Deliver Me from Temptation (9 page)

“No problem,” he replied sincerely. The fact that he made no production about it, nor did he preen, helped and she found herself admitting, to herself at least, how spectacular he was back in the garage. Though not white knight material. Not with those moves.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her mind’s running filmstrip of alternative endings.

“I learned a bit here and there.”

Which explained the lack of a distinct style, though, holy crap, it had worked. She found herself scanning him, partly because yeah, he was damn fine to look at, but more because she still couldn’t figure out how any man could have pulled some of the moves he had, even in his admittedly stunning shape. Her gaze narrowed on an angry pair of scrapes that ran across the base of his collarbone. It looked like something had punctured deep into his skin and then been jerked out as he pulled away.

“You’re hurt,” she pointed out. And why did that piss her off so damn much?

Probably
because
he
got
those
injuries
protecting
your
stupid
ass, Jess.

His mouth twisted up, his eyes crinkling slightly in the corners. “No worries. I’m okay. But thanks for the concern.”

“Being injured in a fight is nothing to smile about,” she snapped.

His smile faded. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t smiling at being hurt. More that we’re both okay. Well, basically okay,” he conceded.

“What happened?” She shook her head, fighting against the foggy headache that seemed to obliterate her memories from that point on. “I can’t seem to remember much after hitting the pavement. I thought there was another man, but I can’t remember anything after that.”

Logan folded his arms across his chest, a scowl turning down the corners of his mouth. “I don’t recall seeing another man, but I was a bit preoccupied.”

Jessica frowned, trying to remember that part of the incident. Couldn’t. There was absolutely nothing beyond Logan telling her to run, going for her gun, and then a very fuzzy memory of the man in the rumpled business suit standing in front of her. “Did I pass out?”

He shifted on the bed, opening another inch between them. “You seemed to be in shock. You passed out for good right after I dispatched your attackers.”

Dispatched
her
attackers
. Okay, then. Forget the no-ego bit. She shook her head. “And the other man I saw?”

He shrugged again. “Like I said, I never saw anyone besides your attackers.”

“He didn’t stay to help?” She could have sworn he’d picked up her gun. She thought he was shocked by the violence, or perhaps unsure of how to use it, and she went over to him and…

She clamped her fingers over the bridge of her nose, trying to pinch away the abrupt pain that slashed into her skull.

Logan rubbed a hand across his jaw, his gray eyes unfathomable as he looked at her. “I never saw the man you’re talking about. Sorry.”

She gnawed her lip, unwilling to believe she’d imagined the third man. But it didn’t make sense that Logan hadn’t seen him at all, unless the man bolted the moment he got a full bead on the situation. She could understand that a bystander might not want to get involved. But why hadn’t he called the police?

“He didn’t come back? No other police officers showed up?”

“I didn’t exactly want to wait and see.” He indicated the angry cut on his collarbone. “You don’t mess around with those who can do that.”

That might be a good point, but… “And you brought me here. Instead of taking me to a hospital…?” More important, how had he been there to do the bringing? But she’d get to that in a moment.

He shifted again, his gaze dropping slightly before leveling back out on hers. She waited him out, giving him a look that said she was still waiting for his answer.

“I’ve never been comfortable in hospitals.” He flashed a chagrined look. “I’m sorry. I guess I tend to assume everyone holds my prejudices.”

She merely hummed in response. The fact that she did, in fact, dislike hospitals was not something she was going to tell him. That would be like saying it was okay that he brought her to his home. Which it wasn’t. And not just because she didn’t know him from Adam—even if her body seemed to want to.

She folded her arms, hands tucked under her armpits. Better that than give in to the urge to touch his collarbone to check out his wound—and then check out the rest of him. Why her imagination kept skittering off into unwanted territory was beyond her.

“Okay. Assuming all that is true.”

“It is.”

She glared at him. “I said I was assuming it was. What I want to know now is how you were there to come to my rescue at all. And don’t try and tell me that you just happened to be in that garage at that moment in time.”

