Page 31 of The Wanderer

He'd never talked to anyone about his dad. Rick knew a fair bit of what went down because they'd been friends when Logan first moved to Melbourne and had been privy to the conversations—more like yelling matches—when his father reached out several times after his mum's funeral. But he'd never divulged the truth to a woman before and doing it with Hope spoke volumes.

He was in too deep.

Since when did a fling signify a real connection for him?

He'd dated extensively around the country over the years. Young tradies held a certain appeal for some women and as he aged, his company grew, he became CEO, and the money flowed in, he became popular with women in general. It didn't make him a bighead to admit it; it made him a realist. Women were attracted to money and ruggedness, and he had both.

Except Hope didn't give a fuck about his fortune, she had more than enough cash of her own. As for his looks, she trumped him in that department too. Even now, as he palmed the key card from the hotel receptionist and strode towards Hope, she stared at him with those big blue eyes, all-seeing, all-knowing. She wore funky faux leather pants today, with a green flowing top that highlighted her eyes. He'd been hot to trot from the moment he laid eyes on her. Then he'd blurted all that stuff about Stephen to explain his shoddy behaviour towards her and had felt like shit ever since.

Logan didn't depend on anyone. He’d been his own man for a long time now and confiding in Hope had been an anomaly. It mystified him in a way he didn’t like. The last time he’d felt this befuddled had been at his mum's funeral and he hated feeling out of his depth.

He liked being in control. He didn’t like vulnerability. Revealing too much about his family, having Hope listen and discuss and support, had shown that he had a weak spot—his dad—and that didn’t sit well with him.

He didn’t want her getting too close: it would only end badly for her. Bonding while they fucked was one thing, feeling comfortable enough around her to reveal too much was another.

He had to get this date back on track and that meant focussing on the sex. But she was right. He had to see Stephen. Settle this once and for all.

But what if seeing his dad after all these years made everything worse?

Spending his time on the road wasn't just about enjoying the spoils of being CEO of his own company. It wasn't about keeping his hand in with the building industry. It wasn't about being a demanding boss that had to oversee the commencement of projects personally.

It was about not growing close to anybody.

More importantly, not having anyone depend on him.

Because that was his ultimate fear: that he was more like his dad than he cared to admit and disappointing anyone who got too close because of his fear of commitment would be inevitable.

He'd seen what his mother's dependence on his father for her happiness had eventually done to her and it wasn't pretty. The emotional rollercoaster Stephen inflicted on her had taken its toll and he’d been privy to the fallout. It made him resent his dad all the more because somewhere deep inside, in a place he hated to acknowledge, he’d begrudged his father his ability to escape.

Stephen hadn’t born the brunt of his mum’s mood swings, Logan had, and it made him determined never to become so emotionally invested in a relationship that it produced an unhealthy co-dependence that left one partner always worse off. No fucking way.

Logan never wanted to be responsible for any woman's happiness, ever. Flings that lasted no longer than a month before he moved on suited him fine.

Gritting his teeth against the urge to call this off because of his mood, he forced a smile. It must've come out a grimace because that fucking pity was back in Hope's eyes and it slayed him all over again.

"Do you really want to do this—"

"Come on," he growled, grabbing her hand and holding on tight.

He strode towards the elevator, determined to douse his moroseness with a warm armful of woman. They rode to the fourth floor in silence but he was acutely aware of her: the heat radiating off her skin, her light floral fragrance faintly reminiscent of roses and vanilla, the brush of her hair against his arm.

When the elevator doors slid open, he spied their room number two doors to the right. She squeezed his hand when he fumbled the first card swipe and he cursed. He got it on the second try and pushed the door open, immediately regretting this decision as a faint musty odour tickled his nose and he caught sight of the room.

Hope deserved better than this.

She'd be a five star kind of girl and he'd brought her to this dive because…what? He wanted to use her to eradicate his over-sharing regarding his father, when he should’ve had the balls to confront him a long time ago?

"Stop overthinking this," she said, slipping in behind him and closing the door. "It's okay."

"This place is a shit hole," he muttered, leading her further into the room, which only cemented his first impressions. Worn carpet the colour of English mustard, pale blue bedspread torn in one corner, a small scratched desk and single chair with scuff marks on the legs, and heavily kinked olive drapes that sat askew, partially hiding the view of the brick wall of the apartment building next door. "It was a mistake bringing you here—"

"Ssh…" She pressed her fingertips to his mouth, silencing him. "I'm not a princess."

She lowered her hand and gently nudged him backwards towards the bed. "And I want to be with you."

She palmed his cock with one hand as his knees hit the back of the bed, and shoved him down onto it with the other. Determination glittered in her eyes as she stared at him, daring him to put a stop to this.

He should. His mood, this place, it was all wrong. But when he opened his mouth to say so, she increased the pressure on his cock. Tracing the rigid outline with her fingers, massaging him. Fuck, he was a goner.

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