She (16 page)

“This is
awesome
!” I squeal.

It’s our fastest run yet, and adrenaline courses through my body while the wind whips through my hair. Granted the amount of climbing and walking we have to do is not so fun, and by the time we’re back at Buddy’s (Logan puts the karts just inside the main foyer, where Buddy will collect them tomorrow morning) I am bushed!

Outside we sit side by side, our backs against the tall wall of the building. I stare up at the narrow strip of sky that I can see, all the while Logan is looking at me. I look back at him.

“Thank you. I’ve enjoyed today,” he says sincerely.

“Just today?”

He smiles, “Everyday I’ve been with you, Gemima, but today I’ve gotten to know you more, and for that I’m grateful.”

“Me too,” I say, taking his hand and kissing it.

“I want to know more still,” he tells me.

“What?”

“Hmm,” he considers, “tell me about your friends, about Amber.”

“Amber,” I grin, “is a riot. What you heard from her the other day was timid. She’s usually very loud, and open, and candid, which is probably why we get on so well. We’re two peas in a pod. She’s very loyal; she wanted to neuter Jerry after he cheated on me,” I remember with a laugh. “She’s very supportive and encouraging…everything I could hope for in a best friend. I’m friends with her husband, Seamus, too. He’s pretty cool.”

“And your other friends?”

“Well, there’s my mom. After Amber she’s the one I see the most. And Lucie, my best French friend. She works at my mom’s salon. There are a few characters there that I’m very fond of. And then there’s you...you’re my friend,” I smile.

“I’m your boyfriend,” he reminds me.

“Oh, yes. How lucky I am.” I lean over and kiss him. I intended a quick peck, but it builds into something strong and sensual and heady.

“Time does funny things with you, Gemima,” Logan says.

I stare at him, wide eyed. “You’ve noticed that, too?” I exclaim.

He laughs, and it sounds like a lullaby. “Yes, I have.”

“Tell me about your friends, aside from your main man.”

“My
main man
? I’m not sure if Buddy will like that nickname,” he grins. “Uh, let’s see… There’s Michel: he’s second in command of Leary Constructions; a great worker, but a better friend. When things get too heavy at work we sort of lift each other’s game, which I like. Then, I guess I could count Taylor as my friend.”

“Who’s he? Or she?”

“
He
…is my brother,” Logan reveals.

“You have a brother?” I shout, before hushing myself. “You have a brother?” I whisper.

He nods, but doesn’t smile.

“Do you, uh, like him?” I ask.

“I do,” he says earnestly. “But he’s not so fond of me.”

That seems strange, I think. Who wouldn’t be fond of Logan? “Why not?”

“He’s the same age as you, and when he was little he saw me self-destruct and spiral out of control, and was wholly unimpressed by my actions, rightly so.”

“And he hasn’t gotten over it?” I ask.

“He says he has, but he’s cold. I don’t think he trusts me.” He shrugs. “There are some things you can’t make up for.” He lingers a little before saying, “I, uh, beat him up pretty bad once.”

“Like a brotherly brawl?” I enquire.

“No, like stitches and a concussion…”

Wow
! I can’t even begin to imagine Logan like that. He’s lost all resemblance to danger that he ever once had.

“Shit, I shouldn’t have told you that!” he chides himself.

I frown, “Why not?”

His eyes pour into mine; they look tense and wary. “I just don’t
ever
want you to think that that would be a possibility with you…”

Oh, Logan! I want to roll my eyes at him, but I refrain. “I know that,” I tell him immediately. “All teenager boys get into scraps, Logan, it doesn’t mean they grow up to beat their wives.”

“Their what?” he asks, before smiling at me.

I flush crimson, but I suspect it’s too dark for him to see. “You know what I mean,” I mutter quickly.

His smile broadens and something shifts between us. The time for talking is over. We both want to do something else now. I lunge at him and he responds by tightening his arms around me, as our mouths meet and our tongues crush against one another. It feels like it’s been hours since we’ve embraced. I move to sit on his lap. Our kiss builds and I push my body firmly against his, wanting him, here and now. Those familiar, sexual urges surge through me. Quickly we get to our feet and turn, so that my back is against the wall, and Logan lifts me and keeps me pinned there with exquisite force.

