Текст книги "Blow"

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

ELLE

I knew almost every defensive maneuver in the book.

When to duck.

Where to weave.

How to dodge.

I’d studied so many different techniques over the past fifteen years, I was confident in my ability to defend myself. I also knew how to take the offense if needed. How to throw a punch—where to deliver a blow that would incapacitate a guy and let me get away. Firearms were nothing I was afraid of. I’d been taught to fire a weapon—how to stand steady and level my arms before squeezing the trigger.

In addition, I was a fast runner. I was confident I could outrun almost anyone.

My only deficiency? My size. And there was nothing I could do about that.

None of that mattered, though, when it came to guarding my heart.

It was utterly defenseless when it came to Logan McPherson.

That worried me.

The smile that bled across my lips as I parked my car in front of my townhouse was one I couldn’t hold back. Logan was sitting on my steps, waiting for me, and I felt my body go liquid when I opened the door.

Something was happening between us.

My stomach was a tangle of nerves as soon as I rounded the corner, and I swear my insides were slushing the closer I got to those ever-changing eyes.

What was wrong with me?

The response I received told me I wasn’t the only one feeling a little giddy. As soon as his eyes lifted, his smile quirked higher on one side, as if he was trying to charm me.

He didn’t have to.

He was doing something to me no man had ever done. Breaking me down. Reducing me to nothing but hormones. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but right now my mind wasn’t in charge. My body was. And it wasn’t leaving me options, so I had to let my feelings take their own course.

It wasn’t like I had a choice.

His gaze flickered over me. Hot. Intense. Mesmerizing.

I melted a little more and I swear my toes curled in my sneakers.

Once Logan had come back to the hotel with the news that my garage opener was not in my purse, we talked a little about what that meant. It frightened me, but at the same time I felt safe with him. I just knew he’d make certain Clementine and I wouldn’t be hurt. I could see it in his determined eyes and I could hear it in the way he spoke.

Michael had called just before five to tell me he was home. He was anxious to see his daughter and I was anxious to talk to him. He hadn’t mentioned anything to indicate that someone might have been in the house, which must have meant nothing had been disturbed.

When I arrived at Michael’s, he was out of sorts. I was surprised. He was unshaven, looked exhausted, and it was more than clear that he didn’t want to talk about anything to do with Lizzy.

After I told him about last night, that I thought someone was in the house and that my garage door opener was missing, he shrugged it off to paranoia. When I told him Clementine and I spent the night in a hotel, leaving Logan completely out of the conversation, he told me how ridiculous that was.

He had me believing it, too.

He reminded me that his house was equipped with state-of-the-art security. And it was. He had alarms on every window and door. Call buttons scattered every ten feet or so that were wired directly to the security service. He even had a panic room.

He was right—there was no way someone was in his house, garage door opener missing or not. It was sealed up tighter than Fort Knox.

I’d let that conversation fall and waited until after Clementine’s bath to broach the subject of Lizzy’s ties to the Blue Hill Gang.

“Where’d you hear that?” Michael snapped.

I swallowed and told him Peyton had mentioned to me in passing conversation about Killian McPherson, and that I had drawn my own conclusions from there.

It wasn’t a lie.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Michael turned to me with an icy expression on his face. “I told you to stay out of it and I meant it. You know all you need to know.”

That was the end of our conversation.

Frustrated, I left shortly afterward, letting Logan know I was heading home.

“Everything okay?” Logan asked as I approached him.

His voice reassured me. Michael might think I was being paranoid, but I knew Logan believed me. Things weren’t adding up. Something more was going on.

His smile faded. “Elle?”

I realized I hadn’t answered. “Everything’s fine. It’s just that Michael wouldn’t tell me anything and he assured me no one was in his house.” With a frustrated sigh, I added, “I couldn’t find anything out.”

Logan was calm. “It’s okay. I honestly wasn’t expecting much. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need him.”

I gave a frustrated sigh.

Logan’s mouth was on mine so fast I wasn’t ready for the kiss and it made my knees wobble. Our tongues met. We were hungry for each other. His hands anchored my hips and mine gripped his shoulders as our kiss sizzled in the chill of the night.

His lips—soft and smooth.

His tongue—wet and wild.

I kept pace with the frantic way he consumed me, or maybe he was responding to the frantic way I was consuming him. I wasn’t sure. But soon it wasn’t enough. Needing more of him, my fingers traveled up to his neck and I twisted them in the softness of his hair. Playing with it, tugging it, making him groan.

