“So do I. I have ever since that first time you brought me here.” Tate gave a tight smile. “You were so mad at me that night.”
Logan nodded and gave a crooked grin. “I was. You’d broken my heart.”
Tate turned toward him and moved in close so he could lay a hand over Logan’s chest. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Tate,” Logan said around a chuckle, “that was a long time ago. Stop apologizing for it.”
“I know, but I didn’t know all the details back then, and ever since I talked to Jill—”
“It’s brought it all back?”
Tate sighed and turned around to look out into the darkness again. “Yeah, I suppose that’s it.”
“Listen to me,” Logan said, and when Tate didn’t look at him, he reached for his chin and turned his face. “We’ve been through so much since then. That was just one of the many bumps we ran into at the beginning of our relationship, but Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s water under the bridge. Stop worrying over it. I’m not.”
Tate nodded and slowly smiled. “You’re a pretty amazing guy. You know that?”
“I mean, I’ve always suspected it. But feel free to tell me whenever you think I need reminding.”
Tate chuckled. “I’ll do that.”
“Good. And for the record, you’re pretty wonderful yourself. What you did this week? Going to see your sister? I’m not sure I could’ve done that after what she did.”
“Yes, you would’ve,” Tate said without hesitation. “You and Cole have one of the strongest relationships I’ve ever seen, and that didn’t start off easy.”
“No, it didn’t. But that’s because he’s a pain in the ass.”
“Mhmm, I’m positive that’s the reason why,” Tate said. “But…speaking of Jill.”
Logan’s heart clenched at those words. They hadn’t really talked much about Tate’s meeting with his sister. He knew she’d apologized and asked for Tate’s forgiveness, but beyond that, Tate hadn’t said much more.
He was thinking on it. Like he tended to do over things that troubled him. He took them inside of him to reflect. It was Tate’s way. And whenever he got quiet, Logan knew to let him be, and eventually he’d talk when he was ready.
So he’d known this was coming. And while he’d given Tate the time he needed to process, Logan had never pushed it far from his mind. There was something Tate hadn’t yet told him about that meeting.
“What about her?” Logan said, trying to appear open and…calm.
“She had a lot to say the day we sat down.” When Tate stopped talking, Logan knew he was trying to find the right words to say whatever it was that had been bothering him, so Logan waited.
He took a large gulp of his wine, and when he lowered the glass, Tate turned to look at him, and the expression on his face had Logan’s heart racing.
Whatever it was, it didn’t look like Tate wanted to say it, and didn’t that make his anxiety triple. Just spit it out, Logan thought.
“She wants to meet you.”
TATE KEPT A close eye on Logan’s face for his initial reaction, and the shock that flashed into his eyes was definitely better than what Tate had thought he would see.
“She wants what?”
“To meet you,” Tate said again, trying for a smile.
Logan blinked a couple of times and then started to shake his head. “Uhh, I don’t think—”
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“If I didn’t think she was sincere about this, there’s no way in hell I would ask you, or put you through this, again.”
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. Tate knew he was asking a lot, but he also felt this was something he needed to do. Something he owed to himself. The opportunity to have the family dinner he’d wanted to have all along with Logan.
But if Logan wasn’t on board, then he wasn’t going to force his—
“Okay.”
Hang on. Did he just say what I think he said?
“I’ll meet her,” Logan said. “If that’s what you want.”
“You’d do that? For me?”
“Tate, I would do anything for you. But I’m not going to lie. I’m not excited about the idea. Nor am I going to hold my tongue if she behaves like she did the first time around.”
Tate walked into Logan’s space, put a hand on his chest, and kissed him slowly. As Logan relaxed under his touch, Tate said, “I wouldn’t want or expect you to. But to make sure shit doesn’t go south, I made a stipulation before telling her I would ask you.”
“Oh? And what was that?”
“It’s going to be at Dad’s,” Tate said, and Logan’s shoulders instantly relaxed. “Yep. If she wants to meet, it’s going to be on my terms, and this way she’ll see we have an ally. Dad loves you.”
“As long as you love me, I don’t care about anything else,” Logan said. “But that was a smart move, having it at your dad’s.”
“Thank you. And thank you for saying yes.”
“Don’t thank me until after the dinner. God knows how that will go.”
“No matter which way it goes, I’ll be leaving Dad’s place with you, so I’m not worried.”
Logan linked their fingers together. “I’m sure it’ll all be just fine.”
Tate laughed at Logan’s less-than-convincing smile. “That was the worst attempt at encouragement that I’ve ever heard.” When Logan shrugged, Tate held up his empty glass, deciding to let him off the hook for the rest of the night. “I think we could both do with another glass of wine. What do you think?”
Clearly relieved by the change of subject, Logan plucked his empty glass out of Tate’s hand and said, “I think that’s a great idea.” Then he headed back inside to the living room, leaving Tate standing there wondering how he’d been lucky enough to wind up with a man as understanding as Logan.
As Logan settled into the end of the couch, he crooked a finger at him, and Tate knew how.
