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“He was a bit of a punk kid. But back then, so was I.”
“Cam, you were born with the word responsible on your tongue.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.”
She grinned and carefully picked her way up the trail.
“Oh, shit—er, shoot. I’m sorry. I didn’t even pay attention that you were wearing a dress and girl shoes. We could have gone up Main and over.”
“I grew up in the concrete jungle, buddy. I can walk in heels up a cliff if I have to.”
“Well, I can’t. So don’t break anything.”
“I won’t.” The night hadn’t cooled off in the least, so she’d opted for the kelly green cotton dress and sandals. So, her sandals had four inch heels—she was short dammit.
“We gave Logan shit about his history, but it turned out that he was really cool. And he was a damn hard worker. He had this ridiculously expensive car, but barely had a dime to his name. So he worked off the car charges at Jacob’s farm. A few years later he moved here and hired local to build his house.”
“Well, that’s rather cool.”
“The cool part was that he insisted on learning how to do everything. And man, did Jacob give him the shit jobs to do. He didn’t complain once. He’s become a damn good carpenter.”
She was glad it was dark, because she was pretty sure she’d dropped her jaw on the path. Reconciling the idea of Logan the millionaire, the man with the sad and hungry eyes, and now a guy who had come looking for some sort of meaning in building a house, left her reeling. He was supposed to be a spoiled rock star with a harem of women.
Not this.
Not a man who grew more intriguing every hour.
Voices floated down the path, reminding her that she had a job to do. The growing fascination with Logan was just going to have to wait. The crowd of people was much further back this time. Two black SUV’s were parked in a V-shape near the entrance to the barn. The steel barriers were also new.
Evidently the security detail had arrived. She circumvented the fifty or so people that had crowded around and headed to the woman with a clipboard. Halogen lamps were set up at each end of the make-shift gate, illuminating the entire area.
“Hi. I’m Isabella Grace.”
The woman gave her a bored look then checked the tablet in her hand. A hint of surprise flickered over her face, but was quickly masked. “And you, sir?”
“Cameron Harding.”
She nodded and another man, at the end of a section of the gate, slid the barrier open. They had to make it through two more checkpoints before they even got to the doorway that lead to the front of the barn.
Evidently Roth Defense didn’t mess around on security. A little of the tension that had been strangling her since Logan had taken over the barn, melted away. Drums and a low, buzzy bassline vibrated the air.
A new voice crooned into the night. She frowned and picked up the pace to the doorway. She found Logan immediately. He was on the floor like an audience member. Pensive face, arms folded as he dragged the nail of his thumb over his lower lip again and again. No one else was around him.
Everything inside of her tingled to life. He was in unrelieved black, both dress pants and a tailored shirt. Every inch of him was in work mode. Intelligent eyes focused on the stage, actively listening. She’d never seen someone actually do that. No fiddling, no distractions, no checking his phone—just completely and utterly focused.
Reminder number one that he wasn’t just any man. This was Logan King, veteran musician. And the mood in the room was completely different than last night. No fooling around, tighter playing, and a new addition on the stage.
She forced her eyes off of Logan and the unsettled feeling that was pinging around her chest. Johnny Cage sat on a stool, a scarred acoustic guitar settled on his lap. She didn’t recognize this voice. She knew the bombastic anthems and pub crawl songs from his band, Rebel Rage.
Nothing like this.
He was curled over his guitar, his lips butted against a mic with his eyes closed. The song was loss. There was no other word for it. It was pure sadness with a rough edge to it that made her feel like she was intruding on something painfully intimate.
Cam flicked a finger over her arm to let her know that he was moving on. She found herself gravitating to Logan. Each note climbed inside her and squeezed. It wasn’t a song to be alone with. It wasn’t an easy song in any way, but it was a powerful one. When the last note hummed through the room, she finally took a breath.
“Fuck, yeah,” Logan muttered. He seemed to blink out of whatever trance he’d been in and scanned the room. When his eyes tripped over her, he closed the distance between them. “I didn’t think you were going to make it, Izzy.” He nodded to the stage. “You’re missing magic.”
She had the strongest urge to pull back, but fought it. She wasn’t going to let this man affect her tonight. Be strong. “So I see, or hear, actually.”
