“I’m sorry. It’s not easy for me. Yesterday…when we—”
“I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I made you feel dirty and cheap, and it was a prick move. I was satisfying my own greediness for you. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair to try to figure out why she had the power to melt his soul to liquid. “I’m sorry.”
“You gave me a choice, Logan.” Her tone was cold and exact.
“And you chose to fuck me. I get it, Stella.” He swung the ax blade into the tree trunk he was using as a mount and headed for the cabin.
“Yes, Logan,” she called after him. “I chose to fuck you.”
Her words shouldn’t sting. He was a man, a soldier. He shouldn’t care if she just fucked him. He’d fucked plenty of women without a second of remorse. But this was Stella, and he did care. He cared a whole fucking hell of a lot.
She fell into stride beside him. “Remember when I said I liked being dirty with you, but not with just any guy? Well, last night I wanted you to fuck me, because when you’re inside me, it doesn’t matter how dirty the words are, or how rough we are with each other. Everything we do feels different. It feels like…”
He stopped walking but didn’t meet her gaze, afraid she’d see the hope in his eyes. Goddamn hope.
“I wasn’t just fucking you, Logan. I was…”
He lifted his gaze at the softening of her tone just in time to see her crinkle her nose and look away, as if she were straining to find the right words.
“Love-fucking you,” she spat.
“Love-fucking?” His shoulders lifted with a silent laugh.
She swatted his arm. “Yes. Love-fucking.”
“What the hell is love-fucking? I think you just coined a new phrase.”
“Love-fucking. You know. When you’re falling for someone but you still want them to fuck you hard. Love-fucking.”
She crossed her arms, then nervously flung them straight again.
“So you’re falling for me, but you don’t want me to love you?” He had no idea what she was trying to say or how to respond.
“You can’t love me, Logan. I’m just telling you that I wasn’t fucking you. I was—”
He held up a hand, not wanting to hear it again. He’d felt the flicker of hope when she’d begun explaining, and now he was done. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw to push his hopes away and regain perspective. He’d like to take her in his arms and kiss her until she realized that the heat that sparked every second they were together, and the lust that practically oozed from their skin when they kissed, was real. But he’d no sooner do that than allow himself to hope. He was done with hope. Hope was for losers, just like he’d told her. It was for weak people who couldn’t change a damn thing and looked for some magical element to shift things into place.
This love stuff hurt like hell, and if he had to hope for her love, there was no way he was going to put himself through that sort of torture.
Then why did every ounce of him hope she was telling him the truth?
Chapter Sixteen
“DUDE, I DON’T know what you have going on with Stella, but if you’re not going to hit that, I want a shot,” Jackson said over Logan’s shoulder.
Logan grabbed his younger brother’s arm and squeezed his muscle. They were cooking spaghetti in his mother’s kitchen. He and Stella had hardly spoken since she told him she’d love-fucked him. After a long, tense afternoon, and with the timeline on Kutcher’s release closing in on them, Logan was in no mood for a pissing match over Stella. Logan eyed the entryway into the living room, where Stella and Heath were talking with his mother.
“Don’t even think about it,” Logan warned.
Jackson put his hands up in surrender. “Get a grip. What’s gotten into you?”
Logan released him. “Sorry,” he ground out. He knew Jackson was just messing around, but between waiting for the news on Kutcher and Stella pulsing hot and cold, Logan’s nerves were threadbare.
Jackson lowered his voice. “Hey, man, I’d never make a move on your girl. I was just feeling you out.”
“Not a good idea.” He paced the small room. “She’s got a lot of shit going on right now.”
“She does, or you do?” Jackson held his stare.
“We both do.” He stopped talking when Stella appeared in the doorway.
Her eyes darted between the two men. She fidgeted with the seam of her jeans. “Want some help?”
“Sure.” Logan gave Jackson a stare that he knew he’d read as, Get the hell out of here.
Jackson pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll go talk with Mom.”
Stella stood close enough that Logan could smell her fruity shampoo. “Your family’s really nice.”
“Thanks.” He focused on stirring the spaghetti sauce, still trying to figure out how to handle things with her.
“Do you cook for your mom often?”
Logan shrugged. “We take turns throughout the week.”
“Every week?”
He met her surprised gaze. “Yeah, well, since my father…”