Fifteen minutes after Penelope phones the number on Logan’s business card, there’s a knock on the door.
We share a glance.
"That can’t possibly be him, right?" I ask, even though we both know the answer.
Penelope bolts to the door, yanking it open without a second thought. So much for caution.
He must be thinking the sa thing, because the mont the door is opened I can hear his voice. "Are you out of your mind?" Logan’s deep voice rumbles through the apartnt. "You don’t just open doors without checking. Especially if you’re worried about stalkers."
Penelope’s cheeks flush. "Sorry, I just—"
But Logan’s already inside, his eyes scanning every corner of the room like a predator seeking prey. His gaze snags on the white bag of apple fritters, and I swear I see his nostrils flare.
Then he’s moving. Toward . With purpose.
My heart leaps into my throat as he drops to one knee in front of , his green eyes blazing with an intensity that steals my breath.
"Are you okay?" The fierceness in his voice makes blink.
"I’m... fine?" It cos out more like a question than a statent. My brain struggles to process the concern etched across his face. Where’s the cold, professional Logan from before?
He exhales, his shoulders sagging with relief. Before I can react, his hand engulfs mine, warm and calloused. He gives it a gentle squeeze that sends sparks shooting up my arm.
"You need to call if anything scary happens. Always." The command in his tone brooks no argunt.
I nod dumbly, my eyes fixed on our joined hands. My body wages an internal war. Part of wants to throw myself into his arms, to taste those lips that have been haunting my dreams. The other part wants to slap him silly for daring to touch after everything that’s happened.
"So, what’s going on?" Logan turns to Penelope, his hand still firmly clasping mine.
As Penelope launches into an explanation about the mysterious fritters, I try to focus. But Logan’s proximity is wreaking havoc on my senses. His scent—pine and sothing wild—wraps around , making my head spin. My skin tingles where we touch, and I have to fight the urge to curl my fingers around his.
"...and the security caras around here are just for decoration," Penelope finishes.
Logan’s thumb absently strokes the back of my hand. Does he even realize what he’s doing?
"A bag of pastries ans a stalker?" he asks, sounding genuinely confused.
"No, no," Penelope backtracks. "It wasn’t just this delivery. There was another one. There were clothes—oh, and a note! Let go get them."
"Clothes..." Logan turns to look at , looking like he’s trying to think of what to say.
I yank my hand from his, and he frowns, but doesn’t try to touch again.
"Is it just those two things?" he asks slowly. "Those are what have you two so worried?"
"What, is that not good enough to take seriously? ’Oh, soone must really care about you, you should be grateful’?" I snipe at him, more irritated than I probably should be. Or maybe not irritated enough. I can’t tell. He’s got all twisted up into loops. "What, is stalking not serious when they’re sending gifts? Only severed pinkies make the cut into danger zone?"
"Of course not. No. I didn’t an that at all." He runs a hand through his marvelous hair, all golden-brown and sexily tousled.
No. It’s just hair. Hair on a man’s head. Maybe it’s even a toupee.
It’s not a toupee. I’ve tugged on that hair. But maybe if I think it’s fake, I can picture him as a bald and unsexy version of himself.
Instead, my brain summons bald, sexy Logan to the forefront of my mind, not helping matters at all.
His pheromones are driving crazy.
"Can you stop wafting at , please?"
"Wafting—I’m not wafting...?" Logan’s confusion is evident in his face, but I don’t believe him.
No one just pheromone dumps without knowing about it.
"It’s really distracting. Please stop with the pheromones."
"Nicole, I swear to you, I’m not—"
"Here it is!" Penelope interrupts the mont, sounding triumphant as she brings the first bag into the living room. She stops in her tracks. "Shit. Was I supposed to wear gloves?"
"It’s fine." Logan grabs it from her arms, glancing inside. "So, what made you two think this is a stalker?"
"Well, for one, who else would know that Nicole’s staying here? Don’t you think it’s a sign? Like they’re saying ’hey, I’m here, I know where you are’?" Penelope flops beside on the couch, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
I try to focus on the scent of the expensive perfu she wears. It cos in a cute bottle that looks like a fancy high heel. Maybe it’ll help offset the pheromones.
But it doesn’t, and I squirm uncomfortably on the couch, tugging at my shirt collar and trying to wave cool air at my face.
"Are you okay?" Penelope whispers.
"I’m fine."
Logan’s broad shoulders tense as he sets the bags on the counter. The sight of him handling potential evidence with such casual disregard makes my skin crawl. Doesn’t he know better?
He turns, rubbing his forehead. The furrow between his brows deepens. "Is it possible this is so kind of well-aning gesture? Not a stalker?"
My jaw drops.
Before I can unleash the torrent of indignation building in my chest, he hastily adds, "I’m not trying to make light of the situation. I just want to be absolutely sure there’s a negative association with these gifts. Maybe it’s from soone who just wants to cheer you on, to tell you everything’s going to be okay and to keep your head up."
I bite my tongue, forcing myself to take a deep breath. The pheromones still swirling around aren’t helping my concentration. My skin feels too tight, too hot. I want to crawl out of it or maybe crawl all over Logan.
No. Focus.
"You want to be sure?" I keep my voice level, but only just. "Officer Everett, soone broke into my apartnt and murdered my ex in my bed. I still haven’t heard from the hospital about the results of my toxicology reports, because I’m pretty damn sure I was drugged into oblivion while the culprit did it. I’m pretty sure there’s no other way to associate with random gifts showing up at Penelope’s door for ."
Reviews
All reviews (0)