She (26 page)

“You’re not angsty anymore,” I say, breathless from our kiss.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head.

“So, we can…?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods.

“You’re allowed me now?” I ask.

“That, as always, is up to you,” he says his lips against mine.

“You’re allowed me now,” I repeat myself.

Looking down at my robed body, Logan asks, “Are you naked underneath?”

I nod back and he pulls me away from the wall so that I can rid myself of the suddenly unwanted garment. For a moment I think he might make love to me right here against the wall, but he doesn’t. Not yet. When I’m naked, he turns and stands on the edge of the pool.

“Hold on,” he tells me and I do as I’m bid.

With a huge splash we submerge into the cool water. I let go of him and swim away, but he follows me. Even when I surface and walk around the shallower end, Logan swims behind me, never letting me get further than his arm’s reach. I move faster, and so does he; I move slower and he echoes me. I like our game, I like the intensity that builds between us as we play it. But the carnal longing that is igniting within me needs to be satiated,
now
.

Suddenly I stop, turn and face him. He knows what I want just by the way I look at him; and a smile lingers on the edges of his lips. He keeps moving through the water towards me and this time I don’t try to escape. Together we move to the edge of the pool, where Logan lifts me out and sits me on the side, following me out, and hovering over me. I wrap my arms around his neck, and as I lie down, I pull him with me, over me. Satisfying my every need, Logan makes love to me right there on the edge of the pool. Once he’s inside of me, our connection made, he slowly and gently rolls onto his back and then sits up and pulls me up with him, saving my back from the hard floor. I’m straddling him, and his legs dangle in the water.

He takes me deeply and quickly, bringing me to my release with exquisite tenderness, and his trademark attention to detail. Every cell in my body feels good. We come together; I love it when we’re in unison! It heightens every astounding sensation, and drowns my body in pure euphoria.

Afterwards we soak in the piping hot spa, and even though above us we have an uninterrupted view to the heavens, I sit on Logan’s lap, kissing him fervently, ignoring the view. The fire within me matches the heat of the water that surrounds us. I kiss him slowly, deliberately, teasingly; feeling him getting more and more aroused beneath me. Then I kiss him hard and forcefully, turning us both on, his hands caressing my backside holding me firmly against him.
Ah,
I want him again!

In the water I take his hard erection in my hand, and like in my bedroom after my striptease, I tilt my hips forward and rub my sex against his. The feeling is incredible, a physical expression of my internal feelings. The slower I slide up and down him the better it feels, allowing a powerful, erotic pressure to build. Logan’s hands grip my thighs and I can tell by how hard he squeezes me how close he is. He can probably tell the same thing about me by how tightly I pull his hair with my free hand.

We continue kissing heatedly, the blissful experience intensifying every moment. When I’m too close I can no longer focus on kissing him, but we keep our mouths open against one another, our eyes gazing at each other. Our breathing is laboured, and our groans of pleasure echo loudly in the tiled room. The slow escalation results in an explosive release.

“
Ah
,
Logan
!” I call out, as my body trembles through my beautiful orgasm.

Logan orgasms, too, pouring himself into the water between our bellies. I relax my body and Logan does the same, his hands releasing their vice-like grip on my legs and instead cradling me gently. My whole body feels hot, and my face is flushed.

Desiring some fresh air, I suggest, “Dinner on the terrace?”

*

After dinner we lounge in the living room, listening to music and telling each other an assortment of stories, until Logan, unexpectedly, stands and offers me his hand.

A slow country love song issues from the music system. “Dance with me?” Logan asks.

Smiling, I get to my feet and slip perfectly into his arms as we begin dancing. We move slowly, sensually, while talking, kissing, or simply gazing at each other. I
love
the way he looks at me, that look-of-love in his eyes; and the feeling of him holding me. And I
love
that we can connect so deeply in a sensual moment like this, the same way we do in sexual ones.

