Indestructible (15 page)

“Cassandra!”

I shifted in my sleep, rolling my head to the side.

“Cassandra!”

“Mmm,” I moaned, Logan’s voice heavy in my dreams.

“Cassandra?”

It was now a soft whisper of a sigh calling out to me. I opened one eye slightly, peeking through a haze to find Logan standing over me, his hand scrubbing down his face.

“I couldn’t find you. I was…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?”

With a hollow yawn, I stretched my arms above my head. His uneasy expression softened when I grabbed his arm and tugged. He complied instantly, shrugging out of his coat and pulling me into his arms as he lay down beside me.

“I fell asleep,” I whispered groggily. “Sorry. What time is it?”

“Sixish. How are you feeling?” he asked, looking around the room.

I followed his gaze, ignoring the question. “They did a good job. I wish you’d let me pay you back,” I said, running my fingers over his abs. My head rested in the nook of his neck.

“You already know the answer to that.”

My eyes drifted skyward, and I knew he could hear the slight growl in my throat. “Can I at least make it up to you?” I shifted my head to see his face.

His lip quirked up. “As much as I like the sound of that, Oliver’s waiting.”

“I wasn’t implying sex, perv boy! Something…better.” Was that possible? I’d need time to think of something extraordinary.

“I’m intrigued.” A full-blown grin spread over his lips. “But unfortunately, for now, we should go. We made you dinner. I thought you were up in my room resting.”

“Okay, just let me grab some clean clothes.” I looked back down at our entangled legs. “I wanted to come here alone first.”

Logan encased me more tightly in his arms and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “Understandable. So just one change of clothes?”

I smiled, pushing myself up to capture his mouth with a swift kiss. “Play your cards right and I might give you a bonus day,” I murmured.

“Now you’re talking.”

He grabbed my hips and flung me on top of him, setting off a fit of giggles I couldn’t control when his fingers worked painfully slowly up my sides.

“I thought Oliver was waiting!” I panted between squeals.

“He is, but you seem to be holding me captive,” he teased, a wicked grin in place.

“Me!?” I yelped, gasping for air when he sat up, one hand locked around my waist and the other tickling me torturously.

“Stop!” I cackled. It was a horrible sound, yet his fingers refused to relent. Swatting didn’t help, and as much as I tried to roll off him, he blocked my every move. My heaving gasps and his boyish laughter were all I could hear.

Realizing I needed to gain control, I lunged forward and ensnared his bottom lip, then bit down gently.

His gaze darkened in surprise and his hands fell from my stomach, moving up to cup my cheeks. I opened my mouth to free his lips and placed a soft kiss over them.

“I forgot you play dirty.”

“We need to go over your definition of ‘playing dirty’. You know—pot, kettle, and all.” I climbed off the bed and crossed the room to my dresser, pulling out a few items. “Come on, let me get some clothes packed before dinner gets cold.”

“How about this?” Logan asked, appearing beside me. He grabbed the silk nightie I’d worn in his pool months ago, when he’d been watching me. My skin seared with goose bumps.

His breath was on my neck. “I want this framed on my wall to remind me of a night I’ll never forget.”

I grimaced, glancing over at him continuing to rifle through my drawer. “Not sure how that would look next to your artwork.”

Logan held up the thin fabric, admiring it. “True. Then how about I paint you wearing it?”

My rummaging through the drawer ceased instantly at his suggestion. Slowly, my gaze moved back to his. “You want to paint me?”

“Since the day I met you, I’ve wanted you in my studio posing for me.”

I blushed. The intensity in his eyes was thunderous.

“Okay,” I said, nodding. His hands traveled up my stomach, and I winced at the burn from the scrapes still marring the area. I didn’t want to be painted until my body was fully healed. “But not this weekend.”

There was pure pleasure in his smile. “There’s no rush. I’ll always want to paint you.”

I stepped back, loading my arms with a couple blouses and pairs of jeans.

“So, have you painted a lot of women?” I asked softly.
Why did I go there?
I knew the answer from Hilary, yet the question still came out. “Not that it matters. I was just curious, I guess. Never mind—don’t even answer. Not my business.”
Shut up!

“Yes,” Logan answered instantly.

“Right,” I breathed out, my gut churning.
I should’ve known better than to go there.

His hands encircled my waist, twisting me to face him. His finger took my chin, lifting my head. “I greatly enjoy painting, and there are many people who enjoy sitting to have someone capture them on canvas.”

That’s good enough for me
. I swallowed, not needing to hear more.

“Any woman I painted outside of a paying job was faceless to me.”

Seriously, you can stop now.
Should I say something, or will it show insecurity?
Maybe he needed to tell me. If he did, then I’d listen. I wanted to know everything about him, but the women…I’d seen enough to know I didn’t really want to go there.

“Cassandra, they never meant anything,” he explained.

I nodded, a tight smile in place.
Time to change the subject.
“I think I’ve got everything. You ready?”

“I want to show you,” he offered, and I could’ve sworn I felt my jaw drop.

“What?” I stepped out of his hold, my face scrunched. “No! I don’t need to see…anything. I’m good, really.”

“That came out wrong.” He sighed. “I meant I want to show you my work. I never kept the paintings I did of women—only the ones I’m related to. And I promise they’re fully clothed.”

“I would hope so!” I laughed, knocking down the walls of tension that had been building.

Logan’s thumb traced my chin, his eyes locked on mine. “You know I love you, and my past is just that—the past. I can only tell you that before you entered my life, I was a very lonely man. Oliver was my only reason to smile. To have you pose for me….” A smile curved his lips. “It would be an honor. A privilege.”

