Page 142 of Logan
“Why not?”
“Are you seriously asking that? Someone just walked in on us a minute ago,” I scold him, glancing at the door.
“So where then?” He nuzzles my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
My mouth falls open in shock. “You’re really serious?”
“I don’t joke about sex,” he murmurs, nipping at my earlobe.
“You have a concussion, and you’re thinking about sex?” I gasp, tilting my head to give him better access despite myself.
“I’m always thinking about sex.” He chuckles, the vibrations sending shivers down my spine. “And it’s just a headache.”
Well, at least he’s honest. Now I’m thinking about sex too. Damn him. “Car?”
His eyes widen, darkening with desire. Grasping my hand, he tugs me outside, navigating the hallways with single-minded determination.
In the blink of an eye, we’re at his vehicle, and he unlocks it, yanking the door open.
“Fuck!” he curses, raking a hand through his hair.
“What’s wrong?” I peek inside and recoil, my stomach turning at the sight.
The driver’s seat is covered in dried blood, the makeshift towel from yesterday crumpled between the seats, the rust-colored stains standing out starkly against the light leather. All my desire evaporates in an instant, replaced by a cold dread. I wrap my arms around myself, suppressing a shudder.
Logan rests his forehead against the door. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, placing a tentative hand on his back.
“For disappointing you twice today.” He straightens, turning to face me.
“You didn’t disappoint me.”
“Of course I did. You wanted to come, and I didn’t give you that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He glances around the parking lot, his eyes calculating. “We could still go back to the clinic.” He suggests, a hopeful note in his voice.
I shake my head. “No.” The thought of getting caught again after that video makes my skin crawl.
“Then home. To my place?” He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.
I nod. “And what about your Porsche?” I ask, gesturing to the bloodstained interior.
“I’ll buy a new one.”
“Because of the blood on the seats? Can’t you just get it cleaned or replaced or something?”
“No. You’ll always be reminded of what happened, and I never want to see that look on your face again.”
Chapter Forty-One
LOGAN
After handling the arrangements for the car, I secure a limousine to pick us up.
I wanted us to head home yesterday, but Sloane was worried about the hit I took, and I preferred to please her rather than cause her more concern. She has suffered enough because of me.
Still, except for the nasty stitches on the back of my head, I feel pretty good. I’ve had worse headaches, for sure.
I ask Sloane to wait outside while I make a few calls requesting Dad and my siblings to meet me at the office. Peering through the window, I watch as she kicks pebbles on the road, her effortless beauty still striking me breathless. This brilliant, compassionate woman loves me even though she knows the depths of who I am.
