Page 18 of Wilde Secrets

“What? No!” she said, a surprised laugh escaping. She shook her head.

He grinned. A warm glow spread through her, and she shivered.

Logan frowned as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Come on. We can talk later. You need to get warm and dry.”

He offered her one giant hand. She slid her hand into his, marveling at his size. His hands were like mitts, all muscular and strong with calluses on the palms and his fingers.

“I’ll show you where you can get cleaned up.” He tugged her gently behind him as he walked into his bedroom.

He let her hand go and the warmth of his fingers lingered for a few moments. It felt good to have her hand held. When was the last time someone held her hand just because? Harper couldn’t remember.

Logan showed her to the bathroom and left her with a stack of clean, fluffy towels. She shut the door and wriggled out of her wet clothes, dropping them onto the tiled floor with a sigh, anticipating the hot water in the shower. Steam was just beginning to fill the bathroom when she heard Logan’s voice on the other side of the door.

“I’ve brought your bags up. I’ll clean up downstairs.”

“Alright,” she called through the door.

She took her time in the shower, washing the dirt from her body and hair. She paused when she reached for her shampoo, her hand outstretched. The neatly lined up bottles of his things and hers looking for all the world like they belonged there together.

She snorted. She’d definitely hit her head when she’d gone off the road.

Harper turned towards the water, tilting her head back and letting the hot water beat over her tired muscles, the stress sliding from her with the soap suds.

When she stepped out, she felt ten times better, and much warmer.

She dried off and wrapped a towel around her and another around her hair, thankful that Logan’s towels were fluffy bath sheets that actually wrapped around her comfortably.

She opened the bathroom door to see her bags on a chest at the foot of the big wooden bed. His bed.

She padded softly toward the trunk, pausing to smooth a hand over the covers on the bed. A handmade quilt was folded neatly at the foot, the bright fabric adding a cheery pop of color to the large bed. The wood was a rich brown, the solid frame making a statement in the room. A matching set of drawers and a closet with sliding doors was built into one wall.

The bed suited him, she decided. A big bed for a big man.

A big bed where he slept.

Does he sleep naked?

She jerked her eyes away and busied herself getting into clean underwear. After agonizing over what to wear—and beating herself up over caring—she pulled on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater she often wore when she wanted to sloth around the house.

“You’re fine,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. She used the towel to squeeze as much water from her hair as she could, then gave up trying to make herself look more presentable.

What was the point anyway?

She might find Logan attractive—oh, who was she kidding, he was hot as hell—but it would be the same old story. Once a guy found out who her sister was, he wouldn’t give Harper a second look. That was just the way things were.

Isla was made for performing and being in the spotlight. She shone with a radiance that brought fans to her like moths to a flame. Harper was quiet and avoided attention whenever she could. The proverbial wallflower.

She sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

The few times she’d tried to perform—and sometimes when she’d just been in large crowds—she’d had a panic attack. The worst was soon after Isla had her first hit single. Harper had gone to a local talent quest intending to perform an original song but had fainted on stage before she’d sung a note. It had been caught on film, and she’d been taken to a hospital in an ambulance.

Talk about embarrassing.

She was the sister of one of the most popular singers in the world. The sister who fainted with fright at the thought of performing. There was no way a man like Logan would want anything to do with a walking disaster zone like her.

And why was she even thinking about him? She had bigger problems. Namely how she was going to fix this mess she’d managed to get herself—and her sister—into.

She pushed the thought aside and stood, making her way out of the bedroom. She trotted down the stairs to the kitchen, skidding to a halt and colliding with a wall of solid muscle.

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