“But Carlo says the police aren’t really after you anymore. He says you’ve just lost your edge—that you’re too scared to be involved in the business. That’s why you don’t show your face.”
Logan clenched his fists, infuriated by his cousin. But was it really a misrepresentation? Logan was supposed to meet Carlo in an hour to pull a job. And he’d been feeling sick about it—not because he was scared, but because he was disgusted by the whole thing. He was relatively certain Carlo would use him as muscle, meaning he would have to rough up anyone standing in their way, even if it meant murder. There had already been enough killing in Logan’s thirty-five years. There was enough blood on his hands.
“Do you actually think I would hide myself away from you unless it was absolutely necessary?” Logan asked. “I’ve missed a whole year of your life, and you’re my son! I hate this, but I have no choice.”
Ben sniffed. “You didn’t seem to care about that when you got in trouble with the cops.” Logan watched his son look away. “Just like Uncle Grant. It’s not like he cared about me when he went away to prison.”
So, Grant had never told Ben about Logan’s involvement in his arrest. Logan felt simultaneously relieved and ashamed. Quietly he asked, “How is your uncle?”
“Fine,” the teenager responded petulantly. “At least he got me a gift.”
Logan exhaled forcefully. “I said I’d get you one, all right?” Biting his lip, he added, “Did Grant say anything about where he lived?”
“Nope,” Ben replied. “We didn’t get to talk much before Carlo showed up. He and Uncle Grant got sort of pissy with each other.”
“Did anything happen?”
“Dunno. I went back to my party and let them work out their little bitch-fight.”
Logan was taken aback by Ben’s snarky tone. His son was turning into a pint-sized punk.
“Why do they hate on each other?”
“That’s a conversation for another day, Ben. How did Grant find out about your party?”
“Oh. He said he ran into Mom on an architectural cruise. That’s where he works now or something.”
“Really.” The wheels in Logan’s mind started turning. “Listen, I should go, but before I leave, I want to ask you why you were at Aaron Caldwell’s house.”
“Were you spying on me?”
“You’re damn lucky the feds didn’t trail you there,” Logan replied. “Answer my question. Why the hell were you on a drug dealer’s doorstep?”
Staring defiantly into his father’s disapproving glare, Ben answered, “None of your business, Dad.”
Logan took a menacing step forward, making the difference in their heights more obvious. “It is my business,” he countered. “I’m your father.”
“I don’t have a father,” Ben insisted, his voice filled with fury and hurt. “He left a long time ago.”
“But I’m here now,” Logan pointed out. “And I don’t want you around drug dealers.”
“That’s rich, Dad. You’re on the run from the police, and you’re telling me to obey the law. Classic.”
His son’s sarcasm made Logan’s throat tighten with regret. Swallowing guiltily, he stared at his only child. “You’re right. I have no room to tell you how to live your life. Just please, try to learn from my mistakes. Being a fugitive, in trouble with the cops—it’s no way to live.” He ran a hand through his cropped jet-black hair and sighed. “I always wanted a better life for you.”
Ben had no idea what to say.
Clearing his throat, Logan murmured, “I gotta go. Be careful, kid.” Then he slunk out of the men’s room, disappearing from his son’s life again. Ben jammed his hands into his pockets and gazed into the mirror for a second before returning to his buddies in the game room. His father had left him once again.
*
As soon as Grant walked into his apartment, he was overwhelmed by the enticing aroma of garlic and spices. His stomach growled as he closed the door and glided around the corner, following his nose toward the heavenly scent. All vestiges of fatigue and stress vanished the second he saw her.
Sophie stood by the kitchen counter, chopping a cucumber while she swayed her hips to the Gap Band’s infectious “You Dropped a Bomb on Me.” She hadn’t heard him over the din of the radio, and he held back laughter as her carefree dance moves filled his kitchen with energy and grace.
She turned to grab a towel and nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught him standing there, watching her with amused eyes, his hands on his hips. “Oh!” she squeaked, quickly reaching over to turn down the radio. “You’re early!”
He chuckled while moving toward her, drawn in by the endearing flush of her cheeks and the striking figure she cut in her silky black pantsuit. “And you’re adorable,” he responded, leaning in to plant a feathery kiss along the curve of her neck, sending goose bumps cascading down her arms. His warm breath lingered on her skin for a moment before he lifted his head.
His hand rested protectively on the small of her back as he gestured to the feast she was compiling on the counter. “What’s all this? Smells incredible, by the way.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I wanted to do something nice for you, to thank you for being my personal employment agency. So, I’m cooking you a Mediterranean meal.”
“My favorite food! I can’t wait to try it.”
“Well, don’t get too excited. It’s my first time making these dishes, so they might be a total disaster. And I’m not done yet. I didn’t expect you home so soon!”
“Yeah, Rog didn’t make me swab the deck tonight. But I still got kind of grubby on the ship.” He glanced at his watch. “How about I take a quick shower before we eat?”
“Yes!” she responded enthusiastically. “That would give me some time to finish up.”
“Wow. Are you trying to get rid of me, Bonnie?” He grinned.
Sophie blushed. “Not at all, Clyde. It’s just that I want this dinner to be perfect and having you here, hovering over me, is kind of, um, distracting.”
“Say no more,” he advised, leaning in to graze his lips across her warm cheek and holding her spellbound with his tantalizing touch.
As Grant headed for the shower, Sophie felt her cheek and neck on fire from his lingering kisses. Slowly she turned her attention back to the cucumber, sighing happily.
*
“That was simply amazing,” he murmured appreciatively while surveying the table covered by remnants of their feast: rich garlic hummus with pita and slices of cucumber and tomato, then shish kebabs featuring succulent lamb, grilled onion, and green pepper, along with fattoush salad drizzled with lemon vinaigrette.
Sophie beamed. “I’m so glad you liked it. Are you ready for dessert?”
“Whoa, dessert too?” He clasped her hand in his, and the electricity that crackled between them only intensified. “What kind of dessert did you plan? Food or flesh?”
Her mouth dropped open, and he felt enticed by the parting of her pink, luscious lips. Heat stirred below his belly as she slowly slid her tongue across her bottom lip, leaving a moist trail.