Текст книги "She: Part 2"

Автор книги: Annabel Fanning

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

It’s time to relax now, I tell myself. Finally I hear that satisfying ping sound, and I march eagerly forward into the apartment before I scream and jump in fright. Logan leaps out in front of me, a look of boyish exuberance on his face. He laughs heartily at my reaction, clearly thrilled to have startled me.

My heart lurches uncomfortable in my chest. “Fuck me,” I mutter in shock, my eyes wide. He got me good!

Still laughing, Logan takes my bag from my hand, and drops it to the ground, before hoisting me up into the air and holding me tightly under my backside. “You know I’m not a fan of that expression, but baby, I just can’t resist you,” he says, looking up at me as I grip his shoulders for balance. He walks us into the living room and then falls back onto one of the sofas, causing me to squeal again.

I end up straddling him, feeling a little like a rag doll. “Are you quite done?” I ask in mock exasperation.

He smiles that breathtaking smile, looking youthful and completely gorgeous. I flatten him against the back of the sofa, kissing him fervidly. “Have you been home all afternoon? I question, eyeing the bathrobe that he’s wearing once again. If he hadn’t of sent me those photos of himself at lunch then I’d think he’d never gotten dressed today at all.

“I got in about half an hour before I called you,” he says, his hand gliding lightly over my cheek. “I came home early to meet Mercy, but I’ll tell you about that later,” he smiles.

“Tell me about what?” I’m suddenly curious.

“Later,” he breathes, sitting up and wrapping a hand around the back of my head, bringing my face closer to his, and kissing me for a long, delicious moment. “I want to tell you about a phone call that I just had,” he announces.

“Oh?”

“I, uh, did some digging,” he says sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Digging?”

“About what’s happening behind the scenes at your work,” he explains.

“Oh…you can do that?” I ask, impressed. “In under an hour, no less.”

“I have an almost direct line into Amélie’s closest circle,” he tells me. “Cheryl’s sister-in-law is Amélie’s PA, Rosita.”

“Really?”

He nods. “You’re not mad?” he asks, adding, “I don’t want you to feel like I’m overstepping.”

“Did you get any juicy details?”

“I got them all.”

“Then it’s fine,” I grin, though I remind myself that less than a week ago I was pissed off because of people discussing Logan behind his back, and now here I am actively participating in similar industry gossip. Double standards are not cool, Gem! But I ignore my inner-scolding, and say to Logan, “Tell me everything.”

“You were right – Amélie wants to expand, and she’s set on developing an urban landscaping sector within the company. She’s been looking into things for the best part of a year, according to Rosita. Apparently the closest earning design firm behind the Pierson Group is getting a little too close for Amélie’s comfort. She wants an edge, and she thinks she’s found it. About six months ago she headhunted a woman who’s really illustrious in the industry—”

“Not Madeleine Lily?” I asked, shocked. When I saw her earlier this week I assumed she was client, not a potential new employee!

“Yes, her,” Logan nods.

“Oh my god.” My inner-fangirl surfaces and I feel giddy again.

“Amélie wants her to head up the team, and she agreed, but André Pierson put a stop to it.”

“Why?” I knew he was annoying.

“Cheryl said that Rosita said that Amélie doesn’t know why,” he says, before grinning broadly. “I feel like I’m in high school,” he sighs, making me laugh. “So Amélie’s been trying to convince him for months, and it seems like he might finally be warming up to the idea,” Logan concludes the gossip.

“Huh,” I consider everything that he’s just told me. “So Amélie’s testing me because she wants me to work in that sector?” I guess out loud, and then I shrug. Much like earlier today, I conclude: time will tell all. “Thanks for the info, baby,” I say, kissing him quickly.

“Anytime. I had a productive hour,” he grins, adding, “I also looked up the Segway tours and I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“Thank goodness for that, because I booked all of us onto a tour this Saturday,” I confess. “The traffic was moving so slow,” I tell him, “I distracted myself by booking it on my phone.”

“You used your mobile while driving?” he asks, reprovingly.

I nod, defiantly. “Moving so slow,” I say again. “It was impossible to crash,” I promise him.

