Page 13 of Logan
But, instead of inciting my usual anger, her flustered state almost amuses me.
Almost.
Perhaps I could have found the situation more amusing if my head wasn’t pounding.
“Yes. This is my bed, my apartment.”
“They told me this is the company’s apartment. I’m here by invitation. I didn’t break in or anything?—”
“Well, there was a misunderstanding. I need the apartment this week, so you’ll have to leave.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she mumbles, still attempting to hold the blanket around her with one hand while concealing the vibrator with the other. She glances around the room, confusion evident on her face. “What time is it?”
Two in the morning, I remind myself.
Shit. As much as I may be an asshole, I can’t let a woman wander alone outside at this hour, especially when she has nowhere to go and my head is throbbing too much to think of anything else. I need sleep.
“Look. I’ll sleep in the other room tonight. In the morning, we’ll figure out what to do and find you another place to stay.”
Her tense shoulders relax, and her face softens with obvious relief. Damn, she’s beautiful. Truly stunning. But I’maccustomed to beautiful women chasing me. Beauty hasn’t affected me for a long time.
I take a step forward, and she flinches back, fear flickering in her eyes.
I guess she heard the rumors.
I stop and press my temples, trying to ease the pain. “I’m going to bed.” Without another word, I turn and exit the room, retreating to the second bedroom and locking the door behind me.
My alarm clock blares incessantly, jolting me from the depths of sleep. It takes me a moment to register the noise coming from beyond the walls, my mind fogged by jet lag and the lingering headache.
I blink, struggling to focus in the dim light of the unfamiliar room. Ah, right. I opted for the second bedroom last night.
A faint stiffness lingers in my neck as I attempt to move, a remnant from yesterday’s headache. Thankfully, it seems to have subsided for now. I’ve weathered another attack.
Perhaps once I finalize the Wolfson deal, I can afford to take a few days off and allow myself some much-needed rest before I risk suffering an aneurysm or something.
And maybe not. The work never ends.
I dress and make my way into the living room, where I find the woman from yesterday seated at the kitchen counter, holding a mug that says,My brother is a son of a bitch.
Now she’s also drinking from my cup.
She glances up and spots me, her cheeks flushing red. For a fleeting moment, I consider mentioning the oversized cock I spotted on her dresser yesterday, but I quash the impulse.
She’s an employee, and I need to maintain professionalism. The situation already teeters on the brink of a potential lawsuit.
“Oh, you’re awake. Do you know snails can sleep for three years?” she says.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I tend to babble when I’m nervous. My brain loves to latch on insignificant facts.”
“About snails?”
“About anything, really.”
In the daylight, her beauty seems magnified, her features delicate and striking. Her chin forms a perfect triangle, and her cat-like eyes dominate her face, drawing me in.
Her deep brown hair cascades around her face in wild tendrils in a way that’s almost provocative, as if she’s just been fucked. I imagine my hands tangled in that hair, guiding her to take me into her sweet mouth, and the mere thought makes my cock swell.
