She took a swallow of water and seemed to move subconsciously closer to me.

My body reacted to her close proximity. My eyes were focused on her. I couldn’t help but watch the path that the liquid took as it moved down her throat. Every minute I spent with her, I found myself wanting her more and more.

I couldn’t stop it.

I wanted to ease her pain.

But it was my cock that was really feeling the pain of it. It was rock hard. And tough shit, there was no relief coming anytime soon.

It took her a second, but she looked at me and I cleared my lustful thoughts. “No, I can’t. I just opened the boutique. I couldn’t possibly leave. I only have Peyton and Rachel to help me with it, and besides, I have nowhere to go even if Michael lets me take her.”

“Okay, I get it. But you have to think of yourself. I want to help you, but I can’t if I don’t know what he has planned. You need to sit down with O’Shea and make him tell you what’s in his head.” I had to be straight. There was no dancing around it. He didn’t have time to fuck around.

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

“You have to tell me what he tells you.”

She looked hesitant.

“That’s the only way I can help you.”

“Logan, I just don’t know. I’m risking a lot by being here, but something inside me tells me I’m safer here than anywhere else. What I don’t get, though, is . . . why do you want to help me? Aren’t we supposed to be on opposite sides?”

I shook my head. “No, we’re not on opposite sides. We’re on the same side. I promise.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

I brushed some hair from her face. I knew I shouldn’t be touching her but I had to. “Because all I want is to keep you and that precious little girl sleeping in the other room safe.”

She leaned into my touch and I felt it everywhere in my body. “I don’t understand. Why? Why would you help us?”

There was no way I couldn’t be honest. Not when she was this close to me. Not when her voice was pleading with me to tell her. “Because, Elle, you remind me of someone I should have helped but didn’t. Someone I failed.”

Our eyes locked. I swear her lips parted. I know I felt my own mouth open and I couldn’t stop my tongue from sneaking out and licking my bottom lip. In my mind, I was imagining how much better she’d feel about all of this if I could drive my cock deep inside her. What a fucked-up thought. I shook it away.

Finally, I cleared my throat. “I want you to stay here tonight. And then tomorrow, when O’Shea gets back, you’ll talk to him. I can’t help you if I don’t know what he’s planning to do. But Elle, you can’t tell him you’re talking to me. Not yet.”

She nodded in silent agreement as if she didn’t want him to know either.

Interesting.

“You take the bedroom. I’ll sleep out here.”

She nodded again. “Do you mind if I take a shower? It’s been a long day.”

“No, go ahead.”

Oh fuck, the things I was already picturing.

Elle stood up and I watched her as she grabbed her bags and went back into the bedroom. She paused at the door. “Thanks, Logan. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said.

If she knew what I was thinking, she wouldn’t.

She disappeared into the darkness and I refocused. My dirty mind aside, I couldn’t help but think to myself, Please trust me.

Trust in what I told you.

Trust me when I tell you how dangerous this is.

Because if you don’t—we’ll both be dead.

ELLE

Nausea twisted my gut.

If what Logan had told me was true, and Michael was in over his head, he wasn’t wrong—we were in trouble.

And something told me there were no lies in Logan’s words.

Michael had told me just enough, hinting at the danger but making it sound like everything would be okay. Was he being overly optimistic or was Logan being paranoid?

I just had no idea.

Stepping inside the large space, I left the door open a crack from the bathroom to the bedroom in case Clementine woke up. I dimmed the bathroom lights and looked around. Marble covered almost every surface and the heat lamps in the ceiling were supposed to warm me, but the chill I was feeling wasn’t one that could be cured by supplied heat.

My clothes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds as I stripped out of them and let them fall to the floor. When I turned on the shower faucet, the water sprayed from jets in every direction. I stood outside the shower and decided to allow my skin the luxury of being warmed by the steam as the water got hotter.

When I felt ready, I stepped inside. A bar of soap sat in a small alcove built into the shower along with bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. The soap and shampoo had been used, but not the other two. I cracked open the body wash and the scent of lavender filled the large space.

The liquid seemed to caress my body as I smoothed it on, almost as if it might help wash away the danger that lay ahead. The water beat down on me from all directions and I enfolded myself in it. In this sanctuary, I could let myself be afraid. I could cry because I was scared. I didn’t have to be strong.

The emotions I was holding in gave away, as did my wall of strength. Like a rag doll, I limply slid down the wall of the shower. After a few moments, I cradled my head in my hands and let the tears flow. I cried for as long as I could and when I knew I had no tears left, I resolved to cry no more. It was time to be strong, if not for me, then for that innocent little girl sleeping soundly in the next room.

Fortitude was a virtue I knew well and, as I forced myself to rise to my feet, I reminded myself of that. Finding the shampoo, I scrubbed and rinsed my head. When I looked at my fingers, they were wrinkled, and I wondered just how long I’d been in the shower. Running my hands through my silky smooth strands, I scrubbed some more and then rinsed again, finally adding the conditioner and rinsing one last time.

My mind felt freer by the time I turned the shower off. Logan assured me we’d be safe, and for a reason I didn’t want to examine too closely, I believed him. Logan—what was it about him? What were these feelings that were whooshing through my belly just thinking about him? Was I genuinely attracted to him, or was my reaction simply a by-product of the fear I was feeling? The answer could easily have been yes to both questions.

Steam filled the air in the room. Something came over me in the haze—lustful visions that I couldn’t control. When I stepped out of the shower, I tried to block the image I had in my head of Logan’s parted lips—soft, sensual. As soon as the cooler air hit me, my nipples peaked. I ignored the desire that was blooming within me and reached for the fluffy white towels that were just beside the counter.

First, I wrapped my head in one and then my body. The terry cloth absorbed the water instantly but I still rubbed one corner over my skin to dry it thoroughly. The arousal I had been feeling blossomed beneath the surface of each place I rubbed and I made sure to leave no place untouched.

The air was still hazy and the mirror was coated in steam. That was fine; I didn’t need to see myself. I knew the state of affairs. My skin was pink from the heat, my body was clean, and my mind was on the man who would be sleeping in the next room tonight.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I bent forward and gripped the counter. I had to think clearly. I couldn’t allow anything or anyone to cloud my judgment.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, rumbly, and my insides came even more alive at the sound.

Surprised, I stood straight and turned around. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw him occupying the doorway. In the midst of all this chaos, he was a welcome breath of fresh air.