I kissed his thumb, no longer caring about the women of his past. I already knew they were there, and that they meant nothing to him.

“I look forward to it,” I said, then turned back to close the drawer. “Can you grab my bag from the hall closet?”

Logan left the room, and the excitement of imagining him behind the easel painting me sent my arousal into overdrive. He reentered a moment later and opened my closet.

“So, just out of curiosity…Natasha’s painting, the one Oliver showed me…” My voice lowered, unsure of its next words. “Are there others you have of her? I mean, that are up in your studio?”

“No. I only have that one because…” He seemed to think it through as if he didn’t already know the answer. But that look was cleared from his expression within seconds, and his confidence returned. “I thought one day Oliver might want to have it. It’s the only image of her that I held onto for him.”

“She found an apartment in town,” I blurted out.

“And?”

“She wanted to tell you herself, but I figured you might want to know sooner rather than later. I’m sure you’re relieved she’ll be moving out.”

“Yes, I am.”

I’d been expecting a different reaction—surprise, at least. But he didn’t seem surprised at all as he opened my closet door casually and flipped through the hangers.

He already knew.

“She already told you,” I guessed.

He peered back. “No, I believe she wanted to wait till her apartment was ready—a reason for her to show me she was capable of responsibility.”

It was true, but how did he know that? “Jax told you?’

“Sweetheart, nothing happens in my home that I’m not aware of—nothing.” His thick voice was smooth with resolve.

My brows pinched together at his assured tone. As I thought over how he could’ve known without Natasha or Jax telling him, I realized he wasn’t just looking through my closet—he was full-on inspecting my clothes.

“What are you doing?” I asked, bewildered, watching with wide eyes as he continued.

“You need something warm for this weekend,” he said matter-of-factly.

What was this weekend? Did he have something planned?

“Warm for…?”

With a beige turtleneck I’d never worn in one hand, he turned to show me a heavy wool sweater in the other. Both items had been tucked into the furthest depths of my closet.

“These will do,” he said, removing them from their hangers.

“Um, no.” My attempt to grab them from his hands was botched when he jerked them back.

“Why not? They’re very…” He looked them over appraisingly before adding, “Cute.”

“Great, but that’s not exactly what I’m going for around you.”

He smiled. “You’re cute now,” he said, watching me stuff the sweater in the bag but toss the turtleneck back into my closet, where it would remain.

“I guess that will do.” He moved behind me, brushing against my back. “I’ll be there to keep you warm if you catch a chill.”

My breath caught at his words—a living, breathing entity full of promise
.

Oliver is waiting with dinner! Stay on task!

“So where exactly will I be wearing this?” I prayed it was somewhere deep in the forest with no other humans around—only animals that could appreciate warm layers.

“That’s a surprise.” He glanced at his watch, then to me. “Come on. Oliver will be complaining if I don’t get you home.”

Get me home?
The sound of that brought a smile to my lips. “I
am
home,” I said, sauntering over to him. I dropped the final handful of clothes into the bag and zipped it shut.

“You know what I meant,” he said, placing the duffle strap on his shoulder and taking my hand.

“I do.” I smiled to myself.

The very second the front door to Logan’s house shut behind us, Oliver came stomping out from the kitchen.

“It’s cold now!” he pouted.

Logan placed my bag on the floor, chuckling lightly. “Blame Cassandra. She kept me distracted.”

I feigned innocence. “I did not. Your father got lost.”

“Lost?” Oliver questioned, his brows knitting together.

I approached him, nodding. “He sure did. Couldn’t find his way back from my house.”

Oliver debated what I was telling him for a moment, then slowly, a smile curved his lips. “Daddy needs a map! It’s not far. I know how to get there all the time.”

I followed him into the dining room, throwing a quick wink to Logan. “I think a map is exactly what he needs.”

Chapter Eleven
Regrets

Growing up an only child, I’d often dreamt of what it’d be like to have a brother, sister, and real family meal. Delighted smiles and pleasant streams of conversation about our days was how I’d painted the image, but for the first time I realized that might’ve been a skewed vision.

Dinner at Logan’s that evening was the perfect domestic image I’d craved, with Oliver reciting events from his school day and Logan’s easy smiles cast continuously my way alongside an occasional wink. Life in the West home was everything I could ever want.

That was, until lurid giggles burst into the room, followed by the piercing slap of what I assumed to be someone’s ass. The chair beside me pulled out and the redhead sat, plate in hand.

I glanced her way, annoyed that she hadn’t bothered to fix her matted hair or wipe away the mascara smeared under her eyes. Jax sat across from her beside Oliver, and the room became eerily quiet aside from Oliver’s exclamation of, “Uncle Jax!”

They filled their plates and Jax stole Oliver’s attention, telling him about some new dinosaur movie he’d picked up for them to watch. More silence followed, producing the first of many pointed scowls between Logan and Jax and awkward squirms for me.

The redhead never spoke a word. She simply ate quietly, sending flirty looks over to Jax and shifting occasionally in her seat. At one point, that shifting was followed by a disturbing smirk that spread across Jax’s face.

There is no way they’re playing just footsie under the table.
I focused back on my food, occupying my mind before it wandered to what exactly they
were
playing.

Oliver brought a welcome distraction in the form of a discussion about whether he could have glasses like his best friend in class. Our family meal was heading back on course; my relief eased the tension that had been building in my shoulders.

Just when I thought we were in the clear, the front door slammed. We all looked up to see Julia rounding the corner into the dining room, her hands full of textbooks.

“What’s for dinner? I’ve been studying
all
day and skipped lunch.” She dumped the books on the counter and peeled off her gloves, coat, and hat.