Page 44 of Winter's End

All feeling leached from my body as I considered the implications of that one admission.

“Why?” I whispered numbly, afraid of the answer.

“I was supposed to be Hillary’s. If I didn’t play ball, it would fuck up his deal with Camden. And he hated your father. Dual lessons learned.”

I couldn’t control my movements—I was a marionette of heartache and compassion as I shifted on the couch and straddled Logan’s lap. I cupped his cheeks between my palms, staring into the unbridled pain locked within the windows of his soul.

“I’m sorry.”

Words were not enough, but they were all I had. The sincerest image of this broken man stared back at me; regret, sorrow, and confusion rolled off of him in waves, hitting me like a Mack truck as I held onto all of it.

He reached up to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, the touch a whisper of a caress as he let me see every facet of the man he was. Before I could consider my actions, I leaned in and brushed my lips against his.

Logan’s lips weren’t puffy like Cam’s or pouty like Drew’s, or sensual like Travis and his piercing, but they were warm and supple, and so uniquely made for mine.

The kiss was tentative, the two of us truly exploring each other’s bodies as if we had all the time in the world. We were two entwined strangers, getting to know each other through our mutual pain and passion. He licked the seam of my mouth and flicked his tongue between my lips, exploring and tasting every part of me as he wound both hands in my hair, lightly tugging at the nape of my neck and holding me in place.

The soft bulge in his pants hardened to stone as I relaxed into him; my hips rocked over him more insistently as each pass of his tongue on mine made my panties damper.

The sexy, manly groan emanating from his chest spurred me on until he broke off the kiss and pushed me back. Putting a few inches between us, we panted for air.

“As much as I’m going to hate myself for this later, I really need you to get better at dealing with your shit, Princess.”

Irritation coiled through me as his entire demeanor changed. The cocky, aristocratic smirk was back in place, as if it had never left at all.

“Fuck you, Logan,” I grumbled, sliding off of his lap onto the seat beside him.

The soft notes of his scent, amber and frankincense, lingered on my skin as I shook out the dirty thoughts in my head to get down to business.

If that was how he wanted to play it, fine. I would not beg him to keep kissing me, if that’s what he was after.

He tilted up my chin with the pad of his thumb and the intensity of his gaze caught my heart in my throat. “One day, Princess, one day. Make no mistake that I want you. All of you.”

He kissed my temple with a reverence I was unprepared for, stirring a deep ache in my chest and between my thighs.

“The first thing to stop a panic attack is to first realize you’re having one.”

Well, duh. I bit back my reply as he sat on the other side of the couch, as far away as he could be from me while remaining in the room.

“I want you to get comfortable with some grounding techniques. Ways to stop yourself from spiraling when you’re triggered. Focus on your five senses, and try to identify five different things you can hear, see, taste, touch, and smell.”

“How the hell can I taste five things?”

The glare he shot me would have put Medusa to shame.

“Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell,oneyou can taste. Close your eyes and try it.”

I rolled my eyes but did as he requested, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to relax into the couch.

“Picture somewhere you’ve been recently where there is a lot going on around you.”

I immediately envisioned the bowling alley where we’d had our group date the other night, and settled into the vision.

“Where are you?”

“Harold’s,” I answered, lost in the imagery behind my eyelids.

“Okay; focus on five things you can see. What are they?”