Okay, definitely impervious.
Our conversations were up and down. They went from brutally honest, to serious, to funny in the blink of an eye. And as I looked at him now, I had to laugh. In fact, I couldn’t stop laughing. He was easy that way. He made things easy. I liked that.
“Downstairs.” I pointed.
He hefted the box I’d just set down. I went for the empty ones.
Just because.
Boxes at my sides, I saw the metal tucked in his waistband as soon as he stepped in front of me. His shirt mostly covered it, but I was good at catching things like that. I didn’t say anything. After all, I, too, carried protection everywhere I went—it wasn’t tucked in my pants, but it was zipped inside my purse.
We made almost a dozen trips up and down the stairs. Our conversation was light. We talked about Boston, the weather, and baseball. Once all of the boxes were out of sight, he helped me break down the ones that were empty and restock the items into inventory that I didn’t need upstairs. Finally, I made one last lap around the boutique. “I think it’s ready.”
He followed the path I had taken. “I think you’re right.”
The cuckoo clock from Germany started to go off. The little bird popped its head out and as soon as the music started to play, the dancers spun with the music and the bell ringers rung their bells. Nine times this cycle continued.
Logan stared at the clock. When it finished, he looked at me. “I hope to fuck that sells right away.”
I crossed my arms and tried to look insulted, but I couldn’t fight the smile.
He snapped his fingers and pointed one at me. “See, you feel the same.”
Knowing exactly what he meant, I moved toward him and lowered his finger. Sparks flickered when I touched him. I dropped my hold and recovered. “I refuse to speak ill of any of my treasures, but I do hope the clock finds a home quickly.”
Logan smiled softly. “Speaking of homes, it’s time I take you there. I’m sure you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
I did.
Still, I couldn’t help but think about him in ways I knew I shouldn’t for so many reasons. And the main reason wasn’t even the gun he was carrying. I glanced out the window, pondering what was going to happen when he got me home. I noticed the rain had let up, so while I put my coat on, I left my hat behind.
Logan and I had spent only four hours together, but it felt like so much longer. I felt like I knew him. Not well, but I’d gotten closer to him than I had to anyone in years. Michael and Peyton didn’t count—they were people brought into my life by circumstance.
But then again, if I thought about it, I supposed he was, too.
“Where to?” Logan asked as he got in the Range Rover.
Still pondering my last thought, I answered quietly, “Thirty-six Melrose Street.”
Logan knew where he was going. He did a U-turn and headed south on Charles, then made a right on Melrose. We were in Bay Village and on the quiet tree-lined street in no time.
“It’s right here on the left.”
He stopped in front of the brick row houses, and I indicated the end unit with the red door and black painted steps.
“That’s mine.” I pointed.
Logan searched the deserted street before he got out and came around to open my door. I stepped out and started walking, assuming he would be coming in.
Again, he stopped and studied the street as if assessing the neighborhood and the building.
When I threw him a curious glance, he simply said, “It’s nice.”
Suddenly very nervous, I fumbled for my keys. “I like it. It’s one of the only original row houses still standing in Boston. The architecture and very cheap price is what sold me. It’s small and needs a lot of work, but it’s more of a home than I’ve had in a long time.”
The way he looked at me, I felt like he was staring through me. “I’d love to see it sometime.”
More than ready to do this, I turned and unlocked the door, pushing it open but not stepping in. “How about now?” I whispered.
Logan focused on my mouth but didn’t answer me.
I was already nervous; I didn’t invite men into my personal space, and his silence was making me uncertain. I rephrased the question. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t drink. With two alcoholic parents, I quit long ago. Figured it gave me a better chance of not turning out like either of them.”
“Then coffee? I know you drink coffee.” My nerves were showing and I was babbling.
Logan pounced. He caged me within the open door, his arms gripping each side of the jamb as his mouth neared my ear.
Frightened wasn’t the word to describe what I was feeling. Aroused fit much better, as desire shot right to my core.
Warm breath gusted down my neck as he exhaled a string of raspy words. “If I come inside, you and I both know what’s going to happen.”