Page 82 of Keeping Kasey
Logan’s hand holds the side of my face tenderly. “It should. Ford would be dead right now if you hadn’t done it, and you probably would be, too.”
“I don’t feel very heroic.”
Logan’s soft chuckle wraps around me like rich velvet—soothing to every bone in my body. “I can’t speak for being a hero, but I know that doing what’s necessary rarely feels like doing what’s right.”
His eyes are devoid of their usual snark and condescension. As his mesmerizing green eyes bore into mine, I feel the burden of duty that weighs on him like a ton of bricks.
Just like that, I no longer think of how this day has affected me, but how the role Logan was forced into has affected him.
“How do you cope?”
He lightly rests his forehead to mine. “By remembering what’s important to me.”
The question is on the tip of my tongue…
I jump in Logan’s arms when his phone rings. Matteo’s name flashes on the screen, and Logan kisses my temple before answering.
“Consoli,” he greets, then listens. “And there’s nothing else they can do?” A pause. “Yes, but not until the morning. I trust you can handle things until then? Good, well—”
Logan freezes, and his eyes find mine with an expression I can’t read.
“You’re sure?” he asks, and my stomach drops. “Thanks, Matteo.”
Logan ends the call, but his unreadable expression stays in place.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, and my head spins with the possibilities.
He studies me for a long moment, then says, “You left something out of your story.”
I rub my head and squeeze my eyes closed to hide my growing panic. “I told you, it’s all fuzzy.”
Logan nods, and his face breaks in a rare show of vulnerability. “You tried to send me a message.”
My relief is instant, even if accompanied by a wave of guilt that I lied in the first place. Then the embarrassment hits—because trying to message Logan hadn’t been a rational decision, but rather, an instinct.
“Yeah,” I practically breathe the word, averting my gaze.
We sit in charged silence for only a moment before Logan tenderly takes my face between his hands, forcing my eyes to his.
The look I find there melts any hint of my shame.
His unbridled wonder, fear, and awe reduce my walls to rubble.
“What were you thinking? You had the chance to call for help, and you didn’t set off any alarms or call for someone closer? Why would you try to message me when I was hundreds of miles away?”
There’s nothing malicious in his tone. Genuine curiosity and urgency are laced in each word.
And I can’t bring myself to tell him another lie.
“When I realized I was in danger, I just…” I close my eyes before admitting, “I just wanted you.”
The second the confession leaves my lips, he’s kissing me.
It’s the opposite of every other kiss we’ve shared. There’s no frenzied desperation—though I’m more desperate now than I’ve ever been.
Still, Logan kisses me soft and slow, like I’m made of glass.
It’s so different from how he usually touches me. I love the rough, animalistic nature of our chemistry, but this? This is something entirely different, and I have to admit—even if just to myself—that maybe I’ve been craving this, too.