“Gemima,” he says my name like I’m a deity. “You’re a bad, bad, bad girl.” His words remind me gratifyingly of the pleasure that we experienced this morning. He leans forward to kiss me once more and I surrender to our kiss, letting it wash over me, letting it clear away the tension of my day. It’s slow and deep and wet, and I roll my body firmly against his, abruptly wondering if he’s naked under that robe.

“Do you have any plans for this evening?” I ask him breathlessly, my hands settling at the belt of his robe.

“Just more of this,” he smiles into my mouth.

Greedily I unfasten the belt.

“Oh, and I’m greatly anticipating receiving that final present you promised me this morning,” he chuckles, slumping back against the back of the sofa once more.

I groan. Studying the mirth in his eyes, I suddenly realise, “You know what it is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Logan laughs, “and I can’t wait to see it.”

I groan again. Why did I commit to this? Despite my dread, I confess, “On the car ride over here, aside from my bad phone usage, I devised a way to turn it from a mere dance into a real spectacular. I’m still deciding whether to proceed with it or not.”

He laughs harder. “What kind of spectacular?”

“Well, seeing as Saturday night is fast approaching and everyone will be gathering for a night in your honour,” I impress the word to poke fun at him, “I thought I could host my very own, very private, Logan Leary Appreciation Night.” After all, I think, the mood of the song fits perfectly. “But I think we should fool around first,” I say adamantly. “There’s a real possibility that you’ll be turned off by the level of goofball that I’m going to exhibit tonight,” I warn him, my hands back on his robe once more. I pry it open as best I can given that I’m sitting on top of him. He’s going commando. Excellent, I think. “Do you ever wear underwear?” I giggle. “Not that I mind,” I hasten to add.

“It’s become less of a necessity in recent weeks,” he tells me, his hands reaching out to unbutton and unzip my pants. He slides his whole hand between my trousers and my panties and cups my sex, holding me.

I wriggle against him, grinning greedily. Sweet, sweet friction. His fingers start massaging me lightly, making me sensually wetter. In response I take his semi-erect penis and coax it into hardening fully. In three slow-moving minutes he’s stiff and I’m wet, and our mutual pleasure exchange picks up the pace.

Logan retreats his hand, instead sliding it inside of my panties against my bare sex. I roll my hips over his hand, enjoying the delicious sensation. I lean against him, gazing down at his pleasure strewn face as I pump him harder.

“Gemima,” he looks back at me in adoration.

“I expected you to cover me in cake the second I got home,” I grin, breathlessly.

“About that…” he groans.

I throw a quick glance into the kitchen, and though there are lots of things sitting on the countertop, Logan’s cake is not among them.

“I saved you a slice,” he pants. “A small slice,” he amends.

I laugh airily against his lips, riding his hand faster, gliding over it quickly and easily. “You can’t be trusted…around sugar, Logan,” I state the obvious, before letting out a loud moan as he lightly pinches my clitoris between his fingers, teasing me. Then he slides two long fingers deep inside of me and I moan louder still. Internally he starts circling my sweet spot, and I have to focus carefully on the movements of my own hand to stop myself from building too quickly.

Countering him, I hold Logan tighter, pushing him higher and higher.

“Baby,” he groans again, his free hand gripping my wrist to halt my movements. “I want to be inside of you when I come,” he says, his words increasing my desire and drive exponentially. Ah!

Reluctantly, I stop moving against his palm. I kiss him eagerly before nodding my agreement, and Logan retreats his fingers and pulls his hand free from the confines of my panties. I wiggle backwards off of his lap, standing up and holding out my hand to him. As he stands, his bathrobe falls off of his shoulders, leaving him naked before me. He’s an impressive, delectable sight.

He drops to his knees before me, eager to get me undressed. His evident keenness spurs me onwards, and as he pulls my trousers and panties down, I begin unbuttoning my blouse. He kisses my bare legs, and my breath hitches. I hastily remove my blouse and undo my bra. I let it fall onto Logan’s head, laughing as he is blinded by it. Ridding himself of his new eye-mask, Logan stands once more, grinning alluringly. Then, making me feel like a rag doll once more, he suddenly lifts me and throws me over his shoulder, my high-heels still on. I shriek in surprise and giggle the whole way to the bedroom, very much enjoying the sight of his backside as he walks. I reach out and take ahold of it, until Logan drops me onto the soft bed and quickly follows me down.

