Текст книги "Take (Temptation Series)"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

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Take

by

Ella Frank

Copyright © 2014 by Ella Frank

Edited by Mickey Reed

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Also by Ella Frank

The Exquisite Series

Exquisite

Entice

Edible

Standalone

Blind Obsession

Veiled Innocence

The Temptation Series M/M

Try

Dedication

To Logan,

Because around you, all I want to do is fall without thought.

– Tate

PART ONE

Ignorance:

Inexperience with unfamiliar situations and/or emotions.

1.

When Logan woke in a bedroom other than his own, it was usually for one of two reasons. Either he’d had too much to drink and gone home with someone he shouldn’t have or he’d purposely gone home with someone, fucked their brains out, and been too tired to creep out at dawn. But neither of those two reasons applied this morning as he sat in the small loveseat by the window.

No. The reason he was still there was simple—or perhaps not that simple at all. Tate Morrison.

The sun was just beginning to rise and slip through the curtains, streaming over the honey-toned skin of Tate’s back. Logan had the intense urge to climb into the bed, kiss his way up Tate’s spine, and then nuzzle in under those brown curls he loved.

Wait…love?

But he didn’t move. Instead, dressed only in his work pants, he stayed where he was, paralyzed by his own thoughts, and watched Tate where he lay between the white sheets, sleeping peacefully.

Last night had changed the dynamic between the two of them, and Logan knew there were decisions—big decisions—that needed to be made.

Rubbing his fingers along his jaw, he found himself smiling. Tate Morrison, where the hell did you come from?

As the thought entered his mind, Tate’s legs shifted under the sheet, and his head turned on the pillow so his face was now angled toward Logan. His eyes were still closed, but Logan knew it wouldn’t be long before he woke, so he took a moment to really study him. Tate had somehow managed to change the way he thought about relationships. So it was time to push aside insecurities and move forward if he really wanted to make Tate his.

As Tate’s warm, brown eyes opened and locked with his own, Logan found himself standing and smoothing his palms down his legs. He walked toward the side of the bed and crouched down so he could be closer to the sleepy man staring up at him. Reaching out, he brushed aside an errant curl and leaned down, touching his mouth to the spot by Tate’s ear.

“Call your mother. Tell her there’ll be an extra person on Sunday.”

Tate rolled to his back and stretched his arms up over his head before he sat up so they were face to face with only inches separating them. “Are you sure?”

Logan shook his head and placed his hands on the bed. He pressed his lips to Tate’s and then laughed. “Fuck no. But I’ll be there…for you.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” Tate started, fingering the unfastened button of Logan’s pants, “but you almost sound like a real boyfriend.”

Logan pushed forward, reconnecting their lips as Tate lowered back to the mattress. “Imagine that.”

He felt Tate’s hand smooth around to his ass as he nodded. “Yeah. Except the Logan I know sure as hell wouldn’t be in my bed with his pants on.”

Moving back until he was kneeling, Logan slowly unzipped his pants as he held Tate’s avid stare, and when he backed up off the bed to drop them to the floor, Tate kicked the sheet off his naked body. The low groan that left Logan’s throat couldn’t be helped as he shifted back down between Tate’s thighs and knew right then—with this man, he wanted it all.

All he’d once dreamed of was right there within reach. All he had to do was reach out and take it.

* * *

Later that morning, Logan stepped off the elevator and made his way across the marble-floored lobby of Mitchell & Madison.

“Good morning, Mr. Mitchell,” their perky receptionist greeted him.

“Good morning, Tiffany.”

With a briefcase in one hand, he found himself whistling as he pushed through the large glass double doors. He was in a fantastic mood.

“Oh good. There you are.”

Cole.

Not even a foot in the door and already his brother and business partner had an expression on his face that did not bode well for him.

“Good morning to you too, Cole,” Logan replied as he walked between several desks and stopped in front of Sherry.

“Good morning, Mr. Mitchell.”

“It is a good morning, isn’t it, Sherry? Could you possibly give him the memo?” He pointed to his brother. “I think he missed it.” He grinned at his middle-aged paralegal as he took the envelopes she was holding.

Without bothering to ask Cole what he wanted, Logan turned away and pushed open his office door, stepping around the formidable man. He walked inside and put his briefcase on his desk then unbuttoned his grey suit jacket, shrugged out of it, and hung it on his coat rack.

