Chapter 7
7
KATRINA
“L ogan,” I say, my knees locking in place.
He loops a hand around my waist. “Be cool, kitty,” he murmurs, his voice smooth as velvet as he pulls me against him, his other hand claiming mine. “Don’t make a scene.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving you.” His clean scent cuts through the haze of expensive cologne and whiskey breath still clinging to me. “Tell me, how many times has your ass been pinched in the last half hour?”
Heat floods my face, but I don’t answer. The music slows, and Logan leads me into a sway. I don’t fight him. Instead, I embrace the pause, letting my chin rest against his shoulder, his solid frame anchoring me in a way I can’t ignore.
All the while, my mind explodes.
Oh, god. Oh, god.
Shit, shit, shit.
Logan is here. I’m dancing with him.
I woke up naked in his bed, and he’s here, and I’m dancing with him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again, my breathing evening out, though my heart still hammers against my ribs.
“I told you,” he says, his voice curling through my ear like a ribbon. “We have to talk.”
I swallow hard, flashes of little yellow sticky notes dancing in my memory.
DRINK ME
TAKE ME
BAD KITTY
“Look, Logan…” I start, my throat dry. “I don’t know what happened last night.”
“No?”
“But whatever it was, it was a mistake.”
“Was it?” he asks, teasing.
“Yes,” I say firmly.
“Well, then, I think you’ll be pleased to hear that nothing happened.”
I lean back just enough to look at him, his silver-blue eyes steady on mine. I don’t know him at all, but I detect no lies. No deception. He looks at me the same way he did back in Chicago, when he crashed our rehearsal and asked for our help.
“Nothing happened?” I ask.
He nods.
“Then why—” I stop, glancing around for eavesdroppers, but everyone is lost in their own slow dances. I lower my voice. “Why did I wake up in your bed?”
His lips twitch. “Oh, that.”
“Naked,” I add.
“Well, if you’d done what you were told and stayed to talk, I would have explained everything to you this morning over coffee and toast.”
“What I was told?”
“The notes.” He arches a brow. “You can read, right? Or have I made a dreadful error in assuming the quality of your education?”
“Yes, I can read,” I snap. “I… ignored them.”
“Why?”
“Because I woke up naked in Logan Shock’s bed.”
Logan chuckles, warm and indulgent, a flash of his usual mischief breaking through before he sobers. “Nothing happened, Katrina,” he says, quiet but firm.
“Something happened, Logan.”
“Yes. You stumbled out of the hotel and ran into Goldie. You know my dear friend Goldie.”
“Yeah, that I remember.”
“Then do you also remember making a horrible mess of both of you when you drunkenly spewed red wine all over yourself?”
I cringe as images crash into my mind, the taste of bile flickering at the back of my throat.
“No?” I say, wishfully.
Logan smiles. “We took you upstairs. Discreetly,” he says, his hand steady against my lower back. “The girls cleaned you up and put you to bed. I slept on the couch.”
I inhale deeply, letting his words sink in, and with them, memories surface—Goldie, Tesla, the three of us crammed into a bathroom, their voices soothing as I hovered over the toilet.
Relief washes over me, my stomach untangling from the tight knot it’s been in all day. But there’s still one thing left. “And my dress?” I ask.
“I sent it to be cleaned,” Logan says. “It should be delivered to your suite by tomorrow, if it’s not there already.”
“Then… nothing happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
I exhale, releasing the last of the tension coiled in my spine over what could have happened.
What I almost… gave up.
“What’s the matter, kitty?” Logan asks. “You seem disappointed.”
“No. I—” My gaze flicks to his, his smirk lazy and confident. “I’m just surprised.”
He says nothing. He just watches me, giving me all the time I need to process this—to see him in a different light.
A side of him I didn’t know existed.
A side that is impossibly kind, despite everything I thought I knew.
“Thank you, Logan,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” he says, his eyes sweeping slowly over my face. “You play the violin beautifully, by the way. You should play it more often.”
I blink in surprise, my heart stumbling over itself. His words settle deep, warming something in me I hadn’t realized was cold.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Then, a prickle at the base of my neck, creeping up my spine like a warning.
His eyes. Watching me. I’ve felt them before—and recently.
The ceremony. That uneasy sense of being watched.
It was?—
“Logan.”
Knox appears at my side. His jaw is tight, his fists clenched like he’s seconds away from throwing them.
“Get your hands off my sister.”
The force—and volume—of his voice ripples through the crowd. Couples slow their sways. Heads turn. Whispers stir the air all around us.
Logan smirks but releases me, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever you say, Knox.”
I don’t move, frozen in the eye of a storm, caught between Knox’s fury and Logan’s calm.
Jonah strides over, Marla a step behind him. “What are you doing here, Shock?” Jonah asks, his voice edged with warning.
“Crashing your wedding,” Knox snaps before Logan can answer. “What does it look like?”
Logan barely blinks. “Oh, I’m not crashing,” he says. “In fact, I brought a gift.”
He gestures toward the gift table in the far corner.
“Really?” Marla says, her expression brightening. “Thanks!”
Jonah reins her back with a sharp look, and she retreats behind his shoulder.
“Piss off, Shock,” Knox growls. “Now.”
I sense movement behind me—Bronson stepping into place, ready to throw Logan out if needed. Or worse.
But Logan remains unbothered. “I was just leaving,” he says. “Just wanted to offer my congratulations to the happy couple.” He turns to Marla. “It’s very nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Jonah tenses, attempting to shield her, but Marla peeks around his shoulder, smiling despite the tension. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Logan. Shock. Mr. Shock,” she stammers, star-struck.
Logan chuckles, then turns to me. “And thank you for the dance, Miss Katrina,” he says, extending his hand.
My knees feel weak as I take it. “It was my pleasure, Logan,” I say, my voice steady, though my pulse betrays me.
We shake, a brief, practiced motion—until something slips into my palm. My fingers instinctively close around it, its edges firm and flat against my skin.
I tuck my hand behind my back as Logan steps away, his departure as effortless as his arrival. Knox and Jonah lurch forward, eyes locked on his retreating form, ensuring he actually leaves. A few feet away, Jonah catches Ira’s gaze and jerks his chin toward Logan. The hotel’s head of security nods and follows him out.
“Kat, are you okay?” Knox asks as he and Jonah and Bronson close in around me.
“I’m fine,” I say, though my skin still tingles from Logan’s touch.
“What did he do?”
“Did he hurt you?”
“What’d he say?”
“I swear, if he laid a hand on you ? —”
“Enough,” I snap, silencing them. “I said I’m fine.” My eyes cut to Knox. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Knox. I don’t need you to save me.”
My brother flinches, the words hitting him like a slap in the face.
Guilt nips at me. “Sorry,” I say, looking down, aware of the weight of too many eyes lingering around us. “Excuse me.”
I break through the circle, shoving past the onlookers, desperate for space. The ladies’ room is my best bet. I move quickly, praying Addison or Jordan aren’t following a step behind me.
Inside, laughter and idle conversation drift from the sinks, but I slip past without slowing, ducking into the first open stall.
I lock the door, exhale, and turn my hand over.
Slowly, I uncurl my fingers, confirming what I already knew.
A hotel key card, with a yellow sticky note pressed to the front.
I WANT
MY ROBE
BACK