Page 13 of Logan (The Valeur Billionaires #1)

Chapter Eleven

LOGAN

“ Y ou know, I was expecting you to yell at me,” Sloane says, her gaze fixed on her hands in her lap.

The moment between us a minute ago was so intense that I almost dropped to my knees and begged to eat her pussy. The way she looked at me as if she wanted me... Fuck, I was close. “Why would I yell at you?”

“Because of...you know, everything that’s happened. Plus, I did end up grabbing your...family diamonds.”

“Diamonds?” A smirk plays on my lips.

“What else should I call them?”

“Well, most refer to them as the family jewels, not diamonds. Though, simply ‘balls’ suffices.”

She nods. “Maybe nuts? It sounds nicer and cute.”

Suppressing a smile is a battle. “I’m hardly a squirrel, and there’s nothing nice and cute about my balls. ”

“I didn’t really get a measure of them?—”

“So you’ve said, but let’s drop the topic of my balls unless you’re planning to do more than just talk.”

Her silence follows, cheeks aflame. “So, why didn’t you yell at me?”

“I never raise my voice.”

She tilts her head. “Shauna quit because she thought she heard you shouting at Liam. You know, the VP. Your brother.”

I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. “What she thought she saw is beyond me. Shouting isn’t something I resort to.”

“Yes,” Sloane muses, her gaze lingering on me, assessing as if trying to reconcile the man before her with the rumors that swirl around the office. “You manage to intimidate even in silence.”

“Am I scaring you?”

She pauses, her eyes darting away briefly before meeting mine again, a hint of resolve flickering within. “Yes. No, not anymore, I mean.”

A smile breaks free, curving my lips upward despite my attempt at neutrality. “I insist on professionalism. Loafers, those who shirk their duties, irk me. But I never resort to shouting. It solves nothing.”

Her gaze locks onto mine.

Yes, I push my team hard, but no harder than I push myself.

As she observes me, her lips part, the tip of her tongue appearing. It’s a small, unconscious gesture, yet it sends my thoughts spiraling.

Truly, if there were awards for self-control, I’d be the undisputed champion .

Fuck, I feel like pinning her to the wall and pounding her so hard she screams my name. Again and again. The way she looks at me, like she wants it, like she wants me to fuck her, almost destroys what little resistance I have left.

Perhaps the award for restraint isn’t mine to claim after all. I did take advantage of her little moment of embarrassment to force her to join the meal at Wolfson’s.

I thought about hiring someone, but Sloane is the ideal choice. There’s no one more suited to defend the deal than the architect of the product herself. It feels like more than a coincidence that she’s here. It’s as if it was always meant to fall into place this way.

“…Do you want to come with me?”

Sloane’s voice slices through my haze of thoughts. What did she just say? “Come where?”

She scrunches up her nose, a movement that somehow makes my cock squirm.

Calm down, you’re not going to fuck today.

“You didn’t listen to anything I said, did you?” she teases, her tone carrying a light reprimand. “With the weekend ahead, I thought, if you’re not swamped with work, you might want to tag along?”

I raise an eyebrow. It’s not every day someone actually wants to spend time with me. I’m far from the life of any party, usually keeping to myself or sticking close to my brothers, the only people I can stand for more than a fleeting moment.

Yet, her proposal ignites a spark of interest, even in someone as typically reclusive as me. “And where might you be headed?”

She lights up, enthusiasm bubbling over. “I’ve always had this fascination with the history of the royal family, and I thought Windsor might be a good start. Of course, assuming you’ve already been there, we could look into other destinations.”

In all my travels to London, strictly for work, the idea of playing the tourist has never appealed to me, and the thought of elbowing through crowds at popular attractions? No thanks.

“Actually, I’ve never been to Windsor.”

Her eyes glitter with excitement, and the smile she gives me reveals that familiar, irresistible crinkle in her nose. It sparks a desire, an urge to lean in and press my lips to that charming spot.

