Blue Blooded (8 page)

“Yes.” She refused to look at him. “That we can hardly stand one another.”

The ensuing silence made her uncomfortable, something she wasn't used to feeling. What was it about Logan that set her on edge? She was balls-to-the-wall Rachel Dawson, Detroit's number one investigative reporter. Nothing fazed her. She didn't get camera shy or stage fright. She'd interviewed foreign dignitaries and cold-blooded murderers. So why couldn't she handle sleeping next to Logan?

And why did it bother her that he hadn't immediately repudiated her claim that they couldn't stand one another?

“Rachel, I'm tired,” he said on a sigh. “It's been a long forty-eight hours, and before I start figuring out why a couple of FBI agents are trying to frame us for murder, I'd like to get some rest. I promise I won't touch you. Now get in bed.”

She jumped up, nearly stumbling over her own feet, and hurried toward the door. “I'm not really tired. Maybe I'll go see if I can find Joe's computer and start on our research.”

“Get. In. Bed.”

A full-body shiver stopped her cold at the deep tone of his voice. She twirled around. “Is this how you usually get women to sleep with you? You just order them?”

Humor lit up his eyes. “Only the ones who want me to.”

Exasperated, she turned off the lights. She wasn't going to win this battle. She was trapped for the next eight hours without her phone, computer, or even a book. Forget waterboarding. This would be pure torture for her.

She stomped across the floor and tugged her pants off before climbing into bed and pulling the comforter up to her neck. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she watched the fan whirling around and around.

He rolled to his side, facing her. Her body shivered from the awareness of him, practically naked, lying next to her. Although she didn't look for confirmation, she could feel the heat of Logan's stare. “Good night, Rachel.”

“Night, Logan.”

It wasn't thirty seconds before his breathing evened out. Typical man.

She flipped to her side and forced herself to relax. Following advice she'd gotten from a sleep specialist a few years ago, she tensed all her muscles for ten seconds then relaxed them one by one, beginning with her neck. By the time she got to her toes, she'd identified every noise in the room. The ceiling fan, while pretty, made a whooshing sound; the house creaked; and she was pretty sure she could make out the ticking of a clock from another room.

Huffing out a sigh, she closed her eyes and replayed the past twenty-four hours in her head, beginning with the conversation she'd overheard between Rinaldi and Cole DeMarco. Something hadn't sat right with her, and it bothered her even more now. Why had Rinaldi come to Benediction when he knew he'd never get past the front door? And how had those agents known he would be there? It was possible they'd followed him or perhaps they'd placed a tracker on his vehicle, but her intuition told her there was a reason he'd shown up at Benediction as soon as he was released from prison.

If only she was back home, she would have access to her computer and she could investigate the story. She'd start with the FBI and find out which office and which division those agents worked for. She rolled onto her back again and interlaced the fingers of her hands together, over her chest. Eyes open again, she drew her knees up, pressing her feet into the bed. Were those agents even assigned to Rinaldi's case? They must have been if they needed a legitimate reason to be at the scene of his murder.

“What's wrong?” Logan asked, his voice startling her from her thoughts.

“I can't get comfortable.”

He rested his head on his hand. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. It's always like this.”

“When you sleep in a new bed? Or when you sleep with someone else?”

Not wanting to respond to that last loaded question, she kept it simple. “I don't sleep.”

He sat up, leaning against the headboard. “What do you mean you don't sleep? You slept in the car.”

She mirrored his action. “Right. That's it. I got my two hours.”

“That's all you get? Two hours?” he asked incredulously. “No one can survive like that.”

“It's been that way for me since I left home.” Her old therapist said it was caused by guilt and the inability to feel safe outside the strict structure she'd grown up in. But Rachel called bullshit, figuring it was because she'd suddenly woken up for the first time in her life and didn't want to miss out on all the possibilities. She quit going to therapy after that session.

“You're telling me you've been running on two hours of sleep a night for more than ten years?”

Why did he care? Despite not sleeping much, she was physically and mentally healthy. Her doctor figured she'd sleep if she needed it, but two hours was enough for her. “Yes. It's not a big deal.”

“Have you tried sleeping pills?”

“I've tried everything.” And she had. Not because it worried her to go without sleep, but because she wanted to be normal. “Nothing works.”

He shifted his legs and angled toward her. “What about sex? Does that help?”

She laughed, ignoring the tingles racing through her at Logan's mere mention of sex. “I don't know about you, but I like to be awake when I have sex.”

He nudged her with his foot. “I mean after, when you and your partner have exhausted each other from hours of hot and sweaty, mind-blowing, animalistic sex. After you've come.”

