Page 8

Peyton

" W hat are we doing here, Logan?" I ask, reluctantly trailing behind him as he unlocks the front door to his place not even fifteen minutes later.

Instead of responding, he simply shoots me a little boy grin over his shoulder and then disappears inside.

I tip my head back, staring up at the sky.

"Why couldn't you send me a normal hockey player instead of a goalie?" I groan to whoever is up there listening.

Serena said goalies are basically the Siberian Huskies of the hockey world. She didn't mean it as a compliment. Her brother has a husky. Butch argues with birds, takes naps in the bathtub, digs random holes to nowhere, farts without shame, and may or may not bite. He's basically feral but he loves his bed and his people. Logan is like that…only in human form and without the random blasts of swamp gas. He's a menace, specifically to me. Probably to others as well.

Whatever he's paying me isn't nearly enough.

Huh. What is he paying me?

"I need a raise," I growl, stomping into the house after him. "If I'm going to have to deal with your infuriating inability to answer a ques…" I trail off, gaping at the woman standing on the far side of the foyer with a sleeping baby in her arms. The same pretty brunette from the photo in the nursery. Logan's sister, Lauren.

Crap.

She glances up at me, her lips twitching with amusement. The same glints in the depths of her eyes. I don't know how I didn't notice in the photo—probably because I was too busy freaking out—but they're the same exact shade of blue as Logan's eyes.

"Hi," she whispers. "I'm Lauren. You must be Peyton."

"Um, hi," I squeak, turning a death glare on Logan when he steps up beside her, grinning at me like he's proud of himself. "It's so nice to meet you. I'm so sorry. Your baby is adorable."

"Thank you." She glances down at her son, her expression soft. "His name is Lachlan. He's my world."

"He's way cuter than your brother."

She laughs softly.

I press my palms to my blazing cheeks, trying to get myself together as Logan's grin grows. He's enjoying this way too much. "I'm sorry. I'm frazzled. Logan didn't tell me that we were coming here. He basically kidnapped me after my interview."

"Logan!" Lauren jabs him in the ribcage.

"What? I figured I had a better chance of luring her back here if she didn't know where we were going," he says, shrugging. "And look, it worked. She's here."

"Is he always like this?" I ask his sister.

"Pretty much always." She shoots me a mischievous look. "You definitely need a raise."

I groan, squeezing my eyes closed. "I didn't think anyone heard me say that. I promise I'm not after his money." I bite my lip. "Well, not very much of it, anyway."

Her quiet laugh echoes around the foyer. "I'm not offended. He's been my brother my entire life. Trust me, you need a raise."

"I don't even know how much I make," I mutter.

Lauren gasps quietly. "You didn't tell her how much she makes? What the fuck, Logan?"

He has the grace to look embarrassed. "It didn't come up."

"How does her pay rate just not come up?" Lauren narrows her eyes on her brother, shifting the baby in her arms. He really is cute, with a head full of dark hair and an angelic little face. "Are you a crappy boss?"

"What the fuck, Lauren?" Logan growls. "What kind of question is that?"

"The good kind," I say sweetly, stirring the pot because he deserves it. And because watching him squirm is all kinds of fun for me. I don't think he tells his sister no very often. It's cute. That's not a word I ever thought I'd attribute to Logan Moreno, but it's the only one that applies. He towers over his sister, but he looks at her like she's his hero.

"I'm going to show you exactly what kind of boss I am, baby," he growls, narrowing his eyes on me.

"Oh," Lauren whispers, her gaze darting between the two of us.

I feel the heat climbing up my cheeks as she clocks the way he's looking at me. It's not subtle at all. I doubt that word is even in his vocabulary. "Stop calling me that," I mutter, glowering at him. "I already told you that you can't call me that. Don't call me angel, either."

"Why the fuck not? You're mine."

Lauren's eyes practically bug out of her head at his declaration. "Oh my gosh. You two are dating? I thought she worked for you?"

"We are…" I bite my tongue before the denial forms. If I tell her that we aren't dating, Logan is going to have a whole lot of explaining to do when the news of our fake relationship breaks. It's not my place to force him into telling her about Montaque when he asked for time to make sure she's protected. "We are dating," I sigh. "And now I work for him too. Somehow."

"You sound so thrilled about it, baby," Logan says, his tone light.

"You definitely owe her a raise then," Lauren mutters. "No woman should have to work for you and date you without being paid ungodly amounts of money, Logan. That's cruel and unusual."

