Blow (31 page)

She started walking again. “Well, whatever. I just hope you’re not an asshole to Elle, because she deserves someone nice.”

Speeding up, I turned to walk backwards and face her. “I promise you I’m not, but I don’t think Elle would stick around anyone who was.”

The red in her face began to fade. “I’m going to choose to believe you because my first instincts never fail me. But I have to tell you, I’m not so certain that Elle’s instincts are always spot on.”

My own instincts started to buzz. What did she mean? There were too many people on the sidewalk and I kept bumping into them, so I turned back to walk beside her and blatantly said, “You mean Michael.”

Her eyes dropped and she gave me a slight nod. “In the three months I’ve known Elle, you’re the first guy I’ve seen her with. Well, besides Michael, and I’m sorry, but I think he’s a creeper.”

My pace picked up as if every second counted now. “Tell me why you think that.”

“He just reminds me of my father. His wife’s in rehab and I’m pretty certain he’s fucking the nanny, although Elle tells me no. And I know he wants to fuck Elle.”

My muscles stiffened; that last part had me seeing red.

Peyton waved her hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. Just forget I did.”

I gave her a forced nod and lost myself in my thoughts.

We walked the rest of the way back to the boutique in silence. I grabbed Elle’s purse and looked toward Peyton. I wanted to tell her to stay clear of Declan, but I knew she wouldn’t listen to me without an explanation and there was no way I could give her one, so instead I said, “Lock the door behind me. You shouldn’t leave it open when you’re in here alone.”

She responded with something that sounded like “point taken,” or maybe that was just in my mind and she’d actually said goodbye.

I waited until I drove away to pull over and look inside Elle’s purse. It was small, and the only things in there were a comb, a tube of lip gloss, and a hair tie. I dumped it upside down on the passenger seat just to be sure.

Nothing else.

Fuck!
No garage door opener.

That meant whoever broke into Elle’s car did so with the intention of gaining easy access into Michael’s house.

The question was—why?

What was in there?

ELLE

I
knew almost every defensive maneuver in the book.

When to duck.

Where to weave.

How to dodge.

I’d studied so many different techniques over the past fifteen years, I was confident in my ability to defend myself. I also knew how to take the offense if needed. How to throw a punch—where to deliver a blow that would incapacitate a guy and let me get away. Firearms were nothing I was afraid of. I’d been taught to fire a weapon—how to stand steady and level my arms before squeezing the trigger.

In addition, I was a fast runner. I was confident I could outrun almost anyone.

My only deficiency? My size. And there was nothing I could do about that.

None of that mattered, though, when it came to guarding my heart.

It was utterly defenseless when it came to Logan McPherson.

That worried me.

The smile that bled across my lips as I parked my car in front of my townhouse was one I couldn’t hold back. Logan was sitting on my steps, waiting for me, and I felt my body go liquid when I opened the door.

Something was happening between us.

My stomach was a tangle of nerves as soon as I rounded the corner, and I swear my insides were slushing the closer I got to those ever-changing eyes.

What was wrong with me?

The response I received told me I wasn’t the only one feeling a little giddy. As soon as his eyes lifted, his smile quirked higher on one side, as if he was trying to charm me.

He didn’t have to.

He was doing something to me no man had ever done. Breaking me down. Reducing me to nothing but hormones. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but right now my mind wasn’t in charge. My body was. And it wasn’t leaving me options, so I had to let my feelings take their own course.

It wasn’t like I had a choice.

His gaze flickered over me. Hot. Intense. Mesmerizing.

I melted a little more and I swear my toes curled in my sneakers.

Once Logan had come back to the hotel with the news that my garage opener was not in my purse, we talked a little about what that meant. It frightened me, but at the same time I felt safe with him. I just knew he’d make certain Clementine and I wouldn’t be hurt. I could see it in his determined eyes and I could hear it in the way he spoke.

Michael had called just before five to tell me he was home. He was anxious to see his daughter and I was anxious to talk to him. He hadn’t mentioned anything to indicate that someone might have been in the house, which must have meant nothing had been disturbed.

When I arrived at Michael’s, he was out of sorts. I was surprised. He was unshaven, looked exhausted, and it was more than clear that he didn’t want to talk about anything to do with Lizzy.

After I told him about last night, that I thought someone was in the house and that my garage door opener was missing, he shrugged it off to paranoia. When I told him Clementine and I spent the night in a hotel, leaving Logan completely out of the conversation, he told me how ridiculous that was.

He had me believing it, too.

He reminded me that his house was equipped with state-of-the-art security. And it was. He had alarms on every window and door. Call buttons scattered every ten feet or so that were wired directly to the security service. He even had a panic room.

He was right—there was no way someone was in his house, garage door opener missing or not. It was sealed up tighter than Fort Knox.

I’d let that conversation fall and waited until after Clementine’s bath to broach the subject of Lizzy’s ties to the Blue Hill Gang.

“Where’d you hear that?” Michael snapped.

I swallowed and told him Peyton had mentioned to me in passing conversation about Killian McPherson, and that I had drawn my own conclusions from there.

It wasn’t a lie.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Michael turned to me with an icy expression on his face. “I told you to stay out of it and I meant it. You know all you need to know.”

That was the end of our conversation.

Frustrated, I left shortly afterward, letting Logan know I was heading home.

“Everything okay?” Logan asked as I approached him.

His voice reassured me. Michael might think I was being paranoid, but I knew Logan believed me. Things weren’t adding up. Something more was going on.

His smile faded. “Elle?”

