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Smart, Sexy and Secretive(6)

By:Tammy Falkner

I nod. “They said he could have a chance if he had enough money. And I had access to enough money.”

His brow crinkles. “Why didn’t you just tell me? You let me wake up alone, and you were gone.”

“Would you have let me leave?”

He drags a hand down his face as though he’s tired. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t want to argue with you about it. It was Matt’s life or my freedom.” I shrug. “I chose Matt’s life.”

His blue eyes bore intently into mine as he leans forward and cups my neck in his hand. He pulls me toward him. His breath touches my lips ever so gently, and then his mouth slides across mine. I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it. He licks across the seam of my lips, and I lift up to press myself closer to him, hopping up on my knees so I can lean across the table. His tongue is a velvet rasp against mine. When he pulls back, I’m breathless.

“Don’t leave me again,” he says.

“I won’t.”

He squeezes my neck, kisses me really quickly, and sits back. I want to go and sit on his side of the table so I can touch him, but he won’t be able to see my lips if I do that. I tap his arm so he’ll look at me. “I want to show you something.”

He raises his eyebrows, and he waggles them playfully. “You had better be ready to show me everything.”

I choke. I’ll show him that later. “Ask me something in sign language.”

When I left, I was a novice at speaking his language. I could follow some things, but not everything. I took a class while I was gone. Now I’m pretty good at it.

He narrows his eyes at me and starts to sign. I started classes at NYU on Monday, he says.

I start Julliard next Monday.

He grins.

Not bad. You practiced?

I took a class.

His mouth falls open. For me?

No, dummy. For me. He grins at that. “Dummy” is a term of endearment in his family. There are a lot more words they use, and none of them flattering, but they love one another like crazy.

My brothers want to see you, especially Matt.

I nod. I want to see them, too.

I take his hand in mine and flip his wrist over so I can see my tattoo on his skin. It’s something I’d drawn when I’d felt hopeless and lost. He put it on the inside of his wrist, and then he added a keyhole so I’d have a way out. It sort of goes with the key on my arm. I drag my finger across the one he wears. It’s beautiful. Just like him.

He shifts in his seat, adjusting his fly. I raise my eyebrows at him. “Something wrong?” I ask. I use my voice because I don’t want to let his hand go.

“Aside from the fact that I’m horny as hell, no.” He laughs as heat creeps up my face. “Let’s talk about the snow or the frozen river or I’ll never be able to get up from here.”

Annie sets two plates of pie and two root beers between us. Logan grins at her. I tell her thanks, trying to distract myself. There’s something I need to ask Logan. I don’t have any right to the answer, and I shouldn’t even care, but I need to know.

He tilts my chin up with a crooked finger. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Logan,” I begin. I take a deep breath. “I left you. And I’ll understand if you moved on. I just want to be sure that you want me now, from this moment forward. Whatever you did or whoever you saw when I was gone is none of my business.” Tears sting in my eyes. I’m forgiving him for whatever he may have done and doing a really poor job of it.

“What the fuck, Emily?” he says. He throws his napkin down on the table. “Ask me the question.” His gaze is intense, and I shrink inside a little bit. “Ask me if I fucked someone else while you were gone. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”

“No. What I’m saying is that…” Shit. I don’t know what I’m saying. “If you did, I drove you to it.” I heave a sigh and close my eyes. His gaze is too passionate for me.

His voice is quiet but clear, and it reaches me through my closed eyelids. “I haven’t fucked anybody since the night I made love to you.” He slaps a heavy hand down on the table. “You really think I could stop loving you like that?”

“Was sex ever about love for you before, Logan?” I open my eyes, and he looks startled.

“Not until I met you,” he admits. His shoulders relax a little. “The last person I was inside was you, Em,” he says. “You. Only you.”

My heart skips a beat. “There hasn’t been anyone else for you? That whole time?”

“How could there be, you brilliant little dummy?” he asks. He softens the blow of the word “dummy” because he hurt my feelings with it once. My dyslexia makes reading hard, and people can be cruel.