He squashes me into the mattress, showering my neck with kisses. I revel in the feeling of him over me, his penis lingering at my opening. Completely aware of his actions, he tilts his hips forward slightly, just breaching my entrance. Oh! It feels exquisite, shallow, and incredibly sensitive.

“Ah, Logan,” I moan softly.

He repeats his actions multiple times, causing both of us to build quickly. I grip the duvet tightly, calling out, almost there. He leans up on his hands, watching me, completely in control of himself. He edges into me again and I can tell from the look on his face that he’s on the verge, but he’s doing what I told him to do this morning – he’s holding back, elongating both of our pleasure. Then remembering that he said he wanted to be inside of me, I kick my heeled shoes against his backside, pushing him deep within me. I come immediately, overly stimulated by the feel of him, moaning loudly, shaking under him.

“Gemima,” he groans loudly, moving his hips a few more glorious times before he orgasms too, stilling as he pours himself into me. “Ah, baby,” he cries, leaning over me and burying his face into my neck once more, his breathing heavy. “I think I’ve got heel prints in my ass,” he chuckles.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “Maybe they’ll scar…then we’ll have a lasting reminder of your thirty-fifth birthday,” I grin, cheekily.

He stares at me, looking amused. “Then what the hell is my body going to look like when I’m seventy, if you continually have your way with me?” he jokes.

“Very well ridden,” I giggle, kissing his full lips.

We make out for several amorous minutes, with Logan still very much inside of me. I wrap my legs around his back and he smiles into my mouth.

“I bet I can make you squeal,” he whispers, his green eyes alight as he ignites my fervour for him once more.

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” I smile back.

He shakes his head, “Not that kind of squeal, baby.”

“Then what?” I ask.

“Mercy bought me a puppy for my birthday,” he reveals.

I gasp, my eyes wide. “Really?” Smiling broadly, Logan nods, and just like he thought I would, I squeal, “Oh my god!”

“She knows the breeder and decided three months ago when the litter was born that she would get me one of the pups. I told you she kept telling me that I needed to get a girlfriend, right?”

I nod quickly.

“Well, apparently that seemed like a lost cause to her,” he chuckles, “so she thought a dog could keep me company instead.”

“Oh…wow…wow!” I stammer.

“I was pretty stunned myself,” Logan admits. “Mercy seemed a little unsure about telling me.”

“Why?” It’s the best gift ever, I think.

“Now that I have you—”

“You don’t need a dog?” I laugh. “Jeez, thanks, Mercy.”

“No, no,” Logan laughs too. “It’s more that I’m not alone anymore.”

I cup his face in my hands, gazing at him lovingly. “Good,” I say quietly.

He smiles once more, taking my breath away. “So, she said that I could think about it, and talk to you about it, and let her know if I want to keep him.”

“Of course you do!” I exclaim.

“I thought you might say that,” he laughs again.

“And it’s a boy?”

He nods. “I have some photos in the kitchen,” he tells me and my excitement shoots higher. I release him from my leg grip and he slowly pulls out of me, and kisses his way down my body, scooching to the bottom of the bed. He stands, looking down at my naked, gratified form. “You are so beautiful, Gemima,” he says, his eyes transfixed.

I smile, sit up and crawl over to him, looking him up and down. “Ditto, baby.”

I then hurriedly pull him to the kitchen, where I see that the countertop is littered with an assortment of dog-related products. Mercy’s has already bought him everything. She’s so sweet, I coo in my mind. In amongst the puppy food, toys, and toilet training pads, lies a small bundle of photographs.

Logan picks them up and offers them to me. “Our son,” he says, in a comically dramatic fashion. He adds, “Potentially.”

I take the pictures and squeal again. It’s love at first sight. In the first photograph the tiny grey French bulldog is staring up at the camera with large blue eyes and ears that look far too big for its head. He’s utterly adorable. I quickly look through all the images, each one cuter than the last.

“Oh, Logan,” I breathe, mesmerised.

He chuckles at my obvious admiration.

