Page 12 of Logan
The driver unloads my suitcase from the trunk and I wave him off, preferring to carry it myself. I don’t want to prolong his presence any further than necessary.
The pounding in my head intensifies with each step I take, the painkillers offering little relief. I just need to lie down and escape into the darkness of sleep.
Turning on the lights in the apartment, I’m met with ablinding glare. With a grimace, I switch them off again, the sudden brightness only worsening my headache.
Fumbling in the dark, I make my way to the bedroom, the pain in my head unbearable now, a relentless throb that threatens to overwhelm me.
“Ouch.” A muffled grunt escapes my lips as I collide with something solid sprawled across the floor.
What the hell?
With a muttered curse, I reach for the switch, illuminating the room in a sudden burst of light. Blinking against the glare, I’m greeted by an unexpected sight.
A bulky suitcase rests on the bedroom floor.
But that’s not all. Nestled in my bed lies a woman clad in a sheer top, her long, ebony locks fanned out like a dark halo against the pillow. Her shirt hugs her form, revealing every contour of her body, from the gentle curve of her hips to the swell of her ample breasts, their outlines visible through the thin material.
Did Lucas send me a hooker?
It wouldn’t be unlike him to pull such a stunt. He’s aware that I haven’t fucked in months, and this could be his way of nudging me back into the game.
But as tempting as it might be, prostitutes are off-limits, and truth be told, so is any form of female companionship. I’m better off alone.
“Who are you?” I demand, my eyes narrowing as she stirs in the bed, her tank top riding up, revealing a sliver of smooth skin across her stomach. Her dark, cat-like eyes draw me in as they blink open.
She’s stunning.
Flashes of light dance before my eyes, I need to lie down,and fast, but she’s blocking my path. “Who are you,” I press again, my tone terse, “and what are you doing in my apartment?”
She meets my gaze, her eyes wide. I can’t help but notice the way her nipples stand out against the fabric of her tank top.
“I don’t sleep with whores, so you can leave. Now.”
Her mouth falls open, and she blinks, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “Wh–what?” she stammers, her voice trembling.
I’d rather she didn’t cover up. I quite enjoyed the view.
“I said I don’t sleep with prostitutes. I don’t know who invited you here, but you can go,” I repeat, my patience wearing thin.
“I–I’m not a whore,” she protests, her fear palpable.
I narrow my eyes, sensing her genuine distress. I must have missed something here. She does seem familiar.
“I work at Valeur in the research department. I won the award for outstanding employee.”
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, running a hand through my hair. Liam. That bastard. He mentioned something about an outstanding employee award, but I didn’t realize he intended to hand over my apartment as part of the deal.
She rises to her feet, and I scan her long, smooth legs and the enticing curves of her body before she wraps the blanket around herself.
Her eyes dart to the dresser next to the bed and then back to me, a split-second reaction that doesn’t escape my notice. I glance at the dresser and bite my inner cheek.
A colossal, bright pink vibrator sits on the dresser.Seriously?
She grabs the vibrator and hides it behind her back, her cheeks flushing a bright red.
“What are you doing in my bed?” I ask, choosing to ignore the provocative sight before me. The last thing I need is a sexual harassment lawsuit.
“Your bed? No, I… I…” she says, apparently struggling to find the right words.
