“I love the romantic notion behind it.”
Romance was never my thing, but if she thought this was romantic, who was I to tell her otherwise? I pointed to the platform of waiting people. “Riding on one is a rite of passage here in Boston.”
“Then by all means, lead the way, my knight.”
More excited than a boat ride should have made me, I smiled at her. “I’m not sure I’m a knight by any definition.”
She tugged on my hand. “Well, you’re mine.”
I didn’t respond to that. I couldn’t. I was no knight. I still wasn’t sure I would be able to protect her in the way she needed protecting. A change of topic felt best. “So it’s probably best that I confess right now that I’ve never ridden on one.”
The corners of her mouth quirked up. “You said it was a rite of passage.”
My shrug might have been a little cocky. “It is, but I’m a half-breed Bostonian so it doesn’t apply to me.”
She got a little flirty and took the lead, leaping in front of me. “It doesn’t apply to me either then, but I’m still going to board first and beat you to the title.”
I laughed. “I’ll let you have this one.”
“Last call,” the operator yelled and we both picked up the pace, speeding to the pavilion, where I quickly paid the nominal fee and we crossed the wooden platform.
We were the last ones on, so we had to sit in the back row. That was fine with me. With my arm around her shoulder, the boat started toward the southern end of the lagoon and then slowly circled the edge. It was quiet and relaxing, almost making my life feel a little normal.
“Can I ask you something?” Elle whispered.
Calm and steady for the first time in so long, my gaze slid her way. “Yeah, sure, anything.”
“When I was at your apartment in New York, you had photographs of the Brooklyn Bridge on your walls. Why?”
An emotion I’d buried deep within myself long ago wormed its way up. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my thighs. “It’s stupid really.”
Her chin was on my shoulder and her breath was a whisper. “Tell me.”
I turned my head to see her. “When I was a sophomore in college, I took a photography class and one of our assignments was to photograph something that represented hope to us. I picked the Brooklyn Bridge. Having grown up being shuffled between the Upper East Side and Beacon Hill, my hope was that someday I’d find a place I could call home.”
The feel of her hand on my back was comforting as she rubbed it. I’d never had this from any other woman, not even my mother. “That makes sense. But why Brooklyn?”
I loved that she cared to ask, but I shook my head. “It’s stupid.”
“Tell me.”
My eyes met hers and I felt like I could share anything with her. “My college roommate in my freshman year was from there and he used to take me home with him once in a while. His family had a huge loft and they seemed really happy there. Everything appeared so simple. I guess I kind of envied that kind of life.”
She kissed my cheek. “I think we both yearn for the stability we never had in our lives. For me, my hope came in the prospect of visiting a new place, like maybe this would be it, a place I could call home; for you it came in the form of a bridge. I get it.”
Straightening my back, I pulled her to me. “Yeah, I guess we are a lot alike.”
The rest of the ride was nothing earth shattering, but being beside her and doing something out in the open that new couples do made it feel like so much more.
Just as the boat began to pull back to the platform, I placed my hand on her thigh and then whispered, “Can I follow you home and bid you a proper good night?”
She snorted laughter, either at the old-fashioned way I asked the question or the fact that I asked at all. “I’m not sure.”
My fingers squeezed her thigh and my other hand cupped her shoulder as I leaned even closer, close enough so that I was touching her ear with my lips. “What aren’t you sure about? How good I’m going to make you feel or waiting to get home to have me?”
She shifted in her seat, and I leaned back and watched as her cheeks flushed. “Logan!”
“What?” I shook my head as if innocent, giving her a sideways smile. Before me, Elle wasn’t big on sexual innuendos or anything to do with sex for that matter, other than the act. She hadn’t allowed talking and didn’t do repeats. We were both very similar and very different in that respect. I didn’t do repeats, but the only way I had of connecting with women was by talking during sex.
Her tongue snuck out and licked her bottom lip. “Be a gentleman.”
With a shrug, I smirked, “I tried that, but when I asked if I could see you home and it got me nowhere, I had to up my game.”
The boat docked before she could say anything and as we were in the last row, we were ushered out first. I passed by her, and stepped up and then offered my hand.
She smiled at me. It was a sexy, playful smile, but it still revved me up. When her feet were on the platform and we were safely out of the way of others, she grabbed me by my belt loop and tugged me flush to her. “Being a gentleman isn’t getting you nowhere, not by a long shot,” she purred.
My smile was wide and I could feel every heartbeat in my cock.
It looked like I’d be seeing her to her door, and inside her door, and up her stairs, and then all the way to her bed.
Who knew—just maybe I was a gentleman after all.
DAY 16
ELLE
My heavy lids fluttered at the incessant singing of birds outside my window.
Squinting, I pried my eyes open.
It was early, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. I had way too much on my mind. Still, today was a day to dread and I wished sleep would pull me back in.
With a small sigh, I rolled over and then couldn’t help but smile when I saw the man I had come to love in such a short period of time sleeping soundly beside me.
Our relationship hadn’t had a conventional start. We’d met under less than ideal circumstances. A situation neither of us had chosen to be involved in.
At first when we met, I thought we were on opposite sides, but I soon found that wasn’t the case. And in the midst of the turmoil, we were drawn to each other in the most intimate of ways. Although we tried to fight the magnetic pull, we couldn’t. Shortly after meeting, we sought comfort in each other, and soon discovered it was a comfort we’d never felt with another.
The man I silently called my protector, my white knight, stirred at my slight movement but didn’t wake. Exhaustion must have taken its toll.
The sight of him, all long, muscled limbs and smooth skin, curled my fingers in anticipation of touching him. Guilt held me off. I knew he hadn’t slept through the night in days. Worry over me had consumed him. Sure, he played a good game. Made like everything was going to be okay, but I could see beneath his tough exterior to the gentle, terrified man beneath.
Logan McPherson had been raised in two worlds. Shuffled between the wealthy elite of New York City and the brutish Irish Mob of Boston, he had become a man with two sides. The one seen by most was the dauntless, strong, confident man who knew how to take care of himself and everyone around him.
The protector.
The other side, the one he camouflaged, was a man who was drowning in the sins that surrounded him. Only through small glimpses had I seen the toll the violence that surrounded him had taken over the years.
The victim.
All I could do was be there for him and hope that with Tommy Flannigan in jail, all the chaos would soon be put to rest so he could begin to heal.
Placing a soft kiss on the scar beneath his eye, I carefully slipped out of bed. As soon as I tugged his white button-down on, his clean, fresh scent assaulted me and I had to turn back for another glance.
Hair the color of expensive milk chocolate that he wore brushed forward looked slightly more rumpled than usual. Where normally his beautiful hair feathered against his forehead and cheeks, now it was sticking out everywhere.