“Awesome. I found a bus that heads right to the castle?—”

“Bus? If we’re going to Windsor Castle, we’re not taking a bus.” Everyone has their limits, after all.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Sloane beams, her excitement contagious as she peers out the bus window. “I’ve always dreamed of riding a double-decker bus and soaking in the view from up top.”

Surrounded by the cacophony of chattering families and their energetic kids, with the constant rustling of snack bags, I question my choices. What am I doing here—on a bus—of all places?

“It’s loud, dirty, and nauseating,” I say. The situation isn’t ideal, but Sloane’s proximity offers a silver lining. She’s so close that her floral scent is a welcome distraction from the less pleasant odors of our surroundings.

She glances at me, a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Are you okay? We can get off if you’re not feeling well.”

“No, I’m alright. I can handle it. Although, let’s agree to take my driver on the way back.”

She nods and returns her attention to the window, pressing her nose against the glass with childlike curiosity.

Sloane’s in a yellow spring dress today, the kind that shows off her legs, and her bare thigh is just inches from mine in the cramped bus seats. In the tight confines of our seating arrangement, avoiding contact is impossible.

I’m grateful for the long pants I wore this morning, realizing that even the slightest touch from her sends an electrifying jolt through me. Unsettling yet not entirely unwelcome.

She’s all bubbly, filling the bus ride with her chatter while I’m here trying to keep some space between us. My muscles are wound tight, on high alert.

The sudden, sharp beep of her phone slices through, drawing a pause in her monologue. She glances at the screen, and for a moment, her usual brightness dims, replaced by a shadow of annoyance. Then she flings the phone back into her bag.

“Who was that?”

“Someone who doesn’t deserve any more of my energy,” she replies, her tone tinged with a mix of irritation and resolve. It’s a clear signal for me not to probe further.

We finally get off at the station, and I stretch out, feeling every inch of my height. Buses are definitely not made for tall people.

Or horny people .

“Look, isn’t it stunning?” She gestures toward the edge of the castle crowning the hill. “You can see the palace from here.” Her hand gently rests on my arm.

As we ascend the hill toward Windsor Castle, its grandeur becomes more apparent, with its imposing stone walls and towering turrets commanding the skyline. The sun casts a warm glow over the centuries-old fortress, adding to its allure. Upon arrival, I purchase tickets for both of us.

“I’m eager to see the Queen’s dollhouse collection,” Sloane declares, darting ahead and prompting me to quicken my pace.

She’s brimming with enthusiasm, urging me to capture her in photographs at every opportunity, pulling faces at the guards in their distinctive red uniforms, and showing unbridled excitement over every ornament and embellishment.

For the first time in months, I don’t even have a headache.

I gaze out at the vast expanse of greenery, marveling at the beauty of this place, so different from the urban landscapes I’m accustomed to.

“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” Sloane’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

Turning to her, I find her studying me intently.

“Yes. Much more than I anticipated.”

“I’m glad you came with me,” she says with a smile.

I nod. “I’m glad I did too.”

“Good, because I was worried you might hate me for dragging you here on the bus and all.”

“I would have preferred to skip the bus ride, but I quite like the castle,” I admit, returning Sloane’s smile. Despite my initial reservations, I’m enjoying the experience.

As we continue exploring, my stomach interrupts with a reminder of its need for sustenance.

“Do you want to eat?” I ask.

“Absolutely. I’m famished. I spotted a charming pasta restaurant on our way here.”

“I don’t eat carbs.”

Her expression shifts to concern. “Oh. Are you gluten-sensitive?”

“No, I’m not sensitive to anything.”

Her hand falls back to her side. “Then why avoid carbs?”

“Because they’re fattening and unhealthy.”

“Worried about gaining weight?” Sloane’s gaze sweeps over me, making me feel oddly exposed. “Now I understand your constant grumpiness.”

“Constant grumpiness?” I repeat, bewildered.

“Yep. It’s all because of a lack of carbohydrates,” she asserts, already heading toward the restaurant without waiting for my response.