My knees screamed as I ran to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just before I threw up coffee and scrambled eggs. I managed to brush my teeth, not looking in the mirror, and turned on the shower. My brain and body worked at odds — my thoughts slow and sluggish but every movement of my limbs too quick, too jerky. Uneven.
Everything felt wrong. I stepped into the shower and stood under the water, biting back a cry as the freezing stream hit the back of my head. I had to get the feel of him off me. Had to scrub away his fingerprints. I bumped the precariously-balanced shampoo bottle on the shelf, and it bounced off my foot and the tub. I put my hands over my face, and froze as a voice, warm and smooth as honey, cut through the door and the running water.
"Natalia? Are you okay?"
My heart jumped to my throat. Logan. I'd almost forgotten he was there. In my apartment. My crappy, messy apartment. My toes curled in the freezing water and I couldn't answer, teeth chattering together as I stared at the door.
He'd seen me terrified and incoherent in the alley, after Joey — I pushed away the thought and swallowed the panic. I was fine. He didn't hurt me. Logan drove me home, and I was safe. Safe.
The door creaked open and Logan looked for me, forehead creased. He stopped short when he saw me standing in the shower, then he reached for the knobs. "That water's freezing, Natalia."
Every part of me shook, from adrenaline or the cold water didn't really matter. But he was there, he was real. Solid and warm and careful, so damn careful — moving slow, staying quiet. The breath hitched in my throat. Logan frowned as he looked at me, said something about pajamas and tea. I didn't need pajamas and tea. I needed to be clean. I needed to know that men existed in the world who weren't like Joey.
He turned to go and I said, "Wait."
Relief etched across his face as he looked at me. And waited for me to speak more.
The bathroom filled with steam as the water warmed, and I closed my eyes so I couldn't see him as I said, "Can you — will you help me?"
"Of course, baby," he breathed, shut the door behind him. Got closer. "Just tell me how."
Baby. It warmed me from the inside as the water thawed my skin. I felt him get closer but didn't open my eyes. I pulled at my coat, the shirt underneath. "I can't get these off."
A long pause, then he took a deep breath. "You want me to help take your clothes off."
"You don't have to," I said. I struggled with the sodden coat, the weight pulling at my sore shoulder.
"Wait, wait." A rustle and soft thud had me open my eyes — he shed his coat and sweater and shoes but kept on the jeans and t-shirt underneath. Then he leaned into the spray of the shower and eased the coat off, tossing it to the floor in a soaking heap. He worked slowly, carefully, and narrated everything he intended before he touched me.
The warmth of the shower and the soothing quality of his voice lulled and relaxed me, and I wobbled. Reached out to catch myself on the tile and nearly pitched to my face. Logan made a noise and suddenly he was in the shower with me, clothes and all, and held me upright. I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
He smiled, leaning me against his chest and pretending he couldn't see every square inch of me. "What else can I help you with?"
I couldn't help it. I smiled back. I rested my cheek against the flat plane of his chest, the warm wet cotton of his t-shirt so soft against my skin I closed my eyes and rubbed against him. Almost drunk on him and the security of being in his arms. God help me. "I have to wash my hair. Get the b-blood out."
The thought of what stank up my hair brought the entire experience back, and I shuddered.
Logan rubbed my back and murmured, "I got you, don't even worry about it. Put your arms around me."
As if I needed an invitation, when I still nuzzled against his chest. My arms looped around his waist. I held my wrist and concentrated only on breathing along with the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, and it rattled through me and chased away whatever badness remained from the morning.
He redirected the showerhead and rubbed my hair until it was soaking wet and probably snarled in a rat's nest. I just knew I'd spend the next week trying to comb it out again. But it didn't matter, not when he poured way too much shampoo on my head and the scent of coconut covered us both. His heart thumped a steady rhythm against my ear.
It was only the gentleness in him that let me speak. "You said you were sorry that you didn't get there sooner."
His hands paused, then returned to lathering my hair, massaging deep into my scalp and down my neck. His voice rumbled deep in his chest, not interrupting that purr for even a heartbeat. "I am sorry."
I tightened my death grip around his middle and sighed, moving my feet to a more comfortable stance. "I'm just grateful you came at all."
"I will always come when you call me," he said, fingers working my shoulders and down my spine until I felt boneless. "Natalia, if you need me, I will be there to protect you."
"Okay." I turned my head so I could press the other cheek against him.
"Okay," he repeated, then rinsed my hair. He didn't speak again until the water started to cool and no trace of soap remained, though Logan continued to massage the knots in my shoulders and back. "Can you sit by yourself for a second?"
