“Ms. Peach shouldn’t have said that. About you not having a heart. It isn’t true.”
“How do you know?” She snorted. “Maybe I’m the world’s first living heart donor.” Her self-mockery managed to spackle the hairline crack that’d started to weaken her defenses.
“Shug, it’s okay to be upset.”
“I’m not.”
A tiny, frustrated sigh fizzled from Logan. “I still think you need to blow off some steam. Let me take you on that bike ride.”
And be surrounded by him and that vibrator on wheels? Can anyone say torture? “I already told you I can’t.”
“Why? You’ve taken care of the problem with Peach.”
“Yes, but there are a ton of other things I need to take care of.” Not the least of which was figuring out how to handle her upcoming meeting with Seven.
Faster than she could blink, Logan stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You’re afraid to be alone with me. Admit it.”
She gave a laugh that sounded forced, even to her ears. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve been alone many times.”
“Not so often lately.” His eyes sparkled with challenge. “Not since I kissed you in your office.”
Her face uncomfortably hot, she swallowed. Hard. Damn him, he would have to dredge up memories of the kiss that’d shaken her more than a 6.0 earthquake. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, the soft glide of his knuckles along her skin making her shiver. The gold specks in his irises seemed to glow with an inner heat. “Or maybe you’re scared shitless about the way I make you feel.”
“Honestly, your ego is out of control.”
“Then prove it. Come ride with me.” He twined the wayward, springy lock of her hair that refused to stay in place around his forefinger. “I promise I’ll behave.”
“Please, we both know that’s physically impossible for you.”
A noise that sounded suspiciously like the cluck of a chicken broke from him, making her teeth grind. “Thank you for proving my point.”
His cackle grew louder, and she waggled a finger in warning. “I’m perfectly capable of shutting you up. Permanently, if I so choose. Might want to remember that.”
He grinned. “Ah, shug, you know you’d miss the sound of my sexy voice.”
Damn it, he was right. Not that she’d admit it out loud. “How about we compromise on the bike issue and you give me a rain check for later?”
Cocking his head to the side, he stroked his goatee, apparently mulling it over. “Okay. Tomorrow then. We can go for a quick spin before going out for dinner.”
Of all nights for him to choose…
“Tomorrow isn’t good.” She had no idea how long her meeting with Seven would last, but better to plan on it being most of the evening. Logan’s eyebrows slashed low, and she scraped her teeth across her lip before letting her exhale leak free. “Don’t give me that look. I fully intend to keep my word.” Just not tomorrow.
An angry growl rolled from Logan. “I can’t believe you’re skipping out on our anniversary.”
She gaped at him. “Our—” Oh shit. She’d totally forgotten about it, their annual dinner to commemorate the day she and Logan signed their witch and familiar contract. No wonder he was so pissed. “I’m sorry. We’ll do it the following night, all right?”
“No, it’s not damn well all right. I turned down Frank Champion’s offer to ride in his yearly poker run so I could stay home and be with you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“No shit. But I wanted to. It’s important to me.” A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. “But obviously I’m the only one here who gives a fuck.”
“Logan…” Hopeless frustration welled inside her when he turned his back on her and stalked off.
Great. She hadn’t even had her meeting with Seven, and already things were headed down the crapper.
Chapter Two
Logan parked in his customary spot behind Champion’s Bar and yanked his helmet off. With an unholy passion, he hated how his foul mood had spoiled what should have been a perfect ride. He hated even more that he was head-over-ass insane for the stubbornest woman on the planet.
Insane. Yeah, about summed it all up. He’d hit the nail dead center when he admitted to Clarissa his propensity to go loco whenever he caught a whiff of her arousal. Fuck, who was he kidding? She didn’t even need to be turned on to make him howl like a moon-crazed lupine on the hunt for a she-wolf in heat. When it came to Clarissa, he was horny enough for the both of them. But the real damnable part was that he not only suffered out-of-control lust where Clarissa was concerned, his heart was tied up in knots too.
That last part didn’t set well on him at all. He’d always lived by the motto of keeping things light and flirty. Particularly since offering your heart to someone tended to be more dangerous than slathering yourself in honey and strolling into a bear’s den. It was a million times more dangerous when the woman you ached for guarded her own heart like it was damn Fort Knox.
Gritting his teeth, he locked up his helmet and strode through the restaurant’s back entrance. Usually he preferred to stay away from Champion’s on his day off, but the prospect of numbing his heartache anywhere else didn’t feel right. Besides, Frank sure as shit didn’t have any problem with his employees spending their hard-earned dollars at the bar, even if Logan preferred not mixing business with pleasure. When it came to drinking, anyway. Fuck knows, he’d certainly brought home his fair share of ladies after they’d passed him their phone numbers while he’d poured their tequila shooters and Screaming Orgasms. Still, those women had never meant anything to him beyond a mutually good time. That arrangement had worked out fine in the beginning, each party getting exactly what they wanted from the other. But then the day came when he’d realized he wanted something more. Something real.
Or more specifically, someone.
Intent on exorcising Clarissa from his mind, he stalked the remainder of the way down the short hall. The noisy clatter of dishes and the incomprehensible exchange of curses between Paolo and Victor, the cooks, didn’t quite drown the wailing rhythm-and-blues number that blared from the jukebox. He was halfway to the bar area when he spied two familiar faces.
Changing course, he moseyed to the booth where Marabella Blanchard and Willa Jameson were absorbed in their little powwow. Both witches were so preoccupied with their discussion they didn’t even glance his way when he halted beside their table. Not one who believed in being ignored, he cleared his throat. Loudly. Willa and Marabella jumped before jerking their gazes in his direction.
“Evenin’, ladies.” He looked over his shoulder and caught Tully’s eye. The young bartender held up a bottle of the local brew they were pushing that month, and Logan nodded. Hell, he didn’t give a rat’s ass. So long as the beer was cold and dulled the edges of his irritability. Forcing a grin that felt far from authentic, he slid next to Marabella and stole an onion ring from her plate. He bypassed the veggie burger. Anything made from bean curd wasn’t normal and probably tasted like gorilla shit. “So what’s got you two hunkered in this corner? Girly chitchat about shoes and soap operas?”
Willa leveled him with a peevish squint. “Believe it or not, our lives don’t revolve around Jimmy Choo’s or Days of Our Lives. Any other sexist misconceptions you need dispelled?”