2. Logan
Logan
This is a problem. A big fucking problem.
The woman standing in front of me isn't at all what I expected. And that shouldn't be something I'm even thinking about right now.
I should have my mind glued to the job. I have rules, boundaries, expectations. I honor them no matter what.
Being attracted to the woman I'm supposed to play house with does not fall under any of those parameters.
"I have to be your wife?! Are you kidding me?!" She glares at me, shaking her head.
Tess Beaumont is no wilting flower, that's for damn sure. Being on the wrong end of her fury isn't what I'd call comfortable.
Worse, she's stunning. The fire behind her gray eyes lights them up like flames through smoky glass.
She came straight from work. Tailored wide-leg trousers, a sleeveless tank hugging her torso. I can't avoid the truth of her frame either — five-foot-five, curvy, every inch proportioned like some kind of test of my willpower.
"Unfortunately, I'm not kidding. And it wasn't my idea. The FBI believed strongly this would be the best cover, since it's especially out of character."
"Ha." The sound cracks out of her, sharp. "You can say that again. The looks I got when I told the paper I was taking vacation time — that's going to follow me for years. I don't do anything but my job, Mr. Taylor. So me pretending to be your wife? That's going to go just great."
Her voice drips with sarcasm, and I'm hung up on the way she says Mr. Taylor. No one calls me that.
"It's Logan."
"Ugh, whatever." She rolls her eyes and spins on her heel, marching down the hall toward the back of the house.
I follow fast. I haven't secured those rooms yet, and I don't think Tess understands how serious this situation is.
But what do I really know about her?
Twenty-eight. Worked at the paper since college. Currently on the run from Luigi Cilento after publishing an exposé on his entire organization, once she learned Antero had a senator in his pocket.
Oh, and she also happens to be one of the most beautiful women on the planet.
Ugh, no. Absolutely not. You have rules, Logan. No compliance, no camaraderie, no copulation.
"What are you doing?" My voice comes out gruff, and I don't have the patience to soften it. "I haven't secured the entire house."
"Well, secure away." Tess flicks a hand back at me as she disappears into the kitchen. "There better be something to drink in this place."
So that's what she's after. I sigh, knowing she's about to be disappointed. I haven't had time to stock the place either.
Ignoring her — which is harder than it should be, especially while I'm sneaking glances at her — I check the room, testing the locks on the patio door and windows.
"Dammit. Nothing?" Her annoyance is loud and clear. "Well, darling, I'm going to need something if you expect me to survive this."
My jaw clenches at darling. I duck my head, then look back at her.
"I'll have food delivered to this address. Secure account."
She studies me, unimpressed. "Fine. Just make it quick. I only get meaner when I'm hungry."
She brushes past me, and I assume she's heading up to unpack when I spot her grabbing the suitcase.
I hold out a hand. "Let me check it first."
She doesn't answer, just juts her chin toward the stairs. I jog up, going over every inch of the second floor until I'm satisfied.
Tess trails behind me the whole time, arms crossed, watching. I hate the feeling of being observed like this — her stare drilling holes into the back of my head.
Once everything checks out, I stop in the master bedroom and set the suitcase on the bed.
"Everything's clean and ready. If you want to unpack, the closet's over there." I nod toward the walk-in. "I'll order groceries and supplies."
"Make sure you put a bottle of nice wine on that list. And better scotch."
Her jaw is tight, brows raised. Apparently hiding her disagreement with this situation isn't part of the plan.
"You need to at least pretend to tolerate me in public, Ms. Beaumont. This is our cover. If it's blown, you'll be relocated. Again."
"I'll try." She moves to the bed, fingers finding the zipper on her bag. "And shouldn't you be calling me Tess?"
Something in my spine goes rigid, my pulse skipping. "Right. Tess."
"Well, go on then, darling. I'm hopping in the shower."
Without looking at me, she reaches for the zipper on the side of her pants and starts dragging it down.
I've never left a room faster. The lustful, irritating part of me wants to stay, wants to watch her undress. I shut it down hard.
Sex complicates everything. I've gone years without it because I won't let my work slip. I've never had trouble keeping that vow to myself.
Until now.
No, Logan. Don't. Just go order food. And alcohol. So much alcohol.
The groceries are put away, and Tess and I have eaten a quick meal — steam-in-bag veggies, precooked chicken. Not much, but it's food.
The dishes hum quietly in the dishwasher. Tess is on her second glass of wine. I'm nursing a scotch, both of which I had to actually drive to the store for, since they won't deliver alcohol.
Leaving the house was good for me, honestly. I needed the distance — especially after she came out of the shower smelling like lilacs, her hair wet and wavy.
Now we sit at the table. She's on her phone, I've got my laptop open, checking in with Boss and the Feds. I tell them we arrived safely, that I've briefed Tess on the cover story.
Neither of us talks. I glance at her every so often, telling myself to keep some distance, but I can't stop my eyes from tracing her features.
Expressive brows sit low over unusual gray eyes. Her small nose, her full lips, parted slightly as she reads.
She's changed out of her work clothes — black sweatpants, a plain white tank. Casual. Simple.
And goddamn that shirt.
She's not wearing a bra. I know because of that tank, and now my brain is supplying all sorts of images I have no business having.
"I'm going to bed. Or at least into the bed. I've had enough of today." She stands, and my eyes snap up to her. "Pretend you did something wrong and you're in the doghouse. Because I'm not sharing."
I narrow my eyes at her. She's really not going to let me sleep in the one bed in this house. Sure, it's technically a five-bedroom, but only the master is furnished.
I stand, arms folding as I approach her carefully. I've had about enough of her attitude.