Playfully I whisper to him, “Fucking in the street isn’t usually my style.” I kiss him hard, but all too soon he pulls away from me.

“You’re right,” he says breathlessly, setting me down.

“What are you doing?”

He pulls on my hand, saying, “I’m taking you home.”

*

Logan sits with his back against the headboard. I’m on his lap, and like in the street I press my body against him in our post-coital make out session. It’s late, very late. And I’m tired, but I don’t want to sleep. Not yet. Not ever when Logan is around. There’s always something much better to do, I tell myself coyly. Logan runs his hands up and down my back, seducing me. I’m ready for round two...but there’s something my American Mouth can’t help but ask first.

“You don’t like the word fuck, do you?” I say, my mouth against him.

“I use it often,” he grins cheekily.

“I mean in the context of you and I fucking right now,” I say candidly.

I hear the harshness of the word, not enjoying it much myself, and Logan’s expression gives him away; he scrunches his face in distaste. I smile at him as if to say:
I told you so
.

He admits, “No, I don’t like it in that context. It’s aggressive and blunt. Too blunt. I don’t find it very sexy, and therefore I don’t find it very fitting for you,” he compliments.

“You think I’m sexy?” It’s the second question I can’t help but ask.

He raises his eyebrows. “From your head to your toes, Gemima, you are sexy.”

I smile at him. “The odds of finding someone who feels
exactly
the same way must be minuscule…and yet here I am, feeling the exact same way about you. How brilliant are we?”

He grins at me, and kisses me again. It’s deep and rich with emotion. I could do this for days, I think, before remembering I
have
done this for days. I smile at the thought.

“I love feeling you smile when we kiss,” he tells me.

“I love feeling
you
smile when we kiss!” I exclaim.

He chuckles and then reveals, “I knew it would be like this; I knew that we’d fit so perfectly. I knew it from the moment I first saw you.”

“How?” I beg him for an answer. It’s enough to drive me crazy that I didn’t register it too. What the hell was I doing? Oh, yes, I was coasting through life, asleep, I remind myself. To be fair, I tell myself, there’s not a lot I can do about that now.

Logan says, “I can’t tell you
how
because I don’t know myself. I just saw you and thought: she’s the one.”

“The
one
?”

“The one,” he says quickly and with certainty, then he adds with a hint of amusement, “But I think you already know that. I think we’ve both made it clear tonight.”

“Yes,” I smile. Yes, I’m in love with you, Logan. He knows. I know. The only thing left to do is say it. But I don’t. Not right now. Instead I say, “If you knew we’d be like this, then why didn’t you tell me then?”

He smiles, saying, “Because you would’ve thought I was mad, for starters. And then I might’ve lost you forever. And secondly,” he sighs, “it was not my place to interfere with your life.”

“Ugh, your answer is so honourable,” I groan.

“That’s good, right?” he checks.

I kiss him in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “In fact,” he kisses me again, “I’ll take that any day.”

Our vocal cords rest for a few moments while we make out.

“Gemima, why do you care so much about me two years ago?” Logan then asks me.

“Because I care about you now,” I say simply.

“Right now I couldn’t be happier, baby,” he tells me swiftly. “Please don’t feel guilty.”

I bite my lip. “I’ll try not to,” I promise.

When we kiss again something moves between us. Literally. Logan’s erection proves he really
is
happy! The feeling of him hard against me reminds me of the beginning of our conversation, and that I’ve still got a question I want answered.

“What do you like to call sex?” I ask, and he looks at me blankly. “Nooky? Whoopee? Do you like the word sex?”

He shrugs, “Sure, it’s OK.” He’s unconvincing.

“Logan, I would like to know what
you
call it.”

He thinks for a moment. “Well, it’s different with you,” he begins.

“OK. So…”

“What do people call this city we’re in?” Logan asks.

“Paris,” I answer.

“Right,” he chuckles, looking at me affectionately, “But it’s the city of…?”

Ah, of course! Just when I think my gorgeous, considerate, sexy, sweet, brilliant-in-bed boyfriend can’t get any lovelier, he does!

“Love,” I finish his sentence, and he nods at me. “You want to make love?”

