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I slowly tried to slip my legs out from under his and lift his arm that was slung over my waist. I’d made it a few inches before he moaned and, with one rough yank, pulled me closer.
“Not ready to get up,” he mumbled. “Kiss me good morning, baby.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Kiss me. And if it’s good, I’ll let you go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I stammered.
One of his eyes flicked open, and his brows rose. “I can lie in bed all day. How about you?”
“I have to pee, Logan.”
“Better kiss me quick then.”
“Fine.” I really did need to pee and arguing over this was only going to make it harder on me. Besides, I wanted to kiss him. Tilting my head up so my lips were on par with his, I leaned forward and kissed him. The second moisture connected to moisture, I shivered.
“Mmmm.” He rolled me over to my back and hovered above me.
I was breathing hard, my heart pounding and everything inside me pulsating as I met his eyes. He did that sexy half-grin, and his eyes were dancing.
“Are you good?”
I nodded. Too breathless for words. Afraid my voice would crack.
The weight of him felt so good, powerful and warm and … and all Logan. He was my sweet. My popsicle and I was melting into him further and further. I still was uncertain for how long, but for now I was letting him in. I’d think about my plans to move out later; right now I felt as if I was finally healing, and I was grabbing hold while I could.
He groaned and backed off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Go pee. I’ll make coffee. Two creams, no sugar?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded then left, and I got up and went to the bathroom.
I came downstairs wearing my black breeches and pink T-shirt. I had tied my hair back in a low ponytail, and after contemplating how much makeup to put on for a good ten minutes, not wanting appear like I tried too hard, because despite what I tried to convince myself, I did want to look good for Logan.
I ended up with mascara and light pink lip gloss.
I padded into the kitchen and didn’t think he’d even heard me when he nodded toward the steaming coffee on the island. “Yours, Mouse.”
Walking toward it, I couldn’t help but eye his broad naked back as he flipped something in the frying pan. He reached up into the cupboard. There was a tat I’d noticed last night on the opposite side of his Tear Asunder tat. It was of a horse, rearing up, but it was broken like a heart cut in half. Jagged edges split it down the center. The edges matched perfectly or at least it appeared as they did. Between the two pieces of the horse was a guitar with its strings broken, and the intense, black lines looped around the horse’s neck.
“You hear me?”
I jerked. “Sorry?”
He half-turned toward me. “Toast, baby. Push it down for me. Eggs are nearly done.”
“Oh yeah. Sure.” I walked over to the counter and pushed the lever down, and the bread disappeared.
“You want orange juice or is coffee good?”
“Just coffee.”
He took the frying pan off the burner while I got the plates. He scooped a heaving amount onto both plates then set the pan in the sink and started the blender. He still did his protein shake.
I smiled as I went to the toaster just as the toast popped to a nice golden brown. Wasn’t often a toaster did its job to perfection. I quickly pulled them out and placed two pieces each on our plates then buttered them.
He looked relaxed working in the kitchen. It was sexy and … Well, it was hot having a guy standing over the stove making eggs. If he grew up in the compound with Raul, he couldn’t have spent much time doing stuff like this. My guess, Raul had slaves to feed them.
I felt him come up next to me, and I looked up just as his hand settled on top of mine. “You’re drowning the bread.”
I looked down and laughed, noticing the gobs of butter on one piece of toast. “Oh.” I began scrapping it off when he stilled my movements. He leaned his back against the counter then swung me around so that I was up against him, butter knife in one hand and my other grabbing hold of his bicep.
“You’re cute when you’re distracted. What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
He squeezed me. “Try again.”
“You’re comfortable here. The kitchen I mean.”
“Yeah, lots of practice.”
“Oh.” Huh.
“Just ask.”
I didn’t want to hurt him bringing up his childhood. He’d always been closed off about his life. Would he not want to tell me? Would he let me in?
“Eme.”
“Um, well you grew up with Raul. I just thought, that you … I don’t know, you wouldn’t have learned to cook.”
His hands rubbed slowly up and down my arms. “I didn’t even see a kitchen there. Spent most my time training, but food was always available. I learned to cook after we escaped and came here. My mother was a ghost, barely spoke, just existed. It was like all the adrenaline and fight she had was to protect me and then to get us out; the trauma finally caught up to her, and she crashed. So, I looked after her. And I learned to cook.” Logan stopped stroking my arms, and I looked up into his eyes. “I grew up in a shit place with shittier people who had no morals or values. My mom tried to shield me from that. She fought hard against it so I wouldn’t get stained by it.
“By the time I was six I was seeing and understanding what she saw, the horror and disgust with who Raul was. She shielded that from me as best she could. I learned patience and persistence from her too, resilience that I was better than all of them. The fighting helped to release my anger at what they were doing to the women, and yes, there were children. All Raul cared about was making me the best fighter he could. So I was left untouched by most of it. But my mother …” I rested my head on his shoulder and tightened my arms; tears streamed down my face as I listened. “My mother wasn’t so lucky. She suffered. But she also knew how to keep Raul happy, so she did what she had to do. To survive. To protect me. She gave me that will to fight for whatever I wanted. To never give up. And to protect whatever I love with everything I have.”
