Ulterior Designs (House of Evans Book 1) (16 page)

Twice they had shared a kiss so intense that his mind had drawn a blank. And for good reason. Chloe was meant to be kissed like that. And held. And taken. But damn it, she was so young, so naïve, so…
so absolutely everything that he didn't need
. Wanted, absolutely, but
needed
?
The only thing he needed was someone to bang, especially when he didn't know Chloe's intentions. Or, more importantly, her ability to remain loyal. Not that it mattered. People lied all the time about their intent and ability to remain faithful. Like his father. Like Jess. The only thing he wanted from Chloe or
anyone else
was a mutually satisfying physical partnership without a…

He cut his thought short. He had said those damned words to himself so many times that they had become akin to a redundant joke that wasn't funny anymore; like a phrase repeated so often it had lost its meaning.
Without a commitment…
what a fucking farce. A man could hold out hope, though.
Right? RIGHT?

And why the hell was he even entertaining this internal conversation? They hadn't even had sex.

Annoyed with himself, he took hold of her hand and led her back to the car without saying anything. It would be the perfect time to play some of that
communication music,
but he just wasn't feeling it. It made no difference, because as soon as they began to drive the distance from the pier to Russian Hill, Chloe queued a song. He didn't know whether to laugh, or yell a string of obscenities.

When the song
Learn to Love
began, Logan felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment.
What a jackass
. He was blushing.
Fucking blushing over a song
. A song that a twenty-two year old
girl
had chosen. A
girl
who knew nothing about him. A
girl
who had probably never been in love. The longer the song played, the more the lyrics crawled under his skin and gnawed at his resolve.
Was he that easy to read?

When he finally found the nerve to look in Chloe's direction, she was staring out the passenger window.

"Turn this song off, please," he grumbled.

"Nope."

"That wasn't a request," he said with more emphasis.

"You said
please.
To me, that implies a request," she stated as she continued to stare out the window to avoid his gaze like a child who knew they had done wrong but refused to acknowledge their mistake.

He attempted to grab her phone to turn it off himself, but she pulled it out of his reach, only solidifying her place over the spanking horse that would soon grace the House of Evans.

"Suck it up, Logan. It's almost over."

So, he did. But not before planning out his sweet revenge. If he had his mother's ability to translate what she was feeling onto paper, he would have drawn little Ms. Stephens surrounded by fabric and fire, with devils horns and angel wings, stunning eyes, perfect tits and a heart-shaped ass that was most definitely going to get paddled again.

Determined to have the last word, he plucked a tune from his playlist and cranked up the volume. The comical, horrified look on Chloe's face when the Broadway version of
Like a Virgin
began playing was almost more than enough revenge to reconsider reddening her backside.
Almost.

P
arked in front of Chloe's apartment, she began to climb out of Logan's car when he snatched for her wrist.

"Aren't you going to invite me up?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is this is a trick question?"

"No tricks."

She grabbed one of the bags from his back seat. "I don't know. Are you okay with socializing with someone as
virginal
as me outside of work?" When a sudden burst of laughter shot out of him, her ornery look changed to amusement. "You're always welcome at my place, Logan."

"Do you really mean
always,
or does that offer have an expiration date attached with it?"

She wrinkled her nose at him."It only expires if you do something to tick me off."

He had a pretty good idea of what that
something
might be, but she didn't have to worry. He wouldn't be rebuffing any more of her advances. He had too many plans for her.

He retrieved the rest of her purchases and climbed the nineteen steps to her second floor apartment. The six-unit complex that was obviously a historic building had its charm, even if it was in a bit of disrepair. Close to several boutiques and shops, as well as a small grocery store and public transportation, her neighborhood was more than adequately convenient and safe.
He would know
. After having expanded his music collection the previous night, he had done more homework on his favorite interior decorator. He wanted to make sure she was secure in her surroundings, after all.

He had expected to be dazzled when he stepped into her apartment, but what he saw when he entered went far beyond being dazzled. In his astonishment, he nearly dropped the bags in his hands.

Chloe had worked nothing less than a miracle on the tiny apartment. Warm inviting colors, rich fabrics with appealing patterns, rare pieces placed carefully and sparingly, funky vintage furniture over a bright, plush rug, unusual yet attractive artwork hanging on the walls… his eyes didn’t know which way to go as he quickly tried to take it all in.

