Chapter Twenty-Five

Angela

“Do you mind?” I ask, holding up a bottle of wine.

“Not at all,” he says, removing his baseball cap and hanging it on the back of one of my kitchen chairs. Just that gesture alone makes my heart ache. He looks so comfortable here, like he belongs.

I pour myself a glass of wine. “You want some?”

Logan makes a weird face. “No thanks. Never been into the stuff.”

“I have beer too,” I offer.

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

I open a beer and hand it over, each of us just standing in my quiet kitchen drinking in silence. Our interactions here feel so different than anywhere else, because here there are no eyes on us. This is so much more intimate. I feel a bit lost as to where we stand with each other.

“Let’s sit,” I say, motioning to my sofa.

Logan takes a seat on one end and I sit on the opposite end, forcing myself to sip my wine slowly instead of downing the entire glass.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. I watch as he takes a deep breath, but doesn’t look up at me. I’ve never seen this Logan. He is scared and frustrated, and just so vulnerable. “I don’t know if you know this, but when Wren told me she was leaving Crowley, I proposed to her. I figured if she agreed to marry me, she’d stay.” Logan let’s out a humorless laugh. “That was so stupid. I knew she’d never stay. Well, she rejected me, and it hurt like hell.”

He moves to rest against the back of the sofa now, his head against the wall. “About a week later, we had graduated and she was gone. I kind of went off the deep end. I was alone in Franklin, had drunk a lot of whiskey that night, and was just looking for a fight.”

Logan turns his head toward me now, his expression pained. “I just had so much anger in me, you know?”

I nod and sip more wine.

“So, I parked outside of the first bar I came to and finished off the last of my whiskey. I waited until someone came out and went after him.”

The Logan I know is a smooth-talking charmer, not a violent person, so I can’t even imagine the things that he’s telling me.

“What happened? And what does this have to do with my father’s case?”

He turns to face me now, one leg folded up on the sofa. “I’m getting there. Anyway, I don’t remember much of anything from that night. I know that I hurt the guy enough that he was hospitalized. I know that I was arrested for assault by the Franklin P.D. And I know my dad eventually showed up and made it all go away.”

I sit up now, leaning closer. “He did?”

Logan nods. “He knew I wanted to be in law enforcement. Assault with injuries like that is a felony and I would never be allowed on any force with a record. He had enough friends in Franklin that charges were dropped and I was free to go.”

“Oh my god, Logan,” my hand twitches, wanting to reach for him, but instead I bury it under my thigh.

“The guy that I fought recovered okay, but it’s like the arrest never happened. I’ve never done anything like that before or after. That’s just not me, you know? I was just…in a very bad place, and stupid. No one knows about this. Well, I thought no one did.”

I put down my empty wineglass and scoot a bit closer. “Who else knows?”

“Smith. I don’t know how, but he knows. He’s always wanted my father’s job and so he approached me, telling me he was going to solve your father’s case to show everyone in this town that he was better suited for the sheriff’s job. And he told me that I was going to help him, or he’d tell everyone about my arrest.”

Logan reaches for me now, taking both of my hands in his. “I’m sorry I tried to use you for information on the case. But know that I felt trapped. That information could ruin my life, my father’s career, and his reputation would be destroyed.”

He drops my hands and runs his through his hair. “I don’t know, Angela. With your flirting and Wren telling me to ask you out and Smith pressuring me to help him solve the case, I caved.”

I lean into the cushions behind me and bite on my thumbnail, trying to process everything he’s telling me. “So you were basically blackmailed.”

“Yes,” Logan answers. “But once I got to know you. God, I just wanted to know more. I can’t believe you’ve been here our whole lives and it took me so long to find you. And I know it’s fucked up how it happened, and I know it was so wrong, but I will never regret doing it. Because now I know that I don’t want to be without you.”

“Logan,” I breathe out, looking away to steel my resolve.

“I only have two more days before Smith goes public with my arrest. And I don’t even care anymore. I messed up, I will own up to that mistake and take whatever comes my way. I deserve it.” He moves from the sofa and kneels in front me. “But I can’t ever make up for the mistake of hurting you. I can never make that right. But I can spend the rest of my life trying to show you that I’m better than that.”

Tears fill my eyes now and fall down my cheeks. I turn to face him completely, my knees on each side of his body. “This is so much, Logan. I don’t know what to say.”

His hands move to my thighs, I can feel the heat from his palms through my jeans and the way his fingers hold so tightly. “Say that you’ll let me in again. Say that I didn’t destroy this beyond repair. In a few days, my life is going to be very different and I don’t want to drag you into it. So when I get past that, whatever comes, say that you’ll be here to give me another chance.”

The moment stretches between us as we exchange breaths. I look into his eyes and know that he is not perfect, he is not the boy that I dreamed of. He is a man made of flaws, just like the rest of us, but he is made of so much more. And I want to have all of it.

“Yes,” I say, reaching for him. Logan wraps his arms around me and holds me so tight as I whisper “yes” over and over. “I’m here,” I say.

He kisses my lips, just a soft, sweet peck, but it works to heal me just a little bit. Our kiss morphs into something deeper, more desperate and soon we are clawing at each other, removing each offensive piece of clothing between us.

Logan pulls me to edge of the sofa and lowers his mouth to my body. His hot breath fans over my chest before he sucks a nipple into his mouth, rolling it around before gently biting down. I gasp, my hands flying to his hair.

“Logan,” is all I can get out before he switches to the other nipple. His hands hold firm to my hips as he leans into me.