His face blanches, and I throw my head back, laughing. I bet she gives him hell every day just because she can. I already like her. I can also already see why he's so protective of her. Their bond is obvious.

It's also obvious that she adores the little boy in her arms. Every time he moves, she glances down at him, checking on him. Her expression softens with wonder, like she can't quite believe that he's real. Love practically flows from her. I barely know her, and I can already tell that she's an amazing mother. It would destroy her to lose her baby. And I'm guessing it scares the crap out of her to consider that there may come a day when she isn't able to care for him because of her illness.

In the group homes, there were a lot of kids who struggled with mental health issues. It was always devastating to watch kids who were thriving one day slowly fall apart as their meds stopped working. I can imagine it's even worse to be the one slowly unraveling, not knowing how to stop it. To be a prisoner in your own mind, held hostage by a disease no one fully understands, has to be terrifying.

And to be judged and labeled for it? To be treated like you've done something wrong just because you were born the way you were? Well, that's always been one of the biggest problems with people, hasn't it? We fear what we don't understand. We avoid what makes us uncomfortable. If it isn't perfect, it's broken.

This world isn't kind to the people it sees as broken. Even now, the stigma around mental health hasn't gone away. People talk about depression and anxiety. But the more complex stuff like schizophrenia? Those still scare the hell out of us, so much so that we've convinced ourselves that they only happen to broken people. It's more palatable that way, less terrifying. We aren't at risk if the big, scary diseases only happen to people who are fundamentally broken.

We live in a bubble of comforting lies because the truth is overwhelming. And people like Lauren pay for our ignorance.

I may not know what it's like to be in her shoes. But I do know what it's like to suffer because people prefer the comforting lie over the hard truth. Been there, done that. It's why people like my father stay in power despite their sins and excesses. The lie is easier.

"Ninety thousand," Logan says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Think that's fair or should we push for more?" Lauren asks me.

I turn wide eyes on Logan. "Ninety thousand?"

"One hundred thousand?" He scratches his chin. "Name your price, angel."

"Are you… Have you…" I gape at him, spluttering. Is he seriously offering to pay me whatever I want?

"One hundred and fifty thousand," Lauren hurries to say.

"Done." Logan doesn't even bat a lash. He doesn't blanch or squirm. He just freaking agrees like it makes no difference to him, his eyes locked on my face. We might as well be discussing the weather or the state of the frigging union for all the concern he shows.

"And she gets health insurance, a 401K, and all the fancy stuff."

"Obviously," he says dryly.

"Perfect." Lauren beams at her brother. "Then my job here is done." She bends, scooping up a bag from the floor. "I need to run. Roland will be home soon."

"Here," Logan murmurs, sliding his nephew out of her arms. The baby whines before nuzzling up against his chest with a soft grunt. Logan cradles his head carefully before tugging the diaper bag out of Lauren's hands. "I'll carry him out for you."

"Fine," Lauren grumbles. "But only because he's going to wake up and go into ninja mode as soon as I try to put him in the car seat. He can bite you for once instead of me." She turns to me, smiling. "It was really great to meet you, Peyton. I can't wait to get to know you better. Please harass Logan as often as possible."

"I'll do that," I promise. "It was great to meet you too."

"I'll be right back, baby," Logan murmurs, reaching out to stroke my arm as he and Lauren stride past me out the door.

I watch them go and then stumble into the living room, sinking onto the sofa. For a long moment, I just stare blankly at the wall across from me. Is he seriously going to pay me that much money just to organize his life? How much help could he possibly need?

I feel him standing behind me a few minutes later, watching me.

"You cannot pay me one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, Logan," I mutter, not even turning around. "That's highway robbery."

"How much is your time worth, angel?"

"What?"

"How much is your time worth to you?" he asks, striding around the side of the sectional. "Fifty thousand? Sixty?"

"I don't know."

"Contrary to what you may think, I actually did look at your resume. I saw your references. Your previous employers all loved you, said you were highly organized, efficient, and instrumental in keeping their companies running." He kneels in front of me. "Don't undervalue yourself, especially not to me. If you can keep me functioning, you're worth every goddamn penny."

"I need a nap," I mutter, grinding my palms against my eyes. "And alcohol. Probably something else too but I don't even know what. There's no way I can deal with this right now. I'm too something to deal with this."

"Too something?" he asks, a smirk in his voice.

I shoot him a death glare.

