Page 13 of Target Me
“Art is all about creation. Painting, dance… music. From a single spark of inspiration, some people can create whole worlds, stories so richly communicated through different mediums that it deliberately draws the emotions of witnesses to that art. Everything in nature has a story. It makes the world a more interesting place to live in and encourages us to be curious. There are a lot of creators in the world. There are also people like my dad.”
The answer hit me like a blow to the head, and the idea she saw me that way caused the burger I’d just eaten to turn to lead in my gut.
“Destroyers.”
She nodded. “Some people don’t appreciate creation. Sometimes they actively set out to unmake what someone so painstakingly brought to life. It’s not their fault, the world is about balance, but…”
I nodded, thinking about the teddy bear on the grave. Adrien and Damon. Shit. Every tour of duty I’d been on in the last decade. She was right. I destroyed everything I touched. I glanced at the farmhouse behind me. Wasn’t I trying to change that, though? After demolition came renovation. Breaking something down to its workable parts to build it up better than before. I had to believe there was a possibility for growth, for learning, or I may as well have followed Adrien’s lead.
“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry,” Avery said, standing and brushing dirt from her ass.
I followed her more slowly, my mind still churning over the idea of creation and destruction.
“Hey,” she said, laying a tentative hand on my arm. Her fingers were cool against my heated skin, and I ignored how nice they felt in favor of focusing on her face.
“Let’s get some more work done here, then there’s something I want to show you back at the house, okay?”
I didn’t like the shift that had occurred in our dynamic. I was the one who was always in control. Instead of acknowledging the cracks she had chipped on my armor, I grunted, shrugging off her hand and heading back toward the house. Vaulting onto the porch, I pushed my way into the house without looking over my shoulder, even though every fiber of my being hoped she was following.
What the fuck was I getting myself into?
5
AVERY
We passed the afternoon in silence, each of us choosing a different room to work in. I cursed myself again for mentioning my theory of creation and destruction. No matter how true it was, someone who had a conscience never wanted to hear they were going to break anything they touched. At least, in that way, he was different from my dad. That man reveled in destroying things, especially when it happened in the shadows, leaving his reputation squeaky clean.
Now that I’d met Logan and gotten to know him some, I hoped he wasn’t a toy my father wanted to corrupt. He may have been growly and standoffish, with a hint of something under the surface that made my blood run hot, but I didn’t think he was a bad person.
When the setting sunlight stretched across what was left of the tiles I was removing from the bathroom floor, I powered down the jackhammer I’d been using and stretched my aching back. My shoulders hummed with fatigue as I swung my arms to loosen my tight muscles, stretching my neck from one side to the other.
“How are you feeling?”
The shriek that left my mouth—for the second time in one freaking day—was feral and not at all tough or womanly. Logan leaned against the doorframe, smirking in that infuriatingly attractive way of his.
“Stop doing that!” I yelled, slapping his chest hard enough to hurt my hand.
Damn it, I knew better than to hit like that. Subtly rubbing the sting out of my skin, I shouldered past him, desperate to place some space between us.
He caught my hand as I stepped through the door, turning it to inspect the newly formed calluses at the base of each finger.
“You did well today. I really appreciate your help. I couldn’t have gotten anywhere near as much done by myself,” he said, massaging my palm with strong fingers.
He kept his eyes on what he was doing as I tried to remember how to breathe. No one had ever given me a hand massage before, and it felt as though each stroke was sending electric shocks straight to my pussy.
Down, girl.
He adjusted his grip and continued to work, flicking his eyes up and back as the silence stretched. I swallowed, trying to work some spit into my suddenly dry mouth.
“I was happy to.” Why did that sound like an offer? I hoped he couldn’t hear the arousal in my voice.
Self-preservation urged me to break the contact, but perhaps I was a masochist because I offered him my other hand with zero resistance when he finished with the first. We stood so close; my breath ruffled his sweat damp hair. I wondered where he had ditched his hat. Then I didn’t care about anything as he hit a particularly tight muscle, and I didn’t swallow my moan fast enough. We both froze.
“Thanks,” I breathed, breaking the moment.
Pulling my hand out of his, I stood back, wiping it self-consciously on the ass of my shorts as though it could wipe away my reaction to him.
He cleared his throat, rubbing his own hands on his thighs and looking around the room like he needed an escape.