“We need to talk,” Cole finally spoke.

“Well, yes, I gathered that since you’re hovering.”

Logan turned back to see Cole walking slowly to the center of the office, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh for God’s sake, Cole. Spit it out.”

“I got a call this morning.”

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Logan got out the papers he needed and then placed the case down on the floor before sitting. With his arms on the desk, he clasped his hands and not-so-patiently waited.

“And?”

“It was from Ms. Cline.”

Logan glared at Cole, unmoved by the announcement.

Letting out a deep breath, Cole sat in the chair opposite him and propped his ankle up on his knee. “Tate’s ex-wife.”

At the mention of Tate, Logan’s heartbeat sped up.

“I know who she is.”

God, just remembering the look on his face this morning when he’d told him he’d meet his family—

“Hello?” Cole waved his hand around. “Earth to Logan. Are you listening to me at all?”

“Not really,” Logan admitted, busy thinking about this coming Sunday. “Would you say that I’m a people person?”

“Excuse me? I just told you that Diana Cline, your boyfriend’s ex, called to pull her case from us and that’s what you ask me?”

Logan contemplated Cole’s question with tight lips and a serious expression. “As if we didn’t know that was coming. Let her pull the case. Good fucking riddance, I say. And he’s not my—”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yes. We aren’t using labels. They make everything so…”

“Real?” Cole hazarded a guess as he tapped his knee.

“Complicated,” Logan was quick to correct him.

“Whatever. Tate will have to go through all this shit again now, and this time, she will definitely mention that you two are together.”

“So fucking what? We were together after the fact, not before. Although, let’s face it, she never would have stood a chance against me. I give really good head.”

Cole frowned at him but said nothing. Logan thought about the stuck-up woman from the day before. That, of course, made him think of Tate’s sister and her reaction, and he felt a shiver race up his spine.

“So…would you say that I’m a people person?”

Bringing a hand up, his brother scratched the side of his head and finally smiled. “This is about meeting Tate’s family, isn’t it?”

Rocking back in his chair, Logan tapped his fingers on the arm. “Just answer the question.”

“You answer mine.”

“I asked first, and mine is more important.”

Cole studied him for a moment. “Are you a people person? Sometimes.”

Coming forward on his chair, Logan questioned, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that sometimes you can be charming.”

Logan felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Shoving his hand inside, he pulled it out to see Tate’s name on the screen.

“You can leave now,” he said as he answered the phone and brought it to his ear. Then he added, “You were absolutely no help at all. Thank you for that!”

Cole opened the door and gave a blasé wave of his hand. “As were you with my problem. Have a good day, brother.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, asshole.”

* * *

Two hours.

It’d been two hours since Logan had left his bed and Tate was already missing the guy. How is that even possible?

That arrogant, smart-mouthed lawyer had pushed his way into Tate’s life and managed to take a tight hold of his heart—which was currently jackhammering at the thought of talking to him.

Why am I so fucking nervous?

It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d spoken to Logan today. It wasn’t even the first time they’d woken up in the same bed together. It was, however, the first time he was acknowledging things were dramatically changing—especially since Logan had agreed to meet his family.

Last night had been…incredible. Logan had been incredible.

He’d been so controlled and gentle but then fierce and passionate when he’d told him he was ready for more. He’d taken everything Tate had feared and made it acceptable. In fact, he’d made it desirable.

Tate couldn’t even begin to explain to Logan how he was feeling, so he’d been lying there instead, remembering the way they’d rolled around in the same bed only a couple of hours ago. Now, he was left between empty sheets that smelled of Logan, and he had a raging hard-on that was a throbbing reminder of how much the guy had gotten to him.

Reaching across to the nightstand, he lifted his cell and dialed Logan’s number, needing to hear his voice. After several rings, the phone connected and he heard, “You were absolutely no help at all. Thank you for that!” and found himself smiling.

“And what exactly do you need help with this morning, Mr. Mitchell?”

Tate could imagine the humorous look on Logan’s face as his deep voice filtered through the phone.

“Well, well. Look who finally woke up…again.”

Leaning back against his headboard, Tate rubbed a hand through his hair. “I was awake when you crept out this morning.”

“I wasn’t creeping out. I thought you might need a little extra sleep to recuperate.”

Tate’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a laugh. “Are you trying to say that I can’t keep up with you?”

