The sun hasn’t risen yet, but I’ve been awake for hours. Or what feels like hours. Logan isn’t in bed, and when I woke up, I reached for him, which is something I never expected myself to do.
I wonder if he’s still feeling guilty about what happened because he hasn’t really made a move to be intimate again. He shouldn’t, and I wish he’d listen to me when I tell him so. But the stubbornness so clear in his eyes whenever he looks at me will always be a problem.
The door opens. My heart catapults into my throat, and I take him in. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, so I move, pushing off the bed and padding over to where he’s standing rigid.
“Good morning?” I ask because I’m not sure if it’s good or not.
“I need to go away for a little while,” he tells me without responding to my question. “I’m going to trust that you’re not going to leave. My father found your apartment, and I doubt he’s going to give up because you weren’t there.”
“Where are you going?” I look up at him. His eyes are dark, almost black from whatever is bothering him.
“I need to meet him face-to-face because this can’t continue.” His voice is husky as he takes a step closer to me. “I need some space from you as well. To think.”
“What’s there to think about? Why would you go to him? Won’t he hurt you? He’s dangerous, Logan.” The words tumble free from my lips. The fear of what could happen to him if he ever came into contact with Herbert again sends cold dread through my veins.
“He can’t hurt me,” Logan tells me. He reaches up, cupping my face in one of his large hands. His touch turns the cold to warmth, and I no longer feel fear, but desire. His thumb swipes across my lips, and in the next second, he crashes his mouth to mine. His tongue sweeps against mine. We twist and tangle, tasting each other. The coffee flavor from him makes me smile against his mouth.
Finally, Logan pulls away. “I wanted to walk away, to send you away,” he admits, lacing his fingers through mine. “But I can’t do that.”
“Why?” I ask, looking up into the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. He no longer seems guarded around me, which is good, but there’s still a hint of restraint that he’s holding onto.
“Because I’m a selfish bastard,” he tells me. A small smile tilting his lips upward. “And I can’t imagine you walking away from me.” He motions toward the door. “Freshen up, I’ll be in the kitchen.” He gives me one more kiss before he leaves, making his way down the stairs. “Come down when you’re done.”
Once he’s disappeared, I head to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I use the toilet before I step in front of the basin. It’s small, a one-person sink, where I open the tap and splash my face with the icy water.
My reflection is blurry for a moment. Grabbing a towel, I dry my face and take a long look at myself. My eyes are bright, shining with . . . I don’t know . . . happiness? He said he can’t let me go, which means last night’s events haven’t pushed him over the edge, but I need to know why he’s trusting me alone in the cabin. Completely alone.
I freshen up, using my toothbrush and toothpaste before I head out of the bathroom and toward the steps. The clanking of dishes comes from the kitchen, and I wonder if he’s making breakfast.
Tentatively, I take a few steps and come face-to-face with Logan. He’s not wearing a shirt. The taut muscles of his torso tense when I finally reach the bottom and make my way toward him.
He sets a plate in front of me piled high with pancakes, as well as a mug of coffee. He doesn’t say a word but turns away to finish whatever he’s busy with at the stove. I pick up the fork he set out and cut into the soft, fluffy goodness. The moment I bite into the pancake, my taste buds burst with the sugary syrup that’s been trickled over the stack.
“This is good,” I tell him through a mouthful of my breakfast.
“I don’t normally cook as you know by now,” he responds before spinning on his heel, and setting another bowl down, which I notice is filled with scrambled eggs. “We don’t have anything else in the house, but I’ll make a store run before I leave.”
“Why do you have to go?” I ask again, looking up at him.
He leans back against the counter, his dark eyes piercing me. I watch as he folds his arms across his chest, making his muscles bulge. He’s huge. He could easily pick me up with one arm.
“I need to see him. To finish this.”
“What if—?”
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” he assures me, but I don’t believe him. I know his father; the man is a monster. Logan may believe he’s a bad man, that he’s not worthy of happiness, but I’ve known Herbert all my life. The man is nothing short of the fucking devil.
“I’m not saying it will.” I stop eating, setting the fork down. “I’m scared, Logan.”
He nods solemnly, and I know what he’s about to say. “You should be.”
“Not of you. You’re nothing like him,” I affirm what I’ve been thinking all night and morning. “You’re a good man.” He chuckles at me, but I shake my head, pushing off the chair and making my way to where he’s standing. “You’re nothing like him. I want this,” I tell him. “I want you.”
I place my hands on his folded arms, the touch tender, but his body goes rigid as if I’m about to strike him. The heat between us is palpable. His gaze burns through me, reminding me of last night, of what we did.
“I want you to do it again.”
“That was a mistake. Last night’s events will never happen again. As much as I want you,” he tells me, his voice turning dark. “I can’t have you.”
“But you just—”
“Us, together, it’s dangerous. I’m a danger to you, Vera, and I can’t hurt you. Did you not see what happened? I fucking hurt you!” The boom of his voice bounces off the walls. I half expect the windows to shatter, but they don’t.
“It was the first time we tried it, that you tried doing that. I’m okay.” I smile, but I know it’s no use. He’s never going to believe me.
Logan unfolds his arms. His fingertips tentatively stroke the column of my neck, and he whispers, “You’re bruised. I’ve marked you, and I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Do you want me to hate you?” I ask, causing the movement of his fingers to stall. His gaze flits to mine, locking on me for a long while. “Do you?” I want him to say no, to tell me that it will all be okay, but I have a feeling he won’t.
“I want you to run away, to escape the darkness that I live with. You deserve better. You should have a family, a beautiful home, a man who loves you. Not someone who can hurt you.”
The crack in his voice is the only evidence that he’s hurting. The expression on his face is stoic, and I wonder if he’s spent the morning practicing what he’s going to tell me. Perhaps the way he schools his features is his way of showing the pain that’s so clearly bothering him.
“No.”
“Vera,” he murmurs my name. “I’m not the man who can give you the life you deserve.”