“Not that garage.” He gave a wry twist of his mouth. “Just that part of town.”

She narrowed her gaze on him.

He held up his hand. “Scout’s honor. I had some business in that part of town and saw you walking. I didn’t say hi because I figured you probably didn’t want to see me again but then, when you ducked into the parking garage and I saw those two thugs break from the crowd and follow you in …”

“Uh-huh. And you just knew they were up to no good.”

“No. I didn’t. But I had one of those feelings, you know?”

“Hmm.” She did know, because she’d had one herself. The problem was she didn’t really buy his answer. It seemed too convenient. Too pat.

He tilted his head to the side. “Hey, let’s not overanalyze things. Coincidence, fate, whatever. I’m just glad I was there to help and that you’re basically all right.” He ducked his head to look at her more closely. “You are all right, aren’t you? And don’t tell me you’re fine. That’s not a real answer, that’s an avoidance technique.”

She scoffed, though it was half chuckle. “You must know Mike.”

“Who?”

“Nobody important.” She twisted, flinging her legs off the bed to stand, and then groaned as she lowered herself the couple inches back onto the mattress.

“Jessica?” His concern was palpable in both his voice and the firm grip on her arm.

She breathed through her teeth, actually glad for his steadying touch. “You’re right. Fine is not an answer. It certainly can’t encompass this hit-by-a-semi feeling I’m having right now.”

She lifted her left hand, bringing it to her temple where she encountered the gauze bandage. “Damn, no wonder it feels like my brain is trying to explode out of my head.”

“Let me get you some aspirin.”

Carefully, he let her arm go, making sure she was steady in her perched position on the edge of the bed before releasing her fully. As he padded into the adjoining bathroom and began rustling through a cabinet, she used her fingers to explore the extent of the damage, simultaneously checking her muscles and joints to make sure they all worked properly. Bumps, abrasions, sore, sore, sore—though nothing broken, she thought. By the time he came back, she decided she’d live, though until she got that aspirin she was going to reserve judgment on whether she actually wanted to.

“Two, three, or four?”

“Six,” she replied, rubbing the bandage over her aching forearm. Have to check that out later. After she checked her cabinet to see if it was stocked to replace the dressing if needed.

“Four then.”

She growled at that but he just smiled, dumping out the pills and handing them to her along with a glass of water. She took the pills, then closed her eyes, rubbing the empty but still cool glass against her forehead.

“Better?”

She cracked an eye open. “Not yet. But hopefully soon.”

“How about some food?”

She grunted. “Probably a good idea.”

He offered her a hand, which she grudgingly took. Not because she didn’t appreciate the chivalry, but because even feeling like she’d been dragged by that Mack truck through Hell and back, his touch set her imagination to removing that shirt he’d just put back on.

She was definitely one warped puppy.

He led her down a short hall to the stairs. She gripped the dark, ornately carved wood as she wobbled down them. The base opened up into a wide entryway, two closed French doors probably leading into some sort of living room or parlor. He turned back down the long hall, leading her into the back of the house. They entered a kitchen, dark granite countertops catching her eye. Not because they were sparkling but because they were crammed full of appliances. Keeping with the theme of crammed and functional, the island was canopied by racks of pots and pans, and a huge fridge lorded over them all.

The man was either a gourmet cook or liked to pretend so.

“Sit. I’ll whip something up.”

She carefully levered herself onto the bar-height chair, resting her bandaged forearm on the artfully weathered pub-height table. She watched, fascinated, as he pulled together an impromptu meal. Eggs were scrambled, fresh dill chopped, leftover ham was diced up along with mushrooms, onions, and green peppers. Some butter in a pan—real butter, her mother would have a fit—and they all went in together, sizzling and popping in time to his occasional flicks of the wrist that sent the ingredients in the pan flipping up in the air, then back down to sizzle some more. His movements were quick, efficient, but graceful, and she didn’t dare blink for fear she’d miss something. The meal looked yummy.
He
looked yummy.