I don’t know how long we’re dancing for, several songs worth at least. Eventually, though, our tiredness overcomes us once more and in bed I lie in Logan’s arms, comfortable and content, as I drift off to sleep.

*

It’s four-thirty AM when Logan wakes me. I sit up, determined to stay awake while he has his pre-surgery shower, but I do not succeed. Twenty minutes later, he wakes me again, gently kissing my cheek.

“I’ve got to go, baby,” he whispers.

My eyes dart open. I’m awake, I tell myself, though I feel far from it.

“These are for you,” Logan holds out his hand in which lies a set of keys…
his
keys! He’s giving me keys to his home! I beam at him, and he smiles back at my warm reaction.

“I’ll come down with you,” I tell him.

He doesn’t protest,
smart man
, knowing that I’ll come down anyway. Hurriedly I pull on some clothes, and then wrap my jacket tightly around me; I’m freezing! While Logan uses the bathroom I carry his bag to the elevator and take this moment to sneak my little love heart letter, the one I wrote in haste last night, into the top of his bag. He’ll find it later.

Down on the street, Logan explains to me which keys do what, so that I’ll be able to let myself in now, and tomorrow evening.

“Any evening actually,” he says to me. “I’ll message you throughout the day…keep you posted.”

I nod. “I will reply. And I’ll see you this evening,” I promise him. “Until then, dream of me.”

“Too easy,” he says leaning down to kiss me.

Down the street there’s a commotion as a group of people make their way towards us. I don’t know if they’re miscreants, raucous youths, or tramps. Logan leaves his bag where it is, on the side of the verge, and pushes me into the covered doorway of his building while we wait for his car to arrive and for the loud night-wanderers to pass by. I stand with my back against the glass, and Logan’s firmly and protectively standing in front of me. I can’t see any of the people, Logan’s tall and broad physique blocks them from view, and I don’t try to peer around him either; I’m quite content staying focussed on him. Unexpectedly he smiles at me, and I reach up and touch one adorable dimple.

“They could be robbing you blind,” I say as the last of the people walk passed us.

Logan shakes his head. “I don’t care,” he says immediately. “I’m looking at the only thing that I can’t replace.”

His words evoke warm feelings within me that bring me comfort on this cold, cold morning. I can’t help but smile up at him, reaching up to press my lips against his. We stay like this for the next minute or so, until his car arrives. Logan kisses me passionately, the way I like it. I can feel that he’s calm, cool, and mentally prepared for the day ahead. The car pulls up next to the verge and Logan’s bag, which is very much still there, untouched. He kisses me one final time, and then insists I go inside the building, and wave from behind the glass doors. He doesn’t want me out alone on the street at this time of the day after he’s gotten into the car, even if it’s just for a few moments. His protectiveness makes me grin; it’s a new side to him, and I like it. I like all of his sides.

Safely behind the doors, I watch him get into the chauffeured car, and drive off. Suddenly alone I quickly retreat to the elevator and return to the penthouse. On the bedside table I check my mobile phone to make sure the alarm is set, and then I fall asleep once more, without bothering to undress. I wake two and a half hours later, and as I turn my alarm off, I notice I’ve a message from Logan.

*Surgery delayed half an hour. Am sitting here twiddling my thumbs, thinking of you, as assigned. In return, please remember your own assignment for tonight ;) Thank you for my card. I love you, too. Xx*

I smile as I read his words, and then I quickly type back.

*Glad to know I’m on your mind. I am very much looking forward to my own assignment. You can expect a full and detailed report upon completion. Oh, lala!*

I go through my usual morning routine, intermittently messaging back and forth with Logan, until I have to leave and he’s being wheeled into surgery. I wish him luck one more time, then I head into the elevator and my reception goes dead, and stays dead until I reach Pierson House, having taken the underground the whole way. I don’t have any messages waiting for me, nor do I expect one. It’s time now to be patient. Oh, and to work!

