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He gets a calculating look in his intense blues. “I don’t know. Maybe my genetics are perfectly matched to yours. Maybe I somehow knew, through a video chat, you were my woman…” he trails off doubtfully. “But that makes less sense than the soulmate thing.”
I laugh, not even for any particular reason. His phrasing it asthe soulmate thingis not even inherently hilarious. It’s just all this happiness flooding through me, like the most effective potion a witch ever brewed. It’s as if I’ve been struck with Cupid’s arrow and a whole bunch of love. “The soulmate thing?”
He smirks. His eyes have a glint, reflecting the low lamplight, but it’s far warmer than usual. He’s not the Ice Demon here. He’s the freakingfiredemon. Am I being a dork? I feel like singing. It’s crazy. He meant it. He said it. We’re talking about it—really, really being together.
A nasty imp in my mind hisses,“But what about Dad?”
“I don’t have to understand it,” he says, his hand stroking up and down my shoulder, sending tendrils of warmth through me. “All I know isbeforeyou were pregnant, I wanted to make you pregnant. I needed you, and not just that. I needed to be close to you and make you my woman. I tried to fight it. I was getting on so well with Michael. It was like the old days.”
He coughs and clears his throat. I’m unsure if he actually needs to clear it or if it’s a manly way to push his emotions down, but he can’t hide them from me anymore. “I was—I am—certain. That’s why I had to come here when you told me you were pregnant. That’s why I have to be with you. You mean so much to me already.”
I kiss his chest and taste his sweat. It’s curious and interesting how things that would be gross if I thought about them before—tasting his sweat, my body on his lips when we kiss, or his release—feel so intimate, starry, and warm now. “You mean everything to me.”
We don’t say anything for a while. I get comfortable, closing my eyes and resting my cheek against his chest. I know we’ll order room service in a while, but for now, it’s enough to lie here with him and listen to his heart beating in his strong, powerful chest.
“Did you forget about the deal?” he asks into the silence.
I kiss his chest. “Nah, I was biding my time.”
He chuckles. “If there was ever a time I’d answer questions, it’s now with you.”
“You seemed pretty pissed last night when I asked.”
His hand tightens on my shoulder. It’s like a reflex, as if any gesture toward the past ignites pain. Slowly, he releases the grip, but if he needed to hold on, even if it hurt—which it didn’t—I’d let him if it helped him vent. “Ask me, Emma,” he says with extra intensity. “A-ask me.”
I breathe slowly. I sense this is a big deal for him. “I don’t want to force you,” I whisper.
“I’ve never talked about it. I feel like an ass even thinking about it, but seeing Michael maybe brought some of it back. I’m a grown man.”
“You don’t have to be ashamed. If you’ve never talked about it, how the heck is it supposed to heal?”
He shudders, then laughs as if trying to put himself down. “It’s the past.It’s sad, Emma, and pathetic, having nightmares and letting it define me. It helped in its own way. It helped me.”
“You arenotpathetic,” I say firmly. “Don’t even think that. It’s ridiculous. You’re a good man. Look what you did at the frat house. Nobody asked you to do that. You could’ve been hurt.”
“I didn’t think,” he replies. “I just did it. That’s when I usually worked best before I met you. Now, if I don’t think, I’ll claim you, over and over, whether or not your dad gives us his blessing.”
My belly tightens. “I want his blessing. I don’t want to ruin things with him.”
He kisses my head. “I know. Don’t worry. That’s what I’d do if I didn’tthink, just acted, but I have to think. We both do.”
I shift up the bed, then sit up to look at him. He sits up, too, frowning down at me with more sadness in his eyes than I’ve seen so far. Worse, there’s this shimmer ofshamearound him, as if he really believes he’s pathetic, but he’s not. He never could be.
“You can tell me,” I whisper, taking his hand. “Whatever it is.”
“It’s probably not even a big deal. I’m making it seem like that. Blowing it out of proportion.”
“Youdon’thave to downplay your feelings.”
“Feelings? I never had those before I met you.”
“I bet you did. You just buried them.”
He sighs and nods. “Maybe you’re right. If I did that, I did one hell of a job. I never had to worry about them before you.”
I wait, sensing he wants to go on, but he’s not sure quite how. It’s understandable. I’ve had Chrissy, Mom, Dad, and even Eric sometimes. We’ve had deep, emotional talks, but Logan hasn’t had anybody. By the sounds of it, not even his team. He considers Dad his best friend, even though Logan was eleven the last time he saw him. My chest tightens for him. My heart aches. He deserves better. I’m going togivehim better.
“I thought it was normal,” he says, laughing darkly. “You asked about my dad. No, I wasn’t close to him. I never knew him. I only learned who he was a few years ago. By then, it was too late. He’d passed on.”