And the smell?
Holy Mother of Mary, it was a combination of Chloe's alluring fragrance and something vaguely floral and sweet.

He tried to peek around the corner into the kitchen and bedroom to do some quick math in his head for figuring out the layout and square footage. Without seeing the other rooms, his best guestimate was that it was less than a thousand.

He recalled something else that he read in
101 Things I Learned in Architecture School: "Any aesthetic quality is usually enhanced by the presence of a counterpoint.”

Chloe had nailed that concept. For every piece of beautiful décor, there was a counterpoint, drawing his eye back to the center. Her space, no matter how small, was a beautiful balance of symmetry and lines intermingled with her own bit of unique flare.

"Christ, Chloe," he was finally able to get out. "You did all this yourself?"

"As far as decorating—yes. But, a few of the pieces over there," she explained as she pointed to a shelf, “my father helped me make.”

He had definitely hired the right girl for the job. Hell, he had hit the interior decorating jackpot hiring Chloe Stephens. And as for what he was paying her, if she made his place look anything close to what hers looked like, he wasn't paying her enough.
And D. Mo?
He had lost out big time.

Something that looked very much like an item Logan would find in his mother's kitchen caught his eye. He walked over to the shelf she had pointed out to get a better look at a cow clock so that he could inspect it.

"I made that from recycled kitchen pieces. Spoons, a mason jar lid, a spatula, an assortment of nuts and bolts. The face is a bread pan," she explained as she walked over to straighten one of its spoon ears. "This little guy is sold. Or, I thought he was. The person who wanted it never paid me. That happens a lot."

Logan's mouth parted in surprise. "You sell your pieces?" he asked as he touched an old 35mm movie camera that had been converted into a table lamp.

"It's how I pay the bills. Some of the items that my father and I made, larger pieces of restored furniture, paid for my car. I'm saving up for a new Mac and some interior design software next."

He glanced at her furniture and gestured toward it with his head. "You did those?"

She nodded. "I find most of my stuff at flea markets. Sometimes, I get lucky at garage sales and estate sales."

"Where do you make all of this?"

"I rent a garage downstairs. The owners of the building gave me a discount on it. I guess they felt sorry for me," she said with a shrug of one shoulder.

"Show me."

Chloe suddenly appeared nervous. "Okay, but I have to warn you—it's very disorganized."

He took one last look around her apartment before they stepped out. He doubted Chloe knew anything about disorganization.

They descended the stairs to the exterior of the building. Outside, three one-car garages sat below the structure of the building. Chloe pointed to an old, silver Ford Taurus wagon parked on the street, stating it was hers before retrieving a key from her pocket to unlock the storage unit. With the light flipped on, Chloe glanced at him.

“This is my workspace,” she explained, and glanced around. “Please, forgive the mess.”

What Logan was faced with could only be described as an artist's labyrinth. As for disorganization, it was far from that. And it sure as hell wasn’t a mess. Not in his opinion anyway.

A sewing machine sat against the far back wall. A rack of fabrics sat adjacent to that and several tables lined with the multiple projects in various stages of completion sat against the side wall. Slowly, he walked around the approximately two-hundred-and-fifty square foot space, picking up various odd items as his eyes roamed over everything.

Center stage displayed a black French armchair that had been restored and re-upholstered with a patchwork effect in pink, red and teal fabrics. Next to it was a matching serpentine footstool with carved wooden feet.

"I re-stained both of these in black to bring out the colors of the fabric, and then upholstered them with a selection of exclusive materials from the Designers Guild. It was pricey, but I managed to negotiate the price down a bit and picked up some extra hours to pay for it. You know the saying: you have to spend money to make it," she seemed to be talking to herself. "I fitted the feet with brass castors so it can be easily moved," she beamed as she ran her fingers over the stained wood.

"My mother would love these," he whispered. "How much for the set?"

His question seemed to take her by surprise. "Um, well, I hadn't thought about that. I mean, I… for you…" she stammered.

Logan faced her and cut her statement short. "No. How much would you charge
anyone
?"

She hesitated before she answered.

Logan narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest at the figure she quoted. He knew damned well a one-of-a-kind pair like this would go for far more than a fistful of hundred dollar bills. "Try again, and give me the
real
price."

Chloe swallowed noisily and averted her gaze to the toes of her shoes. When the next price she gave him quadrupled, he nodded.

"It's a deal. And I'll take the cow clock, too." He fingered her chin to draw her attention back onto him. "Don't sell yourself short, Chloe.
Ever.
If you don't value your work, then how do you expect others to?"

