Page 55 of Heir of Ashes

Another eyebrow raised.

“What? I couldn’t test the theory without revealing my hand.”

“Alright, we’ll try something else,” he conceded. I got up, my face flushing with the realization that I had been sitting on his chest.

I stood up and turned, but he spun me around, trapping my hands behind my back and pressing my chest against his.

“How about this? What can you do?” he murmured, his eyes focusing on my lips before he lowered his head toward mine. Oh my God, he was going to kiss me. He paused a couple of inches away, giving me the option to back off. I didn’t.

It was one thing to be held, nuzzled, and stroked while I slept. But it was entirely different to be held and kissed, fully awake, with nothing else to do but kill time until the next day. He moved slowly, his lips close, our breaths mingling, our hearts racing together in anticipation. Then his lips touched mine—a slow, soft brush that sent an electric buzz through my entire body. My arms went around his neck, his arms around my waist, and we each pulled the other closer, and … a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.

Logan’s head snapped up, but he didn’t release me. A sudden urge to snarl at the interruption gripped me. I bit my lower lip to keep from doing so. Couldn’t it have happened an hour earlier? Or better yet, an hour later? The knock came again, and Logan’s arms dropped as he stepped back.

He moved silently to the door and looked through the peephole at the intruder. He exhaled in frustration and reached for the doorknob. He looked back at me and hesitated as he took in my pajama shorts and tank top, as if seeing me for the firsttime. Then he picked up his discarded bathrobe from the blue-cushioned sofa and offered it to me.

That was … unexpected.

I shot his bare chest a pointed look, but he merely raised an eyebrow when the next sharp knock came. He waited, as if he had all the time in the world—as if he’d rather let the person on the other side of the door stew in impatience and leave, rather than let them see me like this.

Curious, I glanced down at my suddenly offensive clothes to make sure nothing had ripped or become see-through. Nope, the red shorts were intact, and the black tank was, well, black.

Another sharp knock echoed in the room, somehow sounding more impatient than the previous ones. Logan leaned back against the sofa and crossed his ankles, dangling the robe from his outstretched arm, waiting with an air of unhurried indifference.

I donned the robe, then belted it closed when Logan gestured, if for no other reason than I was curiously intrigued. I was still adjusting the robe when a tall man swaggered inside. The first thing I noticed as he thumped Logan’s shoulder in camaraderie was that he was taller than Logan by a few inches, which put him about a solid foot above my six feet. The second thing I noticed were his eyes: brown and simmering with barely concealed anger.

He brushed past me as if I were a fixture in the room, inhaling deeply as he went, and headed straight for the desk on the far side as if he owned the place. His aura was the third thing I noticed, an odd green color, like that of a were, only fainter, as if someone had tried and failed to erase it. Another weird thing about his aura was the gray specs all over it. My mind cataloged and assessed his attire even as I pondered the strange aura. Black fatigue pants, combat boots, and a black coat that reached all the way down to his ankles—good for concealing weaponsand bloodstains. His broad shoulders suggested rigorous and intense workouts. A shiver of unease prickled along my skin. This man exuded danger, his presence radiating an ominous energy that put me on edge.

He placed a stuffed duffel bag on the desk with a muffled thunk and turned to face us. His cold brown eyes passed from me to Logan, then back again, but it was Logan he addressed when he said, “What the hell is going on?” with a thick Spanish accent.

My gaze flicked to Logan briefly. There were three predators in the confined room, and one seemed dangerously hungry for a fight. Logan slammed the door shut with a loud bang. The man’s gaze flickered to a point above my shoulder and back again, almost as if he was expecting me to spring at him at any moment and didn’t dare look away. His eyes moved down my body, assessing, then down Logan’s. I could almost see the wheels turning inside his head.

The smell of our mingled sweat, the fact that I seemed to be naked underneath the robe, Logan’s half-naked body, and, of course, the time it took for us to answer.

As if the whole thing—the workout, the almost make-out, the deliberate way Logan had left him waiting—had been for this guy’s benefit, so he’d reach this conclusion. My eyes wanted to narrow on Logan, but I forced myself to remain indifferent, watching the newcomer. There was a glint of challenge in his brown eyes, the bite of his anger assaulting my senses.

Would it taste as refreshing as Logan’s?I slammed the thought away before it could take any root.

“Is she the woman you mentioned?” he asked in a tone that suggested he had assessed me, the woman, and found me lacking.

Inside, I stiffened, but no reaction showed on my face. No doubt this was the friend Logan had been waiting for.

“Yes,” Logan replied tightly, stepping to my right and a little in front of me.

“I thought you didn’t indulge during a mission,” the man said, his eyes scrutinizing me slowly from head to toe, conveying displeasure with the insult. It felt like he was stripping me with his eyes, contempt and anger the only real emotions thickening the air. This man had a serious problem with me, and I had no idea why—or who he was.

Logan growled, and the man’s gaze again shifted to him, then back to me, his contempt intensifying. “I see,” he said and, in direct contrast to his potent anger, the tension in his shoulders eased as he leaned back on the desk, crossing his ankles and his arms, assuming a relaxed posture. To my right, Logan relaxed as well, as if whatever confrontation had been brewing had been diverted.

Logan half-turned and surprised me with his choice of introduction. “Eliza, this is my friend, Rafael Sanchez. Rafael, this is Eliza.”

Rafael inclined his head in acknowledgment, his eyes still cold. Then he shifted his focus to Logan, as if I were no longer worth his attention. His contempt and anger continued to ooze in rapid waves despite his outwardly relaxed appearance.

“Tell me, man, what’s going on? You’ve been leaving me voicemails and cryptic text messages, each one contradicting the previous. It’s a wonder I even found you.”

“It’s sort of complicated. Have you eaten yet?”

A reluctant incline of the head. “I met with Doug before coming here.” His eyes moved to me before he added, “I wouldn’t mind something to drink, though.”

I quirked an eyebrow. Was he trying to dismiss me or something?

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