She let out a shuddered breath as she tried to visualize what animalistic sex would look like. Had she ever had that kind of sex? Not that she could recall, and let's face it, that wasn't something she was likely to forget. Whatever sex she did have never resulted in an orgasm. But she couldn't blame the men. She was obviously one of those women who couldn't come during sex.

“Rachel?” Logan edged closer. “I'm assuming you're not a virgin.”

She laughed nervously. “Of course I'm not a virgin. I'm twenty-nine years old.”

“Then why the silence? If you've had sex . . . ” Stopping, he must have noticed her head hanging in mortification. “You've had an orgasm, right?”

She really didn't want to discuss this with him. Or anyone. “I've had orgasms. They're fine.”

“Fine? What the hell kind of orgasm are you having?” he said, sounding outraged.

She snapped up her head. “I'm guessing the same kind that everyone else has. I just don't see the appeal. I mean, sure, it feels good for a minute or two, but it's not worth getting sweaty over. Not that I make myself sweaty.”

“Yourself?” His voice cracked. “Don't your partners give you orgasms?”

“You say that like it's a crime that I can only come through masturbation. I'm not alone. One-third of women can't come during sex. Eighty percent require clitoral in addition to vaginal stimulation while other—”

“No wonder you can't sleep. Does that brain of yours ever stop?” He suddenly rolled out of bed and crossed the room. “I've got an idea, but you're going to have to trust me.”

She exhaled a loud breath. “Logan, we're in the middle of nowhere with a couple of rogue agents who want us dead and your uncle, who probably has a shed filled with enough weapons to arm a small country, is down the hall. I have no choice but to trust you.”

“Great,” he said, flicking on the lights, giving her another view of Logan in nothing but his boxer briefs. This time, she didn't bother averting her eyes, raking her gaze over the toned muscles of his abdomen and following the trail of hair down. “In that case, I'm going to blindfold, gag, and tie you up. And then I'm going to show you what a real orgasm feels like.”

H
ER HEART WAS
beating so quickly she was sure it would fly out of her chest. Did Logan just offer to give her an orgasm? It was one thing to let him tie her up at Benediction, where things couldn't go too far, but she couldn't do it here. “Logan, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Too bad.” Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned his back against the door, the muscles of his forearms rippling. “Because I think it's a great one. Otherwise, you'll just keep me up all night, and we both need to rest if we're going to get ourselves out of this mess.”

She bunched the comforter in her hands. “So you're taking one for the team and having sex with me to get some sleep?”

“Hell no.” He pushed off the door and stalked closer, heat banked in his eyes. “First of all, if I fucked you, I'd be doing it because I wanted to and not because I wanted to get some shut-eye. And second, the last thing we'd get was any sleep because if I fucked you, I'd do it hard and all night long. We don't have that kind of time.”

All night long? The room suddenly seemed a lot smaller. “Then I'm confused. I thought you said you were going to give me an orgasm.”

Now beside her, he braced a hand on the wall over her head and leaned toward her, his scent doing wicked things to her insides. “There are other ways for me to do that for you.”

She couldn't count the number of times a guy had thought he had a magic tongue, and she was tired of faking her orgasms to conserve a man's ego. “It won't work. I'll get frustrated and you'll get mad—”

He scowled, tilting up her chin with two of his fingers. “Has some guy made you think it was your fault he couldn't make you come?”

Although only one of them had actually called her a frigid bitch to her face, they'd made it clear they'd done the same moves on other women with a 100 percent success rate. Most of them didn't care so long as they got off. And she always got what she wanted too—information. “It is my fault. These guys, they knew what they were doing. A couple of them had a reputation for it, you know? So it had to be my fault. I don't know why I'm telling you this.”

Somber, he shook his head. “There's nothing wrong with you. You're a strong woman. You require someone stronger than you who can shut off that brain of yours for a bit.”

Comprehension of what he was suggesting slammed into her. “Oh, God. You want me to submit to you.”

“I bet you always stay in control during sex. Am I right?”

What was wrong with that? She was the one who knew what felt good and how to move to get the right things stroked in the right way. “So you're saying it
is
my fault they can't make me come.”

He picked up a piece of her hair and slid it between his fingers. “I'm saying it's time you let someone else be in charge for once. You and me, we're in this together. I don't know how long it's going to take or what's going to happen in the future. All I know is we've been skirting around this attraction between us for more than a year.”

