He’d felt it. The scar on her chest. The one etched so deeply into her skin that the very sight of it had once repulsed her.
He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t asked a single question. But she was sure the questions had been there, ticking away in his mind.
Taking her eyes off the dishes she was washing, Grace shot a glance at Logan from below her lashes. Before he’d felt the scar, before she’d felt him pause, every little part of her had wanted to go further. Further than she’d gone with any man in a very long time. And he’d wanted that too. She’d felt it.
Cleaning the last dish, she turned to watch Logan as he wiped down the counter.
The room was almost silent. At some point during dinner, the music had stopped, and she’d barely noticed. Too distracted by the questions in her head.
But now, the silence was deafening. She almost wanted to bang her hand on the counter or stomp her foot, anything to bring some sound into the room.
“I’m not ready to talk about it,” she blurted, before snapping her mouth shut.
Logan paused. When he lifted his head, his face was so unreadable she didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. “It?”
“The scar on my chest. There’s also one on my thigh. I don’t want to talk about either of them.”
His nod was slow. “Okay.”
Some of the tension eased from her chest.
He straightened. “Should we watch another episode tonight?”
Her brows rose, surprised at the easy change in topic. Surprised, but definitely not unhappy about it. “Sure.”
Logan’s small smile made her heart give a little kick. He moved across to her, his heat pressing into her shoulder as he rinsed the cloth. A small shiver ran down her spine, traveling all the way to her toes. “I need to find out who the killer is,” he said quietly.
“You and me both.”
They’d been watching a murder mystery on Netflix. To be honest, it was always a struggle to pay attention to the show when Logan was right beside her, often touching her in some way, thigh against thigh. Shoulder against shoulder.
Logan tossed the cloth away. “My money’s on the mother.”
All signs pointed to it being the mother. But… “That would be too easy. I think it’s the gas station attendant. He has shifty eyes.”
“Shifty eyes?”
Grace chuckled. “Yeah. They flicker too much, like he’s nervous. Either that, or keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who might accuse him. If he focused a bit more, I might trust him.”
This time, Logan threw back his head and laughed. The smile slipped from Grace’s lips. The only way she could think to describe him in that moment was beautiful.
“Okay, detective.” He slipped his fingers through hers and the fine hairs on her arms rose. “Guess we’ll find out who’s right soon enough.”
He led her to the couch and Grace immediately tucked her legs under her, skin prickling when Logan sat close, pulling a blanket over both their laps. His wonderful heat radiating up her side.
When the show started, Grace did what she always did, watched, pretended to focus, when really thoughts of Logan took precedence. His hand was now on her thigh, and Lord All Mighty, it was doing strange things to her insides.
Placing her hand on top of his, she traced her finger along his veins, never taking her gaze off the screen in front of her. So much of her adult life had been spent avoiding a man’s touch, but with Logan, she craved it. It was like an addiction she couldn’t get enough of.
What was it about this man that put her at ease, when every other man spiked her fear? Was it because when he looked at her, he really saw her? Like he could see the tangled web of her soul. Or was it the strength that vibrated off him? Not just the physical strength, but the mental. Emotional.
Like her body had a mind of its own, she angled herself more toward him. With her opposite hand, she trailed up his forearm, grazing across his bicep.
Everything about him was huge. But the more she thought about it, the more she was sure it wasn’t his size or looks that attracted her. No. It was him. The man inside the sparkly case. The man who was kind and gentle and protective.
Turning her head toward him, she studied his features. Saw the way his lips tugged up at the corners.
“Grace.” His voice almost sounded like a warning.
“Yes?”
When his eyes met hers, there was desire there. The brown of his eyes almost black. “You’re killing me with those strokes.”
She stilled, barely realizing her fingers had been moving.
“I really like you, Logan.” Her words were almost a whisper. Voice so small, it probably sounded like she was talking to herself.
“I like you, too.”
His words worked their way into her chest, breaking down some of the barricades she’d carefully constructed around her heart.
For almost a decade, she’d been so careful. Never pushing her limits. Always working to heal herself without jeopardizing her progress.
This man made her want to take risks. To explore these newfound confidences. These new feelings.
