Page 56 of Snared Rider

Just having him here in my space, touching me is unsettling. It rekindles old feelings I thought had burnt to nothing. Now, I realise they were just embers, waiting for kindling to restart the fire. It takes everything I have not to moan like a bitch in heat with each touch. I can’t allow myself to feel anything for this man.

Been there, done that, got my heart ripped out.

I’m not prepared to do that again. I can’t deny I want him; I think I’ll always want Logan, but he chose a different path.

Once he fixes the sock in place, he grabs my boots and slides those onto my feet. I’m nearly crawling inside my own skin by the time he’s finished and I’m glad I only let him help with my shoes and socks.

He doesn’t look any less affected than I am. His eyes are heavy with want and a look I recognise all too well. It’s the look he used to give me before he’d push me onto the bed or the sofa or whatever surface was handy and fuck my brains out. It’s a look that has my breath catching in my throat.

“Beth, I know you don’t want to talk to me,” he says softly. “I don’t blame you, but how long are you going to punish me for?”

These words bring me out of my Logan daze. My spine snaps straight, even though this hurts my ribs.

“Punish you? You’re assuming I care enough about you to punish you for anything. No. I don’t care about you at all. I’m not going to lie, I did once, but then you destroyed that. You can’t break a glass and expect all the pieces to go back together as they were, Logan, and you can’t break me and not expect the same.” I shake my head before letting it drop towards my chest. “I’m really exhausted and in pain and all I want to do is go home and sleep. Can you please just do that for me? If you can’t then call someone who will.”

He doesn’t speak for so long that I think he will deny my request. Then, he says, “Yeah darlin’, I can take you home.”

Relief floods me that he doesn’t argue.

“Thank you.”

Logan tries to help me during the walk to the car. I don’t let him because having him touch me messes with my head too much. I let him in and I lose all my faculties. That, I can’t allow. I can’t let him break down my carefully crafted walls, walls I took years to construct. But seeing him and having him care about me makes it hard to concentrate, to ignore those feelings I thought I had buried. I hate he can still affect me so long after the fact. This should not be possible. How can I hate him yet still love him?

This thought consumes me as we cross to the pick-up area outside the hospital where Logan says he’s left the car. Unlike Dean’s vehicle, Logan’s is smaller and looks like something a businessman would drive. I know nothing about cars, but I see it is a Ford as I pass the front end to get into the passenger side.

Logan follows me and opens the door before I can—a leather-clad gentleman. His kutte is attracting attention, which is not surprising nor unusual. The lads attract attention everywhere they go. People are fascinated by the lifestyle, by the bikes, by the men themselves. Television reinvigorated the whole motorcycle culture, and Dean told me they often have a ruck of new hangarounds trying to get the coveted prospect patch every time the media put anything out about MC’s. I imagine Logan is used to being gawked at, and this is confirmed by the fact he doesn’t notice, or more likely doesn’t care. All his focus is on me. This should feel nice, but it doesn’t. It feels awkward and strained.

He hovers, his hand close to my elbow ready to steady me if I need it. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body at my side.

I don’t know that I have the strength to survive this, to survive him. Logan was my fantasy, my dream from the moment I was old enough to understand love. He gave me everything I ever wanted, then took it all away without any explanation.

“Where’d you go?”

Logan’s words bring me out of my contemplation.

“What?”

“Just then,” he says. “You got this look on your face.”

I blink, then glance away. “I… uh… Nowhere. I just want to get home, Logan.”

I start towards the open door, intending to climb in but he stops me, grasping my bicep. I should pull away, tear free of his grip, but I don’t. I stand statue-still, gazing up at him, waiting, wondering what he’ll do next.

His hand skims up my arm, sending shivers through me before coming to a stop at the hollow between my shoulder and throat.

Neither of us speak. We just stand, transfixed. My body feels shaky and hot. All awkwardness between us evaporates because this feels right.

And that scares me half to death. It’s enough to break the spell.

I back up, pulling away from his touch.

He stares at me a beat, then nods his head towards the door. “Get in, love.”

I clear my throat and do as he commands.

Getting into the car is painful and it takes more time than I would like. Bending is tantamount to torture and leaves me a gasping, sweaty mess. Still, I eventually manage to get seated in the car.

Logan shifts and I think he’s going to close the door, but he surprises me by leaning his head and shoulders into the car. Given his size, this puts him right in my personal space.

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