart beat against my side and surrounded by him I feel safe. I also feel confused and muddled, so my brain fails when he mutters, “Key,” at me.

“Uh… what?”

“Key, Beth. To unlock the door.”

Oh, yeah. We’re probably going to need that.

“It’s in my back pocket, if you put me down I can—”

I squeak as he reaches his arm around me and fumbles in my jeans pocket—all while still holding me securely against his chest. He isn’t gentle about searching either, and his hand on me like that does funny things to my stomach.

“Logan!” My protestations go unheard as he retrieves the key and manages to open the door while I’m still in his arms.

As soon as we’re in the room, I struggle against his hold and manage to get free of his grip. He lets me go, I suspect, but whatever the reason I don’t care because with my feet back on the ground I’m able to put distance between us.

Once I’m out of the Logan blast zone, I raise my chin and say in my loftiest voice, “Thanks for the help. You can go now.”

I move over to the bed and resist the urge to flop on it. As much as I wish I could be that dramatic right now my ribs are still in pieces. Instead, I slowly lower myself onto the edge of the mattress, my back to Logan.

Note to self: booze is a fantastic painkiller. It works a lot better than pharmaceuticals.

Not that I would advocate drinking that much Gin in one sitting, but desperate times…

“Get some sleep.”

I wave a hand in his direction, not bothering to turn to him.

“Bye, Logan.”

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