A slow smile formed on her lips. She took a step toward him, but then stopped and put her hands up in front of her.

"I'm coming in for a kiss, Logan. Prepare yourself… it's coming," she inched closer as she placed her hands on his chest. "Are you ready?"

Another fit of laughter barreled through him at the seriousness on her face, but died down when her lips covered his. Her taste, her scent, her arms draped over his shoulders and her tongue delving into his mouth… she truly could get his blood boiling.

*

Logan's arousal could be felt through his jeans as it pressed into Chloe's belly. She wanted it; she wanted
him
, but then she recalled the flash of hesitancy and nervousness on his face every time she made a move.

Begrudgingly, she backed away. When she did, he gave her a look of unadulterated lust mingled with frustration.
And something else
. She didn't know what exactly and she wasn't about to try and interpret it. She was done trying to figure him out and being pushed away. If he wanted her in
that
way, he would have to make the next move.

They only stood a foot apart, but the heat emanating from Logan's body could be felt as if he was right on top of her. It took everything she had not to let her eyes drift downward to the outline of his shaft, and she got the distinct impression that he sensed her craving.

Purposely gliding his palm over his hard-on, he asked, "Do I get an
in-depth
tour of your apartment?"

Oh, he knew what she wanted, and he was teasing her with his actions and innuendos.
Again.
Maintaining her cool, she kept her eyes riveted to his when she answered without a hitch,
"Sure."

Chloe led the way back to her apartment, making sure to keep a safe distance between them. Once inside, she promptly began leading him through the small space. They had just rounded the living room to go into the kitchen when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Logan cease all movement. When she turned, he had a curious expression on his face as he stared at the art-deco chair that was in the small adjoining room that she utilized as an office.

A slow, sexy smile worked its way onto his mouth. "Would you care to explain this?"

Proud that the brilliant, award-winning architect Logan Evans found her work intriguing, she walked to the chair, ran her fingers along the textured, off-white vinyl and pewter nail heads, and began telling him about it.

"I found it at a flea market. It was stripped of all the upholstery and only the bare frame was exposed, but something about the curved shaped stood out to me. They were asking more than I expected considering what it is."

His brows pinched together. "What it is?"

"Yes, but, I anteed up because I loved the look of it. I intended to sell it, but couldn't bring myself to part with it, so …"

He interrupted her, "That's not what I meant by
explain.
"

She stared back at him puzzled by his expression of amusement intermingled with confusion.

When she didn't respond, he let out a breathy laugh. "You have no idea what this is, do you?"

"A reading chair."

Logan huffed as his gaze darted from her eyes to her mouth. "Sure, if you're reading the Kama Sutra."

It was her turn to be confused. "What?"

He pinched his brows together and let out another loud sigh. "The Kama Sutra is a book of sexual positions that …"

"I know what the Kama Sutra is, Logan," she sniped when she saw him give her a look of condescension.

"But you don't know what
this
is?"

Tired of his vague hints, she sat in the chair and stared up at him. "Why don't you tell me what
you
think it is."

The corners of his lips curved upwards. "I don't
think
I know what it is—I
know.
"

She waited for him to enlighten her, but he merely stared down at her as if pleased by some unknown thing. She quickly become impatient with his lack of response and asked, "Can you elaborate, please?"

"It's a
Tantra Chair
." When she shook her head to indicate that she didn't understand his meaning, he gave her a shake of his own head and finally illuminated her. "A chair made to enhance the sexual positions of the Kama Sutra."

Her mouth fell open and she quickly glanced down at the chair she was sitting on. It couldn't be.
Could it?
Her eyes darted to his in disbelief.

"You're making that up."

"Nope," he mimicked her earlier tone.

She sat upright and stared down at the chair again. "But this doesn't look anything like the sex chair that you want in your home."

"The chair I chose may be more straight-forward in its design and less artistic than this one, but their purpose is the same: to fuck on."

Chloe's core temperature began to rise at Logan's crudeness. It was no wonder the upholstery had been stripped—it had been tainted by someone else's DNA. It was no wonder the person selling it had asked so much—it was a sex chair with a fancy name that was meant to be
fucked on
. It all made sense now as she studied it further: the dual arcs, the narrow width and low height, and the body-contouring curvature. She had been reading on that damned chair for nearly a year when its sole purpose was for …