Page 22 of Logan
I thought that by offering to help him, giving him a massage like I do for Mom when her headaches hit, he’d let go of my earlier slip and forget about my unfortunate outburst. But if anything, he seemed even more tense. And angrier.
God, he’s so wound up. His muscles feel like solid iron, though the experience was a far cry from what I do for Mom.
I enjoyed the sensation of touching him, easing the knotsof tension in his shoulders. What I didn’t expect was my body’s reaction to him—the sight of him, the touch of him.
As he moaned softly under my hands, it felt like my whole body was vibrating, as if he were emitting a frequency that resonated deep within me.
I think my underwear might be wet, and he didn’t even lay a finger on me.
I must have reached a new level of desperation to get horny from giving a massage to The Dark Lord.
Maybe reality doesn’t quite match up to the men in the books I read, but Logan Valeur sure gives them a run for their money. Well, at least in the looks department. Because when it comes to his personality if you can even call being mean a personality trait, he’s definitely not book boyfriend material.
Yet here I am, practically melting, while he remains as cool as a cucumber. Nothing seems to faze him. Not even a flicker of emotion crosses his face.
Not that it’s surprising or anything. The only reason he even exchanged a word with me is because I’m here, in his apartment. In any other situation, he wouldn’t have given me a second glance. I’m just an insignificant planet orbiting around him, and if I try to deviate from my course, I’ll burn up in his heat.
I think it’s time to go look for that one-off night I’ve been planning. Logan Valeur will have to remain a distant fantasy. I won’t risk a job I’m good at and one that I love for a fling. Besides, I’m sure I can find someone nice. I am a woman, after all.
I slip into the sexy red dress I brought along, admiring the way it drapes over my curves, accentuating every contour.The open back adds a touch of allure, making me feel confident and empowered. Taking my time, I apply my makeup.
The black eyeliner enhances the slant of my eyes, while layers of mascara add volume to my lashes. A bold swipe of red lipstick completes the look, adding a hint of sultriness to my lips.
I slip on a pair of matching stiletto heels, their click-clack against the floor adding an extra sway to my step. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I’m pleased with the result.
With a broad smile, I practice a few poses in front of the mirror, ready to take on the night ahead.
Dear dukes, here I come.
“Would you fancy a drink?”
I turn to find a rather handsome man—dark and tall, with a friendly smile. Not quite at the level of Logan Valeur, but then again, who is? His sexy British accent automatically earns him a few points.
We’re in a quaint London pub, its walls adorned with vintage posters and dimly lit by old-fashioned lanterns.
“I’d love one, thank you,” I reply.
“I’m Matthew.”
“Sloane,” I respond, shaking his hand.
“American?”
“Is it that obvious?” I chuckle.
He returns the smile. “You’re more beautiful than the locals.”
I grin at his compliment. He’s quite the charmer.
“So, what brings you to London, Sloane from America?”
“I’m here on vacation. Just exploring and enjoying.”
“Alone?”
“I’m waiting for company,” I deflect. Admitting I’m alone in a foreign country doesn’t feel entirely safe, so I figure it’s better for him to think someone is about to join me. “What do you do?”
“I’m a senior manager at a local bank,” he responds with a wink. Then, he rolls up his sleeve, shaking it so I can’t miss the Cartier watch on his wrist. It’s a move that might work for some women, but I didn’t come here looking for money.