He’d gotten lucky because four years ago Logan happened to pick the bar he worked at, sat down opposite him, and was just…himself. And there’d been no way Tate couldn’t see that man or fall in love with him.
AS TATE CAME inside, Logan tracked his movement, enjoying the way the soft glow of the lamp made his skin look warm to the touch, because it was a true representation of how it actually felt under his fingers.
When he stopped beside the couch, Tate frowned and pointed to the purplish mark on Logan’s leg. “You have a bruise on your shin.”
Logan glanced down at it. “I know. It’s from that damn wine box last week. Our place is too small. There are boxes everywhere. In the hallway. In the study, which isn’t even a study anymore.”
Tate picked up his refilled glass and took a sip. “You’re right. But the loft is no bigger. I mean, this place is great, but it’s too far away from everything. So, unless you plan to sell the condo…” Tate’s words faded off, and he shrugged as if to say, What other options are there?
But Logan cocked his head to the side and said, “What if we did sell the condo?”
Tate’s arm froze where he’d been raising the glass back to his lips. “What? You love that place.”
“I did. I mean, I do,” Logan said, putting his glass on the table and scooting to the edge of the couch. “It was great when it was just me. And then when you moved in it was…” He paused and took a breath, remembering that day not long after Tate had gotten out of the hospital. “That was one of the best days of my life. But with two of us, things have accumulated over the years and it’s just too small. There’s shit everywhere.”
Logan looked up at Tate, who had walked forward to stand in front of him. “You’re serious. You want to sell the condo? And what? Move into a house in the suburbs with a dog and a white picket fence? That doesn’t sound like Logan Mitchell.”
Logan screwed his nose up, horrified at the thought. “Who said anything about the suburbs? Or a white pic
ket fence?”
Tate chuckled and reached out to run a hand through his damp hair. “But the dog’s open for negotiation?”
“That would be a negative. I do not want some slobbery four-legged animal running around our place chewing the furniture and leaving hair all over my clothes.”
“Of course you’re worried about your clothes.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I pay good money for what I wear. What? Do you want a dog?”
Tate started laughing at that question, hard.
“What’s so funny?” Logan asked, grabbing Tate’s hips and pulling him in between his legs.
Tate cupped the back of his head so he could angle Logan’s face up to him, then leaned down and kissed him. “You. Worrying over some imaginary dog while we’re sitting here—”
“Well, technically you’re standing,” Logan pointed out.
“Okay, smartass. While we’re discussing a really big and important decision.”
Logan shrugged as Tate straightened, and then he let him go and sat back on the couch. Tate put his glass down and came over to lie down beside him, resting his head on Logan’s thigh.
As they sat there in comfortable silence, Logan allowed himself a moment to really think about what he was suggesting. The two of them house-hunting. They hadn’t done that before. Yeah, they had places they lived in. His condo and this cabin he’d already owned, and Tate had picked out The Popped Cherry, and the loft came along with it.
But this? This would be them going out and finding a house that they both wanted to live in and own forever. Or at least for a long while. It was a huge commitment.
Ahh, there’s that word again. It was one that he kept coming back to over these past few months. A word that hadn’t even entered his mind until he’d caught that blasted bow tie and Tate had given him a look that had made Logan stop and think twice about who they were to one another.
And where that idea, the prospect of committing legally to another, had once scared the shit out of him, as he sat there in the quiet of the night playing with the soft curls brushing over his thigh, Logan no longer felt that sense of panic at the possibility.
Instead, that possessive side of him, the one that recognized Tate as his match, his equal in all ways he ever could have imagined, stirred to life, as he acknowledged the possibility of being bound to this man forever, in every way he could be.
Curious to know what was running through Tate’s mind as he lay there, Logan asked, “Do you not want to move?”
“You know, until right this second, I’d never even thought about it,” Tate said as he tipped his head back and looked up.
“Me neither,” Logan said, a grin crossing his lips. “But I like the idea. Looking for a house with you.”
“Do you?”
Logan nodded as he stroked Tate’s hair. “I do.”
“Me too. You know, it’s funny, but it feels like things are shifting lately, doesn’t it?”
“Shifting?” Logan asked.
“Yeah,” Tate said, and reached up to stroke his fingers along Logan’s jaw. “Not in a bad way. I just mean with our jobs, this, and Jill.”
“I don’t know,” Logan said. “Maybe it’s just the next stage.”
“The next stage?” Tate chuckled. “In what? The evolution of us?”
Logan leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss over Tate’s lips. “Hmm, something like that.”
“I like it,” Tate said, grinning against Logan’s mouth.
“So do I,” Logan said as he settled back into the couch. So. Do. I.
As Logan stared down at Tate, who’d now shut his eyes, he memorized the thick eyelashes that kissed the top of his cheekbones and the damp curls that were all over his lap. Tate looked relaxed and beautiful, and suddenly the words settled, domestic, and committed no longer sent warning bells off in Logan’s head.