Whoa
there, Jess. Let’s analyze this.

She was getting in way over her head, way too quickly. This was not the morning after or a date. She was here because she’d fucked up. She went out again, without backup, searching in places she wasn’t authorized to trespass in. Even this. Sitting here in Logan’s kitchen watching him make her a meal that sent her glands to salivating. It wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be here. Seriously, the chances of him just happening to be in that part of town and just happening to see her go into the garage, and just happening to have a bad feeling about the two men following her in seemed like way more than a coincidence. The only way she could buy into that series of events was if he’d been following her too…which was downright disturbing.

This whole thing had stalker written all over it. And now she was in his house. Alone. Without a weapon.

“Hey, you okay?” Logan asked.

She blinked, noticing for the first time that a steaming omelet had been set down before her. The scents lifting off it did indeed cause her to salivate, but the possibility that she could be sitting in the kitchen of a stalker had her gut churning. She didn’t want him to be a freak. She wanted to believe him, take him at face value. She wanted to dig into that pile of fluffy eggs and then after, with her belly fully sated, she wanted to take care of her other appetite and dig into him.

“Where is my gun?” she asked abruptly.

“In your harness, under your jacket which is in the closet.” He jerked his head toward a smaller, six-panel door under the stairs.

Tossing her unused napkin beside her uneaten meal, she pushed back her chair and walked over, heart thumping as she’d opened the closet. And there it was.

Taking a deep breath, she retrieved the gun, checking her ammo before slipping into the harness and turning back around. She thought having the gun strapped on would lower her heart rate, but it didn’t. It still beat like she was chasing a perp fleeing the scene. Damn it. She fidgeted with the safety strap that held her police issue in as she stared at the homey scene before her. This whole encounter was almost as warped as her nightmares, and the fact she was drawn to it? That she wanted to go back and settle into that chair?

“I have to go,” she said, pulling on her jacket.

Logan momentarily stilled, then set down the plate he’d been holding, ready to scoop his own meal out.

“Okay…Where do you want to go?” he asked, moving the pan to a cool burner and covering it with a lid. Next he washed his hands, drying them off with a handy dishtowel. Meticulous. Controlled. Everything she wasn’t right now and needed to be.

Crap. Get it together, Jess. What’s he going to do? Attack you with his spatula?
She shook her head.

“Well, first back to my apartment to change, but then I have to get down to the station.” She glanced at the clock over the stove. “Which, crap, I’m already late.”

“Okay. I’ll drive you home first and wait outside while you change.” He brushed past her, grabbing his wallet and keys from a bowl that sat on a small side table by the front door. Something about the action made her frown, her mind churning to come up with a reason why it would bother her so.

“Jessica?” he asked, his face skewed into a puzzled expression.

“There’s no need to do that. Just drop me off at the garage where my car is.”

“That doesn’t make much sense when that’s all the way across town. Your apartment is closer. I can wait for you. Then we can pick up your car together later.”

A vital organ plummeted from behind her ribs down into her gut, the slim hope that it had been all a quirky coincidence extinguished. His words proved just what she feared: He knew way more about her than he should.

She turned to face him, folding her arms across her breasts. A defensive position, sure, but one she needed at that moment, and not because she was scared, but for some damn odd reason, she was hurt. “How long have you been following me?”

He stilled with his hand on the door, tension riding across his shoulders. “I told you I had business in that part of town.”

“And I’m telling you I’m not buying it. If you haven’t noticed, New York is a damn big city. The chances of you and me running into each other twice in one day?”
Or
that
he
knows
where
I
live?

Research. Yeah, she was unlisted, but still. A good hacker could dive into enough records to find out, though why Logan would’ve felt the need to…

His other hand tightened around his keys. She waited him out, trying not to be impressed with the way he visibly forced himself to relax his grip. So strong, but so much control.