Attraction? Sure, he might get her motor running, like now, with him standing so close, gently fondling the strands of her hair, which for some reason she felt all the way to her clit. But all they did was argue. “We hate each other.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “I don't hate you, Rachel. I never have,” he said softly. “When Kate first introduced us a few months after you two became friends, I didn't want to like you. She'd told me previously about how you'd met during the Alyssa Deveroux murder investigation. That you were just one more reporter who'd vilified Jaxon because he practiced BDSM and that you'd do anything it took to get your story. I didn't care that Kate had forgiven you. I still held a grudge.” He paused. “But even though I didn't want to like you, I did. And it pissed me off because I liked you a lot.”

He liked her? Those pesky oversized butterflies flew around in her belly. “You sure didn't act like you liked me. You argued with me over everything.”

“It was easier to argue with you than to do what I really wanted.”

“What was that?” she asked, noticing the way her voice trembled.

“Kiss you senseless.” He cradled her face in his large hands. “You wanted to learn more for your exposé. Let me show you. Until this is over, submit to me.”

Her throat contracted, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. “What does that mean? I'm supposed to do whatever you say?”

He laughed. “No, I'm not delusional. That would never happen. Just when it comes to your sexual pleasure.”

She swallowed thickly. “In bed, you mean.”

“In bed.” His eyebrows rose. “Or wherever else I decide.”

“Just until we clear our names?” Her heart beat in triple time as she considered his offer.

Could she really do it? She'd lived on her own terms for so long, she didn't know how to answer to anyone. What would it be like to give up control during sex? Would it really help her achieve an orgasm? She doubted it, but what could it hurt to find out? Even if Logan failed to deliver, she could justify it as professional research. But the minute he thought he could control her outside the bedroom, she'd end it.

Pushing against his chest to move him away, she got to her feet. She'd do it, but on her terms. No pretending this meant anything more than just an experiment for research's sake. How many reporters could use firsthand experience as a part of their story on BDSM? It was just the angle she needed to get the feature noticed by the national network execs. As long as she stayed professional, she could do this. She gripped the bottom edge of her shirt and began sliding it up her torso. “Fine.”

Logan stilled her hands. “What are you doing?”

Frowning, she thought it would be obvious. “I'm taking off my clothes.”

He smiled and motioned to the bed with a jut of his chin. “Not yet. Lie on your stomach. I want to relax you first.”

She rolled her eyes as she established herself onto the bed. A massage? Really?

Lying flat with her arms stretched out in front of her, she closed her eyes, feeling the dip of the mattress from Logan's weight. She felt the heat radiating off him as he straddled her and sat back on his haunches. An image of him pulling her onto all fours and taking her from behind crashed into her. She could almost imagine him using her hair to propel her body backward onto his cock as he controlled her every movement.

His rough hands glided down the length of her spine, causing goose bumps to pop up in their wake and a shiver of desire to pass through her core, tightening and clenching muscles deep in her pussy. They were like ghosts of a whisper, relaxing. Soft. Barely touching her, but she felt them deep below the surface. His hands were learning her body, exploring every curve and plane of her back just as she'd desired to do with his chest only minutes before. His hard cock brushed against the bottom of her spine, letting her know he was just as turned on by her as she was for him.

She melted into the mattress, her nipples rubbing almost painfully against the fabric of her shirt with every pass of his hand. Fingers kneaded the tight muscles of her shoulders, loosening the tension that had been there for far too long. She'd had professional massages before. Had even had a man or two rub her muscles in an attempt to get her to relax, but nothing, nothing, had ever felt like this. Logan didn't just touch her. He commanded her body. Took control of her mind, leaving behind a quivering mess of a woman with no thoughts or feelings other than how blissfully relaxed she felt.

In silence, he worked his way down, his hands pressing and kneading and rubbing while she unabashedly ground her pussy against the mattress in anticipation. When he worked his magic fingers into the muscles of her ass, she heaved a loud sigh and fell even deeper under his magnetic spell. Arousal coursed through her body, her nipples hardening and her pussy growing wetter and wetter, so wet she'd bet anything she was leaving behind a spot on the sheets. But she didn't care about that. She didn't care about anything at the moment but how good this man could make her feel. And he hadn't even touched her sexually.

Yet.

She trembled as his hands glided down the back of her thighs, his fingers so close to her pussy she could almost feel them parting the lips through her underpants. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't imagining it. His thumbs were over her panties, spreading her open, giving her clitoris a chance to poke out and rub against the sheets. But all too quickly, his hands moved on to her inner thighs, leaving her desperately aroused and aching to be filled. She squirmed, trying to get his hands back on her pussy, but all she got was a chuckle from him. Knowing she had no control over his actions, she allowed herself to drift away on a sea of calm, concentrating only on her breathing and the sensation of warmth permeating through her body as if she'd downed a shot of whisky. This wasn't sleep, but she'd take it.

