Page 74 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

And he makes me feel impossibly more beautiful as he kisses me and smiles, his sexy chuckle a warm blanket to my ears.

“Good kitty,” he says, looking at me as if he’s trying to memorize every feature. “Was that...” He nearly stops himself, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. “Was that your first orgasm? With another person, I mean.”

My skin burns. “Yes,” I answer weakly, still teetering on the edge ofmorewhile plummeting into the depths of myself, wanting to hide.

But then Logan smiles.

He drags his hand out from beneath my dress. “Come on,” he says, his eyes sparkling with familiar mischief. “Show me what’s upstairs.”

20

LOGAN

Katrina laughs, and it’s like the rest of the world fades away. “Please tell me you’re joking!” she says.

“No,” I reply, totally serious, totally enamored with the way her head falls back against her pillow, her dark blonde hair tumbling over it in long waves. I lie beside her on her bed upstairs, perched on one elbow as I admire her smile. “I’m not joking at all, actually.”

“Goldie swapped Christian Myers’ herbal tea withlaxative tea?”

“She did, yes.”

“Andthat’swhy he ran off the stage three songs into his DC show?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“Why did she do that?”

“Because he was a dick. Why else?” I pause as she laughs harder, her head dropping into her pillow to dull the sound. “Guy was constantly feeling her and Tesla up at Connery’s house. She thought it a suitable punishment.”

“Remind me never to get on her bad side, then.” Katrina lets her head fall heavy against her pillow again as she sighs. “It was quite the summer,” she muses. “For both of us.”

I nod in agreement. “It was.”

She closes her eyes briefly, tired, the night far older than young, but I can’t seem to slip away. Just when I think I’ve come up with an excuse to leave, I kiss her or she kisses me, and we drift along, telling story after story of tours gone by.

As she rests, I scan her bedroom loft. Her smiling photographs of her and her brother, her friends. Her little trinkets, picked up from all over the country. An album collection. Bookshelves full of steamy romances and fantasy adventures. Everything one would expect in the bedroom of an ordinary young woman.

“Logan,” Katrina says, her voice drawing me back to her like a homing beacon. “Monroe.”

I fucking flinch. “Monroe?” I repeat.

Katrina bats her curious eyes open to look at me, still perched on my elbow beside her. “The deal you made with him,” she says slowly.

“What about it?” I ask, feeling the cold rush of a pendulum over our heads, threatening to swing lower and break us apart.

She takes a breath, a bit of determination filling her expression as she forms her question. “You said he threatened you,” she says. “That he’d shred your contract if you didn’t help him.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Was that the only reason you agreed to it?”

“I couldn’t let everything Tesla and Goldie worked so hard for be for nothing.”

“Then... you don’t really hate my band?” she asks, arriving at the real question.

Sensing the opportunity to tease, I crack a smile. “Oh, no, kitty,” I say. “I don’t hate Criminal Records.”

She exhales, relieved. “Good.”

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