His lips leave a trail down my stomach and my need for him grows until I feel like I’ll burst from it. When Logan’s tongue finds my clit, I cry out and lift my hips to meet his mouth. We work together, his tongue working me over while I grind against his face. He slides his arms under my thighs, pulling me hard against him. My eyes fight to stay open, because I want to see every bit of this, but I lose that battle.

I give myself over to Logan, my thighs twitching, as he brings me to the brink of orgasm and backs off again. My chest heaves with heavy breaths as I silently beg him to get me there, but he continues to tease me.

“Please,” I whimper as the feeling takes hold again.

I glance down to find him looking back at me, his tongue still working its magic. I see a bit of mischief in his eyes as he lets out a moan that vibrates against my clit and pushes two fingers inside me. It sends me over the edge. Every muscle in my body pulls tight as he keeps going. My head spins as he finally lets up. I can’t see. I can’t breathe. I can feel everything and nothing at the same time. I am gone.

Logan chuckles. “God, I love putting that look on your face.”

“Come here,” I say, pulling on his shoulders. He kisses me and I can taste myself on his tongue. It only makes me more desperate.

I push Logan onto the sofa beside me. He groans and strokes his cock as he watches me crawl into his lap.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “I need to be inside you, Angela. I’ve missed you too much.”

I give Logan a smile and sink down onto his thick, hard cock. It fills me, stretching my body to mold around his. Resting my forehead against his as we exchange panting breaths. It is a moment of silent appreciation, of reverence, until I roll my hips.

Logan’s hands fly to my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh. I lift up on my knees and lower myself down slowly, giving him the same torture he gave me. Except this is not torture. It is sweet and sexy and everything I need in this moment.

Soon, I lose all of my restraint and pick up my pace. I love the look on his face as I ride him. I love being this close to him, love feeling his body against mine with every movement.

I see the exact moment when he breaks—the moment he can’t take my teasing anymore. Logan flips me over, setting me on my knees while my hands grasp the back of the sofa. He stands and enters me from behind. Again, I cry out, unable to tame the euphoric feeling of having him inside me.

Logan’s pace is fast and fierce and has me white-knuckling the cushions. He gives me all the heat, all the passion, everything he has to give. Every so often, he leans over and places a sweet kiss on the back of my neck, before giving my hair a little tug. The combination of all this finally sends me flying. Logan comes with me, his body stilling behind me.

With a sigh, he lays himself over me, our sweaty bodies pressed together as he kisses down my spine.

“I’m going to go clean up. Be right back,” I say as he pulls away. When I return from the bathroom, he excuses himself, taking his clothes with him.

I slip back into my clothes. And pour myself another glass of wine. As I mull over everything Logan confessed and giving him another chance, I have no regrets. Being with him feels right. I believe him when he says he will work to earn my trust back. I believe him when he says that he wants me. And I have renewed faith that this could work, that our story can continue.

It’s not until I’ve finished another glass of wine that I realize he’s been gone a while. “Logan?” I say, making my way down the hall.

“In here,” he answers from my studio. I step inside and find him standing in front of my half-finished canvas. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to snoop. The door was open and I couldn’t resist. This painting is so…” He pauses. “Well, I don’t know, because I’m not an artist. But it’s damn good.”

I step beside him. “It’s not finished yet.”

The light from the lamp near the street falls in long rectangles across the room, landing on a portrait of my dad. His smile sends a sad ache through my chest. My eyes travel to the next canvas. It’s the one of Logan after our first date. The colors feel so warm it’s like I’m experiencing that moment all over again.

“These are amazing,” Logan says. He walks around the perimeter of the room, studying each of my canvases stacked against the walls. I chew on my thumbnail, waiting for some kind of reaction. He studies each canvas, really looking, and I’m dying to know what’s going through his head. When he gets to his own portrait, he stops. “Is that how you see me?”

“It’s how I saw you that day,” I explain. “Every painting is different, influenced by my mood or the setting.” I flip the canvas forward, revealing the one behind it. It’s another portrait of Logan. This one is serious, painted in sharp lines and dark colors, showing him in uniform.

“Wow,” he says. “You’re so talented, Angela.” I flip that canvas forward to reveal a third portrait of Logan. This one is a shaggy-haired eight-year-old boy wearing his know-it-all grin, blue eyes shining.

Logan laughs. “I can’t believe how much that looks like me. It’s uncanny. And it was so long ago. How do you remember?” He wraps his arms around me from behind, placing a soft kiss on my neck.

“You made quite a first impression,” I say.

“And this one?” he asks, gesturing to the canvas on my easel. “What will this be?”

“A protest piece on how the system fails to protect women in abusive relationships.”

Logan’s eyebrows dip low over serious eyes. “Am I failing?”

“No, no,” I say. “But just think about it. If Myra and her mother didn’t live in a small town with such caring sheriff’s deputies, she would be alone after getting that restraining order. Alone and waiting for the inevitable. So many women don’t have the luxury of an on-call deputy to keep their abusive husbands away from them.”

His face morphs into something more neutral. “You’re right,” he says before turning back toward the painting. “You’re smart, and kind, and amazingly talented.” The pride I feel in those words makes me forget everything else and we spend another hour going through the paintings in my studio.

Logan stands near my front door, grinning. “I don’t want to go. Now that I have you back, I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t,” I say. “Stay here.”

Logan groans when I kiss the edge of his jaw. “I can’t,” he says. “I’ve got to face Smith tomorrow morning. I’m going to tell him that it’s over, all this bullshit is over. He can do what he wants and I’ll face the consequences. I just feel terrible for my dad.”

“You’ve confessed and now it’s my turn,” I say. “I may just have a way to end all of this and get one over on Smith.”