I felt alive in his arms.

He needed more too. With what I think might have been a growl, his mouth left mine to trail along my jaw, down my neck.

It felt so good.

I loved it when he did that.

I wondered if he knew I did.

Giving myself to him, I tossed my head back to allow him full access. His teeth were sharp as he dragged them down my throat, but the moisture of his tongue soothed away any lingering sting.

In the faint distance, I heard my neighbor’s door open. I ignored it. But the sound of it slamming closed was impossible to ignore and I was forced to pull away. It was then that I realized I’d been so lost in Logan I’d forgotten we were still outside. In public.

Logan had told me he wanted to make sure I was safe inside my house, but we hadn’t made further plans for the night. Feeling bold, knowing what I wanted, I extended my hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Logan kissed me again, almost as if in defiance of being made to behave in public. “That’s probably a good idea,” he mumbled against my mouth.

I laughed into his kiss. “I think we have an audience.”

The moment I spoke the words, Logan’s body stiffened and he pulled away, scanning the area left and right, front and back. “Let’s go,” he said in a serious tone, all playfulness gone.

Moving fast, he led me to my door. I unlocked it and as soon as we were inside, he closed and locked it. Fast as sin, I was pressed up against the door and his lips were on mine again, devouring me. Our mouths were glued together in a sensual, consuming kiss and I felt all of him. From his mouth on mine, to his hips holding me in place, to his thigh pressing between mine.

Something was bouncing in my belly and I shooed away the idea that it was butterflies. I was a grown woman, for God’s sake.

Grown woman or not, the heated moment had me breathing hard. I broke away, pushing lightly on his shoulder to give me some space to move. “Follow me.”

He did.

Up the stairs, down the hallway, to my bedroom.

Like two magnets, we were together as soon as the door creaked closed.

My bedroom was a reflection of me, much like my boutique. Nothing too frilly. Various paintings hung on the walls that I had collected from all the favorite places I’d been and loved. They were my treasures. In addition to the paintings, throughout my home I had sculptures, pottery, and various items I’d collected in my travels as well. In this room was also the last piece of my childhood I’d brought with me—the oval braided vintage rug that had belonged to my mother. My father had wanted to throw it away after she died, but I couldn’t bear to see it discarded. I’m not sure why I kept it, but I did.

Whereas my home was a reflection of who I was, my bedroom was even more of a reflection of my inner being. On the walls were the places that I’d searched for myself and found peace. Sharing this part of me with Logan seemed appropriate.

Logan tugged my shirt off. I pulled his over his head. I wanted to feel his smooth skin against mine, to touch and caress it.

Our lips crashed together again before our clothes even hit the floor. My head was spinning from the delicious taste of him alone, but the sensual feel of his hands on my bare skin made me even dizzier.

As our teeth clashed, he moved me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed and I tumbled onto it. He didn’t let me fall, though—he was right there to catch me. For the first time with him, my back was against a mattress and his body molded to mine exquisitely.

We were all hands as we kissed some more. His were on my breasts. Mine were digging into his back, pressing against each muscle as it flexed.

I was so ready for this.

So was he.

I was surprised when he rose on his elbows and broke our mouths apart. I even tried to pull him back down to me, but I stopped when I saw him gazing into my eyes.

Warmth spread through me like fire.

His expression was so intense.

Without so much as a blink, I took the time to study him. His eyes appeared so vibrant, green rimmed in chocolate brown. Mesmerizing. I reached up and smoothed my fingertips over the arches of his brows. I could feel words sticking in my throat. I felt this urgency to speak. Something about the pain I saw in the depth of those pools. It was so strange. I’d never, ever wanted to talk to a man while he was hovering above me.

Garnering all of my courage, I urged myself to ask him about what I saw. It was now or never.

Before I could make my lips move, he tenderly pushed some hair from my face. The soft touch was unexpected, and I closed my eyes and let the feeling absorb into my whole being.

“I need to be inside you,” he murmured.

My eyes flew open. I became disoriented. Fuzzy. Unclear. Flickering emotions cascaded through me as a whirlwind of terrible memories sliced through my soul. Shocked, panicked, unable to breathe, I shoved him off me and bolted off the bed. “You need to leave.”

“Elle?” he asked, clearly concerned.

Gasping for air, I didn’t answer him. I didn’t look at him. Instead, I grabbed my top and ran down the stairs as the first fifteen years of my life assaulted me. My father. My mother. The words I heard spoken through the thin walls. The crying. The yelling. The grunts and groans. It was too much.

