“That’s rape, Isabel.”
I have to shake my head. “It wasn’t. Not entirely.” I tremble. “But then, it also was. I don’t know. It’s all so confusing with him. He gets in my head, and makes all my thoughts somehow . . . not make sense. Not . . . my own. I don’t know. He’s all I’ve ever known, from the moment I first woke up. It’s always been him.”
“So before, in my conference room—”
“I wanted that, Logan. Please believe me. I wanted it so badly. I loved every single second of it. The way you touch me, the way you kiss me, I’ve never known anything like it and I’m crazy for it.” I spin on the stool so I’m facing him, grab his knees as he twists to face me.
He eyes me carefully, his blueblueblue eyes seeing into my soul. “Don’t ever lie to me, or tell me what you think I want to hear. Okay? Please? I’d rather hear the unpleasant truth than an easy lie.”
“I promise I will always be truthful with you.”
We’ve somehow finished all the food and both beers, and Logan slaps the countertop rather suddenly. “Movie time.”
“What?” I’m baffled by the sudden change in topic.
“I swore to you that I’d bring you home, feed you beer and pizza, and binge-watch movies with you.” He nudges an empty bottle. “We’ve had the beer and pizza, so now it’s time for a movie.”
“Okay.” I don’t know how to say that as much as I want to watch movies with him, I want to finish what we started in the conference room even more.
He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom, which I haven’t seen yet. It’s simple but beautiful, and comfortable, like the rest of the home. Muted green paint on the walls, thick dark carpeting on the floor, exposed beams on the ceiling, a wide bed on a high, dark wood frame, a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall opposite.
He gestures to the bed. “Only place to watch TV, so get comfy.”
I smooth my dress over my hips with my palms, a nervous gesture. “Okay.”
The bed is high, and my dress isn’t really made for climbing. At least not gracefully or modestly. I try to slide up onto the bed backward, keeping my knees pressed together. I’m not sure why I’m trying to be modest, considering what we did not that long ago, where his fingers were, but it feels necessary. I don’t quite make it, and only end up pressing my backside against the edge of the mattress and wiggling gracelessly. I try to catch a foot on the edge of the frame, but I can’t quite manage that either, not without flashing Logan. Especially not wearing heels.
He laughs, and I can’t help but laugh too, because my efforts to get on the bed were rather comical. “Isabel, honey. That dress is gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. But . . . would you like something else to wear? A shirt of mine, maybe?”
“Wouldn’t your shirt be rather large on me?” I ask.
He nods. “That’s kind of the point. It’d be like a nightgown.”
“Sure. I’ll try that.” I manage to sound casual, but the idea of wearing one of Logan’s shirts has my stomach in twisting knots.
He pulls open a drawer of the bureau underneath the TV, pulls out a neatly folded black T-shirt, hands it to me. “That’s one of my favorite shirts. I’ve had it since I was in high school. It’s really soft and comfy, so . . . yeah.” He turns away. “I’ll give you a second to change.”
I kick off my shoes, and my feet immediately thank me. Logan is at the bedroom door, rubbing the back of his neck, and I realize that by giving me a moment to change he meant he’d leave me alone.
“You . . . um . . .” I pause to rally my nerves. “You don’t have to leave, Logan.”
He stops, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m not making any assumptions, Isabel. This whole thing happens on your time, okay?”
“You’ve already seen me naked, Logan.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m going to just assume you’re okay with me watching you change. That’s kind of intimate.”
“So is what we did in your conference room.”
A smile crosses his face. “True.” He puts his back to the bedroom door. “I’ll stay, if you want me to.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, reaching up behind my back to tug down the zipper of my dress. “I don’t really want you to leave, if I’m being honest.”
I can’t quite reach the tab of the zipper, though, without contorting. Logan crosses the room in three long strides and stands behind me. “Let me.”
His fingers touch the back of my neck, brush my hair over my shoulder, and I feel my dress loosen as he pulls the zipper down.
I expect more, but I feel him step back. “There.”
I pivot to face him. His eyes rake over me, and I cannot mistake the hunger for me that I see there. “Logan,” I start, not quite sure what I was going to say.