“Why only potentially?” I ask him. “Don’t you want him?”

“He is gorgeous,” Logan admits, “And I’m very touched by Mercy’s thoughtfulness…”

“But?”

“It’s a big responsibility,” he says immediately, “and I don’t want you to feel like it’s being thrust upon you,” he says considerately.

“I’m all in,” I grin. I’m sure I can hide a little doggy bed under my desk at work, I think, getting carried away.

“You’re sure?” Logan smiles back, and it’s clear that he’s very taken by the puppy as well.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“I’ll have to figure out if I can take him to work,” he muses.

“We will figure it out,” I say, stepping closer to him and pressing my lips against his.

He smiles happily at my words. “He’s very funny in person,” he tells me.

“You met him?” I ask, suddenly full of jealousy.

“Yup,” he nods. “Mercy brought him with her when she dropped his things off. But she had to take him back again; the breeder wants him to stay with his mother for another couple of weeks.”

“Is he named?” I wonder.

Logan shakes his head. “That’s up to us, baby,” he says, his arms encasing me.

“This is so exciting,” I wiggle gleefully in his embrace. First Logan gets an awesome roof terrace, and now he’s getting a puppy! With gifts on my mind, I ask, “What did your parents get you? A kitten?” I guess, hopefully.

“No, they got me two tickets to Charleston,” he chuckles. “They’re desperate for you to visit,” he laughs.

“I’d love to, Logan,” I tell him sincerely. Though we’ll have to consider our puppy, I think, the new responsibility already kicking in.

“Karen and Taylor got me great seats to an upcoming concert that I want to go to,” he tells me.

“An N*Sync reunion?” I assume cheekily.

“I wish,” Logan jokes. Then he opens his briefcase and pulls out a small, handmade teddybear, “And Abby made me this,” he smiles.

It’s dodgy-looking at best, but incredibly endearing.

“I have a whole box of things that she’s made for me. Believe it or not, this is actually the best looking of the lot,” he laughs again.

“It’s precious, and that’s adorable that you keep everything from her,” I can’t stop myself from adding. “Dare I ask you what Buddy gave you?”

“He got me dining vouchers to four of the best rest restaurants throughout the city,” he tells me.

Oh, cool! “That’s…that’s shockingly respectful,” I mumble.

“I know,” he agrees. “I, uh, I did question him about fixing our sex swing, but he said that a crucial element of it broke clean in two while he was using it, so we’ll have to wait a little longer. God knows what he was doing on it.”

“He was celebrating,” I inform him.

“Celebrating?”

“Yeah, after winning that job that you showed me in the paper.”

“How do you know that?” he asks, looking comically perplexed.

Grinning, I reveal, “He told me when we spoke on Monday.”

“Ah-ha,” he breathes in understanding. “Well, clearly he was celebrating very enthusiastically,” he says, making me giggle.

“We should be doing the same,” I note, checking the clock. It’s eight PM. “Four hours left of prime birthday time. What do you want to do?”

“Dinner,” he says, at exactly the same moment that his stomach grumbles.

We survey our options in the fridge and freezer. They’re extremely limited. Deciding that takeout is our best option, Logan calls a local pizzeria and orders enough food for at least four people, insisting he will finish it all. Then while we wait for it to be delivered we jump into the pool for the first time since Logan’s surgery.

Although I’ve grown slack on the whole no heavy lifting rule, I’m inflexible about not letting Logan swim. The motion of swimming will apply pressure directly to the part of his abdomen that was opened up, which as far as I’m concerned is a big no-no.

Logan finds my fussing amusing. He lounges against the side of the pool, laughing to himself. When I narrow my eyes at him threateningly, he laughs even more, and says to me, “What would you have me do in here, baby? Drown?”

“Doggy paddle,” I tell him, grinning at the thought, though for most of the twenty minutes that we’re in the pool, we linger in the shallow end, no swimming needed.

* * *

After dinner and a quick shower, I pull on my white cotton and lace nightgown – the one that I wore on our first night together – and I stand before Logan, who is seated on the sofa in his bathrobe once more, finally ready to make a huge fool of myself.

