I sighed and hurried after him. “You really don’t have to walk me home.”

“It would be ungentlemanly of me not to see you home. There are creeps out here, you know.” He threw me another lazy, drunk grin.

I just stopped myself from rolling my eyes.

“So.” John stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at me. “Do you like your job?”

I was surprised by the sudden interest in my life. “Um… yes. I love keeping my own hours and…

well, I get to read and shape books for a living.”

He wrinkled his nose like a little boy. “Books. Yak. Aren’t you bored all the time?”

“No.” I huffed in annoyance.

“What about your parents? They still in England?”

“Yes.”

“What do they do for a living?”

“My father works in the media, and my mother is a housewife.”

“A housewife, eh? Your dad must make a bob or two.”

Or a billion. “Hmm.”

“Got any brothers or sisters?”

I stared up at his profile, annoyed that he’d decided to get nosy. “A brother. You?”

“No, thank God. What does your brother do?”

“He works for my father.”

“What’s his name, then?”

“Oh, look!” I said a little too brightly. “We’re almost at mine.” I stopped. “Well, good night, then.”

“Oh no.” He shook his head and shot me a grin that caused an unpleasant shiver to ripple over me.

“Let me walk you to the door.”

Knowing exactly what he was expecting when we got to the door, I shook my head. “I think we should just say good night.”

Instead of agreeing, he turned swiftly on his heel and started down Nightingale Way. The street was quite dark, shaded by all the buildings and interspersed sparsely with street lighting. Much of the light cast over the wet cobbles was offered by the ever-helpful moon. Feeling uneasy, I followed John.

“What number are you?” he called back to me.

“I’m right here.” I slowed to a stop in front of the blue door to my building. “Thank you for dinner.”

John did a little skip back to me. “I could come up for coffee.” He grinned down at me hopefully.

I gave him an apologetic smile. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Oh, come on.” He edged closer to me, and I stumbled back against the wall. “Ask me up, Grace.

You know you want to.” He fingered the collar of my light coat, and I instinctively slapped his hand away.

“I’m going inside. You should leave.”

He held his hands up in a surrender gesture but took another step toward me.

My stomach flipped, and I glanced right and then left. The dark street was empty. “Really, John. I’d just like to go inside. Good night.”

“You’re nervous,” he said softly. “I get it. I had to have a few glasses of wine to loosen up tonight, I was so nervous about meeting you, but we don’t have to be nervous, Grace.” He brushed his fingers across my cheek, and I flinched away. “We’re two adults just looking for company.”

“No. You’re drunk, and I want you to leave. Now, please step back.”

The door to the building opened before John could react. A large figure stepped outside, and when he shut the door behind him and turned his face, the moonlight revealed Logan. He stopped a moment at the sight of me and gave me a nod before turning his back. He was dressed for work. And he was leaving.

Fear forced my mouth open, and I was just about to call out Logan’s name when he halted and turned around. He looked at me, expressionless, and then he looked at John. Despite the blank look on his face, I knew right away he’d deduced the situation when, without a word, Logan pulled his keys out and opened the door. He pushed the door open and stepped toward me. “Grace,” he said.

Relief flooded me, and I knew I couldn’t hide it just as I hadn’t been able to keep the panic from my face when I thought he was leaving. I darted past him and inside, glancing over my shoulder to see John take a step toward the door. Logan blocked the doorway, and I watched, fascinated, as he intimidated John into retreating without saying one bloody word.

John ran a shaky hand through his hair, suddenly looking anywhere but at Logan, and then he spun on his heel and started striding a little unsteadily down our street.

Logan entered the building and closed the door. We just stared at each other for a second before he gestured for me to move.

I started down the hall, hearing him fall into step behind me. He followed me all the way up the stairs until we reached my flat, and he watched as I fumbled for my keys in my purse. When I managed to get ahold of them, they rattled in my trembling hands.

Logan’s warm hand curled around mine, and he gently eased the keys from my grip. He opened my door for me. “You all right?”

“Yes, thanks.” I gave him a small, grateful smile. “I just feel like I’ve been stuck in episodes of Sex and the City on my last few dates. There are some bizarre men out there.” He didn’t reply, and I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, thanks again.” I moved to go inside, and he said my name. “Yes?”

Logan was no longer expressionless. There was a tautness to his features and a shadow of dark purple in his eyes. I recognized that look. He was angry. “Never let a drunk man walk you home again.”

Flummoxed that his anger seemed to be born from concern, I could only nod, tongue-tied.

He stared at me pointedly, and I stared dumbly back at him.

Logan sighed impatiently. “Close your door, Grace. I’m not leaving for work until I hear the sound of your lock turning.”

“Oh.” I flushed at my silliness and eased the door shut. I turned my lock and put the chain in place.

“Good night!” I called through the door.

“Good night, Miss Farquhar,” he returned, and I heard the rumble of dry amusement in his voice before the sounds of his footsteps faded into the distance.

The sun felt wonderful on my skin. The waves were crashing to shore. I had no worries, no responsibilities, just never-ending time and white sands.

Life was perfectly, gloriously cliché in its utter heavenliness.

“Grace.”

I squeezed my eyes tighter shut against the sound of the masculine voice in my ear.

“Grace.” The voice became more insistent. “Grace, wake up.”

Suddenly my sun lounger was flipped on its side, and I awoke with a jolt. Breathing hard, I blinked against the darkness of my bedroom, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, my heart started to hammer harder against my chest. Logan was sitting on my bed.

“What?” I whispered in fright, leaning over to switch my bedside light on. I wasn’t imagining it.

Logan MacLeod was sitting on my bed, wearing nothing but a pair of faded old jeans. I forced my gaze to his face. “What are you doing here?”

His violet eyes were hot on me, his silent presence potent.

My breath caught.

My lower stomach clenched against the burst of tingles between my legs.

“Logan?”

He placed a hand slowly on either side of my hips and leaned forward until his face was so close to mine our lips were almost touching. A fierce hunger flashed across his face, and I gasped, feeling arousal shoot through my body.

He wanted me.

Suddenly he grasped me by the nape of the neck and hauled me against him. His mouth captured mine. I instantly melted into him and wrapped my arms around him, my fingers pressing into the muscle beneath his hot skin.

His kiss was hard, demanding, almost punishing, and I reveled in it. Logan groaned, the reverberations causing my nipples to tighten in reaction, and I shuddered. My reaction ignited something inside of him, and he shoved me roughly onto my back before hauling the covers off me. I stared up at him in aroused astonishment as he tugged on my pajama shorts. He slid them deftly down my legs, along with my underwear, and then he was braced over me, nudging my thighs apart as he stared down into my eyes. Logan’s hands encircled my wrists, and he pinned my arms above my head as he pressed his jeans-covered erection between my legs. “Grace,” he whispered hoarsely, the word filled with need.