“Get some rest.” I turn to leave.
“Logan?”
I look back. The sun’s lighting up her eyes, they’re a deep brown, but the center of her iris around the pupil is golden, I’d not seen that before. Beautiful. “Aye?”
“Are we…” she pushes back her hair, searching for the words. “Are we safe, then? Just like that? After… well, after everything?”
Touching her is a mistake, but my hand rises to cup her cheek anyway. “I will always keep ye safe, sweetheart. Ye have my word.”
Time to get my horny arse out of there before I lose what’s left of my self-control, and I stride out with her little, “Good night…” following me.
Chapter Thirteen
In which there are drinking games and most enthusiastic consent.
Arabella…
When I wake up, the house seems to be quiet. Venturing out of my room and into the big main space, Logan’s the only one there, chopping something by the stove. His hair is wet from the shower and he pulls on a shirt as he spots me, an action I note with some regret. His gorgeous, broad shoulders flex and pull with muscle and I want to spend a few hours asking about the wolf tattoo across his back, drawn so vividly that it looks like it’s snarling as his muscles flex.
It’s not right that one man should be so unreasonably attractive.
“Good morning! Well, evening I guess.” He smiles at me, leading me out onto the deck that overlooks the water. There’s a few little tables and chairs scattered over the flagstone. “Are ye hungry?”
“It smells wonderful. Where is everyone?”
“Analyzing the data we retrieved. I’ll have to introduce ye to Xenia later, she’s our tech queen and the very definition of evil genius.”
Chuckling politely, I’m irritated by a stab of something in my gut. I have no business feeling jealous of a brilliant woman that Logan seems to admire so much.
Are they dating?
I am an eejit.
As he’s plating the food, I notice a bandage on his left hand. “You got hurt! Please tell me that’s not a bullet wound.”
Logan glances at the bandage and then at me. “Not a bullet wound.” His smile is a little strange. Since he dinnae seem inclined to offer any more information, I let it go.
He pulls out a chair for me before bringing our dinner out. As we eat, the sun sends its last rays of red and orange across the water.
“Oh, my god this is good,” I moan, devouring my open-faced sandwich. It’s a thick bread covered with shrimp and capers and some kind of tasty veggie spread.
“It’s calledsmørrebrød,” he says, wolfing down one that looks like it’s topped with smoked salmon. “The rye bread makes everything taste grand.”
He’s got a bottle next to him, a Glengoyne and if my catering knowledge is correct, this is a fifteen-year single malt. “Care to share that fine bottle of whisky?”
Logan raises a brow. “A wee bit of a lass like you, handling the hard stuff?”
Theaudacityof this man.
“Did ye just give me the, ‘Ach, lass, you’re too delicate a flower to drink with the manly likes of me?”
Logan gives me an impertinent grin, bordering on smug and also bordering on me wanting to wallop him across the back of the head with that expensive bottle of Glengoyne.
“It’s science, sweetheart. I outweigh ye by seven stones, most of it muscle. So, aye, I can outdrink ye.”
Slinging my arm across the back of my chair, I eye him thoughtfully. The arrogant bampot already made his way through about an eighth of the bottle. “Looks to me like ye already got yourself a handicap, like in golf, ye know?” I push my glass toward him. “Let’s start from here.”
How can a man be such an arrogant prick and yet so hot that I’m prepared to forgive him for it? “Ye can tap out at any time, Bella, no judgement from here.” He winks, pouring us each two fingers.
