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And he used it with devastating effect.
Kissing was easy, thought Logan. Kissing was a hell of a lot easier than talking or trying to fit into a life that was not his.
His shirt came off, and Evie’s would have too, but she slid out from beneath him and pushed him back against the sofa with a palm to his chest as she straddled his hips.
‘My house,’ she murmured. ‘My rules.’
She pushed his arms back until they rested outstretched along the back of the sofa and set her lips to his triceps and he shuddered beneath her touch and closed his eyes and let her play. Pure pleasure, no pain, and he craved this just as much as he’d ever craved the other. Such a slow and easy slide into sensation. The wet lick of tongue against sensitive skin. The brush of soft hair over hardened nipples. The slow creep of moisture and heat and the tightening of his balls when finally she freed him from his clothes and loosened her own and he slid slowly into her.
Not always rough and fighting for control. Sometimes—when the mood was upon him—he could be exquisitely, unthinkingly …
Gentle.
Evie woke the next morning in her bed. She’d lured Logan there eventually and the slight shift of her head confirmed that he hadn’t yet left. He lay sleeping instead, and in the quiet half-light of dawn Evie studied the man she’d tangled with so exquisitely last night. More beautiful asleep than awake—and always had been. Less guarded when he was asleep and far more innocent-looking. Slept on his tummy with his hands beneath the pillow and his head and one knee crooked towards her. As if he’d watched her slide into slumber before surrendering to it himself.
Fanciful notion, and she knew it. The man had been sated towards the end. He would have closed his eyes and been asleep within moments, just as she had. No time for analysis of the lovemaking that had taken place. The frightening, soul-stealing beauty of it.
That was what morning-afters were for.
Slowly, so as not to wake him, Evie slid silently from the bed, slipped a robe from its hanger and headed for the stairs, no need to put it on now. She’d shower downstairs where the noise would not wake him. No need to wake him for, once she did that, Logan might go.
She had a feeling he’d want to go.
‘I’d kill for coffee,’ he said as her toes touched the first step.
Evie turned and found herself in receipt of a sleepy gaze that swept her from head to toe. Not the full-wattage smile; he wasn’t even trying and still he warmed her through.
‘In house or out?’ she asked lightly. ‘Because if you’re fussy, there’s a place on the corner that does fancy coffee.’
‘Not fussy,’ he rumbled as his eyes closed once more. Not quite awake either. ‘Just need something to wake me up. Evie?’ he murmured.
‘What?’
‘Morning.’
Logan gave himself over to a few more minutes of shut-eye before rolling onto his back and setting the heels of his hands to his face in an attempt to make his eyes stay open. He shouldn’t be jet-lagged; he’d only flown in from PNG. No, the tiredness came from not being able to leave Evie alone last night. Of reaching for her one last time, and then another. Of going slow and savouring every caress.
Last night he’d been given a gift. A chance to make amends for all that had gone before, and he’d done it, replaced old memories with new. Better memories that he could examine without shame. Memories he could hold on to without feeling the stain on his soul.
He looked around the room, looking for clues as to the type of person Evie was at home and finding it in the rough concrete finish of the walls and the exposed plumbing and air-con. No hiding of mechanics behind pretty painted walls for Evie. She seemed to want to strip life back to basics so she could keep an eye on it—everything exposed, even the clothes cupboard, or what there was of it, for her clothes hung on hangers over a long stretch of metal bar, not a cupboard wall in sight. The clothes were colour co-ordinated—sort of—and clearly some thought had gone into the mix and matchability of them. Lots of black and grey, and what colours there were had a vividness about them. No pretty pastels for Evie. Clearly that wasn’t her style.
He was contemplating getting out of bed but hadn’t quite got there yet when Evie returned with the coffee, robe on and hair gathered casually atop her head. The robe slid off one shoulder as she set the tray down on the bed and she raised her arm to slide the robe back into place with the absent-mindedness of someone who repeated that particular action often.
‘Lot of space up here,’ he said as she settled down carefully on the other side of the tray.
‘I know,’ said Evie. ‘It bothers some people. They’d rather sleep in a cave with the ceiling and walls tucked in close.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Does it bother you?’
