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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Emma sat cramped inher seat and wished she’d been more grateful for the luxurious flight in the Dufort helicopter to the Hamptons.
Along with every bit of luxury she’d enjoyed over the past week. Because now, she was back in cattle class—as it was referred to—winging her way home to Chicago.
This was the second, and last, leg of her flight, and boy, was she ready to be home. Especially as it had been a bumpy flight.
Emma could almost feel her bed. She was so eager to climb in it and sleep for a week.
The last thing I need my board finding out about is me fucking a kinky romance author.
Fuck you, Logan.
All Emma wanted was to have a big cry. Which was dumb, considering she’d only met him a week ago. Sure, she’d spent four nights with him, but they’d never promised each other anything.
And Emma hadn’t asked anything of him.
Yet, over the past few days, in the warm breeze of the Hamptons, she’d come to like the frustrating man. Logan came off all closed up, but it was the little things he did which had slipped under her defenses.
Wrapping his sweater over her arms, topping up her drink, asking questions to know her a little more, buying her a goddamn Chanel dress—okay, that one was lesslittle—and then wanting to see her again.
Kissing under the stars.
Making love on South Hampton beach.
Sex. Not love, Emma.
So why was her heart hurting? Why was she so offended by his words that she’d grabbed her bags and hightailed it from the Dufort mansion without saying goodbye?
You like him.
No.
Oh God. She did. She liked Logan Dufort.
And it turned out his opinion of her was no better than her mother’s. Logan was happy to fuck her in the shadows, but otherwise, he was ashamed of her.
Just like her family.
Tears welled in Emma’s eyes.
How dare he sneak inside her heart?
Stupid bastard billionaire.
