Page 90 of Tortured Eyes
“But I do want you to be mine. Don’t ask me how the hell we get there, or how to work this out, but I want you.”
“Lust is overrated.” I try rolling out from under him, but he won't let me. I end up staring at the ceiling, fighting with my heart not to get caught up in his words because that’s all they are. Words. He's manipulated me before. Is this just another game to him?
“Be serious with me for a moment, Red. Why can’t there be something between us? I know you feel what I do.”
“So, what’s going to happen? You go back to New York and Samuel, and I’ll just be the mistress when you decide to visit?” I find an inner strength at the thought of being his mistress and push him off me to leave the bed. I'm not prepared to do this when I can still feel the heat of his body over mine, still feel him inside of me.
I start heading out of the room, frustrated and desperate to see an answer to all of this so I can clear all of this confusion.
“Samuel is a part of my life, and I won’t give him up, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a future,” he says. Future? A hysterical laugh bursts out of me, and I turn back.
“A future? I’m a cop, for fuck's sake, Logan," I spit. "What do you expect me to do? Look the other way constantly? You represent everything—everything that I hate in this world. I’ve spent years looking at what you and your family have done and vowed to do everything I can to stop that. I promised my father, and I promised myself. You've torn that to shreds, and now you want to rub salt in that wound and expect me to just let you keep doing whatever you want?”
His body rolls to sitting, all six foot whatever of him looking glorious and naked and full of everything I want to crawl back to. Dark features. Dark body shadowed in my bedroom, with swathes of moonlight flickering on his skin.
“I told you, I don’t know how we’ll figure this out, but I want to. For the second time in my life, I actually want to work at something. That means something to me. You mean something to me, Bryce." He sighs. "Don't end this before it's begun.”
“Classic. I’m like a shiny toy you want. Something to fuck with. That’s all, Logan.” I sit on the edge of the chair in the corner of the room. I’ve never been serious about anyone before. I've kept people at a distance because my job was what I loved and what I prioritised. Now, all of that’s changed. I can’t even look myself in the eye anymore because I’m ashamed of what I see, at least of what I’ve done and how I feel about Logan.
And he’s here asking for more? For a future?
“You know I'd be gone if you were just some toy, Bryce. We’re way past that. This, between us… it's different.”
If we’re not careful, we’re just going to repeat what happened when he first came here. Argue, sparks fly, sex, repeat. I'm not denying that part, but that's not the point.
“Just go, Logan. It’s too much. You are. You have Samuel, and I don’t even know how I feel about any of this anyway. Leave.”
“Red?”
“Just go!” I scream.
He makes a show of dressing, which only serves to delay the inevitable. Still, I watch every movement of his body, my eyes drawn to him like a magnet. Why is everything about him so perfect? Aside from the obvious criminal aspects. It's like he's everything I’m attracted to, all in one package. Dangerous, handsome, and someone to keep me sharp. He’s even got a softer side, in his own way. And God help me if I let my thoughts linger any further on how good he makes me feel between the sheets.
He turns to slip his shirt on, giving me full sight of the cross stretched over his back. Pure black on dark, olive skin. He's obviously spent a lot of time under the tattoo gun, in pain, probably for the benefit of a priest. Jesus, the man makes me want to scream, beat him, and give in all at the same time.
Suddenly he's dressed and standing there looking at me. Waiting maybe. There are less than two feet between us again. I look at my hands, fiddling with my fingers rather than gaze into those goddamned eyes again. I'll buckle if I do. I know it. I'll break and fall back into bed, unable to resist his charms that I should be capable of denying.
“Fair enough,” he says, walking from the room. "So long, Red. Look after yourself."
He closes the door quietly, but I hear the front door slam behind him with all the malice he's got to deliver. And then the tears come. I’ve never cried over a man. I don’t do that shit. Yet he's given me countless reasons to tear up. That should speak volumes, but all I can think about is that nothing is as painful as my heart feels now.
