Protected By The Enemy (Hacienda Heights Book 2) Page 8

  I probably shouldn’t encourage this. Logan’s possessive streak was only endearing when he was mine. As he was technically still engaged, this could end in nothing but pain for me.

  But God help me, I needed him like I needed air to breathe. Every second he wasn’t inside me I ached. So when he pulled me onto the sofa, I didn’t object.

  When I attempted to undo the knot of his tie, he pulled my hands free. “Don’t.”

  “I want your clothes off.”

  “Later, when you’re not sore,” he murmured against my throat. He carefully skirted the faded bruises that still littered my skin there.

  “So, what? You’re just going to get me worked up and then leave?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, tugging the hem of my skirt out of the way.

  The deft fingers of one hand undid my blouse and parted it so that he had a stellar view of my chest. He skimmed a rough hand over my belly, drawing more shivers from me. Kissing down my stomach, his whiskers made me squirm. He hadn’t shaved since the night before and had the beginnings of five o’clock shadow.

  “I’m going to go down on you and then you are going to go to sleep,” Logan informed me. If he was expecting an argument, he wasn’t going to get one. At this point, I’d take any relief. While I craved the feeling of him inside of me, our idea of good sex was only going to hurt me, and I needed to be able to stand up straight sometime this week.

  Logan continued his path downward, tracing the contours of my stomach with his tongue before seizing the skirt, pulling it off me in one fluid move. Logan caressed my thighs, and ridding me of my panties, pushed them apart gently, baring me to his gaze. He pressed insistent kisses to my hip, the curve of my thigh and finally settled in between my legs. Anticipation glinted in his eyes and the look he gave me made my stomach flip.

  The first stroke of his tongue had my back arching off the cushions. The warmth of his mouth closed around my small, throbbing bud. When his teeth pulled at it, a small cry escaped me as he lathed my most sensitive place in slow, lazy strokes.

  He pressed two fingers into me, filling me and sating the aching need for his cock, at least temporarily. I wriggled, trying to somehow bring him closer than he already was. He chuckled, and the vibration had me arching up again.

  Logan curled his fingers, pumping them in and out of me in a rhythm that had stars dancing before my eyes. Sometimes I swore he knew my body better than I did, after carefully mapping every inch of it with his fingers, his lips, his tongue during the years we’d been together.

  The barest edge of teeth scraping across my clit sent spikes of pure ecstasy up my spine. I bucked, so close to the edge already that I could practically taste it. Tension coiled in my belly, a spring ready to be released.

  The tempo of his thrusts increased, massaging over the spot that had the tension curling tighter, bringing me ever closer to that peak. My legs shook and I threaded a hand into his hair, tugging hard. He let out a growl of pleasure and I was lost. My body bucked against his mouth, another cry wrenching itself from me.

  When I settled back onto the couch, panting, I felt boneless. A wave of weariness stole over me and I offered him a sleepy, unguarded smile. “Stay with me, please.”

  Logan hesitated, unfathomable emotions flickering behind his blue eyes. But he only nodded once, shimmying up the couch so he could wrap his arms around me and tuck me into his chest.

  I curled as close as humanly possible to him on the small couch. My eyes fluttered closed and in no time at all, I was drifting, the warm pressure of Logan’s arms assuring me that I was safe. At least, for now.

  When I woke, my body still ached. My searching fingers found Logan’s half of the couch cold. Nothing but rough fabric met my touch.

  Levering myself into a sitting position, I scanned the room and found him a few feet away, settled in one of the armchairs, staring at his phone.

  His expression was as cold and remote as an Alaskan winter. My heart sank straight to my toes. Clearly, the romp on the couch hadn’t affected him as much as I’d hoped. His aquamarine eyes betrayed nothing. I could have gleaned more from staring into the Pacific.

  Aching vulnerability settled over me, and I unconsciously hunched my shoulders forward with uncertainty. Which man was the real Logan? The icy, forbidding mogul with his unfathomable eyes, or the man who’d touched me softly in the hospital, who’d easing my pain by degrees until I’d finally relaxed enough to sleep?