“With you? Always,” he smiles. Cautiously, he adds, “Is that expression too...uncool?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I smile at him and he laughs, relieved. “No, not uncool, baby,” I say, kissing his lips gently.

“Good,” he says, and then bravely and oh, so sexily he puts all of his cards on the table. “I want to make love to you, and whatever tempo, style, position, or mood, it will
always
be with love,” he promises me, “because I
adore
you, Gemima…and because you deserve it,” he adds, stating it so matter-of-factly.

I feel tears well up in my eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve overwhelmed me tonight,” I whisper.

“Sorry,” he breathes.

“Don’t be,” I say, my lips against his.

He wipes away a stray tear that has burst the bank and is rolling down my face.

“I love you,” he tells me.

“I know!” I cry, and he smiles. “You’re making that abundantly clear. I love you, too. I don’t know how this happened so fast, but I do, I love you, Logan!”

He catches several more runaway tears. “Let me make love to you, Gemima,” he pleads.

A small part of me wants to question what he’s been doing before now if not making love. But I don’t. No more questions today. No more conversations. Just affirmation. “Always,” I say.

6. Ready For Love

Right from the beginning it’s different; completely different. Our abrupt revelations change things instantly. The emotions we’ve just admitted to having add a whole new layer to the meaning and the feeling of him. Knowing he loves me, hearing him
say
those words, pleases me internally more than anything prior to this. I lie down, my head near the foot end of the bed, and Logan follows me, directing things on top. The buildup within me in indescribable! Holy hell! This is different;
so
much more intense!

Despite my best attempt to stop them, my tears keep falling as I build. And because I cannot concentrate on kissing him, Logan buries his face into my neck, kissing my skin. He does not admonish my tears, he allows them, and for that I love him even more! He also doesn’t stop because of them, sensing they’re a beautiful release, he keeps taking me deeper and faster, heightening the intensity of everything I’m feeling.
Fuck
!
Yes
! His breathing is laboured in my ear; he hisses and groans in primal satisfaction. I love hearing him!

“I love you, baby,” he tells me, over and over again.

Ah
! My mind deserts me. My whole being is in overwhelm, entirely overcome by the good feelings of my own emotions and the
great
feelings that Logan provokes in me physically. Oh,
yes
! It feels
so
good to call out.

“I love you, too!” I cry.

It feel
so
good to release my pent up emotion. But to my astonishment, everything just keeps building. Higher and higher; more and more intense!
Oh
!

“
Logan
!” I scream. I have no idea where he’s taking me, but we’re going there together! I come, spectacularly, everything in my body and mind releasing.

Logan follows me, calling out my name and stilling in his final moment of release. My chest rises and falls rapidly. I weep in undiluted joy, reveling in feeling Logan’s full weight on me.
Oh my god
; this is surreal! Incredible; glorious; unforgettable! I did not know love or sex could feel like
this
!

Panting heavily, Logan kisses my crying eyes. “Happy tears, right?” he checks, easing out of me.

I can’t help but laugh. “Yes! The happiest!” I tell him.

We don’t move from our entwined position; both of us too spent. Instead I pull half of the covers over us, and satiated beyond belief, we fall asleep instantly.

*

In the morning we’re awoken by the unwelcome sound of my alarm clock at seven AM. We’re still lying upside down on my bed, snuggled together under my folded duvet. I feel like I haven’t moved at all in my sleep, and I stretch my limbs, awakening my body. Ah, I feel good. I whip the duvet off of us so that I can reach over to turn off my alarm.

Logan shivers. His naked body is a beautiful sight first thing in the morning.
You’re going to wake up beside him every morning
, I tell myself. Suddenly I realise the truth of my own thought, and I can’t keep the smile from my face. I gaze down at his body, taking in every adonis-like feature. By the time my eyes meet his I’m in the mood. Just his still, naked frame seduces me.

“I love you,” I smile at him.

He grins and sits up, taking my face in his hands. “I love you, too,” he tells me, before kissing me deeply, passionately.

Satisfying two needs in one go, we have sex in the shower. Logan lifts me and I wrap my legs around him as he pins me against the shower wall. I’m ready when he enters me, already so wet and so turned on. He groans as he slowly sinks into me, reveling in the astounding feeling. I do too; a shiver of physical and emotional satisfaction courses through me. I love this man! Yes, I do! I could stay right here forever, I think, closing my eyes and savouring the fullness of him.
Ah
, yes! What a perfect way to start the day!