‘No.’ But parts of her statement did. ‘What people?’
‘The one or two people who’ve been invited up here over the past half a dozen years,’ she said evenly, lifting her coffee to her lips and taking a tiny sip. ‘Are you asking me how many men I’ve had in this bed?’
‘No.’ None of his business.
She looked at him and her eyebrow rose just a fraction.
‘Maybe,’ he admitted gruffly.
‘How many would you think?’
‘Not going near that one, Evie.’
‘Six,’ she said sweetly. ‘Though not all at once.’
Six was okay. Given Evangeline’s charm and enjoyment when it came to the pleasures of the flesh, six lovers in as many years was downright picky.
‘Anything else you’d like to know?’ she offered.
‘Really don’t want to know,’ he said quickly. Only a madman would ask her for details and he had no intention of doing so, and besides … he’d wanted her to explore her sexuality after he’d left her, hadn’t he? Wanted her to be sure of her preferences and to know her own mind.
Still did.
He looked around the room again and thought of the woman-child he’d once known and the woman Evie was now. ‘Tough profession, engineering,’ he said mildly.
Evie nodded, letting him change the subject.
‘Why’d you choose it?’
‘I wanted in on a highly paid and flexible profession that had the potential to take me anywhere. No relying on anyone else for my financial well-being or my status in society.’
That need hadn’t started with him. At least, Logan didn’t think it had. ‘Why the overwhelming need for independence?’
‘My mother’s been a trophy wife all her life. It’s hard work. Soul-destroying, at times. I guess I simply grew up not wanting it.’
‘Is that why your bedroom’s so spartan? Because you’re rebelling against the perfect-homemaker label?’
‘I hope not,’ she murmured. ‘Because that’d be stupid, considering I made this home for me. No, I just really like the minimalist aesthetic. Which is not to say I’m totally against a lavish touch at times, because I guarantee you’ll find one in the bathroom. Bubble bath, scented candles, fluffy towels.’
‘Sensualist,’ he murmured and Evie shot him a slow smile.
‘Rich, coming from you,’ she said. ‘I’ve never known anyone who savours sensuality the way you do. Who cherishes touch the way you do. Anyone would think you’d been starved of it as a child.’
‘My mother wasn’t demonstrative,’ he offered blandly. Evie had seen for herself what kind of relationship he had with his mother. His father’s hand had usually been hard and punishing, but those memories he kept to himself. Better a fist than no touch at all—that was the way the crazy ran for him at times. The reason why he’d taken so instinctively to pain play during lovemaking. He hadn’t needed a psychologist to tell him the why of that.
But not last night. Last night’s lovemaking with Evie had been positively, effortlessly normal.
‘Do you have any plans for today?’ he asked, and Evie shook her head and the vivid red silk robe slid from her shoulder again.
Pretty.
He bit into the cinnamon roll Evie had brought up with the coffee and it tasted sweet and flaky and sticky on his tongue.
‘I could show you round Sydney if you feel like playing tourist,’ she offered.
‘Can there be jet boats on the harbour involved?’
‘Yes.’
‘With me at the wheel?’
‘No.’ Evie rolled her eyes at him. ‘For that you’d have to buy the boat. Bridge climb?’
‘Too slow.’
‘Skydiving?’ she offered next. ‘I’m in a club.’
‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘Because you’re getting to know me,’ she offered dulcetly. ‘But in the interests of full disclosure, we could also head for the Botanic Gardens this morning and lie on the grass and listen to buskers play lazy Sunday-morning songs. That’d work for me too. I guess it all depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On whether you plan to stick around and slay a few more demons this week or whether after last night you already consider them vanquished, in which case my money’s on you leaving some time in the next ten minutes.’
Not only did this woman know her own mind, Logan thought uncomfortably, she also had a fair and accurate reading of his. ‘Do you want me to leave?’
‘No.’ She was breaking the other cinnamon roll into bits and he couldn’t see her eyes for eyelashes, but the steadiness of that no was reassuring.
‘You said you’d give me a week,’ he said.
‘And I will, if that’s what you want.’