  “They were able to read the plates.”

  “What?” The subject matter caught me completely off guard.

  “The police called your phone while you were asleep. They were able to use a closed-circuit camera to catch the plates of the BMW following you. I have a contact on the force. The car was a rental registered to a woman named Bea Hunter.”

  The name ticked something in the back of my mind. I was too tired to chase the memory at the moment. “And?”

  “And she’s better known as Miss Ginger in the Heights. She runs an escort service with similar business practices as the Hustlers. I suspect that’s where the undeserved reputation for prostitution is coming from.”

  I sat up straighter, clutching a throw pillow for dear life. Fucking Miss Ginger. Scott Flemming had been perusing a page of escorts on his phone during the party. I wondered if there was a connection. Had I mentioned to Logan that Scott had been there?

  “So it wasn’t an accident. Someone was trying to kill me.”

  Of all the motivations I’d considered, cutthroat business practices hadn’t been one of them. Could my blackmailer truly be a vicious harpy trying to scare off her biggest competitor?

  Logan nodded. “And to that end, I had my PI friend secure an invitation to the soiree Miss Ginger is hosting Friday.” Logan fanned out two shiny tickets, flicking one toward me. I vaguely recognized the name of the club—Ecstasy. It was a favorite for celebrities. My brother frequented it often. “I assume you’ll want to come?”

  Oh, hell yes. Miss Ginger wasn’t going to get away with threatening me and mine without consequences. There was only one burning question left in my mind.

  “Am I accompanying you in a personal or professional capacity?”

  Logan remained stubbornly inscrutable. “That’s up to you. Are you in?”

  I tucked the ticket into my handbag, baring my teeth in more snarl than smile.

  “I’m in. Let’s take this bitch down.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Logan

  After so long by Mina’s side, it felt alien to step onto the paved drive of my own home. I’d have been happy to stay curled in the cozy confines of Mina’s sitting room, watching her sleep. God knew she needed the rest after the ordeal she’d been through.

  But I couldn’t duck my responsibilities forever. I could only take so much time off, and I had a guise to maintain. I hadn’t seen Phoebe for almost two days and my absence had surely been noted. No need to give Owen Mason more ammunition to use against me when the time came. So when Heather came back to the penthouse, I headed home.

  Mounting the sweeping staircase, I opened one of the wide double doors and stepped into the foyer.

  A soft sound from the den caught my attention and I went rigid, straining my ears to determine the source. With my senses on high alert, I crept forward, tensed and ready to throw a blow. Mina had already been attacked and it stood to reason that whoever wanted her dead wasn’t above breaking into my home to attempt the same. After all, her blackmailer had sent her to me for a reason. Whoever it was, they clearly held no love for me either.

  The door to the den stood slightly ajar and a diffused glow filtered through the gap. The sound became more pronounced and distinguishable. The tension didn’t ease from my shoulders. Something was still wrong, just not life-threateningly so.

  I pressed lightly on the door and it swung open to reveal Phoebe curled into a tight ball, tears streaming down her face.

  It was hard to deny that she was pretty, even like this. Flus
hed pink, eyelashes dewed with tears, and her full lips turned down into a tragic pout, she would have been the envy of any actress. Somehow, she managed to remain radiant perfection even while going to pieces.

  A masculine sixth sense informed me that this was due to some fuck-up of mine, and the temptation to back right out the door was strong. But I’d never been the sort of man who ran from confrontation, so I steeled myself and stepped into the room.

  “Phoebe?” I said cautiously. No matter what had brought this on, she needed to be handled with infinite care. Phoebe wasn’t like Mina, who’d sooner castrate me than let me handle her with kid-gloves. Phoebe was delicate, and I’d managed to trample all over her feelings. “Phoebe, what’s wrong?”

  She peeked up from her knees as I entered the room, her reproachful stare confirming what I’d suspected. I’d fucked up.