“Elle,” he called again, right on my heels.

It was dark and my mind started to spin. I turned, backing myself up against the door. Frightened. Afraid. I just wanted him to stop.

The silhouette came closer. I put my hands out. “Please, leave me alone. I won’t do it again,” I cried.

“Elle, what’s going on?”

The voice had no shape.

White knuckled, I dug my fingers into the doorframe. “Please,” I begged. “Please leave me alone.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

The voice amplified. It sounded angry. His eyes flashed. He was a tough guy. Too tough to let a woman tell him no. Too tough to let a little girl try to stop him.

Every muscle in my body was taut. I stayed still. Very still. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Maybe if I were quiet enough he’d just leave me alone. Leave her alone.

“Elle, it’s me. Logan. What’s going on? Where are you?”

I blinked as that soft voice broke through to me. “Logan?”

With tentative steps he approached me. His voice now soothing. “Elle, yes, it’s me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

My eyes began to readjust as I broke from the horror I dreamt about every day after my mother died and my sister left. “Logan,” I said again, needing to be sure it was him and not my father.

His fingers were on my face, stroking away my tears. “Yes, it’s me. Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” His voice broke as he repeated himself over and over.

I swallowed hard and tried to look away. He wouldn’t let me. He held my face in place. Shame and embarrassment were all I could feel. My heart pounded in my chest. What had I done? Why had I overreacted?

His fingers caught my chin as I managed to drop it. He wasn’t going to let me evade him. His touch soft and gentle, he lifted it and looked into my eyes.

I was begging myself not to burst into tears. I didn’t know if it was working, so I slammed by eyes shut. I couldn’t let him see me like this. This was the broken me. Not the one I had glued back together. Not the tough girl who didn’t let anyone in. I needed to get that girl back.

No one saw me like this.

No one.

Before I knew it, I was engulfed in his arms and my face was against his chest. “It’s okay, Elle. I’m here. You can talk to me.”

I pretended the water leaking from my eyes wasn’t tears. I pretended I was stronger than this person who needed this powerful man to hold her up. I pretended and pretended as he continued to soothe me, but then something happened—I felt safe.

And I let my barriers down.

When his constant soothing became too much to bear, I stopped pretending and collapsed in his arms, a sobbing mess.

Somehow we ended up on the sofa and I was curled in a ball against him.

“Elle,” he whispered after a long while.

I wanted to fade into the leather of the sofa and disappear. I couldn’t look at him. I was weak and pathetic. My father would be laughing at me if he could see me now.

When I didn’t respond, Logan lifted my head to look at him. His hands trapped my face and his eyes searched mine in a way they never had. “Tell me what happened. Did your father—” His voice cracked on the words, but I knew what he wanted to ask.

My throat was dry. “No, he never touched me, not sexually,” I croaked.

The sigh he made was more than audible. “Then tell me what happened to you. What did I do that triggered this? I need to know.”

With a deep inhale, I forced myself to be honest. Aside from Charlie, I’d never talked about this to anyone. I wanted to tell Logan. I sat up straight and looked at him. I wanted to at least appear strong when I told the sordid details of my past. “My memories start at age six. My father always worked late and my sister and I were usually in bed when he came home. Still, every night he’d lock our door, and the sound of the lock turning would wake me up. And then I’d hear him begging my mother to have sex with him. It didn’t matter if she said no; he wouldn’t take that for an answer. He was a sex addict. He needed it. She was the complete opposite and never wanted to give it. What I remember the most is . . .” I paused.

“Tell me,” he urged.

“Is him telling her that he needed to be inside her.”

Logan cringed and his face paled. “Oh God, Elle, I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t know. It’s not your fault. You see, I’ve had this rule when it came to sex—no talking. I’ve always made it very clear. But I didn’t tell you. To be honest, I didn’t want to tell you.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

Bracing myself, I pulled back and wiped the twin streams of water from my cheeks. “You were different.”

He hesitated but still asked, “In what way?”

I was barely breathing, I was so nervous. I was always petrified of telling anyone anything about myself. I wouldn’t blame him if he had run. The perversity of my situation wasn’t easy to swallow. But he hadn’t run, not yet. He was still beside me, waiting for what else I had yet to say. It shouldn’t have mattered to me so much that he was, but it did.

What would happen after I confessed my strange reaction to him? I had no idea. But Logan wasn’t mine and if he chose to leave, I wouldn’t blame him. What was coming sounded beyond bizarre, even to me. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

His gaze gently flickered across my face. It was the first time he’d looked at me that way—like he saw me, not the person I reminded him of. It was like he was looking at me, not avoiding her. “No, Elle. No I won’t. Tell me.”

