I pressed my face against his biceps and nodded. His cool skin felt good against my heated cheek.
“I think I’m gonna lie down for a bit.” His lips brushed my hair. He lowered to the mattress and reached for me.
“No, wait. Roll over. I want to try something.”
His scarred eyebrow lifted. “Getting kinky with me, Logan?”
“Yes, I have plans to use a dildo on you—” The words shot out before I could stop them. But what the heck, it would lighten the heaviness that had settled between us. “This is a practice run with my fingers.” Keeping the smile off my face, I reached into the bedside drawer. I got out the small bottle of my special blend of lavender and chamomile oil and met his narrowed stare.
My expression serious, I said, “It’s lube. You’re not scared are you?” Unable to contain myself, shaky laughter spilled free. “I’m just gonna give you a massage, okay?”
He grasped me by the neck, yanked me down, and bit my lower lip. I squeaked. “Ouch, that hurt.”
“Good…” Then tenderly, he sucked my abused lip, his hand drifting down my body to caress my butt. “When I do eventually take you there, I’ll show you exactly how lube works.”
My cheeks blazed, and my tummy dipped at the thought of him inside methere. Refusing to show him how much the thought intrigued me, I merely said, “Not happening. Turn over.”
A knowing smirk lifted his mouth. He pulled the towel and tossed it aside, and at the sight of his semi-erect sex, I had some misgivings. “No—no way—” I shook my head. “You’re hung like a horse and I’m not having that in me there.”
He laughed and settled on his tummy. “By the time I’m done with you, baby, you will take all of me.”
With those stomach-churning words ringing in my head, I straddled his hips, then poured a little oil in my palms, and rubbed the mixture over the tatt on his back—a kneeling angel whose wings were caught in the web design on his biceps—in one sweeping motion, right down over his tight, sexy butt. And up again. The tension in his wide shoulders startled me, the muscles like steel cables about to snap.
When I’d fallen apart after my break-up, sleep had been rare. Aunt Mary had gotten the blend of oils for me. She was big on natural healing and didn’t believe in medicating unless it was absolutely necessary. Strangely enough, the soothing oils had helped me sleep even if for a short while. I prayed it would help Max, too, at least to sleep a little.
“Turn over,” I said quietly, shifting off him.
With a soft grunt, he did. His eyes remained closed. I sat beside him, slid my hands to his temples, and slowly pressed my thumbs in a circular motion.
A groan left him. “God, Logan, your hands are incredible.”
“Shh, no talking, just relax.” I continued working on his brow and temples then swept my hands down his neck and biceps, to his fingertips, and back up to his shoulders again, kneading the knots I found there. Fifteen minutes later, his breathing evened, I slowed.
“No, don’t leave...” a husky, sleep-infused whisper. His hand reached for me.
“I’m right here.” Recapping the oil, I set it down, slid in beside him and pulled the duvet over us. Max didn’t stir, I slid my arm over his chest and held him. But I didn’t sleep.
***
The day at work dragged. Max had been asleep for a solid two hours when I left him. Since he so rarely slept, I didn’t want to wake him up. He did call, but I didn’t answer, being in the middle of trying to hold my cool with Kate, who wanted the entire design concept I’d done for her new store trashed and reworked. It had been a shitty morning.
I stared wearily at the half-finished design on the desk.
With the added weight of a sleepless night pressing down on me, along with an achy head, I was back to experiencing the pain of my past, the trauma, because what I’d walked in on last night at Jack’s was so much like what I’d experienced with Devyn.
Even though my brain knew Max hadn’t cheated on me, I couldn’t shake the PTSD symptoms—reliving the old nightmare, the feeling of distress. My ingrained insecurities bombarded me like stabbing fingers of darkness and were a struggle to push away.
I rubbed a shaky hand over my face.
“Miss Logan?”
I lifted my head, and in a daze, I met the pale blue stare of the icy blonde in the doorway. “Yes?”
The woman, dressed in a charcoal gray skirt suit, appeared to be in her late thirties. Her hair was held in a topknot. She was the epitome of cool, elegant. Beautiful. She glided into the office and shut the door. Her gaze swept over me in such cold appraisal, it took me by surprise that I didn’t hear her low words at first.
“…I’m forced to seek you out. Max needs stability and you cannot give it to him,” she said.
What? I looked her over again. “Who are you?”