  “Don’t you dare try that innocent act with me, Logan Farraday. You know exactly what you did.”

  For once, I found myself absolutely wrong-footed. What on earth was I supposed to have done? Since leaving work I’d waited in a bar and then ended up at the police station, and traveled to the hospital in the wake of Mina’s accident. Even if she’d somehow received word I’d gone, she couldn’t be sure who I’d gone to see. With my father’s ill health, it could very well have been him.

  Phoebe reached down wordlessly and seized her cell from the coffee table, tapping the code to open it. She spun the screen around so I could see.

  A grainy photo showed Mina, curled into my lap. The hospital bed barely held both of us, but I’d managed to draw us into a comfortable sitting position while Mina cried quietly into my shoulder.

  Dread traced a cool finger up my spine and the hairs on my neck stood on end. From the vantage point, it had to have been taken from the door of Mina’s room. I hadn’t spotted anyone passing through but hospital personnel, which meant that Mina’s stalker had either managed to sneak one of the nurse’s uniforms, or they had greater reach than I’d previously thought.

  “You were with her!” Phoebe accused. “I told you before, you don’t have to go to her. I’m your fiancée now, Logan. You’re supposed to turn to me, not that little redhaired slut!”

  I wanted to snatch that word right out of the air and ram it down Phoebe’s throat. After the media shitstorm Mina had gone through because of the tape, she’d heard her fair share of that type of insult. I wasn’t going to let anyone, even Katherine’s best friend, talk about her that way, not even behind closed doors.

  “Mina has been a long-time friend of the family and she was in a car accident. Did you want me to leave her battered and bruised with no ride home? I didn’t think that even you were that petty, Phoebe.”

  “That’s bullshit, Logan!” Phoebe shot to her feet, spitting my name like a curse. Man, she was really pissed. She rarely called me anything but the irritating pet name and almost never swore. “She’s your ex-girlfriend. And you’re fucking her. I can’t believe you’re cheating on me!”

  It wasn’t a question. I couldn’t dispute it without telling an outright untruth, so I changed tactics. “Phoebe, sit down. We need to talk.”

  “I’ll stand.” Anger flashed in her pale eyes.

  Despite my best intentions, my cock twitched with interest. My relationship with Mina had long ago taught me to associate a woman’s anger with sex. Mina’s temper inevitably led to some of the hottest sex I’d ever had in my life, and I’d never had a relationship last long enough for another woman to draw a similar response from me.

  “Fine.” I raked a hand through my hair. How did I put it? Phoebe, I’m a callous bastard who’s been toying with your affections in order to get closer to your father. Somehow that didn’t seem like the right sentiment to start the conversation with.

  “I’m waiting.”

  Another twitch. As if my damned cock hadn’t had enough animosity for one day.

  “I didn’t ask you to marry me because I loved you, Phoebe. Your father has been blackmailing me for the better part of a year. If I don’t marry you, he’ll pull his support from Farraday Industries and release information that could ruin my father.”

  Phoebe sat down hard on the couch, as if the truth had literally knocked her on her ass. She blinked rapidly, fresh tears spilling onto her pale cheeks as she stared at me, mouth agape.

  “So you...you’ve never loved me?” She sounded the words out slowly, rolling them around her mouth as though they tasted all wrong. “My God, do you even like me, Logan?”

  The sigh came from somewhere around my toes. I had been holding back this truth for months, and it was not as freeing to unburden myself as I’d hoped. No matter what I did, I’d be hurting a woman who didn’t deserve it.

  “You’re a wonderful woman, Phoebe. Any man would be lucky to have you.” The platitude sounded hollow, even to my ears. But it was true. Life had taught me that there was always someone out there whose crazy matched your crazy. Surely there had to be a man out there who needed a dizzy blonde with a decor magazine addiction?

  Phoebe sniffled and snatched a tissue from the box on the end table. She refused to look at me. “But I’m not that woman for you?”

