Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) (11 page)

I
wake several hours later, in the strong arms of a man, the strong arms of Logan Romano, god and master of my body.

I carefully extract myself from his arms, not wanting to wake the master. Grabbing his tee off the floor, I pull it on. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I take in all that is Logan Romano. He’s one fine specimen of a man and he’s made this woman feel like a goddess. He has touched and worshiped every inch of me. Well, not every, but almost. I feel as if I’m a cat high on catnip, munching on a canary as I bat a mouse between my paws. Yes, I’m high on this man, and every single hard and soft part of him.

I look at the clock radio on the nightstand. We’ve been in bed and all around the bed, doing all kinds of wonderful deeds, for almost twenty-seven hours.
Twenty-seven hours of fucking bliss. How is that even possible?

I regrettably peel my eyes off Mr. Romano and make my way to the shower. Smiling and daydreaming about shower sexcapades with a man who knows how to work both of his sticks, I stand under the steamy spray and close my eyes.

My mind cast adrift and wandering in holy-hot-man dreamland, I don’t hear the shower door open but I do feel a large callused hand running up my spine.

I lean away from the spray and look over my shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, as lush lips trail over the back of my neck. Grabbing a sponge, he squirts on some bath wash. “May I?”

“If you must, Mr. Romano.”

“Oh, I must.” He smells the sponge. “What is this wash? It smells like heaven.” He picks up the bottle and reads the label. “‘Angel.’ But that’s… how is that possible?”

“I have it custom made and I let the makers choose a name for it. That’s what they named it.”

He shakes his head. “That’s just…”

“Unbelievable?”

“Yes.” He runs the sponge down my spine. “This script,” he says, running the sponge over my inked lower back. “It’s beautiful. What is it? What does it say?”

“It’s Gaelic and it basically says, ‘love them, then set them free.’”

He reverently traces a finger over the script. “You’ve lost someone… someone dear?”

I nod.

“You’re not going to tell me about it, are you?”

I turn and face him. Sad eyes meet mine, pleading, begging me to tell him, to let him in. But I can’t. I can’t tell the man who fucked me for hours about the man who will forever own a piece of my heart. Guilt washes over me, wrecking me, when I realize I haven’t thought of Lane in the last twenty or so hours.

I look away as tears begin to cloud and overflow my eyes.

Strong arms surround me, enveloping me. “Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

I take a deep breath, steadying my voice. “No. I’m sorry, Logan. I can’t talk about it. Just like you can’t talk about the tattoo on your arm.”

He has a stunning Yin-Yang on his right upper arm. The Yin isn’t solid or shadowed like it usually is. It’s filled in with a half-heart and the name “Luke,” written beautifully in a delicate script. I would guess Luke is a brother or a close friend.

He releases me but continues to wash me, each stroke turning harder, rougher, as if he’s punishing me, or trying to wash away this angel’s sins. When he’s washed every inch of me, he roughly washes my hair. I let him do it, let him get it out, let him punish me, us. As I’m rinsing my locks, eyes shut tightly, I hear the door open, then shut.

Alone and feeling lonelier than I have in such a long time, I let my tears flow, letting the water wash them away. After a couple of minutes, I get myself under control and step out. As I’m drying, I hear Logan step into the guestroom shower. He and I are emotionally similar, meaning we’re not good at disguising or holding things in. We have visible and invisible scars, wearing them like a scarlet letter over our hearts. Logan Romano is not who I expected or wanted him to be. He might be a hot, cocky stick-handler, who’s skated around many rinks, but he’s not an uncaring, using bastard. It’s obvious this hook-up, or whatever the hell it is, isn’t turning out like I wanted it to. He clearly has deeper feelings for me, and I him. I told myself it was because he’s my first lover since Lane, but it’s more than that, so much more. I need to end this, us, before it’s too late. Before I’ve fallen in love and he is taken away from me, and from everyone else who loves him.

Logan sits at the bar and I place a plate in front of him.

“I hope you like omelets.”

He nods and I hand him a fork and a napkin.

He digs in without saying a word. He must have had a talk with himself as well, during his shower. His emotions are now reined in, under control.

“I have a few hours of work to do this morning. What are your plans?”

He downs half of his glass of orange juice before he looks at me. “I need to check in with the painters then I thought I’d go for a run.”

“Do you think you could go to the market?”

He nods. “Just give me a list.”

“Logan, I’m—”

He holds up a hand. “Don’t. You told me this was just a… fling, a hook-up. I’m not going to lie and say I’m good with it. I… I care for you, Sam. I know we just met but there’s this… I don’t know, like I said before, it’s as if there’s a force pulling us together, connecting us. And now I’ve had you, touched you, I—”

“Logan, I—”

He shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says, as he stands, walks over to the sink, rinses his plate, and puts it into the dishwasher. Finally, he turns and faces me. “You can deny it all you want, angel, but it’s fact and you know it.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it; I was going to say it’s taken me by surprise, whatever this is between us.” I rinse my plate and he steps aside so I can put it in the washer. He leans against the cabinets, folding his muscular arms over his chest. It’s an intimidating stance and it’s working. I feel small and insignificant, standing across from him.

I look down at my bare feet as I take a minute to figure out what I’m going to say. After a minute, I look up at him, into his eyes. “Logan, whatever this is between us, ends here.”

He frowns and for some reason it makes his arms look bigger. “Why? You live in New York. I’ll be moving there in a few weeks. What we have, the chemistry we have, Sam, it’s not something you find very often, if ever.”

“You don’t want to get involved with me, Logan.”

“I am involved with you. What do you think we’ve been doing for the last twenty-four hours? I’d say our fucking was pretty damn involved,” he nearly shouts.

I wince. “Logan, nothing you do or say will change my mind. It’s the right now, or it’s nothing. I am sorry, I truly am.”

“Will you at least give me your full name?”

I shake my head. “I can’t, Logan. If I do then you’ll know everything I’m trying to protect you from.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble? Are you afraid of someone?”

Only you, Mr. Romano.
“No. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not in trouble and no one is going to hurt me.”
Except for you
.

He runs a hand down his shadowed cheek. I hate this heaviness between us. I hate that I’m making his beautiful sad brown eyes look sadder, miserable. But how can I tell him I’m cursed? How can I tell him I will be the end of him, in one way or another?

He looks down at the tiled floor and sighs. After a couple of minutes, he looks back up at me with defeat written all over his beautiful face. “I hate this, Sam. I hate fighting, feeling like your enemy. Let’s not fight. Let’s enjoy the time we have left.”

I nod, relieved and happy.

He stands at his full height. “I’d better get going.”

“I’ll put a market list together.”

He steps into my space, raising my chin, looking into my eyes. “I agreed to this… fling or whatever this is. But that’s not going to stop me from doing everything I can to get you to change your mind, angel.”

“Logan, I’m not going to change my mind. I care for you too much.”

He kisses my forehead. “And I care too much to let you just walk away, Sam.”

He leaves me. I was hoping for a couple more days together, but with that declaration, I’m going to have to end it, end us—soon.

W
hile Logan was at the market, I packed my things. Now don’t get your panties in a twist. I had planned to tell him I’m leaving in the morning. As luck would have it, Lex called and needs me to fly to London, and then to Hong Kong. A new factory build I’ve been working on has hit a major snag. Looks like I’ll be firing the foreman, and then hiring a new one. There are times I hate the responsibilities of being a Grant. This is one of those times.