Try (Temptation Series) (19 page)

“Okay.” Logan released his hold on the leather. “But not too long. Tomorrow, lunch. It’s your day off, right?”

“You memorized my schedule? How sweet.”

“Fuck you.”

“You already told me I wasn’t ready for that, so keep your offers to yourself.”

“So, it’s an offer now? Not a threat? Look at you, warming to the idea. That makes me fucking hard.”

Tate shook his head and stepped away to walk back to the door. Over his shoulder, he called out, “Give you an inch…”

“And I’ll want six or seven more,” Logan called back.

“Jesus.” Tate laughed as he opened the door and left, knowing that he would be at lunch the next day. He just wasn’t sure what would happen after that.

* * *

Grabbing his cell phone from the nightstand, Tate opened his contacts, found Logan’s number, and decided a text would be better than dealing with Logan’s smart mouth this early. Punching in—
Morning
—he hit Send and wondered how quick of a response he would get. It was almost immediate.

Logan: You’re up early for a day off.

Couldn’t sleep.

Logan: Should I apologize?

Are you sorry?

Logan: Good point. No.

Then, don’t apologize.

Logan: Why couldn’t you sleep?

Busy head.

Logan: Are YOU sorry?

Tate must have stared at that text longer than he’d thought because his phone vibrated again.

Logan: I keep telling you, turn your brain off, Tate.

It’s not that easy.

Logan: Why?

Because.

Logan: I’ve told you already that because doesn’t work for me. Why?

Cause I can’t stop wanting you & you’re a GUY. I don’t like guys. Ugh, I don’t understand why I’m…shit…no one I know will understand.

Logan: Like who?

Friends, family…

Logan: Hang on, we’re meeting family now?

Tate rolled his eyes at the question. The mere suggestion of something other than casual, and Logan changed from flirtatious and demanding, to sarcastic and blunt.

Forget it.

Logan: No, don’t do that.

Do what?

Logan: Get pissed-off. You’re so stubborn.

And you’re impossible.

Logan: Are you scowling?

Tate pressed his fingers to the frown between his brows before lowering them back to the phone.

Yes.

Logan: Hmm, we both know how I feel about that.

The same way you feel about everything?

Logan: And how’s that?

Horny.

Logan: Around you, Tate? 24/7. Now, what time are you coming to get me for lunch?

I’m not coming to get you.

Logan: So, you want ME to come to YOU? Give me your address. I’ll be there ASAP.

Tate glanced around his bedroom and imagined Logan in his room a little too easily, and that had him reaching for his thickening erection. But at the last second, he stopped.

I’ll come to you.

Logan: Thought you might.

What will we tell people?

Logan: People? Like who?

I don’t know. Anyone?

Logan: Nothing. It’s none of their business.

But what if they ask?

Logan: Then, I’ll tell them to fuck off.

What. If. They. Ask. Logan?

Logan: They won’t. But IF they do, I’ll tell them we’re going to lunch to discuss your case.

You’re on the other side.

Logan: Well, everyone knows I like to play both sides.

Not helping.

Logan: Are you laughing or scowling?

Both.

Logan: Well fuck, now I want to kiss you.

Tate looked at that line and read it over and over before another text came through.

Logan: Would you let me?

Yes.

Logan: That was quick.

That was honest.

Logan: And THAT is sexy. Jesus, I can’t be hard at work. Okay, so tell me, what time will you be here?

Tate glanced at the clock on his bedside table to see it was now nine thirty.

How about 12:30?

Logan: How about 11:30?

You’ll be hungry then?

Logan: Yes, but not for food. Tate?

Choosing to ignore the first part of the text, he replied with,
Yes?

Logan: I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.

And just that easy, Logan had him lying in bed with a grin.

Well, you better try.

Logan: Oh, I’ve tried, and I can’t wait to again. See you at 11:30.

Yep. See ya
.

Then, as quickly as it started, the connection ended.

A precursor of things to come?
Tate wondered.
Only time will tell.

* * *

Logan sat behind his desk with the phone to his ear and an eye on the clock.

Eleven fifteen, Tate should be here soon…if he shows.

He’ll show. He said he would, and if Tate is anything, he’s undeniably honest.

As he hung up from the call, Logan’s door opened, and Cole stuck his head through the space, motioning in a way as if to ask,
Can I come in?

Lifting his hand, Logan gestured for him to enter, and as the door was pushed farther open, Cole’s face changed from serious to a shit-eating grin. Behind him stood Tate, looking anything but comfortable, and he was currently glaring at him around Cole’s large frame.

I’m going to kill him
, Logan thought as his eyes met his brother’s.

As Cole strolled into the room, he unbuttoned his perfectly pressed black jacket and pushed his hands into his pockets.

Motherfucker is having a great time.

Tate, on the other hand, looked strained as if he were visiting the dentist. He moved two steps into the office and stayed as close to the far wall as possible.

What did Cole say to him?

Logan’s attention moved to Cole, who was standing by the corner of his desk,
pretending
to look at the mail in the tray sitting there. It was so unlike his stuffed-shirt brother to be taking the time to nose around the way he was, so Logan knew something was up, and not in a good way. It was more like an I’m-about-to-fuck-with-you
kind of way
.

Logan carefully looked to Tate, who was staring at the red helmet in his hand and had his other one stuffed into his jeans. He was wearing a white shirt with that sexy leather jacket, and when Logan finally tore his focus away from him and turned back to Cole, his brother raised a brow and then opened his fucking mouth.

“Mr. Morrison said you called him about a business meeting today.”