I nodded, even though I wasn't entirely certain I could. The water stopped, the shower curtain moved, and then he wrapped me up in the enormous bath sheet that had been an indulgence from my first big paycheck. Logan gave wrapping up my wet hair a good try with a smaller towel, and finally settled for just covering it. He helped me step out of the tub and sit on the edge, rubbing my arms from shoulders to elbows. "I'll be right back."
He moved so damn quickly and silently for such a big guy. It seemed like I blinked and he was dripping wet in front of me, then another blink and he was gone, then another and he stood in front of me in dry clothes. Dry clothes? I looked up at him, confused, and he smiled with half his mouth. "Edgar is very well-prepared for every contingency."
Edgar. I nodded, about to speak, but he leaned down and picked me up, held me against his chest and the warm, clean-smelling white t-shirt. He carried me through the living area to my bed, still rumpled and unmade from this morning, and sat me upright on the end of it.
"Will you thank Edgar for me? And Atticus?" I cleared my throat to clear a sudden lump. "For helping when —"
"Of course," he said, palm warm and comforting against my arm. "Of course I will."
He propped all of my pillows up around me, frowning in concentration as he created a nest with the comforter and an extra blanket from the couch. I watched his face in fascination. Something about his features seemed different — his cheekbones more pronounced, maybe, or his mouth a little wider. His hair looked longer, more golden.
Logan retrieved a giant black duffel bag, no doubt Edgar's supplies, and crouched in front of me. He examined my bruised and bloodied knees, the egg-sized lumps on each, and probed them gently before glancing up at me. "How bad do they hurt?"
"Not so much any more," I breathed, mesmerized. His eyes were definitely not brown. They were brilliant gold, almost reflecting the sunlight from the east-facing window back at me.
He smiled and that rumble started in his chest again. "That's good."
Logan smeared cool antibiotic cream across the scrapes, careful not to get any on the sheets, then covered them with gauze and stretchy wrap bandages. The only sound was the hush-hush of his breathing and that crazy purr as he picked up my hands, examining my wrists and elbows for any other evidence of violence. My breath hitched and he looked at my face, worry in the lines around his eyes, but the purr grew louder and I smiled, a little puzzled.
His fingers slid under my chin and he tilted my face, peering at my cheek and jaw. Logan spread more of the cream across a scrape on my jaw, near my cheek, then plastered a bandaid across it. He still held my jaw.
Time slowed to a crawl, and I leaned forward, searching his eyes for a hint of why he helped me. Why he cared enough to give me a bandaid for a tiny scratch. He stopped breathing as my lips brushed his, as my palms rested on his cheeks, drew him closer. I closed my eyes, pressed my mouth against his soft lips again. His hand slid to the back of my neck, drew me closer. I melted against him.
An eternity passed in a blink, and he retreated, stroked my cheek and my throat and across my bare collarbone. Logan took a deep breath and kissed my forehead, my jaw, behind my ear. Made a strangled noise in his throat before holding my face carefully. His eyes were definitely gold, radiating their own sunlight at me. "There's time for more of that later."
"Now is a good time," I said. Drunk on him, on everything about him.
He smiled, ducked his head to hide it but couldn't as he looked back at me. "Not when you're wearing just a towel, baby. And you need to rest. You should take some ibuprofen for sure, and I have painkillers if you want them."
He was right. Everything felt strange and off, as if I moved under deep water. Kissing him on my bed was not a good idea, even worse when I was naked. My voice still came out hoarse. "Just the ibuprofen."
Logan retrieved a glass of water and a bottle of pills, shaking a few into my palm and watching as I swallowed them. He nudged me to lay back but I frowned, rubbing my sore shoulder. "Clothes. I need something to wear."
He glanced at his phone as it rang, then pulled another t-shirt, sweatshirt, and enormous sweatpants from the duffel bag. "These?"
I laughed, holding the towel with one hand as I held up the t-shirt. "Seriously?"
"I like the thought of you wearing my clothes," he said, then ducked to kiss my forehead. "Only if you want to. I have to take this; it's Edgar. I'll be right outside, just shout if you need anything."
He strode for the door, a completely different man as he barked into the phone, "What?" and closed the door solidly behind himself.
I looked at where he'd gone, swallowing hard. Then I staggered to my feet, holding the towel against my chest as I hobbled to the dresser to retrieve panties and sports bra and yoga pants. But I pulled on his shirt, because I liked the idea of wearing his clothes, too.