“Ladies and Gentlemen…” I address my audience of one as if it were an audience of one thousand, “welcome to the inaugural Logan Leary Appreciation Night!” I pronounce loudly.

Although very much making up everything as I go, I manage to stretch out this spectacle for an impressively long time. I cover all of Logan’s important features: his genuine nature, his knack for romance, his unparalleled thoughtfulness and attention to detail, his entire body – during which both his dimples and his backside get extra mentions – and of course, his sexual prowess. You should consider standup, Gem, I tell myself, especially given that Logan spends the best part of the next hour in stitches.

Eventually, inevitably, I run out of material and I can no longer escape my fate. It’s time to perform the much hyped dance. I connect my phone to the music dock in Logan’s stereo system and the very second that Tina’s The Best starts playing, Amber’s and my dance moves come effortlessly back to me.

It’s just over four minutes of pure choreographic gold, and as I perform every second of it with precision, I’m still convinced that a popstar somewhere would appreciate it. It’s very funky, I think, perhaps somewhat delusional. When the song ends, I strike my final pose and hold it, receiving Logan’s enthusiastic applause and cheers.

Breathing rapidly, I flop onto the sofa next to him, totally spent.

“You’re officially the coolest person in the world,” Logan announces.

I nod smugly. I can believe that.

“Oh, so that you accept but not that you’re the most beautiful?” he laughs.

“I’m getting there,” I grin.

He pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms securely around me. “Then I must be doing something right,” he says, looking at me like I am the very air he breathes.

I stare at him in equal adoration. “Baby, you’re doing everything right,” I let him know. “Duh,” I add, laughing, “weren’t you listening to anything I just said?”

His broad, dimple-inducing smile is back, and I drink him in as I catch my breath.

“That was…” Logan begins, but he struggles to find the words.

“Magnificent? Stirring? Dignified?” I snort.

“Quite possibly the loveliest and most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me.”

“Yeah, right,” I laugh.

“It was,” he nods, his sincerity evident. His arms tighten around me. “Gemima, you have made it an absolute joy and a privilege to be me,” he tells me meaningfully. “And not only today. You’ve made my entire life – the not-so-good moments and the terrible moments – all worth it, just to get to this exact moment, here with you.”

His words leave me stunned and speechless. Oh, Logan! Abruptly I throw my arms around him and bury my face into his neck. “I love you,” I say after a moment, my voice all muffled. “And I feel exactly the same way, Logan,” I then say, looking at him once more.

“I know,” he whispers. “There’s one more thing that I want to say to you tonight, but I have to wait until after midnight.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want it to be my birthday when I say it,” he tells me.

“It’s ages ’til midnight,” I push.

“Then sleep,” he smiles, “and I’ll wake you up.”

I don’t need telling twice. Perhaps I’m a lot less fit than I previously realised, but that standup routine-cum-dance show has left me exhausted, and that combined with the immensity of Logan’s words means that it is all too easy to melt against his chest and drift off into a peaceful slumber.

I’m only vaguely aware of Logan standing up, holding me like an oversized toddler with my head lolling on his shoulder, and the room going dark behind us as he walks us to the bedroom. I must linger somewhere between sleep and awake, because somehow I’m able to tell that Logan doesn’t sleep at all. I feel him sit on the bed, his back resting against the headboard and me unintentionally straddling him. I feel his arms moving over my back, a sweet and gentle caress, and I can feel his heart rate steadily speeding up. When he rouses me from my sleep sometime after midnight it is beating overtime, and instinctively I know the reason why. I know exactly what he wants to say to me.

“Gemima, will you look at me?” his voice soothes.

I raise my heavy head and rest my forehead against his, looking at him with sleepy eyes. “Always,” I say.

He smiles back. “Will you kiss me?”

Immediately, I press my lips to his, muttering, “With pleasure.” I kiss him again, more firmly, waking up properly.

“Will you marry me?” he asks me when we break apart.

I hear his words, but they take a second to fully register within me. Will I marry him? Will I be his wife, his partner, his best friend for the rest of our lives? My bottom lip starts to tremble, the first sign of my imminent emotional eruption. At first I nod slowly, but it quickly grows into the most ardent sign of confirmation possible.

“Yes,” I breathe. A thousand times yes.