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“You are incredibly talented, Logan. This house is truly beautiful.”
Finally, he lifted the sunglasses, perching them on his forehead. Keeping that arctic blue gaze on her, he slowly dismounted the bike then strode her way. Was he going to kiss her again? The dominant way he had before? A shiver skittered up her spine as she prepared for another mind-blowing kiss.
When he reached her, he took her hand in his and pressed a quick but intimate peck to her lips. “Let’s go in.”
Her lips tingled from the sweet gesture, but something else burned for more.
Still holding her hand, he guided her into the house. There was no stopping the gasp that left her mouth. Immediately upon entering the home, she was in the great room. On the far wall, a gorgeous stone hearth running straight up to the ceiling surrounded a wood burning fireplace. Oversize plush furniture filled the space around a giant flat screen television. To the right, a large kitchen complete with dark oak cabinets, stainless appliances, and a black and tan granite countertop beckoned. At once, Chloe could imagine herself here, relaxing with a glass of wine after a delicious meal, fire crackling, and Logan’s strong chest beneath her ear as they held each other on the couch.
A sweet fantasy she’d better shake out of her head before she journeyed straight to heartbreak city.
Logan still hadn’t said anything beyond inviting her into the house. Arms folded across his chest, he lingered behind her and let her take in his place. All well and good, but it was time to get him talking again. To tease out the man who’d made her come only hours before.
Hours? Felt like days ago.
“Logan, this is seriously one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever seen. I’m blown away by your talent and skill.”
It took him a few tense seconds, but finally he spoke. “Thank you.”
Okay, looked like this getting-behind-his-walls plan might not be as easy as she’d anticipated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“HOW LONG DID it take you?” she asked, an open smile on her pale face. That complexion of hers was something he’d have to remember if she was on the back of his bike frequently. Riding for hours could fry anyone, especially a fair-skinned redhead like Chloe.
Rocket closed his eyes and rubbed at an ache throbbing against his temples. Felt like someone was taking a hammer to the sides of his head. Fuck, he was losing his mind. Planning to buy a woman sunscreen so she wouldn’t burn on the back of his bike? Chloe was the first woman who rode behind him ever. Full stop. Not a single ass had touched the second seat. Who even knew why the hell he had it? But he wasn’t gifting her permanent real-estate back there. “Few years working on and off. Was never able to give it full time hours.”
“Let me do that.” Soft but surprisingly strong fingers batted his hands away, then landed on either side of his head. Gently, much more so than he’d been, she pressed in and rubbed soothing circles on his scalp. The pain evaporated almost instantly, replaced by a comforting pressure that nearly made his eyes roll back in his head. The feel of those fingers, and the awareness of her close proximity had him losing sight of the big picture. His body tightened, muscles contracting, dick hardening, stomach tensing as he fought the need to tackle her to the ground and pillage.
Chloe was making progress, but an overtly aggressive come-on could send her back into her shell.
“Talk to me,” she said, voice low and calming as though she fretted over making his headache worse. Rocket was a mean motherfucker. His kill count was higher than most people’s bank balance. Yet he was fucking putty in her hands, ready to spill whatever she wanted to know. The CIA could use her, hell DarkOps could employ her to uncover any host of national secrets from the country’s enemies.
“Talk about what?”
“Why you were upset today. Your life before the club. Anything. Give me a piece of you no one has.” Her hands smoothed down his scruffy face, over his shoulders and down until she circled his wrists. The woman had no idea. Something no one else had? She was fucking standing in it. Copper was the only one of his brothers to ever enter his home, and that was one time, three years ago.
The club had Rocket’s loyalty above all. There wasn’t a thing he’d do to betray his brother’s trust or turn against them. Despite it all, he kept so much of himself private. Copper once suggested he was punishing himself for his violent past and Elena’s suicide by cutting himself off from any kind of deep relationship. Rocket had no idea about all that psychotherapy shit, but he did know he’d given Chloe more of himself than any other person.
