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“Like hell I am,” I hiss. “I don’t want to see your naked ass when you get out the shower or walk around in your underwear drinking coffee in the mornings.” My mind chooses this moment to flash the image of Logan’s suit-panted dick outline from that day in the office. I take a deep breath before bile can rise from my stomach.
He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t think you’d be saying that if you saw the size of my—”
“Stop!” I throw my palm up in front of his face. “I don’t want to be sick.”
He uses his pointer finger to slowly nudge my hand out of the way so he can look into my eyes.
“—the size of my coffee machine.” He raises his brows. “Finest Italian beans from our neighbor’s personal supply.” He sweeps his arm toward where his nearest neighbor must live, but it must be miles away. This isn’t a palace; it’s an estate with manicured lawns and flowering gardens as far as the eye can see.
It’s nothing short of spectacular.
I look up at the house again. Anything not to look at Logan.
“I’m glad my discomfort in this situation amuses you,” I huff.
His voice deepens. “Mads?”
I still don’t look at him.
He places his hand on my lower back, and I jump as electricity sparks through my skin. Logan takes his hand away, likely warned by my body’s natural reaction to him. My built-in defense mechanism.
“Your room has its own bathroom. And if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll make sure to wear multiple layers of clothing around the house in your presence, okay? Maybe ten. I can sweat out toxins at the same time and call it a cleanse.”
I purse my lips and chance a look up at him. He’s not smirking anymore. His mouth is relaxed. But his eyes still hold the shine of mischief they always do.
“You could do with a cleanse.” He’s in a navy suit today—Italian leather shoes and belt, another crisp white shirt, and expensive, fresh cologne. “Will it sweat out a bad attitude as well?”
“I don’t know. But we could try it on you first and then we’d know,” he answers without missing a beat.
I bite back my smart retort because that would only prove his point.
“Come on. I’ll show you around before the meeting.”
This time, he doesn’t try and lead me with a hand on my lower back. He lets me walk ahead, the heels of my black patent pumps clicking on the shiny marble floor as we walk into the entry hall.
“Logan,” I breathe in awe.
“You like it? Drew and Tanner organized the re-model when we first bought it.”
I recall Drew saying he was working on something for Leonard Rich once. But that was years ago when Tanner’s company was a lot smaller than it is now. It was only a few months after Drew had joined him to work together. They were barely out of their teens. This must have been a huge project for them to have won the bid when the business was still so small.
I chew my bottom lip as I look around the lavish cream marble interior. The sweeping staircase is like the one Cinderella walks down to enter the ballroom.Were Drew and Tanner given this job by Leonard out of guilt?Guilt at Drew being sent away when Logan wasn’t?
“It’s beautiful,” I admit as he takes me on a tour. It’s like walking into a glamorous Italian film set. The kitchen is giant and overlooks the swimming pool and gardens at the rear of the house, and there’s a seating area by the floor-to-ceiling doors that lead outside. It’s the perfect spot to read in the morning sun.
Logan shows me from room to room. Including his home office for when he works here, which he tells me he does often because being in the business of luxury engines used in super cars and yachts, amongst other things, he has a lot of business to take care of in Italy. Now I get why he speaks fluent Italian. I don’t know why I didn’t know this already.
The more he shows me around the property and tells me about its history and what he does when he stays here, the more holes appear in that knowledge. And the realization that there’s a lot more to discover about him has an uneasy tightness growing in my chest.
I’ve hated Logan Rich for years. It’s the way it’s always been. It’s the way it always will be. It’s as certain as the sun rising each day.
“This is Mum’s dressing room.” Logan walks into the huge space. The walls are lined with shelves of designer shoes and purses and racks upon racks of clothes.
In the center is a giant island of glass-topped drawers with a huge vase of lilies on top. I peer through the glass at the rows of watches, jewelry, belts, and purses. There’s an entire section of intricately detailed silk scarves down one side, each more beautiful than the last.
“If you see something you like, Mum said to help yourself.”
“What?” I drag my eyes away from the scarves and look at Logan.
