IT HAD BEEN a long time since Stella had lived without fear, and at three o’clock in the morning, after filing the report and identifying Kutcher as her attacker, she took what felt like her first real breath in six months. A hazy glow surrounded the moon in the starless sky, barely illuminating the parking lot of the Mystic hotel. Stella had spent six months attuned to her surroundings. Six long months waiting to be attacked, sleeping with one eye and one ear open. She’d spent almost as long doing everything she could to separate herself from anything linking back to her mother. Now, thanks to the man who was opening the passenger door and reaching for her hand—the man who said he’d take care of her from the moment he’d rescued her from the guy in the alley and had proven it every minute since—she would get to see her mother in a few short hours.
She took Logan’s hand and walked silently into the brightly lit and elegant hotel lobby. The receptionist smiled up at them, her eyes lingering on Logan with appreciation and interest. Logan draped an arm over Stella’s shoulder and kissed her temple.
“We’d like your best suite, please,” Logan said.
“Yes, sir, and the name?” The pretty blonde fluttered her lashes flirtatiously.
Stella gazed into Logan’s eyes, lifted her chin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, proudly gave her name.
“Krane. Stella Krane.”
The suite was enormous, decorated with warm hues and boasting a view of the harbor. Stella stood at the balcony, thinking about how much her life had changed since Logan had come into it and anticipating seeing her mother tomorrow. She wished they could have made the ten-minute drive tonight, but it would only frighten her mother to have someone come to her door at such an early hour. Besides, she was sure she looked as tired as she felt. Logan’s arms circled her waist from behind. He pressed his cheek to hers, and she nestled against his chest.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered.
“Yes. You are.”
She reached up and touched his stubbly cheek, then turned in his arms. His eyes were warm, his embrace strong, and she knew she was right where she was supposed to be, but now that she knew that Kutcher would likely be out of the picture for many years, she allowed herself to want, and dream, and hope.
“I want to get to know you better, Logan.”
“Darlin’, you know me pretty damn well. You’ve even met my family.” He kissed her forehead.
“I want to know all of you. I want to know why you didn’t answer me about being scared for your mom, knowing your father’s killer is still out there.”
“That’s a lot of getting to know me.” Logan smiled, but it wasn’t a tense smile. He seemed okay with her request. “You may not like what you hear.”
“A very wise man told me that we couldn’t erase the past. You accepted my past without question. Your love and trust in me never wavered. I want you to know that whatever happened in your past, I accept it. I want to be part of your future, too.”
“You may change your mind.”
“No. I have faith in you. No matter what you tell me, I know that whatever happened in your past happened because it had to. Because you felt it was the right thing to do at the time, no matter what it was.”
He touched his forehead to hers and whispered, “I hope you mean that.”
“With all my heart.” She went up on her toes, twined her arms around his neck, and pressed her mouth to his. “Make love to me. I need you.”
“Stella.” A plea. “I want you more than I want to breathe, but if I make love to you and then tell you about my past and you decide to leave...” He looked away for a beat, his eyes awash with worry. “I thought I lost you for good last night. I can’t go through that again.”
He took her hand and led her inside to the couch.
“I’m not going to leave.” She couldn’t imagine being more in love with any man, but after the way she’d vacillated and what she’d put them through, she understood his hesitation. “I know I hurt you, and I hurt myself. You have no reason to trust my word, Logan. But I’m not going anywhere.”
“I trust your word. But what you think of me right now might change, no matter how good your intentions are.” He touched her cheek, and the side of his mouth quirked up in a pained smile.
He proceeded to tell her about his time with the SEALs, the number of people he’d killed, and what it had felt like when he’d looked into the enemies’ eyes and taken them down. He spoke with vehemence and passion, stopping several times to gather his thoughts or his courage—she wasn’t sure which. And then he sat quietly for a long while, gazing at their linked hands.
“Are you still with me?” he asked tentatively.
She moved closer to him, their thighs pressed against each other, hips touching. “More so than ever.”