“Are you trying to say that you can? Because if so, we should definitely test that statement tonight.” Logan’s voice was smooth. So smooth that, as it settled over him, Tate slid back down under the sheet.

“You do know that you’re older than I am, right?” he joked, feeling more at ease now that they were back to their usual sparring.

“Am I? And how would you know that?”

“I saw your driver’s license on the counter the other day, old man.”

Logan chuckled, and Tate gave up and laughed along with him.

“So how old are you? Since you know that I’m practically ancient…”

“Thirty-four is hardly old. Except to someone in their…twenties,” he pointed out.

The line went silent, and then Logan said, “Please say you’re older than twenty-five.”

“Why? What would you do if I’m not?”

“I’d be fucking shocked for starters,” Logan informed him, sounding surprised already.

It was funny how something like age had never come up between the two of them before, and he was having too much fun with the fact that it had never even occurred to Logan to ask.

“Tate,” Logan warned, his voice dropping down an octave or three.

Tate couldn’t help himself from continuing the tease. Plus, it was distracting him from more serious matters, like the two voicemails already on his phone.

“I mean, I’m obviously over twenty-one since I can sell you alcohol. And what we did last night would still be legal even if I wasn’t twenty-one. So why does it matter?”

“Tate.”

“Yes, Logan?”

“How old are you?” he practically growled.

“Twenty-nine. I’ll be thirty next month.”

He heard a relieved sigh through the phone.

“You fucker.”

Tate busted out laughing. “What would you have done if I’d said twenty-one?”

“I want to say that I’d have walked away—”

“Bullshit,” Tate cut in. “You can’t walk away from me any more than I can from you.”

As Tate realized what he’d just admitted, he shut his mouth. Then Logan’s voice surrounded him in his room that now felt empty.

“Tate?”

He swallowed and placed his palm on his chest, trying to calm the thumping. “Yes?”

“I didn’t even stop to think how old you were. I just had to have you. That should tell you everything.”

* * *

Jesus, talk about a wake-up call. It was clear to Logan that it was time the two of them started getting to know one another. He hadn’t even known how old Tate was. That was pretty fucking bad, even for him.

There was more going on here right now, and Logan wasn’t anyone’s fool. He could tell by Tate’s tone that something else was on his mind, and if he were a betting man, he’d guess it was—

“About Sunday…”

Yep, he’d guessed right.

“I don’t want you going because you feel obligated.”

As Tate fell silent, Logan turned his chair so he was staring out the huge floor-to-ceiling window. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that last statement.

Am I only going because I think I have to?

“I mean, this thing between us is really new, and I was pissed off after everything that Jill—”

“Tate?” Logan interrupted.

“Yeah?”

Logan pictured the serious look Tate was probably sporting and felt the side of his mouth turn up. “Do you want me to go with you on Sunday, yes or no?”

He knew that if he was direct about it the man at the other end of the phone would always be brutally honest, and Tate didn’t let him down.

“Yes. I want you there.”

The smile that stretched across Logan’s mouth at that admission surprised him. “Then that’s where I’ll be.”

As the silence hung between them, Logan noted the shift in the mood.

He was busy thinking about Sunday, and he wondered if Tate was too. He could hear him breathing and wanted to ask if there was anything else on his mind, but like always, Logan fell back to the usual when he was uncomfortable—sarcasm.

“That doesn’t mean I have to go to church, right?”

Tate’s chuckle echoed through the phone, and the sound eased his mind somewhat.

“Heaven forbid. Logan Mitchell in a church? You may get struck by lightning. I wouldn’t want that.”

Logan nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. “Well, I never claimed to be an angel.”

Tate’s rumbling laughter continued. “No. You most certainly did not.” He paused and then asked, “Are you religious at all?”

The fact of the matter was that Logan wasn’t in any way, shape, or form religious, but he wondered how Tate, a good Catholic boy, would feel about that.

“Ahhh, here come the big questions. You do realize that, until only minutes ago, I didn’t even know how old you were.”

Logan heard a knock on his office door as Tate stated, “And you still don’t know my real name.”

Sherry stuck her head around the door, and Logan felt his mouth fall open as Tate’s words penetrated his brain.

“What do you mean I don’t know your real fucking name?”

“Just what I said,” Tate stated matter-of-factly, and Logan could tell he was enjoying himself at his expense. “Well, would you look at the time…I gotta go.”

