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I stopped myself, and he was staring at me, so intently it took my breath.
“What makes you think I was going to do that?” he said.24LoganThe girl was a delight, sitting across the table from me with that buzz of nervous energy about her all over again. I could feel it, stirring my calmness with a thrum right through me, that mirror of hers, just distant. Faded deep. But I always felt it. I felt it every time she was anywhere near.
“What makes you think I was going to say that?” I asked her, and her mouth dropped open.
“I just, um… I figured it would be…” She lost her voice.
“Sensible,” I said. “Professional. Yes, it would be both of those things. But it would have been both of those things last night too.”
Her eyes were pools of hope, and it was beautiful to see. “Last night was amazing.”
Her honesty was divine. The simple truth in her words was addictive. It would always be addictive.
“Yes,” I said. “It was amazing.”
She took a sip of coffee and she couldn’t stop the grin.
I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing entertaining the idea of keeping the sweet little sparrow around me after a night that should never have been, but I couldn’t stop myself. Even now, in the cold morning after the night before, I couldn’t stop myself. I was lost to reason.
Seeing her in my shirt was surreal but exciting. Seeing her hair so messily casual was enough to drive me wild.
Her freckles were stunning in the morning light. Her lips were bare of lipstick and begging to be kissed. She was begging to be kissed. Every single part of her.
I was contemplating it. Truly, I was contemplating closing that distance around the table and grabbing hold of her all over again, but then she spoke.
“You said your mum is ill,” she said, clearly as a subject change.
“Dying,” I replied. “I said my mum is dying.”
“COPD,” she said, and I nodded.
“COPD, yes. That’s the final culprit. She’s had a rough ride.” I took my last swig of coffee. “They told her she had two months left to live twelve years ago. She’s surprised a lot of people a lot of times.”
“Maybe she’ll surprise people again,” she said.
But no.
I knew she wouldn’t surprise people again. Not this time.
“She has a little while left,” I said. “But she’s reaching the end.”
She nodded at this but looked at her plate.
“It’s ok,” I told her. “You can talk about it. Death is death. People gloss over it and avoid the topic as much as possible, but it doesn’t change a thing. My mother upstairs is dying. She knows it, I know it. It’s just a matter of time now.”
I gathered our plates and took them to the dishwasher.
I’d burst the post-fuck bubble of conversation, that was a certainty. I made sure I was smiling as I turned back to face her.
“You saw the bookshelves last night.”
Her face lit up at that. “Yeah, I saw them. Didn’t get enough time to go through them one by one,” she laughed. “But I saw them. Very impressive. I ran out of space at my place. Liam used to groan at me every time I got new ones. Maybe one day I’ll get the chance to have a billion more. I can hope.”
Adorable. The look on her face was absolutely fucking adorable.
“Help yourself and go look at mine,” I said. “I’ve got to get Mum up and dressed. The carers don’t come on a weekend.”
“Thanks for breakfast,” she said as she got to her feet.
“My pleasure,” I told her, and she walked on through to the living room.
My shirt looked better on her than on me. Her ass was nicely curved, heading sharply into a tiny waist. She was light on her feet, the white rabbit always ready to make a dash for it wherever she turned. She looked back over her shoulder at me three times before she was through the hallway, her big blue eyes searching mine, and it was intoxicating all over again, that much enthusiasm my way from such a pretty, buoyant creature as Chloe Sutton.
If only I was able to deliver what she deserved right back at her.
“Enjoy the selection,” I said as she stepped into the living room. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll start back up with Bernard Cornwell,” she said with that cute little giggle of hers, and dropped to her knees.
I prepared myself for round two of questioning from my mother. Predictably, she was ready to roll the very moment I was over the threshold.
“Please tell me she’s still downstairs?” she asked, and I nodded affirmation.
“Yes. She’s still downstairs.”
“Good,” she said. “Don’t you dare give up on that sweet little thing, Logan. I’ll be turning in my grave if you give up on that little darling.”