"You know what else is worth it?" His eyes tangle with mine. "Knowing that you're being taken care of the way you should be. Knowing that, even when you're pissed at me, you're eating well, sleeping well, and not worrying about whether you'll be able to pay your bills."

"You cannot pay me one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year just because you like me, Logan!" I cry.

"I'm not. I'm paying you a hundred and fifty grand because you're worth every penny. And it just so happens to come with a few perks for me." His lips kick up into a proud little boy grin. "It's a win-win."

"Yeah, until Montaque finds out that you're paying me," I retort. "And then the story changes. Guess what they say about me then?"

His expression turns black. "He isn't the only one who can ruin careers, Peyton. I'll fucking destroy anyone who even suggests that I'm paying you to sleep with me."

I open my mouth to respond and then snap it closed when I realize that he's deadly serious. Good Lord. Serena was not joking when she warned me that he was trouble. I'm just not entirely sure what kind of trouble he is yet. But more and more, I find it harder to deny that he isn't precisely the kind I like. A little too much.

He's turning my whole life upside down and inside out. Hell, he's turning me upside down and inside out. And some crazy, irrational, wild part of me loves it. I feel like someone brand new with him, someone completely free. I've never felt that way before, like I can say whatever I want, do whatever I want, and be perfectly accepted. He doesn't judge me. He doesn't laugh at me. He just…freaking grins like he fucking loves it.

I swallow hard, dangerously close to crossing a line that there won't be any coming back from. If I unbend now, he's going to ruin me. I'll give him every single piece of myself. And then what? What happens when he gets bored? What happens when he decides to walk away?

What happens if he doesn't? that damn little voice whispers. And maybe that's the most terrifying question of all. Because it's the one I don't know how to answer. My whole life, no one has ever stayed. Not my father. Not the foster families I was placed with. Hell, not even my mom. And maybe that wasn't her fault or her choice, but she still left me alone.

So…what happens if that doesn't happen? What happens if he stays?

I have no idea. And that's terrifying.

Logan leans forward, reaching for my hands. I don't know why I do it, maybe because I'm desperate to stop thinking, but I practically launch myself at him. He growls, hauling me up against his chest.

"You done being mad at me now?" he asks, his lips inches from mine.

"You give me a new reason to be angry every five minutes."

His hands sink into my hips, yanking me flush against him. "Yeah? Then maybe I should spend the time in between giving you reasons to forget, angel. Think I can make you come before I piss you off again?"

"No." I pull his hair, which makes him growl. And that sound? I feel it scraping against my clit. "I'm not sleeping with you, remember?"

"Who said anything about sleeping? You'll be too fucking busy screaming my name to rest." He attacks my mouth, grunting as he flicks his tongue against the seam of my lips, silently demanding entry.

When I deny him, he plunges his hand into my hair, snapping the band holding the bun in place. I whimper as he cranes my head back, not being gentle about it. Lava flows through my veins, setting my system on fire.

"Fucking open, Peyton. Now," he snarls.

"Make me," I gasp.

His hand tightens in my hair. He shoves the other one down the back of my skirt, gripping one ass cheek hard. God, I shouldn't love the way he touches me like I'm his. His rough possession is going to annihilate me, and I do absolutely nothing to stop or dissuade him. I egg him on, unable to resist when the pleasure feels this damn good.

"Want to dare me again, baby?" he breathes, his fingers sliding down the crevice of my ass. "Or do I need to play with this little hole to get you to behave?"

"Logan," I moan, pushing back against him.

"Ah, goddamn," he growls. "You'd let me do it, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

He snarls like a wild beast, attacking my mouth again. I let him in this time, too turned on to keep pretending I don't want him all over me. We both know it's a lie anyway. I'm playing with fire, praying to God we both burn.

What else am I supposed to do when I ache every time he looks at me? Every time he smiles at me? He's driving me out of my mind without even trying. And he knows it, damn him. Logan Moreno is Kryptonite, making me weak, poisoning my good sense. And I fucking love it.

He tips me backward on his lap, draping my body across his knees. "You're going to make yourself come just like this," he growls, already yanking my skirt up my thighs. "I want to watch you squirm and whimper and beg while you fuck yourself with your fingers like you did on the phone."

"Logan," I groan, a wave of heat blasting through me at the thought of him watching me get myself off. Part of me wants to say no, but the other part? The part that wants this man as wild and crazy as he makes me. That part is fully on board.

"Get that perfect hand between your legs, baby," he orders, the gritty rasp of his voice sending a heatwave rolling over me.