This wasn't my idea. It was the Feds'. I'm just doing my job — protecting her.
She glares up at me. "It's the only bed. And I'm not sleeping on the couch."
"The floor isn't exactly my first choice either." She shrugs. "But you do you."
"You know," I unfold my arms and point at her, "I didn't get you into this. You hired me to keep you safe. I don't control what the FBI decides."
She scoffs. "Sure. Because you all weren't in perfect agreement that I should play the good little wife."
Frustration builds fast, my pulse hot. She's baiting me, and I can't figure out why. She might want someone to blame right now, but she's smart enough to know it won't help.
"I didn't say anything. My goal was to work seamlessly with the authorities. That pans out better, avoids headaches. You might want to try it."
"God, that's reductionist. I've worked with cops for months. Hell, my whole life. Still got plenty of headaches."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, eyes shut. "Would you please just—"
Ding dong.
The doorbell cuts me off. We both glance toward the front door.
"Did you order more stuff?"
I shake my head. "No. Stay here."
I don't wait for a reply before heading to the door. It rings again just as I arrive, and of course Tess didn't listen. She's right behind me.
"You could at least pretend to listen to me."
"No." She shoots back, and I clench my jaw, looking through the peephole.
An older couple stands outside with a basket. Nothing smells like trouble, but I keep one hand behind my back, gun at the ready, as I open the door.
"Hello. How can we help you?" My voice comes out level, calm.
The woman steps forward first, grinning so wide it looks painful. Dress, cardigan. The man behind her wears a polo and khakis, radiating pure golf-bro energy.
"Hi there," she chirps, pitch climbing. "I'm Polly! This is Bradley. We just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."
She thrusts the basket at me, and I take it with one hand, reluctant.
"We're your neighbors from across the street, and whenever someone new moves in, we host a welcome party!" Her enthusiasm is giving me a headache. "Tomorrow evening, come on over. We'll barbecue, get to know each other."
"Oh, we don't want to impose. We're just getting settled and—"
"Nonsense, sweetheart." Polly cuts Tess off clean. "No imposition at all. Perfect time to meet the neighbors, take a break from unpacking. Five o'clock, right across the street. Oh, it's getting late — we'll see you tomorrow."
"Bring your golf clubs," Bradley adds — his first words, and they confirm every assumption I had about him. "I've got a putting green out back."
"We'll see you then," I say. "Thank you for the welcome."
Tess seems to remember herself. "We'll be delighted. See you then."
"Toodles!" Polly waves, and the two of them head back across the street.
I shut the door after one last wave, locking it behind us.
"Do you have a gun on you?"
Her blunt question pulls me out of my own head. I nod.
"Yes. I'm your bodyguard. Had it on me all day."
"Fucking hell, you could've told me. What if I bumped into it or something and it went off?"
"The safety's on. That's not really how guns work."
She throws her hands up and heads for the stairs. "Not the point. I'm going to bed."
I stand there a second, narrowing my eyes. I am not sleeping on that couch. After turning off the smart lights and setting the alarm, I follow her up.
When I walk into the bedroom and head for the closet, her eyes track me, brows climbing toward her hairline.
"What are you doing?"
"What's it look like? Changing for bed."
I step into the closet, not bothering to shut the door — she'd only storm over and open it again. I unbutton my shirt, pull it over my head, toss it in the hamper, and shed my slacks.
"We don't know each other. How is it appropriate for us to share a bed?"
Her voice carries from the other room. I pull on basketball shorts from my duffel and head for the bed.
"I assure you, I'm not going to do anything. But that couch downstairs won't fit me. I'm six-five. My feet hanging off the arm isn't going to work."
Her eyes flick down over my bare chest — just for a second. Maybe I'm reading into it. Either way, she shakes her head, grumbling. "You better not snore."
That gets a laugh out of me. "Wouldn't know. No one's ever told me."
She glances back, annoyed disbelief written across her face. "Sure. Because someone like you doesn't have anyone keeping him company."
"Someone like me?" I'm lying down now, watching her from my side of the bed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, please. Like you don't know." She rolls her eyes. "You're Bodyguard Ken. Just with dark hair."
I'm not sure whether to be insulted or flattered. Then, out of nowhere, I notice how fair her skin is next to mine. A few small tattoos scattered across her — visible thanks to the tank — compared to the ones I earned in the military.
"Thanks?" I can't stop the chuckle. It hits me, out of nowhere, that she reminds me of my kid sister, Rebecca.
Before she—
"Just... stay over there, I'll stay over here." She shoots me one more glare, then rolls to face away. "And I swear to god, if I wake up with your morning wood jabbing me in the ass, I'll kick yours."
Another laugh barks out of me, real and unstoppable. Tess has a hell of a mouth on her, and a sense of humor to match. She's... something I really didn't see coming.
The room goes quiet. I reach over and kill the lamp — the last light in the room — and the darkness settles in around us.
My eyes adjust slowly. I stare at the ceiling, then toward the window, where a bit of streetlight bleeds through the curtains.
Tess is so still beside me. I can't stop myself from looking over. Her body rises and falls, slow and steady.
Even in the dark, I can make out the curve of her, that scent of lilac still clinging to her skin, the little flower tattoo on her shoulder catching what light there is.
Keep it together, Logan.
My body has other plans. Every nerve feels lit up, my cock hardening at the thought of touching her, kissing her, fucking her.
My mind got there fast. Too fast. I force myself to look away, to shut my eyes.
No sex. Not once. That's the plan. It's always been the plan, and I've never once broken it.
Until Tess.
And tomorrow, I have to stand in front of a bunch of strangers and call myself her husband.
Ugh. I am so screwed.