Slowly, Grace climbed onto his lap, straddling him with her thighs in much the same way she had in his truck that day. His eyes flared, his grip taking hold of her hips.
She trailed her hands up his chest, grazing his skin lightly, before curving her fingers around his neck. Even that felt well-muscled.
Logan was so still, she almost wondered if he was breathing.
Lowering her head, Grace touched her lips to his. His hands tightened on her hips. When he tugged her closer, and her core pressed against his hardness, a gasp escaped her lips. Logan took advantage of the moment, slipping inside her mouth.
Her nipples pebbled against his hard chest, desire pooling in her core.
She pressed herself closer to him, never quite feeling close enough. She wanted to lose herself in the man. Feel things she’d never felt before.
They continued to kiss for endless minutes until, at some point, the control shifted from her to him. And God, did the man know how to make love to her mouth. He sipped and swiped, his hands caressing her hips in rhythmic motions.
A yearning claimed her. Demanded she give more. Take more.
The barrier of clothing between them suddenly irritated her.
As if he read her thoughts, Logan’s hand slipped beneath her top. And just like he had earlier that evening, he trailed up her stomach, pushing up her top and closing his hand around the mound of her breast.
Grace’s whimper was swallowed by his lips. The blood roaring in her ears, blocking out the background noise of the show that had long been forgotten.
Logan cupped and massaged her. When his thumb found her hard peak, he grazed back and forth, causing the need to heat and rupture inside her.
Grace rubbed her core against his lap, trying and failing to get some much-needed relief. Logan switched to her other breast, and the agony deepened. The searing need was like no other. The man was like no other.
Gently, Logan lay her back against the couch, hovering over her. His hand went back to her breast, his mouth meeting hers again.
More of his weight pressed against her.
That’s when things shifted. First it was the beads of sweat on her forehead. Then it was the body chills when moments before she’d been so deeply heated.
Her skin began to crawl at his touch, her heart thudding violently against her ribs.
His body weighed her down. A single hand restraining both of hers above her head.
Unbreakable.
His other hand grazed across her naked skin, making her flesh crawl and her stomach rebel. Her throat was dry and raw from screaming so loud, but she didn’t stop. The desperation to get away like a living, breathing parasite inside her.
She struggled, but his strength was overwhelming.
“Grace?”
Her breaths were coming out in short gasps. Her body shaking violently. But she couldn’t stop it. Any of it.
The weight lifted off her. He touched her arm and she spiraled again. Thrown back into hell.
“Don’t touch me! Get away!” It took every ounce of strength to get the words out. To make her terror-filled voice work. “God, please, leave me alone!”
Memories she never wanted to relive again cascaded through her mind like an avalanche. Making her want to peel her skin from her body. Rid every part of her that had been touched by him.
It was like a switch had flicked. Logan recognized it the second it happened. One moment she was with him, craving his touch as much as he craved hers, the next she was somewhere else completely.
Immediately, he rose. At first attempting to touch her arm, soothe her. But at her sharp cry, he pulled back. Shifting away and giving her some space.
Grace pushed herself into the corner of the couch, wrapping her arms around her legs and curling herself into a ball. A part of Logan’s heart cracked at the sight of her trying to make herself so small. He’d never seen this level of fear. Of sheer desolation. And he had no idea how to handle it.
Her body continued to tremble violently. Her soft sobs filling the air.
His hand twitched to reach out and touch her again, wanting to comfort the woman. But he didn’t. Touch didn’t represent safety to her right now. Particularly not a man’s touch. He had to get through to her a different way.
Logan kept his voice low and gentle. “Sweetheart, can you hear me? It’s Logan.”
Nothing. She was now rocking back and forth, her head tucked so firmly into her knees that he couldn’t see a single part of her face.
“You’re safe,” he said quietly. “No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to touch you.”
“Stay away from me.” Her words were so low and pained, they shattered Logan. “Please! Please don’t touch me.”
Later, he knew he would feel the full of weight of anger that someone had instilled this pain and fear inside her. But for now, he needed to focus on helping her find her way back to him.
He tried a couple more questions, but didn’t get anywhere with them. Her fingers were now digging into her arms, penetrating her skin.
Fuck. He needed to do something, and he needed to do it now.
