Page 82 of Logan

I stretch my lips into a forced, overly bright smile. “You make it sound like I fell in love with you or something equally ridiculous. Trust me, that will never happen. I’ve already forgotten all about you.”

He visibly flinches at my callous words, his face draining of color. The warm, tender expression I’d grown accustomed to these past few days vanishes, replaced by the cold, harsh mask I remember from our initial meetings.

It looks as if all the emotions have been sucked out of him, leaving only a cynical, hardened shell behind. He looks scary.

Threatening.

The Logan I thought I knew, the one I’d started to care for despite my better judgment, is gone. In his place stands The Formidable Dark Lord.

I don’t wait for a response.

“We never knew each other, Boss.” I flash him one last wide, patently fake smile before striding to the second bedroom and slamming the door shut with a resounding bang.

With shaking fingers, I turn the lock from the inside, desperately needing the flimsy barrier between us. He’s right, damn him. I am angry. Furious even, but more at myself than him.

True, we made no promises to each other. This was supposed to be a fun, no-strings-attached fling. And I’m certainly not in love with him or any ridiculous nonsense like that.

Still, I thought that maybe, just maybe, we had becomefriends of a sort. After all, we spent several amazing days together, didn’t we? And if I’m brutally honest with myself, I enjoyed every second far more than I ever expected or planned.

Damn it, I didn’t think it was possible, but I enjoyed his company. Not just the mind-blowing sex—although that was certainly a huge bonus—but talking to him, really talking. Sharing my ideas, my dreams and fears without feeling judged.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I could be myself, wholly and unapologetically. I didn’t have to hide behind a mask or pretend to be someone I’m not.

And foolish woman that I am, I dared to hope that it meant something. ThatImeant something.

I never imagined that mere moments after him being inside me, he would casually drop the bomb that he’s leaving in a few short hours.

As if the time we shared was nothing but a pleasant diversion. As if I was nothing more than a convenient warm body to use and discard when he got bored.

In a few hours, he’ll waltz back into his old life, slipping easily into his role as my boss, and we’ll never speak of this again, sweeping it under the rug like some dirty little secret.

We’re just two strangers who collided for a moment in time.

“Sloane.” His voice, low and insistent, accompanied by the sound of his fist pounding on the door, startles me out of my gloomy thoughts.

I remain silent, refusing to acknowledge him.

“Sloane, I don’t want to end it like this. I’m leaving in a few hours.”

You mean you wanted one more quick fuck before you go? Well, tough luck, buddy. We’re done here.

The sex was great, but only because it’s been so long, and I was practically a virgin again. Anyone with even a shred of skill could have made me come in that state.

It wasn’t him, not really. It was just my overactive hormones and touch-starved body responding to the first hint of stimulation after a long dry spell.

Anyone could have made me come three times in a row like that. It wasn’t special.Heisn’t special.

“Sloane, please.”

I cover my head with the blanket. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block out the vivid, visceral memories that assault me.

The sight of his beautiful face reflected in the glass of the London Eye as he drove into me with deep, powerful thrusts.

The feeling of his pounding heart beneath my splayed fingers as we hurtled over the edge into sweet oblivion together.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Another minute passes before he leaves, his footsteps retreating from the door, and I remove the blanket from my face.