Logan sets a fast pace, thrusting himself into me over and over again. I meet him, thrust for thrust, feeling him provoke me deeply. I love the reverb that our sounds make, audible even over the sound of the running water. Just when we’re both about to come, Logan slows down, like he’s done before, elongating the pressure buildup and the pleasure of release. We come together, and in my moment of climax I’m wholly thankful that Logan’s supporting me; I’m not sure my body could support itself while orgasming so intensely. I don’t know how Logan does it. He’s a man of mysterious muscle strength.
My man
, I smile to myself.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, panting and pulling out of me.

I stand on my wobbly legs. “Ditto, baby,” I tell him, before his mouth swoops down and he kisses me hard. I know we would both gladly go again, but today, for the first time, we show restraint. It’s back to reality. Our respective works beckon us.

After we dress in our business best and eat a rushed breakfast, Logan insists on driving me to work. His car, a black BMW, has been parked outside the complex since Monday night, and has collected four parking tickets. Fortunately it hasn’t been clamped.

Logan scowls as he removes the tickets from under one of the wipers. It’s been a costly few days.

“Well,” I shrug, “I ain’t cheap,” I joke about myself, before remembering that Logan doesn’t approve of my self-deprecating sense of humour.

To my surprise he cracks a smile, and kisses my cheek. “You’re worth every euro,” he looks down at the tickets, adding, “Every four hundred and seventy of them.”

I let out a whistle, as Logan opens the car door for me.

He doesn’t connect his bluetooth to his radio, so when his phone rings, he asks me to answer it.

“Good morning, Logan Leary’s phone, how may I help you?” I say in French.

He grins at my secretarial tone.

“Hello, this is the admissions nurse at Pays de Paris Hospital, ringing to remind Mr. Leary that he needs to have his blood taken today, ahead of his scheduled surgery on Monday,” she replies, also in French.

I blanch.
What
? Surgery? “Uh, I…OK, I’ll, um, make sure he gets the message. Thank you for the reminder.”

“Thank you. Goodbye,” she hangs up.

Logan stares at me. “Why have you gone pale?”

“You have to get your bloods done today for your surgery on Monday,” I say in a monotonous voice.

Logan slams his head back against the headrest. “
Shit
! I totally forgot about that!” He looks back at me, his eyes wary, as though he might be in trouble.

“
Surgery
, Logan?” I exclaim. “
What
surgery?” I demand to know.

“It’s nothing serious. I’m having my gallbladder removed. It’s common, straightforward, and I’ll be out in a day.”

“Your gallbladder?” I scan his body. Where is that again?
He looks amused. Tapping the right side of his stomach, he says, “It’s here. It’s been giving me grief, so I was advised to have it taken out.” To sell it to me, he continues, “Otherwise it might get infected, and I’ll turn yellow, and that can be deadly. So, really, it’s a good thing…”

“If it’s been giving you grief, then I suppose…” But I don’t like it. All surgeries come with risks.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters. “It honestly slipped my mind.”

“How can it? Are you not nervous at all?” I wonder.

He shakes his head, his sincerity evident.

Well, if he’s not nervous then I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. “OK, just
promise
me that you won’t die,” I say dramatically.

He smiles at me. “I promise. Though that pertains just to this, right, because I’m not sure I can keep that promise for all of eternity. I’m not a mythical god.”

Oh
,
Logan
! “Could’ve fooled me,” I grin at him, and the tension evaporates.

He pulls up to a set of traffic lights which are red, and then leans over and kisses me, until the impatient so-and-so behind us honks, telling us the light is now green.

Tonight Logan says he’ll pick me up and we’ll spend the night at his apartment in the city centre. My overnight bag sits on the backseat, jam-packed with my toiletries and an assortment of clothes, which I realise too late I won’t be needing at all!

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Logan asks me.

“I enjoy the thrill of heights. All kinds of them,” I say, running my hand quickly up his thigh.

He takes a sharp intake of breath. “Gemima, do you want me to crash?” he grins, his eyes burning with a desire that won’t be satiated until tonight.