No, suddenly they had him thinking of other bells…wedding bells.
But no—that would mean a church. And that would mean marriage. What the…? Am I really thinking about—
“Logan?”
As Tate’s voice cut through his unbelievable thoughts, Logan looked down to see sleepy eyes focused on him and a breathtaking smile aimed his way. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Logan said, and as Tate shut his eyes, he knew without a doubt that, yes, he really was thinking it. Now it was just a matter of where and when he would ask Tate Morrison to marry him.
The Temptation Series
Try (The Temptation Series I)
Take (The Temptation Series II)
Trust (The Temptation Series III)
Four Years Later…
Tease (The Temptation Series IV)
Untitled (The Temptation Series V)
Untitled (The Temptation Series VI)
Sneak Peek from Brooke Blaine
A Little Bit Like Love
BEFORE
Eight Years Earlier…
With the note from Principal Stewart crumpled in my fist, I stalked away from his office, away from the words I knew would haunt me forever.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. Your father is quite…insistent you return to Connecticut immediately.”
Immediately…immediately… With every echo of that word through my mind, my heart battered my chest, the ache to rip itself free of my body a plea I was helpless to honor.
There was only one reason he would’ve demanded I leave South Haven before the end of classes next week. My father had been adamant I receive the best education his money afforded, choosing to ship me down to south Georgia to attend the most prestigious all-boys academy in the country. I’d done him proud, rising to the top of my class, and I’d been practicing my salutatorian speech for days. Skipping out on graduation and the pomp and circumstance and recognition that came with it? Out of the question. Which could only mean one thing.
He knew. Somehow he knew.
That was the only explanation for the letter in my hand, for the abrupt dismissal this late in the evening and this close to the end of the school year. My father hadn’t gotten to where he was by being stupid or blind, and I’d seriously underestimated how many eyes and ears had been watching me during my four years. Although it would’ve only been the whispers over the last few months that piqued his interest, only the last eight that he would’ve had any reason to give me a second thought.
And that reason wasn’t a what—it was a who.
The halls of the St. John’s dormitory were silent when I entered, all the students down at the mess hall for dinner, followed by the final bonfire of the year. So there wouldn’t be anyone around to see me sneak down the hall to where I knew I shouldn’t be going but couldn’t help myself. My feet seemed to move of their own accord, the countdown to my utter devastation causing me to pick up the pace. The private plane would arrive in a handful of hours, giving me just enough time to pack my things, but there was no way I could leave without a goodbye. Not going to happen.
I wasn’t ready. I was supposed to have more time. As a cold sweat of panic seized me, I balled the letter tighter in my fist and chucked it into one of the trash bins as I passed.
Screw my father. Screw the life he’d set out for me, the one I was destined to live and hate with every fiber of my being. I wanted to bottle up every one of his expectations and throw the blasted thing out at an angry sea to swallow up and tear apart instead.
I wished it could be as easy as that. I’d been able to fool myself into a sense of freedom, but the cell door was about to smash shut on every dream I’d let myself have these past few months.
His private dorm was at the end of the long hall, last one on the right, and I rapped on it twice fast, waited a moment, and then repeated the pattern that we used for each other. A few seconds later, the door swung open, and seeing the sole object of my daily and nightly thoughts standing there in front of me with a mixture of surprise and delight in his eyes made me think that coming here had been a mistake. It was only going to sink the dagger in farther
.
“Hey…I thought we were meeting la—” Lucas’s words cut off and the smile curling his lips fell as he got a good look at my face. “What’s wrong?”
You should tell him. Tell him what’s going on and that it isn’t your fault. Look him in the eye when you tell him you can never see him again.
A shooting pain tore through my chest as I realized what this goodbye actually meant. I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t be seeing him for the next couple of days or weeks. When I left South Haven’s campus in the early hours of the morning, I wouldn’t be seeing him again…ever.
God, can I do this? Break his heart as well as mine?
No…no, I couldn’t tell him. He’d look for me, find me, and there was no telling what my father would do if that happened. The letter had been my old man’s warning. Disobeying his orders would mean consequences neither of us were prepared for.
“Jackson?” Lucas’s voice dropped low, and then he looked past me out into the deserted hall. When he didn’t see anyone to blame on my current state, he frowned and waited for an answer.
The words didn’t come, though, so I stood there staring at him, taking a mental snapshot that I’d store away in a place no one could find and destroy. His black hair was casually tousled, and I knew him well enough to know he’d worried his hands through it, maybe wondering if I wouldn’t follow through on our plans tonight. He wore a simple grey t-shirt and low-slung jeans on his long and lean frame, and the swirl of black tattoos he’d recently inked on his tanned skin could be seen peeking around his right bicep before disappearing from view behind the thin material of his shirt. He was striking, both in looks and personality, and to say I hadn’t been expecting the force that was Lucas Sullivan when he’d transferred to the academy eight months ago was an understatement.
Quite simply, I’d been lost to him the first time I laid eyes on him.