I hesitate for a moment—just long enough to make him growl at me—and then slowly slip my hand down my body. He tugs my panties to the side, using two fingers to part my lower lips.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You're already soaked."

"Jealous?"

His wild eyes meet mine. "Hell yes. It should be my mouth between your legs right now," he snarls. "You should be dripping all over my fucking face."

My clit throbs.

"Too bad." I bat his hand out of the way, loving the possessive growl that rumbles from deep in his chest. Logan Moreno does not like to share. Not even a little bit. I swirl my fingers over my clit, moaning far louder than I would if I weren't trying to torture him. Something about the look in his eyes… I love it way too much. He's a man on the edge, desperation in every breath. And I'm the one who dragged him there.

If that isn't power, I don't know what is.

"Three fingers, angel," he demands, his gaze locked on my pussy. "Stretch that perfect little hole open for me. Pretend it's my cock splitting you wide open and fucking you to heaven."

"K-keep talking," I groan, slowly pushing one finger and then another inside me. I'm so wet there is no hiding the loud, messy sounds. I fuck myself with my fingers, too turned on to be embarrassed. Too caught up in the way he watches me to feel awkward. I slowly add another, sobbing quietly when a bead of sweat drips down his forehead.

"What do you want me to say?" His gaze flickers to my face and then back to my center. "You want to know how desperate I am to shove your hand aside and take over right now? Do you want me to tell you how fucking much I want to toss you down on the couch and eat you until you're squirting all over my face again?"

I whimper, thrusting my fingers faster.

"You want to hear how hard I jerked off on the phone while you were playing with yourself last night?"

My inner muscles clench around me, a flood of moisture trickling from my body. I moan softly, bucking my hips.

"Yeah, you like knowing that, don't you?"

"Yes," I gasp, too far gone to deny it.

"I came all over myself, listening to your little gasps and moans, Peyton. Wish like hell I'd been in that bed beside you, watching you touch yourself just like this. You're so goddamn sexy right now, baby."

"Logan," I whimper, so damn close.

"Next time, you'll be coming all over me again. It'll be my fingers, my tongue, and my cock taking you to heaven." His gaze flashes to mine, his expression feral. "I won't fucking stop until you're too hoarse to keep pleading for mercy."

I shatter with a groan, his name tumbling from my lips as I topple over the edge, completely unraveled by the dark promise stamped across his face and vibrating in his words. He means it. And God help me, I want it. I want him. Too damn much to deny it.

This isn't hate. It isn't anger. It's something a whole lot bigger than that.

"Goddamn, that looked good," he growls, hauling me back up into his arms to kiss my breath away. He comes back again and again, like he can't help himself. And then he sighs softly, snuggling me up against his chest with his face nuzzled in my throat.

We sit just like that for several long moments before he reluctantly pulls back. "I should get you home so you can pack, baby."

"Pack?" My brows furrow. "Uh, what are you talking about?"

"We're playing the Bucks tomorrow. You're flying out with us."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. It's in the job description, angel." He grins at me. "You go where I go."

"That is not in the job description, Logan."

"I added it before I hired you."

"I can organize things from here."

"Maybe. But you don't know much about hockey. You need to be at the games until you figure out how it all works."

"I can attend home games. You know, the ones that don't require hopping on a plane and flying across the country?" I retort.

"Rules are rules," he says, shrugging innocently. "And I make the rules."

"Unmake this one!" I demand.

"No can do."

I gape at him for a long moment, take stock of the stubborn intractability on his face, and decide there's really no other choice. I twist, grabbing a pillow from the couch.

"What are you doing?"

"Smothering you," I say cheerfully, trying to cover his face with it. "I probably won't even go to prison for it. Especially if I get a jury who knows anything about you."

He laughs, trying to cage me in as I squirm and dodge, doing my best to push the pillow over his stupidly gorgeous smug face. He wins in the end. Mostly because he has a home gym and a hockey career, and the only cardio I've done lately was riding him the other night.

"Fine," I mutter when I'm too out of breath to keep fighting. "You win."

"Fucking obviously. I always win when it counts, Peyton."

I shoot a withering look in his direction, crawling from his lap. "Don't be so smug, Logan. You're only winning because you're a giant bully, and I'm out of shape. But just so it's clear, I am so mad at you right now."

He grins, flashing those dimples at me. "Oh, I'm aware, angel. Why do you think my dick is so fucking hard?"

I throw my hands up, stomping toward the front door. There is no talking to him. There really isn't. He was put on this earth specifically to terrorize me.