Page 3 of Defensive Desire

In my eyes, he's just Logan Kane.

The Icehawks' bruiser. The man who'd rather take a punch than speak more than three words at a time. The guy who makes my pulse race for absolutely no logical reason whatsoever, despite my best efforts to ignore anything that draws me to him.

"Speak of the devil," Connor says, following my gaze. "Kane! Get in here, man. Emma's giving out free samples."

Logan hesitates for a moment before pushing through the door. I notice he's carrying what looks like a stack of lumber under one arm. The veins in his forearms flow like rivers, disappearing beneath his shirt as he steadies the wood like it weighs nothing.

"Hey," he says in that deep, gravelly voice that shouldn't send shivers down my spine but absolutely does.

"What's with the wood?" Lucy asks, tilting her head curiously.

"Shelves," Logan answers, setting the stack down gently against the wall. Those blue eyes flicker to me, making my heart jolt in my chest. "For the new blends… remember? We talked about this."

My mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise.

Three weeks ago, I had mentioned… in passing… that I needed more shelving for my expanding coffee line.

I'd completely forgotten, but apparently, Logan hadn't.

"Um, yeah. Right. You remembered that?" I ask, unable to keep the astonishment from my voice.

He gives me a look that's somehow both annoyed and amused.

"You said you needed them."

And apparently, that's Logan in a nutshell.

I say something once, and he not only remembers but shows up with materials to make it happen. It's kind of annoying. Except for the part where it's incredibly sweet and way too helpful.

"Well, thank you," I say, busying myself with the coffee samples to hide the flush creeping up my neck. "That's really... nice."

"Can't have your shit falling down," he mutters, and I catch the ghost of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"Language, young man," my grandfather scolds, but his eyes are twinkling. He rises of his stool to shake Logan's hand and slaps him on the back. "But he's right, Emma-bean. Those flimsy shelves you bought from that warehouse store aren't meant to hold your empire."

"It's not an empire, Grandpa," I protest.

"Not yet it isn't," Logan says quietly, and when I look up, he's watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.

"Look at you, Logan Kane. Playing handyman," Connor teases, breaking the moment. "I didn't know carpentry was part of our pre-season training."

Logan just shrugs, reaching for one of the sample cups I've lined up.

"Arms are arms," he says cryptically before taking a sip. His eyebrows lift slightly when he tastes the new blend for the first time. It's the Logan Kane equivalent of jumping up and down with excitement.

"Good?" I ask, trying to sound professional and not like I'm desperate for his approval.

"Better than good," he says, smiling across the counter at me.

Connor watches this exchange with interest, a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

"Luce, check it out." Connor nudges Lucy with his elbow. "Emma's got Kane wrapped around her little finger like a little doll. Gets him to build shelves, taste-test coffee..."

"Shut up, Walsh," Logan growls, and slaps him around the back of his head.

Connor squeals but laughs it off.

"I'm just saying, if Coach knew you were spending your recovery days playing Bob the Builder instead of icing that shoulder—"

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