“Where do you have to go? Don’t you dare hang up on—”

It was too late. Tate—or whoever the hell was on the other end of the phone—had hung up on him, leaving him curious and really fucking confused.

It was definitely time they started talking to one another.

* * *

Tate was still amused hours later when he strolled into work and made his way out the back to punch in. Logan must have called and text him a dozen times, each sounding slightly more annoyed than the time before.

Logan: You think you’re real funny, don’t you?

Logan: So, you don’t go by TATE?

Logan: I don’t sleep with people whose name I don’t know. I’m reformed. Keep that in mind, Morrison.

Logan: Where the fuck are you?

Tate knew the minute Logan could get away from the office he would be down at the bar to interrogate him, and honestly, he was looking forward to it. He’d had too much time to sit and think about the shit storm that happened yesterday, and all he kept coming back to was his sister’s disgusted face.

Logan’s brand of annoyance would be a welcome relief, not to mention he’d developed quite the fantasy revolving around Logan in full lawyer mode.

Forty minutes into his shift at the bar, the door to After Hours opened and Logan stepped inside. As predicted, he appeared irritated, and Tate could spot the frown a mile away. The shrewd blue eyes behind the glasses scanned the tables and chairs then found him standing behind the bar with his coworker, Amelia.

“Oh watch out. He is not happy. What’d you do?” the woman beside him asked tongue-in-cheek.

Tate turned to Amelia with an unrepentant grin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

A smile touched the corner of her lips, but she seemed doubtful. “Sure you don’t. Should I leave? Or do you need the backup?”

Tate glanced back to where Logan was muscling his way through the customers and across the hardwood floor toward them. Then he shook his head. “Nah. I can handle him.”

“I have no doubt about that. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need me, just yell.”

Tate agreed absentmindedly as she moved away, and Logan finally reached him on the opposite side of the mahogany bar. The lighting in After Hours was muted and low, making the surroundings cozy and private, and as Logan stared across at him, the other word that came to mind was…intimate.

“Good evening,” Tate started, but before he got any further, Logan placed his hands on the bar and angled his head.

“Cut the crap, Morrison.”

“Morrison, huh? That’s the second time you’ve called me that today. Have to say, I’m not a fan.”

“Tough shit. That’s what I’m going to call you from now on. Apparently, it’s the only thing about you that I know is real. Did your phone break?”

Tate was having a hard time being serious in the face of Logan’s irritation. “I’m pretty sure you had access to my file at your office. My name was on that. Or did you forget, old man? And no, my phone’s not broken.”

“Then you’re ignoring me?” Logan questioned, his eyes narrowing. “As well as insulting me.”

“Nope. I’m talking to you and stating the facts.” Tate waited several beats and then leaned a little ways across the bar. “What’s bothering you the most? That you didn’t know my age or my name?”

Logan looked him over before he accused, “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

Taking a seat on one of the barstools, Logan placed his phone on the counter. “Okay then. Fair enough. I didn’t bother to ask many questions, I get it.”

“Well that’s not true. You asked a lot of questions. They usually just revolved around getting me naked and in your bed.”

Logan raised an agitated hand and ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, shaking his head in disbelief or disgust—Tate couldn’t tell which. He’d wanted to play, not upset him, so Tate reached across the bar and placed his hand over Logan’s.

“Hey, I’m just having some fun with you.”

Just like that, the tables turned as a sensual smile split Logan’s lips and he tugged Tate forward across the bar, promising quietly, “Oh, I know when I’m being fucked with. But by the end of tonight, you will tell me your full name.”

Tate knew right then that Logan wasn’t angry. He was challenged and annoyed that he couldn’t remember, and Tate had no doubt that he would cave and tell Logan anything he wanted by the end of the night.

“Well, I like your confidence, but I have to tell you, I’m not going down without a fight.”

As his own words echoed through his head and Logan’s brow rose, Tate was hit with the full impact of what he’d said.

“A fight can be arranged if that’s all that’s needed.”

Laughing now, Tate pulled away and asked pointedly, “Do you want a drink? If not, can you please leave? I have work and you are distracting.”

“If I leave, will you come to me after?”

Tate wondered if the word yes had ever been easier for him to say, and as Logan waited for his response, he knew the answer to that particular question was never. He nodded and began to walk away, but at the last moment, he turned back to see he was still being watched from behind those sexy-as-hell glasses and simply said, “Yes.”