I realized I hadn’t answered. “Everything’s fine. It’s just that Michael wouldn’t tell me anything and he assured me no one was in his house.” With a frustrated sigh, I added, “I couldn’t find anything out.”

Logan was calm. “It’s okay. I honestly wasn’t expecting much. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need him.”

I gave a frustrated sigh.

Logan’s mouth was on mine so fast I wasn’t ready for the kiss and it made my knees wobble. Our tongues met. We were hungry for each other. His hands anchored my hips and mine gripped his shoulders as our kiss sizzled in the chill of the night.

His lips—soft and smooth.

His tongue—wet and wild.

I kept pace with the frantic way he consumed me, or maybe he was responding to the frantic way I was consuming him. I wasn’t sure. But soon it wasn’t enough. Needing more of him, my fingers traveled up to his neck and I twisted them in the softness of his hair. Playing with it, tugging it, making him groan.

I felt alive in his arms.

He needed more too. With what I think might have been a growl, his mouth left mine to trail along my jaw, down my neck.

It felt so good.

I loved it when he did that.

I wondered if he knew I did.

Giving myself to him, I tossed my head back to allow him full access. His teeth were sharp as he dragged them down my throat, but the moisture of his tongue soothed away any lingering sting.

In the faint distance, I heard my neighbor’s door open. I ignored it. But the sound of it slamming closed was impossible to ignore and I was forced to pull away. It was then that I realized I’d been so lost in Logan I’d forgotten we were still outside. In public.

Logan had told me he wanted to make sure I was safe inside my house, but we hadn’t made further plans for the night. Feeling bold, knowing what I wanted, I extended my hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Logan kissed me again, almost as if in defiance of being made to behave in public. “That’s probably a good idea,” he mumbled against my mouth.

I laughed into his kiss. “I think we have an audience.”

The moment I spoke the words, Logan’s body stiffened and he pulled away, scanning the area left and right, front and back. “Let’s go,” he said in a serious tone, all playfulness gone.

Moving fast, he led me to my door. I unlocked it and as soon as we were inside, he closed and locked it. Fast as sin, I was pressed up against the door and his lips were on mine again, devouring me. Our mouths were glued together in a sensual, consuming kiss and I felt all of him. From his mouth on mine, to his hips holding me in place, to his thigh pressing between mine.

Something was bouncing in my belly and I shooed away the idea that it was butterflies. I was a grown woman, for God’s sake.

Grown woman or not, the heated moment had me breathing hard. I broke away, pushing lightly on his shoulder to give me some space to move. “Follow me.”

He did.

Up the stairs, down the hallway, to my bedroom.

Like two magnets, we were together as soon as the door creaked closed.

My bedroom was a reflection of me, much like my boutique. Nothing too frilly. Various paintings hung on the walls that I had collected from all the favorite places I’d been and loved. They were my treasures. In addition to the paintings, throughout my home I had sculptures, pottery, and various items I’d collected in my travels as well. In this room was also the last piece of my childhood I’d brought with me—the oval braided vintage rug that had belonged to my mother. My father had wanted to throw it away after she died, but I couldn’t bear to see it discarded. I’m not sure why I kept it, but I did.

Whereas my home was a reflection of who I was, my bedroom was even more of a reflection of my inner being. On the walls were the places that I’d searched for myself and found peace. Sharing this part of me with Logan seemed appropriate.

Logan tugged my shirt off. I pulled his over his head. I wanted to feel his smooth skin against mine, to touch and caress it.

Our lips crashed together again before our clothes even hit the floor. My head was spinning from the delicious taste of him alone, but the sensual feel of his hands on my bare skin made me even dizzier.

As our teeth clashed, he moved me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed and I tumbled onto it. He didn’t let me fall, though—he was right there to catch me. For the first time with him, my back was against a mattress and his body molded to mine exquisitely.

We were all hands as we kissed some more. His were on my breasts. Mine were digging into his back, pressing against each muscle as it flexed.

I was so ready for this.

So was he.

I was surprised when he rose on his elbows and broke our mouths apart. I even tried to pull him back down to me, but I stopped when I saw him gazing into my eyes.

Warmth spread through me like fire.

His expression was so intense.

Without so much as a blink, I took the time to study him. His eyes appeared so vibrant, green rimmed in chocolate brown. Mesmerizing. I reached up and smoothed my fingertips over the arches of his brows. I could feel words sticking in my throat. I felt this urgency to speak. Something about the pain I saw in the depth of those pools. It was so strange. I’d never, ever wanted to talk to a man while he was hovering above me.

Garnering all of my courage, I urged myself to ask him about what I saw. It was now or never.

Before I could make my lips move, he tenderly pushed some hair from my face. The soft touch was unexpected, and I closed my eyes and let the feeling absorb into my whole being.

“I need to be inside you,” he murmured.

My eyes flew open. I became disoriented. Fuzzy. Unclear. Flickering emotions cascaded through me as a whirlwind of terrible memories sliced through my soul. Shocked, panicked, unable to breathe, I shoved him off me and bolted off the bed. “You need to leave.”

“Elle?” he asked, clearly concerned.

Gasping for air, I didn’t answer him. I didn’t look at him. Instead, I grabbed my top and ran down the stairs as the first fifteen years of my life assaulted me. My father. My mother. The words I heard spoken through the thin walls. The crying. The yelling. The grunts and groans. It was too much.

“Elle,” he called again, right on my heels.

It was dark and my mind started to spin. I turned, backing myself up against the door. Frightened. Afraid. I just wanted him to stop.

The silhouette came closer. I put my hands out. “Please, leave me alone. I won’t do it again,” I cried.