Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
PIPER
I wait in the parking lot, my arms crossed over my middle, thinking of the brief meeting earlier. It was almost like Logan was making a point to not look at me. A vein was pulsing in his neck. He looked tense. I both wanted to ease his tension and selfishly, steamily, make it worse.
His heavy footsteps make me turn. He’s walking toward me, just as tense as earlier. He’s removed his tie, and his top two buttons are undone, showing a preview of his hard, muscled chest.
When Elliot told me he’d arranged a ride with Logan, I almost told him no, I’d find my own way home. After the texting last night, I knew that riding alone with him would be a mistake. It feels that way now as he strides to his car door, not looking at me.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t be standing here waiting if I wasn’t, would I?”
He looks up sharply. For a moment, he seems mad, but then he smirks. “Fair enough, Hardcover.”
The nickname makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside in a way it shouldn’t. Shouldn’t is our defining characteristic.
He opens the door to his black Mercedes-Benz G-Class. His car is as big and intimidating as he is.
When I climb into the passenger seat, Logan glances at me, his expression difficult to read. I can’t tell if he’s happy or annoyed that I’m here or is somewhat confused.
“I can get the bus. Or walk. Or take a scooter. It’s not even that far.”
“Elliot asked me to give you a ride,” Logan says. “So, I’m going to give you a ride. My guess is he’s concerned about you traveling alone.”
When Logan starts the car, I fiddle with the buttons on my shirt. He glances over, his eyes getting wide… hungry, wild, obsessed. Okay, I shouldn’t let my mind go there, but that’s how he looks—like every little thing I do is the most fascinating thing to him.
“I wish Elliot would talk to me,” Logan says as we drive through Chinatown.
That seems like an unmistakable message. I definitely need to stop thinking about anything even remotely romantic.
“Maybe I can get him to talk,” I mutter. “Though, I doubt it. He seems super closed off. It’s weird. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
“Without him, there wouldn’t be a company,” Logan mutters.
“How’s that?”
Logan glances at me. “He never told you. He loaned me the money, using the inheritance his grandmother left him.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know that. He never even mentioned a grandmother. But we had different dads, remember, so I guess that’s not weird.”
“Hmm, maybe not,” Logan says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “I’ve just never known him to keep so many secrets.”
“Well…”
“Well?” Logan says when I don’t go on.
“I was just going to say…”
“Don’t leave me hanging.”
“Can’t you guess?” I say fiercely.
“We can’t judge?”
I can’t look at him when he says this. Texting on the borderline is one thing, but bringing it all out into the open feels different. I’ve only got myself to blame, though. I’m the one who mentioned it.
“Are you working after you drop me off?” I ask.
“No,” he replies. “Why?”
“You seem tense. Maybe we could stop off somewhere. Relax a little.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I hear what I’ve said, the insane offer I’ve just made. What am I even thinking?
But then Logan replies, and even though I’m staring out the window because looking at him is too awkward, I can tell he’s smiling. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with taking an employee to a restaurant to congratulate her for a good first week of work.” After a pause, he says, “Look at me, Piper.”
I turn, a smile spreading across my lips when I see how he’s looking at me: playful, youthful. It’s like he’s sending a text that only exists in our minds. Let’s just live in the moment…
“That sounds like a plan,” I murmur.
“I know a place. A jazz lounge. It’s intimate.”
More of those tempting tingles dance over me when he says this. Being intimate with him is the last thing I should want, obviously, but it’s not. It’s the first thing I want. It’s the only thing I want. Right now, at least.
Being close to him is like a drug. At least when we’re texting, I can put down my phone. I can’t put down my desire when he’s so close and when I can smell his cologne, his manly musk.
“But don’t go thinking you can take advantage of me,” he says playfully. “It’s not a date. And I know what you’re like, Piper. Full of surprises.”
“ Me take advantage of you ?” I laugh, slapping him playfully on the arm.
Oops, big mistake. I feel his solid muscles through his shirt. I want to grab him again, to sink my hand into his solidness.
He parks outside the restaurant, then walks around to my side of the car as if he’s going to open the door for me. Before he can, I push it open and hop out.
He smirks. “I get it. You don’t need a Prince Charming.”
“Not a date, remember?”
He bows. “Then I will let my chivalry die.”
“Could you let your cheesiness die too?” I say, then playfully slap him on the arm again. Anybody might think I’m making excuses to touch him. “I’m just kidding. I kind of like it.”
“Why do I feel you added ‘kind of’ just so you don’t look too interested, huh, Beautiful?”
“Beautiful,” I repeat, shaking my head, laughing. “Yeah, okay.”
“Don’t do that.” He grabs my arms, warm shivers sizzling throughout my body. “You are beautiful…”
He leans in. Is he going to kiss me? This isn't good. What the heck have I started?
“This place looks great,” I say, stepping back and gesturing at the lighted, golden letters of the jazz-themed restaurant.