After he finished molding her feet, he removed himself from the mattress, his missing weight noticeable despite her dream-like state. His scent tickled her nose, and warm breath blew on her ear. “Turn over,” he whispered.

She didn't hesitate before slowly flipping onto her back. He inched her shirt up, exposing her breasts to his view. Maybe she should care, but at this point, the only thing she was concerned about was getting those hands on her again. She heard him groan, the sound of it reverberating through her and perking up her already hard nipples. And then those hands were massaging her collarbone, drawing her out of her body as if she was floating above the mattress, only the sexual awareness remaining. All the fear, the guilt, the drive to always work to be better, the best, so that the sacrifice she'd made in giving up her family would all be worth it, melted away like chocolate on her tongue.

His hands were on her heavy breasts now, kneading in a way that wasn't sexual, but rather clinical, and yet each scrape of his hands along her sensitive skin sent a dart of lightning to her clit. Her dry lips parted and her tongue bathed it with the moisture pooling in her mouth. He squeezed her breast harder, and she briefly wondered if it was in response to her tongue, but the thought quickly disappeared, her mind too foggy to retain it.

He'd promised to relax her, but this . . . this was beyond relaxation. It was pure and total abandonment, and she didn't know how he'd managed to make good on his promise. She didn't care how he had done it. Only that he had. He'd kept his promise to her, which meant he'd keep his other promise to her. He'd give her an orgasm.

As soon as the word flashed in her mind, her body tensed. Even with good intentions, Logan would fail on that promise of an orgasm. It was one thing to relax her with a massage, to get her motor cranking for sex, but it was an altogether different story when it came to a climax. Oh sure, she would get to the edge, but she never fell over. She'd just teeter there on the apex of the climax mountain and slide back down the wrong way after the guy got discouraged.

“You know, I can hear you thinking, Rachel,” Logan said softly, his hands no longer moving. “You were relaxed for a while. Want to tell me what happened?”

No, she didn't. She just wanted to get back to that place where fear and recrimination didn't exist. Kate and Danielle had spoken to her at length about the high they got from surrendering to their lovers, but she never quite got it. She still didn't. Not completely. But she was beginning to understand it. She'd taken care of herself for so long, she didn't know how to let anyone else do it for her.

“I don't know,” she said, opening her eyes. He didn't press her for more. Just nodded, clearly not buying the lie, but having the decency not to confront her on it. Her body hummed with arousal as she realized Logan was straddling her again, the only thing separating his cock and her pussy, tiny bits of fabric covering them both. If she raised her hips and he pulled aside the cotton, he could drive himself into her, filling her and stretching her with what appeared to be an above average-sized dick. Maybe she wouldn't come, but she'd still enjoy it. And even better, she could take back the control she desperately craved. Make him come hard so at least he'd go to sleep and leave her alone with her racing thoughts.

His hands braced her hips as he stared at her, his eyes crinkled in curiosity. When he removed himself from his position over her body, she couldn't help the knot of disappointment stuck in her throat. He was giving up. She should be used to it, but she had a moment of weakness, believing he might be different.

He strode over to the window and bent, retrieving his duffle bag. Well, she wouldn't be getting an orgasm, but at least she'd gotten one hell of a massage out of it. Maybe now he'd help her find a computer and she could get to work while he slept. That way, by the morning, she'd have a lead on who this Leopold was and why those agents were so interested in him. Once they got back on the road, she'd get her two hours of sleep and she'd be golden by the time they showed up at the port tomorrow afternoon.

Jarring her, he dropped the bag on the mattress. With a purposeful stride, he returned to stand by the side of the bed and rifled through his bag, coming up with rope and three bandanas.

Her stomach performed somersaults over the items in his hands and the wicked gleam in his eyes.

He hadn't given up.

He'd just gone for reinforcements.

Heaven help her, she was about to be inducted into the kinky hall of fame.

Her eyes settled on the growing bulge behind his boxer briefs. Hell, the tip of it was peeking out at the top. He wasn't just packing. He was huge. No wonder he was so cocky. He had the goods to back it up.

At the lick of her lips, he scoffed, catching her eying him appreciatively. “I told you, I'm not going to fuck you tonight, so stop looking at me as though you're starving for me, because no matter how much you want it, you're not getting it tonight.”