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But I do because I know how difficult it must have been for her to hand it over. And she’s trusting me with it. It’s Beth’s way of opening up about a time in her life she fights so desperately to run from.
Her hand stills on the doorknob before fully opening it. She looks at me over her shoulder. “Logan, you were never a man I had an almost date with ten years ago. To me, you were so much more. If you read it, you’ll understand. You were always just… more.”
Forty-Nine
Ten years ago
Beth
“Ithought we were going for tacos,” I say, my voice barely audible over the deluge falling around us. My clothes are sticking to my skin, my hair is plastered to my forehead and neck, and my feet are sloshing in my drenched boots. The chill setting in my bones is doing little to dampen the mood. I’m still mad at him, although I’m madder at myself for reacting.
Have at it?
What the hell does he think I am? Left over dinner meat?
Though there would be a part of me lying if I said his jealousy when he saw me dancing with Ace at the bar didn’t spark a fire in my belly.
He must notice my features change because he smirks at me. And damn him for looking that good while soaking wet. His black hair clings to his forehead, and it takes effort to stop from reaching out to put it back in place.
He cocks a brow, fighting a full smile. “You still mad at me?”
“I would be less mad at you if you would finally bring me for these tacos you promised.”
“We are,” he replies, seemingly unfazed by the storm. Passing the tattoo studio, he leads me down a narrow alley, sidestepping puddles. We stop in front of a nondescript door, nestled between the studio and a garage. After fishing a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocks it.
Inside, we ascend two flights of stairs. Halfway up, I realize I’ve been holding Logan’s hand since we left the bar.
Now that I think of it, I’ve been practically plastered to his side since we danced and he almost brought me to orgasm by brushing against me.
His grip is firm and comforting, his hand warm against mine. I halt mid-step, pulling on his hand to stop him. I look into his eyes, their depth framed by the dim light filtering in from a nearby window.
“Are you going to murder me?” I blurt out, my words echoing in the tight space between us. I hardly know this man.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Depends. You going to behave yourself and maybe smile?” he counters, his voice smooth as silk and just as unnerving. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a glint of mischief that wasn’t there before.
“Behave myself? I told you I’m not a little girl.”
“No, you’re definitely not,” he replies, his gaze intensifying. It seems to draw me in, locking me in place. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be punished all the same.”
My mouth goes dry as the heat in his stare sizzles me head to foot. I swear I could dry off with just that look alone. A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the chill of my wet clothes.
I lick my lips. His eyes drop.
“Punish me for what?”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find something.”
He tugs at my hand, clearly intending to carry on, but I pull him back. The question spills from my lips before I can think it through. “Like what?”
Shaking his head, a slow devilish smirk graces his features. “Don’t worry, I won’t corrupt you.”
Something akin to disappointment takes root, blossoming with a sting of regret. Part of me—the rebellious young woman wanting to take a chance—wants him to corrupt me. There’s an allure in his confident demeanor, his cocky attitude, and the mystery that shrouds him. My heart thumps against my chest, the rhythm wild and untamed, matching the restless stirrings inside me.
I want to see what lies beyond his eyes. I want to know what kind of corruption he’s capable of and—perhaps even more terrifying—I want to know if I’m capable of letting him.
Swallowing the knot of anticipation, I force a weak laugh, hoping it will dispel the sudden tension as we finally begin to move again.
At the top, Logan opens another door, revealing his loft.
