Page 15 of Stitch & Steel
My brain blue-screened.
His skin was tan like he lived in the sun. His chest was carved—broad, dusted with just enough dark hair to be infuriating—and his arms were covered in intricate tattoos that looked more like stories than designs. His legs were thick and powerful, and his jaw had the audacity tolook cleanerafter a rinse.
He hung his leather kutte over the porch railing like it was a sacred offering, then walked into the kitchen like he owned the damn place.
Gran fanned herself with her dish towel. “Lord have mercy,” she muttered. “I might need heart medication instead of these head pills.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
Logan didn’t even blink.
Just sat down at the table like it was perfectly normal to be nearly naked at breakfast.
“Smells good,” he said, grabbing a fork.
“Y-you’re not… you could’ve worn… something,” I stammered.
“Iamwearing something,” he said, gesturing to his boxer briefs like they were a tuxedo.
I turned away, cheeks blazing.
He casually popped a strip of bacon in his mouth. “You always get this flustered when I show a little skin, Grace?”
Gran cackled.
I glared at him over my mug. “I didn’t know breakfast was clothing optional.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t want to get your couch wet. Figured this was better.”
“It’s not.”
He grinned. “Noted.”
I took another gulp of coffee andimmediatelyburned my tongue. “Ow—damn it.”
“You okay?” Gran asked.
“She’s fine,” Logan said, smirking. “Just got a little hot under the collar.”
“I don’thavea collar.”
He raised a brow. “That’s what makes it worse.”
I wanted to throw my toast at his stupid face. But that would’ve meant looking at him again. So I kept my gaze firmly on my eggs and tried not to think about the way the ink on his chest curved around his collarbone. Or the way the veins in his forearms flexed when he reached for the butter. Or the godforsakendipin his lower back when he leaned over to pick up a dropped napkin.
Logan, of course, ate like nothing was out of the ordinary—calm, smooth, slow. Every bite was followed by a casual lean back in his chair, legs spread, like heknewwhat he was doing to me.
Which was infuriating.
“Don’t you have to… be somewhere?” I asked through clenched teeth.
He wiped his mouth with a paper towel. “Nope.”
I turned to Gran for help, but she was no use—still smiling like she was watching the best morning soap opera of her life.
“I got the day off,” Logan added. “Thought I’d help with that footpath. Figured since I ruined your weed-whacking attempt, I should finish what I started.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I snapped.
