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CHAPTER 12

SLOANE

A knock on the door sounded, and I smoothed my hair and glanced in the mirror one more time, reapplying my red lipstick. The color was the one thing Everett let me choose about my appearance. It was my version of battle armor.

The only problem…it didn’t seem to be working properly. I was trying to be numb, but I kept feeling things.

I had to remind myself that he was just like all the others who’d hired me. No matter what connection I’d felt when we’d locked eyes…when he’d kissed me…when he’d asked me out at the bar…

None of it was real.

I had to remember…this was just another job. He’d made sure of that when he hired me.

Except when I opened the hotel door and saw him standing there, he was holding a bouquet of red roses.

No one had ever brought me flowers before. You didn’t do that when the girl was a sure thing. Expensive gifts. Alcohol. Lingerie. Sure.

But not flowers.

The red roses were perfect, fresh, like they belonged in some romantic movie. Not in my life.

What was he playing at?

I tried to keep my face neutral, not wanting him to see the swirl of emotions hitting me all at once—shock, disbelief, and something else I couldn’t name. I couldn’t even bring myself to reach for them.

He frowned, his eyes searching mine. “Why do you look so upset?”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “I’m not upset.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “All right,” he said slowly, stepping into the penthouse and pressing a kiss on my lips like it was second nature, like we’d been doing that for a lifetime.

I froze, my lips unmoving. It took a second for me to kiss him back, and when I did, it felt like there were ants crawling across my skin. We weren’t supposed to be like this. I didn’t kiss my clients like they were my boyfriend.

He pulled away, studying me for a second. “You are upset. What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” I snapped petulantly, turning away and trying to get a hold of myself. I wasn’t supposed to snap at my clients .

But when I turned back around, there the roses were, the bright red petals taunting me.

“Then what is it?” he said soothingly, reaching out and trailing his fingers across my cheek. I blinked, too much emotion slithering under my skin, and I couldn’t stop staring at those stupid roses.

The crazy thing was, I wanted to tell him what I was feeling. I wanted to give him a reminder about what this was between us.

It was just that the words felt too heavy to say. Finally, I whispered, unable to look at him, “Whores don’t get flowers.”

The silence after I said it was thick. I braced myself, waiting for him to pull back, to realize what he was doing—to see me the way I really was.

It wasn’t like my clients were waiting at the door, desperate to woo me. Fancy hotel rooms rented for the night under a pseudonym so that no one knew what they were up to didn’t play well with romance.

But instead, he stepped closer, his face hardening with something I didn’t expect. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t,” he said, his voice firm, almost like a warning. “Don’t ever call yourself that again.”

My throat tightened, the shame I tried to keep hidden now out in the open. I looked down, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. I didn’t know how to explain it—how could I? It was the one thing I was certain about.

“You hired me, did you not? And just so we’re clear, hundreds of other men have hired me too.”

He flinched, and my teeth clenched.

“By definition, I think that makes me a whore.”

Logan wasn’t having it. He tipped my chin up so I had to meet his eyes, his touch gentle but determined. “I figured we’d have to have this conversation.”

I tried to shake my head, but he didn’t let me look away. “I hired you because you wouldn’t go out with me. And the thought of anyone else touching you made me want to kill someone. This is my solution.” His voice softened, but the intensity was still there. “But make no mistake, sweetheart, the last thing I think of you is that you’re a whore. I’ll get you flowers every week for the rest of our lives, just so you know who you are.”

“And who’s that?” I murmured, blinking up at him because it felt like I’d entered some surreal universe where beautiful boys turned out to be heroes instead of the object of my worst nightmares.

“Mine,” he said simply.

I could feel his words breaking something inside me, something I didn’t know was fragile until he touched it. I ripped my chin away from him and walked back into the room, my hands trembling as I clutched the roses and tried to ignore what he’d just said.

Because it was insane.

“How did you even find out…about me?” I asked softly, trying to ignore how it felt when he came up behind me, so close that with every breath, his chest brushed my back. “Did Tyler tell you? Because he’s not supposed to do that.”

“Tyler is an asshole,” he mused.

I shook my head. Tyler was going to pay for breaking the rules—even more than what he’d already lost with his suspension.

I glanced around the hotel room and realized I didn’t know what to do with the flowers. There didn’t seem to be any vases floating around.

