Chapter 34
What the Hell Are You Doing Here?
Logan lay sprawled across the too white sofa in the beach house, shirtless, a melting whiskey glass in one hand, and the other clutching a bandage he hadn’t changed in twelve hours. The ocean murmured outside, the silence inside pressing too close.
He hated silence.
He was halfway through debating whether to drink more, smoke, or just walk into the waves when
Knock.
Three sharp raps. Confidence.
Logan froze. No one knocked on Creams property.
His hand went to the holster at his back automatically as he stood, moving slow, every nerve coiled. He swung the door open
And just… stared.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Penny.
Sunglasses perched in her wild hair, a patterned sundress clinging to her curves, lips glossed cherry red like she’d walked straight out of the city and onto his island.
“Cute place,” she said, peering past him. “A very Bond villain meets rehab chic.”
“Penny.” His voice was low, warning.
“Logan.” She mimicked his tone, but her mouth curved like she’d already won.
The tension crackled in the air, salt thick and heavy.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally.
“You didn’t answer my last six texts.”
“I was busy.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Never said you were.”
She stepped past him like she owned the place. He didn’t stop her. Inside, her eyes flicked over sleek granite counters, a bottle of expensive whiskey, sheets still rumpled from nights he couldn’t sleep.
“Is this your escape?” she asked. “Because it looks like hell.”
“It’s quiet.” His voice sharpened. Defensive. “I don’t get quiet.”
She dropped her bag by the sofa, folding her arms, studying him. “You didn’t think I’d come.”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. So she crossed the space, placed her palm flat against his chest, right over the bullet scar still healing.
“You’re not alone, Logan,” she whispered.
“Don’t.” His voice cracked like a whip.
“Why?”
“Because I might believe it.”
Their eyes locked. And the dam broke. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not after last year’s mess, not after the distance he’d forced between them. But Penny was relentless. She kissed him like she was claiming territory, gentle at first, then firmer when he didn’t pull away.
Logan let her. When she tugged him toward the bed, he followed. Clothes came off slowly, Penny undressing him like he was breakable, Logan tearing at himself like he hated the skin he was in.
“No,” she murmured, catching his hands. “Not tonight. Let me.”
He stilled. His chest rose and fell sharply, like every instinct screamed run. But he didn’t.
Penny pushed him back onto the mattress and climbed over him, straddling his hips. Her touch was softer than he expected palms smoothing over scarred shoulders, lips trailing down the line of his jaw.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
He flinched like she’d stabbed him.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
Her hips rolled slowly, teasing, dragging a groan from deep in his throat. Logan’s hands fisted in the sheets, holding himself back like the monster he thought he was.
“Touch me,” she breathed.
He shook his head, jaw tight. “I’ll ruin you.”
“You won’t.” She leaned down, kissed him softly. “You couldn’t if you tried.”
Something broke. He kissed her back hungry, desperate, but still letting her lead. Penny guided him in, sinking down slowly, keeping eye contact the entire time. His breath hitched like he’d never been inside anyone before.
“Fuck, Penny ” His voice was a growl and a plea.
She moved with him, steady, coaxing, whispering against his mouth. “You’re not a
monster.”
Logan’s control shattered. His hips bucked, his body trembling beneath hers, but he
let her keep the pace. Let her hold his jaw. Let her see every raw, unguarded piece
of him as he came undone.
Silence stretched after, filled only by the ocean outside and their ragged breaths. Penny lay against his chest, tracing circles over his ribs where the bandage shifted. Logan’s arms were heavy around her, but he didn’t move. Didn’t push her off.
“You’re shaking,” she murmured.
“Always do. After.” His voice was raw.
She kissed his temple. “That’s fine. I’ve got you.”
He gave a broken laugh. “You shouldn’t.”
“Don’t tell me what I should do, Creams,” she said firmly. “You bled on my floor. You let me stitch you up. You let me in. You think I’m walking away now?”
His throat worked. His grip tightened on her waist, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the strength.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Penny whispered. She brushed her thumb over his cheekbone. “Just… stay.”
Logan opened his eyes. Pale, unguarded. No mask. No monster. Just a man.
He nodded once. Barely. But it was enough.
She tugged him down into the pillows, tucked herself against his side, hand smoothing over his scars like they were maps, not wounds.
Logan’s arm wrapped around her automatically, pulling her close. For the first time in years, he let himself breathe.
Penny held him, whispering against his skin as he drifted,
“You’re not a monster. Not to me.”
And Logan Creams fell asleep in her arms.