Scanning the room, his eyes stopped on the speakers.
Music. She always had a song blasting. It was when she seemed her most relaxed.
Grabbing his phone, he connected it to the Bluetooth speakers and chose one of the songs he’d heard her singing on numerous occasions—Rising Appalachia’s “Resilient”.
The music began to filter through the room, its soothing melody wiping out the sounds of her loud, ragged breaths.
At first, there was no change in Grace. The pain and fear all but bled out of her. It wasn’t until about two minutes into the song that the rocking slowed. Then it stopped, her body going still. It was another thirty seconds before her heart rate began to slow.
When that song ended, another began. Logan waited. Watching as she regained her grasp on reality.
Finally, Grace lifted her head. Pain. It was front and center on her tear-stained face. God, he hated it. But at least the fear was gone.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Like she wanted to say something but didn’t know what.
Logan kept his distance, waiting for her, for whenever she was ready.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Sorry? That wasn’t what he wanted or needed to hear. “Are you okay?”
Her gaze went to her knees. She was still hugging her legs like she was trying to hold herself together. “I thought I would be okay tonight. Every other touch from you has been wonderful.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He hoped she said yes. He was so ready to listen. And not to some watered-down version. He wanted to know everything. Every little fractured part of her.
He knew he wouldn’t like it. Hell, he’d probably feel a rage so deep in his soul he’d never fully recover. But he didn’t care.
“I suppose I owe you an explanation—”
“You don’t owe me anything, Grace. I would like you to tell me, but only if you’re ready.”
She rubbed her thumb over the scratches she’d just created on her arms. “Eight years ago, I worked in a bar called Sunnie’s. I mostly worked nights, particularly on weekends. But it was a Wednesday night when I first noticed him. He sat in a corner booth and he just…watched me. My entire shift. I remember feeling his gaze on me wherever I went and hating it. He didn’t even try to hide it.”
Logan clenched his jaw. His muscles tightened in anticipation of what was coming next.
“He came in again the next night. And the one after that. This continued for weeks. On the days he wasn’t there, I somehow still felt his eyes on me. I knew he was somewhere. Watching.” She paused to breathe deeply. “I called my dad. We’ve always been close. He was worried too, and he hired a guy to watch me during my shifts. A professional bodyguard.”
Logan didn’t miss the small tremble that rocked her body.
“A few nights passed where I didn’t see or feel him. I remember feeling relieved. Thinking I wouldn’t see him again. That Mitch’s presence had scared him off.” She shook her head. “One night, I finished my shift but Mitch wasn’t there. He usually trailed me home. I thought maybe an emergency had popped up. I got home to find…”
She stopped, her features anguished.
“What did you find, honey?”
“The guy killed Mitch. His body was…it was bad. I barely opened my mouth to scream before someone hit me. The next thing I remember, I opened my eyes in a basement.”
Logan’s heart hammered so violently against his ribs it was almost painful. “What happened next?” He was almost certain he knew, but he needed her to confirm it.
Her words were quiet, but it didn’t soften the weight of what she said. “He held me in his basement for a week. I was…raped. Drugged.”
Fire, hot and intense, burned through Logan’s body, scalding him from the inside out. Every part of him rebelled against her words, wishing them to be untrue but knowing they weren’t.
He’d hoped he’d been wrong. Prayed for it. But now, having it confirmed…it almost destroyed him. Made him want to find the asshole and tear him limb from limb.
When her breaths started coming out shaky, Logan shifted closer. “Grace.” When her eyes didn’t meet his, he lifted his hands slowly, placing them on her arms. Finally, she looked. “I’m sorry. So unbelievably sorry that happened to you. If I could turn back time and protect you from it, I would. You’re safe with me. Always.”
For a moment, she just watched him, pain still etched onto her face. Then, slowly, she crawled onto his lap, tucked her head into his chest and cried. Silent tears that soaked his shirt.
Logan held her close. His hands moved in slow, rhythmic circles on her back. Wanting to be whatever she needed.
He had questions. Lots of them. How had she gotten away? Where was this guy now—behind bars or dead?
He was hoping for the latter.
All that could wait. For now, he just needed to hold her and try to stop the overwhelming rage and desolation from consuming them both.