Ironically, I had to avert my own eyes before I could say it. When I was looking anywhere but into his eyes, I finally spoke. “Since the very first time I had sex, I thought I was like my mother.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “Asexual isn’t really the right word, but it’s close. Not really into sex. I had sex but I felt very little, nothing really. For years I was relieved, because at least I knew I wasn’t a sex addict like my father. One day I met a guy and he became my boyfriend. We were compatible in so many ways, especially in the way that sex was secondary. It wasn’t what drove our relationship. Our friendship did. But then we broke up and I fluttered again from man to man.”

Logan bristled slightly and I lifted my gaze. He was staring at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Why did you break up?” he asked.

I wasn’t ready to share that part of me—the most broken part—so I shook my head. “Things just didn’t work out,” was all I said. I wanted to finish this, to tell him what I was feeling for him, but he had to understand me first. “After Charlie was out of my life, I started searching for what it was about sex that could turn someone into the monster my father was. My sister was afraid of my father and even though she always warned me to be quiet on those nights I’d woken up, there were times I couldn’t stand to hear my mother cry or to hear my father’s demanding voice. And during those times, I’d scream and scream and scream until my father marched in the room and whipped me with his belt. I didn’t care, though, because after he was done with me, he’d also leave my mother alone.”

Logan drew in a breath before he pulled me to him. I wanted to shrug him off, but not as much as I wanted to feel the safety in his arms. He kissed my forehead. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Baby?

No one had ever called me by that term of endearment. The strength I had gathered was starting to weaken and I jumped out of his hold and to my feet. “I want to finish.”

Although he paled, he nodded in understanding.

I walked to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, but I never looked back. Busying myself in the kitchen, I was allowing my strength to build. Once the coffee was done and I’d poured us each a cup, I felt much stronger. Turning back toward him, I could see that his eyes were filled with sympathy and something else.

I didn’t want that.

He took the cup I offered him and then I sat down next to him, with my own cup in hand. My hands were shaking, but I ignored it and took a sip of my coffee.

Clearing my throat, I finally continued. “Up until I moved here three months ago, that was who I was. A single woman who didn’t really care that much about sex but was searching for answers, so I pursued it from time to time.”

Logan tried to remain undaunted, but I could see the muscle in his jaw clench.

I set my cup down. “I’m only telling you this so that you can understand me.”

He nodded in understanding and then he opened his mouth, “Elle, I should—” He stopped, paused, drew in a breath, and then took a sip from his cup. “Never mind, go on.”

I did. “Last night when I was with you, that changed. For the first time ever, I felt alive. Involved. Not removed. I wanted to feel everything. I didn’t have to go through the motions. And even when you spoke, I was okay with it. At times, I liked it.”

Logan looked stunned. Uncertain.

I knew I should clarify. Let him know I wasn’t declaring my love or laying claim to him. “Please, don’t worry. It doesn’t mean anything more other than I really enjoyed having sex with you.”

The corners of his mouth tipped up.

A shiver slowly danced down my spine at the same time a wave of embarrassment crashed over me. Heat worked its way up my body, flaming all the way to my fingers and toes, until I couldn’t take another minute of his focus and covered and my eyes. “See, I’m crazy.”

Through my fingers, I saw him set his cup next to mine. Standing, he emptied his pockets and removed his gun, and then I felt him move closer to me. The air was thick and laced with so much of whatever it was that traveled between us. But he didn’t make the moment sexual. Instead, he pulled my fingers from my face and entwined them in his. When he spoke, his voice was soft, calm. “You’re not crazy. I feel this thing too. I don’t know what it is, but please don’t tell me I fucked it up.”

I shook my head. “Why would you still want to be with someone like me? I’m weak and pathetic.”

His fingers squeezed mine. Not roughly. More like passionately. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t even think it. You’re a strong woman who has been through a lot.”

My tears started again. “But I’m not. I’m broken and I can’t be fixed.” I almost told him the rest of my story, but I just couldn’t. Not now. Not today.

Logan’s lips found mine and he kissed me lightly. “You’re not broken,” he whispered.

I nodded, letting him know I was.

He kissed me again. “You’re not.”

He did it over and over, and eventually I started to believe him.

Maybe if I pushed that one part of me aside, I could be whole.

Even if it was only for a little while, I’d take it.