  I fought back the immediate affirmative. Juggling Phoebe’s emotions was very like tossing around a priceless vase. If I fucked up and dropped it, the consequences would be dire. “If things had been different, maybe. If we’d had a chance to get to know each other, go on dates, have a love life unimpeded by your father maybe…”

  I dangled the hope out to her, hoping it would soften the blow. Let her place the blame where it belonged—right at the feet of her father. The lies still tasted bitter on my tongue. I knew what I needed to be happy in a marriage, and Phoebe could never give it to me. Hers would be a life of stifling contentment, a noose that tightened with age and children that would impale me on a white picket fence.

  Phoebe stood and drew herself up to her full height. Given her petite frame, the move was more cute than impressive. It was the icy determination in her eyes that gave me pause. “I don’t care.”

  “Pardon?”

  Phoebe advanced on me. I expected a blow. Instead, her arms twined around my neck like clinging vines. She pulled herself flush against my chest, one hand scrabbling against the front of my dress pants. Her intent became very clear.

  “I don’t care,” she repeated, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. Her face glowed with barely suppressed hope. “Maybe it didn’t start out the way you wanted, but you could be happy with me. Let me show you.”

  I tried to pull her free gently, but she wouldn’t budge. At this rate, I was going to have to grip her hard enough to bruise in order to get her off of me. She pressed forward, using momentum to swing herself onto the couch and pull me down on top of her. She hooked one leg around mine, lifting her hips so that she rubbed against my semi-erect cock. A breath hissed out from between my teeth.

  She finally managed to free my belt and slid a hand into my pants, stroking my length with tentative fingers. Her mouth latched onto my neck, her teeth testing my throat experimentally. I hardened still further, and she seemed to take it as encouragement.

  “Fuck me,” she coaxed. “You and I can be happy. You just have to give things a chance to progress naturally.”

  Anger whited out my vision for a few seconds, and when I came back to myself, I’d grabbed a fistful of her skirt and hiked it up around her waist to reveal a pair of lacy blue panties beneath. Her eyes were huge in her face, torn between fear and arousal.

  The voice snarling from my throat barely sounded like my own as a horrible edge of mockery crept in. “So you’d let me fuck you any way I wanted? Right here, right now?”

  “Logan—”

  “No, Phoebe. Answer the damn question. If I wanted to fuck you on your knees until you were raw, pull your hair, raise welts on your ass with a belt, you’d be fine with that?”

  A small whimper caught in her throat. “Logan, stop. This isn’t you. Just make love to me.�
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  “You don’t know the first thing about me, Phoebe. You want a Ken doll you can mash together with Barbie and play house with. You don’t love me. You don’t even want to have sex with me. Not the way I’d like it, certainly. You want someone to give you sweet missionary style with some soft music and candles? I’m not your man. Find someone else to play your games, Phoebe. I’m not in the mood.”

  I disentangled myself from her grip and sat up, redoing my buttons. My cock strained against my pants and I did my best to ignore it. I wasn’t going to indulge it with this woman. Ever.

  Phoebe sat up as well, her lip wobbling dangerously.

  I banished the pity that welled in response. Phoebe had brought this scene on herself. I’d expected her to be appalled. To call off the engagement, at the very least. Instead, she’d confirmed one of my worst suspicions. Phoebe had been in on this, at least in part.

  She smoothed her skirt back into place and fixed me with a steely glare. “You’ll regret that, Logie-bear. I always get what I want.”

  She flounced toward the door with another distinct sniffle and slammed it behind her. A few minutes later, the front door slammed as well. With any luck, she’d stay away. But this was far from over. I knew I hadn’t seen the last of Owen Mason or his daughter.

  And for the first time, two pieces of disparate information clicked together. Phoebe’s preferred car was her Porsche. But she’d received a BMW from her father as a graduation present a few years ago. It wouldn’t have been difficult to change the detailing on the car and pass it off to a third party. Was Phoebe more involved in the conspiracy than I’d first been led to believe? Jealousy could be a real killer, and Phoebe had it in spades.

  The question was, had Phoebe attempted to murder Mina?

  Chapter Thirteen