Logan narrowed his eyes on Cole as he pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. Buttoning his own jacket, he made his way around to where Cole was.

“Yes, that’s right. We need to go over a few things.”

Cole turned toward him, and pulled his mouth into a thin line while dropping several envelopes back into the tray on Logan’s desk. Silently, he inclined his head and made his way back to the door and past Tate, who still hadn’t said a word but was looking at Cole with no expression on his face at all.

Cole acknowledged him, opened the door, and at the last moment, looked back.

He then addressed Logan in a voice that made him want to throw something at him.

“Funny that I wasn’t informed about this meeting since
I
handle Mrs. Morrison’s—oh, I’m sorry, his ex’s case.”

Logan continued his
die-now
stare.

Cole turned to Tate and told him in his controlled-as-fuck voice—
asshole had that down to a T—
“If he doesn’t give you all the answers you came in for, make sure you let me know, and I will try my hardest to clear things up.”

“Get out, asshole,” Logan advised, looking on his desk for something to throw.

“Going,” Cole replied over his shoulder, leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

Logan stared across the wide space to where Tate was pinning him with a fuck-you look if ever he’d seen one
.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Logan rested back against the desk behind him and perched his ass on the surface. He crossed his legs out in front of him and remained silent as Tate continued to fume. Just when Logan figured he would have to be the one to say something, Tate took a step forward.

“What did you tell him about us?” he spit out at Logan.

That
right there, Logan knew, was Tate’s biggest fear, presented to him like a giant fucking billboard. The thought of people knowing exactly what he’d done and enjoyed the night before—

Screw that
, Logan thought
. Time for a reality check, Mr. Morrison.

* * *

Tate was mortified, and he was pissed. He knew coming here was a terrible idea, but he’d stupidly let Logan and his silver tongue talk him into doing it anyway. As soon as he had stepped off the elevator and told the receptionist he was there to see Logan, Tate had been instructed to go straight through. Halfway inside the actual offices, he’d run into the tall blond guy, whose name he couldn’t remember, that he’d first seen at the bar, and second, at his fucking ex-wife’s meeting.

At first, Logan’s partner had sized him up as if he were trying to remember if he had forgotten something, and then Tate had watched his shrewd—
yes, they are definitely shrewd
— eyes almost smile, if it were possible for eyes to do so.

“How can I help you today, Mr. Morrison? I didn’t realize we had a meeting?”

The minute that had come out of his mouth, Tate had known he was screwed. He’d stammered around his words and pretty much tripped all over the damn place until he’d finally told the lie that he was called by Logan.

Something on the guy’s face had given away the fact that he knew Tate was lying, and Tate had felt the heat in his cheeks as he followed, like an obedient child, to Logan’s office. As if that wasn’t enough, the interaction that had then taken place inside the office had confirmed everything.

The guy knows about us for sure
, and
that
angered Tate more than anything.

He was still fuming at Logan, who was casually propped up against his desk, with his arms crossed.

“What did you tell him about us?”

Still gripping his helmet in his hand, Tate was determined not to put it down because once he got an answer from the man opposite him, he was getting the hell out of there.

What he hadn’t expected was for Logan to quietly push away from the desk and move forward.

Jesus, the man is enough to drive me out of my mind.

When Tate finally wanted him to say something, of course, he kept his mouth shut.

“Would it have killed you for one minute of your life
not
to say something to everyone about who you’re fucking?”

That was when Logan stopped directly in front of him and finally spoke, “I’m not fucking you…yet.”

Tate scoffed and decided this would all be over after this conversation.
Might as well throw my own jab in
. “And now, you never will be.”

Before Tate could anticipate the move, Logan reached out and grabbed the helmet from his hand. Dropping it on the floor beside them with a loud thump, he then moved in close, shoving Tate until his back hit the wall.

“You have a bad temper, Mr. Morrison.”

“Get the hell off me,” Tate snarled through his teeth.

“I’m not on you.”

“Yes, you fucking are.”

“I’m against you. There’s a mighty big difference. Take last night, for example, when you were lying on my bed, naked, with your legs spread and me in between them—that was me
on
you.”

Tate’s breathing quickened as Logan raised a hand and placed it against the wall by his ear.

“Do you understand the difference?”

“I don’t give a shit about specifics. Get. Off. Me.”

Instead of listening to him, Logan placed his other hand by his head in the same position as his opposite one. “Shut up, Tate.”

“Fuck—”

“
Don’t
offer unless you’re going to follow through,” Logan warned.

Tate swore if he had agreed, Logan would have undone his pants right there.

“Now, if I remember correctly, you told me that I could kiss you the next time I saw you.”

Clenching his fists by his sides, Tate felt his jaw tick. “I didn’t say that, and that was before.”

“Before?”

“Before I found out that you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut!” he thundered.

Logan blinked at him from behind his glasses, his face a mask of annoyance. “And what exactly do you think I said?”

“Get off me,” Tate reiterated.

“No. Talk,” Logan said with a calmness that further infuriated Tate. “What do you think I said?”

“You obviously told your partner about us. I bet you had a real good laugh about the straight guy who’s sleeping with you.”

Logan brought his face to within an inch of Tate’s, and Tate could feel his heart hammering inside his chest. Logan was so close that his black hair ghosted over Tate’s nose as he shook his head from side to side before raising his face again and licking his tongue along his bottom lip.

Yeah, fuck me, I looked.

“Well, let’s clear one thing up right now,” Logan stated in a lowered voice.

That
should have probably indicated to Tate that Logan’s temper was steadily climbing to the boiling point, where his was now teetering.