I stared at the roses again, my fingers clenching the stems a little too tight, and one of the thorns tore into my finger.

“Ouch,” I huffed, staring down where a drop of crimson blood was dripping down my fingers.

Before I could even react, he was there, his larger hand gently but firmly capturing mine.

“Careful,” he hummed, his voice low, almost hypnotic. His thumb brushed over my palm, sending an electric jolt up my arm.

“I’ll survive,” I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended. I tried to pull back, but he held on.

Tilting my hand toward him, he focused on the drop of blood that was sliding down my finger. His lips curled into a frown, one that sent a rush of heat straight to my cheeks. “You’re bleeding,” he said, like it was some kind of revelation.

“Just a scratch,” I replied, my words stumbling over themselves. I tried to tug my hand free again, but he didn’t let go.

His eyes flicked up to mine, something unreadable swirling in their green depths. Before I could process what was happening, he lifted my finger to his lips.

My breath caught as his tongue flicked over the cut, his mouth warm and soft as he pressed a kiss there, slow and deliberate. The sensation was startling, intimate, and entirely unexpected.

“Logan,” I breathed, not sure if it was meant to be a protest or a plea. My heart was pounding, a wild, erratic rhythm that matched the heat crawling up my neck.

“Relax,” he said, his voice a playful rumble. He licked his lips, smirking as if he’d just done something as casual as wiping ketchup off his chin. “Just making sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“You know that’s not how first aid works, right?” I said, my voice shaking more than I wanted it to.

“It’s how my first aid works,” he countered, finally releasing my hand but not stepping back. His eyes lingered on me, his grin widening as I tried to shake off whatever spell he’d just cast. “And admit it, I’m better than a Band-Aid.”

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to steady my breathing as I glared at him. “You’re crazy.”

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Crazy for you.”

“Stop saying that!” I snapped, but there was no heat in it. “That’s not how anything works in the world.”

He leaned closer, his grin morphing into something more wicked, more intoxicating. “How about this…I’ll stop when it stops being true.”

My cheeks burned, and I looked away, trying to gather my thoughts…but he seemed to be taking up all the space in my head lately.

The thorn? Barely a sting. His smirk, plus the sweet, ridiculous words coming out of his mouth?

Those were inflicting a wound far more dangerous.

I forced myself to back up, ignoring how amused he looked at my efforts. He was underestimating me if he thought I was going to fall into his arms after a few sweet words.

Had I experienced them before?

No.

Did I trust them?

Also no.

I fidgeted with the tight black dress I was wearing before I realized what I was doing, and I plastered my hands to my sides, trying to look unaffected. Even though I felt like flames were licking at my insides as we stared at each other.

“So…should we do this?” I asked stiffly, everything I’d ever learned about seduction going out the window. I didn’t do this with clients…talk to them. But for some reason it felt completely wrong to just lead Logan to the bed and go from there.

Even though he was the first client I could ever remember actually wanting .

It was the flowers…and the words…and the whole finger-in-the-mouth thing. And the fact that he had the face and the body of a god.

He was messing everything up.

Logan prowled toward me again, his hand loosely gripping my neck as his thumb stroked along my pulse point.

“I’m going to take you on a date, Sloane,” he said in a rasping, sexy voice that slid right down my spine.

“Why bother?” I whispered.

“I meant what I said…the fact that money is involved is only to make sure that no one else touches you while I make you fall in love with me.”

He let my neck go before taking my hand and leading me toward the door like he’d simply complimented my dress.

I pulled on his hand, and we came to a stop at the door as he looked back at me questioningly.

“You’re not actually serious about all this, right? This can’t go on forever…and there will be other clients.”

He didn’t blink. “If another man touches you, I’ll kill him.”

The words slipped out like a fact, like it was the most normal thing in the world to say. Like he meant every single one of them.

I stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing, because this was ridiculous. “You’re intense, I’ll give you that. I can’t tell if you’re being dramatic or just trying to mess with me.”

Abruptly, I was against his chest, his lips melding to mine, his tongue sliding in my mouth, licking and taking and sucking…like he really did own me.

I was breathless and shaking when our lips finally parted, but he only pulled a breath away.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, sweetheart,” he murmured, and then he was whisking me out the door, to where I had no idea.

I only knew one thing as we walked down the hall, my hand clasped firmly in his.

Logan could ruin everything.

And I might be all right with that.