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“Let’s get inside.” He reaches down and grabs a black duffel bag from the floor before placing a hand on my lower back and guiding me into the house. We step into the foyer, and all I can see are the open curtains on every window in the house. I feel like his eyes are everywhere, watching me as I walk through the formal living room and sit down on the couch.
Logan sits next to me, and I wring my hands together, unable to take my gaze off the window in front of me. I jump up and rush over to it, pulling the curtains closed so no one can see into my house anymore before going to the other window and closing those curtains. I think of the windows in the kitchen and family room and rush down the hallway to close the curtains there, too.
Logan follows behind me and starts helping me close all the curtains. Peeking over at him, I want to cry. I’m acting crazy right now but he hasn’t said a word. He just follows behind me and starts joining in on my crazy. Finally, all the windows are blocked off, and I feel like I can breathe again, sucking air into my lungs as I bury my face in my hands and fight back tears.
He closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me, holding me against his body tight as I lose it, my tears staining his t-shirt. After a few moments, I start to calm down, and my breathing returns to normal as we stand in my kitchen, wrapped up in each other. I pull back and look up at him, wiping my nose with a tissue that he hands me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, peeking up at him sheepishly, and he shakes his head.
“For what? You’ve got nothing to apologize for here, Baby.”
“How did you get so perfect?” I ask through a watery smile, and he barks out a laugh.
“Oh, Kitten, I’m not perfect at all but it does good things for my ego to hear you say that.”
Dropping my head back, I look up at him before leaning up on my toes and pressing a kiss against his lips. It’s not passionate or hot like any other kiss we’ve shared but it’s deep enough to convey all the things that I’m so not ready to admit out loud to him. When I pull away, he grins, and I spot the duffel bag on the table.
“What’s the bag for?”
He looks over his shoulder. “I’m staying with you until this is over.”
“Logan, I…” I start to say, shaking my head, but he cuts me off.
“No arguments, Ali. I’m staying here, and I’m going to keep you safe. End of fucking discussion.”
I gape at him as he pulls away from me and grabs his bag. He starts heading for my bedroom, and I follow behind him. “You can’t just say end of discussion and expect it to be done.”
“I absolutely can with something like this. I’m staying here. End of discussion. I will put a bullet in every single part of his body if this fucker ever tries to come near you again. End of fucking discussion. No arguments because I will not lose you. End. Of. Fucking. Discussion.”
I try to think of something to say to him but I’ve got nothing. Besides, what he just said might be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Can you be terrified and turned on all at the same time? As he starts moving my clothes around and finding space for his own, I have to admit that I like having him here. And not just because I’m scared to even move right now.
“Fine, Logan. But you leave the toilet seat up and I’ll be the one with the gun,” I say and spin, walking out of the room as he throws his head back and laughs.
* * * *
“You want some more food, Babe?” Logan asks, standing up from the couch, and I shake my head, holding my wine glass out to him.
“I will take some more of that, though.”
He laughs and takes it from me. “Trying to get drunk tonight?”
I shake my head as he takes his plate into the kitchen, and I flip around on the couch so I can watch him. In the four days since he started staying with me, I think I’ve gotten used to having him around. He fits in like he belongs here, and I’m trying my hardest to not fall completely and totally head over heels for him, but I’m afraid it’s a losing battle.
“I’m gonna eat the rest of this. You sure you don’t want more?” he asks, pointing down to the chicken I made tonight. I shake my head again.
“I’m stuffed.”
Just as he’s picking up his plate, a sound comes from behind me, and I whip around, half expecting the boogey man to be crouching in the corner. The silence rings in my ears as I look all over for the source of the noise, and my heart starts pounding when nothing is out of place. Bear jumps to his feet and looks at the back door, lowering his head to the floor and letting out a low growl. I turn back to Logan, and he’s already got his gun in his hand as he creeps toward the back door.
Standing, I rush over to him, and he cradles my cheek in his hand. “Stay in here and do not open this door unless it’s me, you hear?”
I nod and he pulls me in, kissing me quick before he yanks open the French door and steps out into the night. Slamming the door closed, I lock it and pull on it to make sure it’s really locked before going to the island and curling up on one of the barstools. Bear sits at my feet, his gaze trained on the back door and his body tight. My heart pounds in my ears as I wait for something to happen, and the quiet is the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Adrenaline rushes through my body, and I reach over, grabbing the butcher knife out of the knife block, not taking my eyes off the back door as I move.
Once I have my knife, I hold it in front of me, ready to defend myself if I have to, and the seconds stretch into minutes and the minutes into hours as I wait for Logan to come back. Oh, God, what if something happened to him? Am I locked in my house with a madman just outside? The doorknob turns, and I gasp and scramble off the barstool, backing up further into the house with the knife held out in front of me. Bear barks, snarling as he gets between me and the door.
“It’s me, Kitten. Let me in,” Logan says from outside the door, and relief rushes through me as I race over and unlock it. He eyes my knife as he steps inside and sets his gun on the counter. I spin the knife and give him the handle end, and he forces a smile to his face.
“What’s wrong?”