I walk into work half expecting to see Layla burst into tears like she did last Monday morning, but when she looks up and registers it’s me, mercifully she smiles. Patrick must still be behaving himself, I think, gratefully.

“Good weekend?” I ask.

“Oui, merci. Vous?”
Yes
,
thank you
.
You
?

I nod vehemently.
Amazing
weekend! “When you’ve got a moment, can you do something for me?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“Claude, the photographer’s contact details,” I tell her. I want to look through the snaps he took of me, to see if I can find one where I’m looking at Logan. If there’s a good one, I’ll buy it and add it to Logan’s birthday present. That way it’s not
just
a picture of me; it’s a picture of me being affected,
very
affected, by him.

“Not a problem. If you’re not there, I’ll leave a note on your desk,” Layla says.

Not so incompetent after all. “Thank you, Layla,” I smile and continue walking.

I’m barely at my desk for two minutes when Amelie appears from out of nowhere, and our hectic day begins. She didn’t over-exaggerate last Friday when she told me the amount of work we have to do! I’m run off of my feet until lunchtime, which is cut down to half an hour to make room for an even busier afternoon.

I de-stress in a small cafe down the street. As I’ll be driving during dinner time, I make the sensible decision to have a large, hot lunch and I buy a sandwich for later; the perfect one-handed meal for driving. It’s these sensible moments that really make me feel like I’m winning in life! I sit, eat, and call Logan. He doesn’t answer.
Probably sleeping
, I tell myself. He’s sent me four messages since coming out of his op, each one more ridiculous than the last. I suspect the first, which simply says,
I’m alive
, was written, on his request, by one of the nurses, because the rest of them are barely legible. Despite that, or perhaps because they’re so jumbled, they make me laugh.

I type back.

*Yay! You’re alive! That’s the way I like you most. Xx*

I also have a message from Amber, thanking me and Logan for the “downright, ludicrously huge” flowers that she received today at work. I reply.

*You’re welcome. You deserve them! Look at them and know your act of kindness brought much happiness ;)*

On my desk when I return, Layla has put a note with Claude’s details on it for me. I stash it in my bag; I don’t have time today to call him. To prove the point, Amelie appears again only moments later, looking irritated and flustered.

“Where the fuck is Logan Leary?” she asks me accusatorially, as though I might be concealing him from her. “I need to speak to him about a job, and I can’t get ahold of him! Instead I’m forwarded onto his partner in the project.”

So
? “Can’t you talk to his partner instead?” I say, keeping my voice even.

“I don’t
want
to talk to him,” she says pointedly.

“Well…Logan is in hospital today,” I say quietly.

She looks taken aback, and frankly it’s refreshing to see that she’s capable of putting other people’s personal health ahead of her business. “Nothing serious, I hope,” she says.

I shake my head, feeling my phone vibrating in my pocket as another message comes through. “He’ll be released tomorrow,” I tell her. “If this matter is urgent, as I suspect it is given how frazzled you seem, I think you’re going to have to talk to his partner.”

This is unacceptable to Amelie. She doesn’t settle for the second option. Ever. “
Non
. Non!” she shouts. “But, ah-ha,
you
can call him! Yes, that’s what we’ll do.” She hands me the file on the project. “And, for future reference, I am not
frazzled
…I am passionate. It’s a French thing,” she says heatedly, reminding me that I am, in fact, a foreigner.

This is very much at the forefront of my mind as we sit, alone and confined, in a small meeting room, and I dial the number that Amelie has given me.
Be more French
, I think, but as it turns out being American is more suitable.

Someone answers almost at once. “Hello? Oops, I mean:
bonjour
,” says a familiar voice. A
very
familiar voice. I heard it only yesterday!

“
Buddy
?” I ask.
Ah
, now Amelie’s resistance makes sense!

“Oui,” he says in his American twang.

“It’s Gemima…”

Suddenly things register for him. “Gemima!” he says loudly and enthusiastically. “How are you? Better rested than yesterday?” he asks.