Page 48 of Hearts Storm

Alone again, my mind refuses to stray from Reyna. I need to figure out how to handle this situation without making things worse. Without letting my feelings for her interfere with the job.

Seeing her—even if it’s just in passing—is going to be a challenge. Every time she’s near me, my body reacts like I’ve been hit with a defibrillator. Heart racing. Breath catching. Skin tingling.

A serious mind fuck, for sure.

I need to figure out a way to redirect my focus. Something that doesn’t involve ice-blue eyes and angelic blonde hair. Or the memory of her long, toned legs wrapped around my head.

twenty-two

I’ve been tossing and turning for what seems like forever when my stomach grumbles. Picking up my phone from the small nightstand, I check the time to see it’s just after four in the morning.

Shit. Might as well get up and see about something to eat.

Taking a pair of black sweatpants from the small dresser drawer, I pull them on over my boxer briefs I normally wear to bed with my black tank top.

I tiptoe out of my room and down the hall. The main bunk room is quiet except for Justin’s snoring, which I can hear through the closed door. Geez, that man could wake the dead. I’m surprised the other guys don’t smother him in his sleep.

The metal stairs are cool against my bare feet as I climb them to the second floor, dark except for the soft glow coming from above the stove in the kitchen.

When I round the corner, I nearly trip over my own feet when I see Logan shirtless and standing at the sink in nothing but a pair of black joggers hanging low on his hips. Sharp cut of his Adonis belt on full display, his head is tilted back, throat bobbing as he drinks.

“Hey.”

He startles, water sloshing, spilling down his chin and onto his chest.

Helpless against the man-god vision before me, my eyes trail over his chest and abs until they snag on the prominent outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his joggers.

Holy shit.

My eyes snap back up to find his mouth set in a firm line as he rakes his gaze from my tangled hair down to my bare feet and back up again. The intensity of it makes my skin prickle with heat, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of how thin my tank top is, how the cool air has my nipples pebbling beneath it.

Setting his empty glass down on the counter, he swipes the water off his chin with the back of his hand and stalks across the room to loom over me. All six-foot freaking four of him.

“What’re you doing up?” The gravel in his voice sends heat licking through my core.

“I... couldn’t sleep and I was hungry.”

Logan leans in ever so slightly and takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s breathing me in before he abruptly spins around, giving me his back.

“Cheesy eggs?” he asks as he walks over to the stove and takes down a frying pan from where it’s hanging on the wall.

“Um. Sure,” I respond, mentally shaking my head at his abruptness. “That sounds great. I can help.”

“No. I’ve got it.” He waves a hand at the island. “Have a seat.”

I slide onto one of the stools, tucking my feet on the rung and fold my arms on the counter. With the temperature dropping outside, the kitchen is a little chilly and makes me shiver. But hell if I’m going back down to my room to grab a hoodie.

Not when I’ve got this view.

Logan moves around the kitchen with quiet efficiency. Pulling eggs, cheese and a carton of milk from the fridge, he sets everything on the counter before grabbing a whisk from a drawer next to the stove.

Back muscles flex and roll as he gets to work, and I press my thighs together in a not so valiant attempt to ease the sudden ache.

Great. Now my mouth is watering for something other than cheesy eggs.

He cracks the eggs one-handed, whisk scraping against the glass bowl as he beats them, biceps bunching beneath his tattoo.

There’s something hypnotic about watching Logan being domestic, focused intently on his task. Polar opposite to the broody man who has done nothing but dismiss me with barely a word over the past few days.