I giggle. “I thought you said you didn’t really like people being in your space?”

Playfully he rolls his eyes at me, like I’ve said something ludicrous. “I meant other people, not you,” he says, tickling my ego.

Oh, that’s right, I remind myself happily, because it’s different with me:
he loves me
! I spend the rest of the ride grinning from ear to ear.

Logan parks down the street from the Pierson Group, meaning we can make out for a few minutes without being in plain view of my co-workers. I run my hand over his clean shaven face as we kiss, savouring every piece of it: his sweet intoxicating breath, his tongue brushing against mine, and the rapidly rising feeling of longing stirring in my groin. Oh, how I want to touch him, and for him to touch me. He feels it too, reaching his hand over to my backside and squeezing it. I moan.
Today is going to be shit
, I think abruptly.

We break apart before we get too carried away, and sit, simply staring at each other for a moment.

“I’m trying desperately to figure out how to have sex with you right now without anyone seeing,” he blurts out.

“You can’t,” I smile wryly.

“I know,” Logan groans.

He leans forward and kisses me again. It’s more controlled, more measured, more appropriate for our current location.

“Have a good day, Mr. Leary,” I say.

“You too, Miss. Samuels. I’ll see you at five-thirty.”

“I’ll look forward to it.
Very
much.”

I get out of the car and shut the door, intending on waving him away, but instead he presses a button and the window descends.

“I love you, Gemima,” Logan tells me. “Don’t forget it.”

“I love you, too, Logan,” I smile.

Slowly the car begins moving and all-too-soon he’s gone.

Right, I suppose it’s back to work then, I think. I pull myself to present time as I enter Pierson House. Everything inside looks the same, which feels strange considering everything in me is now different. I left here on Monday night as a single, recently-unsexed woman, and I return now as the opposite: a girlfriend to an utterly gorgeous man, who couldn’t be any more sexually gratified! These past three days have been heaven, entirely divine, but here I have to pretend that I’ve been cooped up in bed for an entirely different reason.

Layla beams at me. I think I might be the only person who even remotely resembles a friend to her. “Feeling better, Gem?”

I smile back. “Much, thank you. Nothing a few days in bed couldn’t cure,” I say, somewhat truthfully.

At my desk I settle in behind the mound of paper work that’s been building up and now awaits my attention. I sigh, remind myself that I love my job and then get stuck in.

There are several things that I need to run passed Amelie Clemence, so I create a small pile and decide to visit her with them all in one go rather than retracing my steps to her office for the rest of the day. When I’m halfway through the pile, progress that I’m not only proud of, but astonished by (suddenly I realise that my days of recuperating are very beneficial to my work. Maybe I should take more days off…) my colleague in the next cubicle, Margaret, pops her head over the partition and kindly offers to pick me up a cup of coffee while she’s getting her own.

I take few minutes break while waiting for her to return. I stretch in my chair, my body feeling limber, relaxed, and healthy. They do say sex is good for your health…the dose I’ve had is enough to work biological miracles! With biology on my brain, I open my internet browser and google gallbladder surgery to educate myself. Logan was right: it is a common and simple procedure with a fast recovery time. Good to know! I click on the search bar once more and type in:
Logan Leary
.

The first thing I’m hit with is Google Images. Ah, there he is! My beautiful lover! In every photo Logan is wearing a tuxedo, looking kind, but not smiling. Underneath the images, the first website is his company’s. And under that is article after article about projects he has been, or is, involved in. I click onto the second page and find a wikipedia profile. I thought only famous people had those? Immediately I click on it.

At this inopportune moment Margaret returns with my coffee, and her eyes linger on my computer screen.

“Client research,” I say quickly. “Thank you,” I take the cup from her. She returns to her cubicle and mercifully minds her own business.

I scan the webpage, which is mostly about his business; the
Personal Life
section is left blank. I scroll back to the top and my attention is caught by his date of birth: March sixth, nineteen seventy-nine. March sixth? That’s two weeks away! Instantly I start brainstorming about what I can get him…
uh
…I draw a blank! Perhaps after seeing his home tonight I’ll get some inspiration? Yes, that’s a good idea, I tell myself, calming my sudden nerves.

I take several sips of coffee and close the webpage. Time to get back to work.