She still wouldn’t look at him.
‘I do want,’ he said and leaned forward and snaked his hand through her hair and kissed her gently, and then a whole lot more thoroughly, on the lips. ‘But with wanting comes fear—of my nature and of yours and of the path we took last time. You scared me, Evie. With your compliance and with what you were prepared to give. You have no idea how much I wanted to take it all. And then demand more.’
‘You’re right,’ she said quietly and the gaze she pinned on him was dark and knowing. ‘I didn’t know the dangers of that particular road we were on. But I do now.’
‘If I break you I’ll never forgive myself.’
Truth.
‘You won’t break me, Logan. I know what I’m doing. I’ve got your back.’ As the gentle touch of her tongue to the corner of his mouth threatened to undo him. ‘And your front.’ Her hand slid slowly down his stomach, searching for stiffness and finding it. ‘Your measure.’
And he prayed to God that she did.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_eb9b5984-562c-5040-9779-2095e6832b96)
SUNDAY passed in a blur of tangled limbs and bed sheets and Monday morning came around way too fast. Up at six, with Logan up and ready to head back to his serviced apartment for the day. Scalding-hot coffee and marmalade on sourdough toast as Evie slipped into her work clothes and scowled at the clock. Not a morning person after a night chock-full of Logan. Not a sensible thought left in her head other than she was determined to show him what her life was like, and that her life—on the whole—involved generous quantities of work.
Evie was a good business partner to Max and she needed Logan to see that. She lived a busy life and she wanted Logan to see that too. She wouldn’t be derailed by him the way she had been before.
Half six and out of the door, locking it behind her while Logan stood at her side and waited. She’d see him tonight for dinner. His choice of restaurant this time and he’d let her know exactly what that choice was some time during the day. Not to be controlling or to keep her unsure of his plans for the evening; he just didn’t know yet—this wasn’t his city.
A twenty-minute walk to work for Evie, with Logan heading in the opposite direction. They parted with little fuss, no kisses to spare.
Businesslike.
Until Logan turned back and claimed her mouth with ruthless efficiency before heading off once more, this time wearing a devil’s grin.
They did this for three days and three predominantly sleepless nights.
On the fourth day Max asked Evie where his brother was and whether he’d taken Evie’s brain with him.
‘My brain’s right here in my head,’ she said, and looked at the invoices that covered her desk. Ordering the materials for the various jobs they had on wasn’t her pleasure, which was why she’d given the job to Carlo in the first place, but he’d made a mess of it and she’d taken the job back in the interest of straightening things out. ‘What haven’t I done?’
‘You forgot to order the additional tie wire for the Henderson job.’
Evie groaned. ‘You know what I want more than anything in this world?’
‘Your brain back?’ asked Max.
‘A proper project manager. A really, really good one.’
‘If the civic centre job comes through you can have one,’ offered Max.
Evie just looked at him through her fringe. ‘Who went and got the tie wire?’
‘Carlo. He put it on the account. Said to tell you “Checkmate”.’
‘Carlo wants a proper project manager too,’ said Evie. ‘I’ll grovel to him later.’
‘That’s my girl,’ said Max.
‘Anything else?’ Evie glanced down at her desk once more and sighed. ‘Don’t answer that. I’ll have this sorted by the end of the day.’
‘You seeing Logan again tonight?’ asked Max, with not quite the right amount of disinterest.
‘He’s coming over, yes.’ Assuming he’d left her apartment today at all. He’d discovered her home office and she’d said he could use it. He had his own computer but he was in love with her scanner and fax and her big shiny desk.
‘Do you know what he’s been doing with his days while he’s here?’
‘I think he sleeps.’ How else did a man get to be so inexhaustible throughout the night?
‘Did you know he blew off a face-to-face meeting with a soviet steel baron yesterday? Told him they could reschedule in two weeks’ time or have a conference call, and that it was all the same to him.’
‘You don’t think Logan knows what he’s doing when it comes to big business?’ Evie leaned back in her chair and eyed Max steadily. ‘Maybe he just doesn’t want to work with this man.’
‘Maybe he’s off his game.’