His eyes have a wild look… almost lost. Like he doesn’t understand how he came so close to kissing me just now, it reminds me of the party three years ago, the look in his eyes then, the instant obsession. He bites down, almost looking like he regrets agreeing to this.
“We don’t have t?—”
“It is,” he interrupts. “Great, I mean. Let’s get going…”
We walk into the restaurant together, getting a table in the corner. A live band plays soft, improvisational music. The restaurant isn’t busy, but it’s not quiet either. There are people here who might recognize the CEO of a local, wildly successful company.
“Drink?” he says.
“I think I’ll stick to sparkling water,” I murmur.
He nods knowingly. Half a glass of wine might be the one thing between me white-knuckling my resolve and giving into my desire. “Me too.”
When the waiter leaves to get our drinks, I notice Logan looking at a family in the corner of the room. He’s got a slight smile on his lips and a dreamy, faraway glint in his eyes. The boy sits in a highchair, babbling, smiling, and throwing his arms up and down in pure childish joy.
“What are you thinking about with that dreamy look in your eyes?”
He turns to me like he’s waking from a dream. “Sorry?”
“Don’t apologize. It was cute.”
He laughs gruffly. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been called cute.”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
He seems relieved when the waiter arrives, giving him time to compose his answer or think of a way of avoiding answering. But I won’t let him off the hook that easily.
“Well?” I ask.
He sips his water, taking his sweet time.
“I’m going to tip that glass so it spills all over your shirt if you don’t hurry up!”
He sets his glass down, smiling. I love the way he looks at me. I love how interested he seems, curious, wanting to get to know me even more.
“I was just thinking what a wonderful thing it is,” he says, “seeing a child happy and loved, not having to worry about anything bad happening. Not having to worry about where he came from, where he’s going, or… anything.”
I smile, but there’s a shade of sadness to it. “You didn’t have that?”
He looks down at the table. “I didn’t mean for that comment to turn this into a pity party.”
“Hey, don’t do that. It’s not a pity party. We’re just talking. It was different for us. Elliot saved me.” We both pause, silently acknowledging my brother, his best friend, knowing every time we mention him is a reminder of how wrong this is. “But you were in the system.”
“The system has good parts,” he mutters. “A few years ago, I volunteered and saw some of those good parts.”
“But yours wasn’t,” I murmur. “Elliot never talks about it, but I can tell.”
He grinds his teeth, then nods. “It doesn’t matter. It’s ancient history.”
“I’m always here to talk if you need to,” I tell him.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Maybe not. But I mean it.”
He reaches across the table. I tell myself to withdraw my hand. The moment stretches, seeming to last a long time. I’m going to miss my chance; his fingers touch mine, and a thrum moves through me.
“Thank you,” he says. “It’s okay. It was bad. I won’t lie. But it’s all over now. I’m just happy some people will never know pain like that.”
“It’s good to see the positive in it.”
His grip tightens on mine. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? We both had a rough start in life, but we keep going, always. We put one foot in front of the other. Look at you with college?—”
“It’s hardly the same.”
“You could’ve let it get you down,” he says fervently. “You could’ve given up, but you came home and decided you want to put your enthusiasm for words to good use. Already, you’re making a difference in the company. It’s impressive. It means something.”
I should tell him to calm down. He’s getting carried away. But I can’t because I’m getting carried away as well.
“I’m a lowly copywriter,” I tell him. “You’re a CEO who built a company in three years.”
“But the core of what we are, who we are, is the same,” he says fiercely. “That goes beyond any surface-level similarities. It goes beyond sharing a passion for the same kinds of books. This determination, this willingness to keep going, it’s the sort of thing relati?—”
I gasp. “Don’t say it.”
“Relationships are built on.” He stares firmly at me.
“Logan…”
“I knew you were special back then, Hardcover,” he says. “When I kissed you, I knew.”
“Logan, seriously…”
But he must be able to hear in my tone that I’m not serious. I don’t want him to stop. There’s too much desire in me. Oh, heck.
Now he’s leaning in. We’re in public. But he’s leaning over the small table and pulling me to my feet.
I tell myself to scream at him to stop. But I don’t want him to. His breath warmly caresses my cheeks and my face, his lips getting closer, closer. We’re almost there: the point of no return. I could stop it.
I don’t.
He grabs my shoulders with a burning hunger, crushing me with a kiss. I couldn’t stop, even if Elliot rushed into the room and yelled at us. I make a moaning noise. Three years of stored-up need bursting out of me. My hands claw against his chest, through his shirt, against his solidness, his… his himness .
But then I push my hands against his chest instead of clinging on.
I push myself away, not because I want to, but because I need to. And that makes me even more confused because, in a steamy moment, I feel like I need him as badly as I need to be as far away from him as I can possibly get.
To make matters worse, he looks hurt and offended by my rejection.