Trust (Temptation #3)

  “Ask me up, Logan.”

  He reached for his tie and loosened it, remembering once again the pity in Tate’s eyes on Monday night after the shitstorm with his wonderful mother. The mother who had cost him a fucking fortune, he might add.

  “Where are you?”

  “Standing in front of the elevator to your office.”

  Knowing there was no way out of it, Logan told him, “Fine. Come to me.” Then he heard the chime of the elevator.

  “Try to fucking stop me.”

  Well, shit. Guess the last text was a little too much. Tate was pissed. He could tell by the clipped words he was barking through the line.

  “Oh, and, Logan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell Sherry to take her lunch.”

  * * *

  Tate was silent in the elevator as it climbed several floors before stopping on Mitchell & Madison’s. When he stepped into the lobby, the woman behind the front desk smiled and greeted him by name.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Morrison.”

  Okay, that’s new. “Hi. I’m here to see—”

  “Mr. Mitchell? Yes, he’s expecting you. He said to go straight back.”

  Tate wandered on past, but when he felt her eyes following him, he glanced over his shoulder and found her looking his way.

  She gave a broad smile and shrugged. “Sorry. We’ve just been laying bets on when you’d finally be back, and with his mood this week…”

  Tate reached for the handle on the large double doors, but before he pulled them open, he asked, “So he’s being a real jerk to everyone? That’s nice to know.”

  She pretended to zip her mouth. “You did not hear that from me.”

  “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. And please, the name’s Tate. None of this Mr. Morrison stuff.”

  “Okay. I’ll remember that for next time.”

  With that, Tate pushed through the doors and started to weave through the desks toward Logan’s office. It was strange to be back here after the way he’d last left. A public coming-out, a yelling match with his ex and his sister, followed by a fight with Logan.

  He could feel the eyes of Logan’s employees on him when he finally came to a stop at the desk out in front of his office. Sherry, Logan’s PA, flashed a grin as she stood and picked her purse up.

  “You can go right in. He’s waiting for you. I’ve been told to take the afternoon off, so before he changes his mind, I’m out of here.”

  Ahh, good, Tate thought. He listened. He said goodbye and watched her leave the same way he’d come in, noticing several heads rising. Yeah, people are definitely looking at me.

  Trying to ignore the feeling of being under a microscope, Tate turned and knocked on Logan’s door several times. As far as he was concerned, they better get used to seeing him around, because when it came to Logan, he was going no-fucking-where.

  * * *

  “Come in,” Logan called when a knock sounded on his door. He watched as it was pushed open and Tate walked inside.

  Damn, it felt like years, not hours, since he’d seen him.

  His tousled hair was windswept, and the dark-blue jeans and black V-neck sweater showed off a tan portion of skin at the base of his throat. He had his red helmet under his arm and his leather jacket on, and as he sauntered into the office, his stride was confident and full of arrogance—something that always made Logan’s cock stand up and pay attention, even with his current mood.

  “Afternoon,” Tate said and shut the door, dumping his helmet on the couch.

  Logan said nothing, just rolled his chair under the desk so he could rest his arms on top of it.

  Tate shrugged out of his jacket then threw it by his helmet. “You don’t mind if I lock this door, do you?” When Tate’s eyes found his, they ran over him, and he added, “I don’t want a repeat of the last time I was here.”

  Annoyed at the reminder of that shitty day and still riding his irritability from the most recent, Logan snapped out, “If you want to lock the door, then lock it.”

  “You know what,” Tate said, doing just that. “I think I’ve changed my mind about this pissy attitude of yours.”

  Logan cocked his head to the side and pushed back in his chair as Tate walked across the office and rounded the end of his desk. “I haven’t been pissy,” he dared to say, knowing full well that his attitude this week really had been less than stellar.

  So sue him. That was what happened when his mother left the state and stiffed him with a bill in the thousands.

  “Anyway, I thought you said it made you hot.” He swiveled in his chair until he was staring at Tate from behind his glasses. Then he sucked in a breath as Tate leaned down and placed his hands on the armrests of his office chair.

  Tate then leaned in until their faces were only a whisper apart. “You’re right. This week, you haven’t been pissy. You’ve been absent. And yeah, usually, this irritated attitude does it for me, but when you’re also acting like a dick, that makes me want to kick your ass.”

  “That’s what you came here to say? That I’m acting like a dick? News flash: You’re about the tenth person to tell me, and that’s only today.”

  Before he could shove his chair back, Tate grabbed his tie and yanked him forward.

  “I don’t give a shit about other people,” Tate barked. “You can act like the biggest asshole on the planet with them. But you better have a good excuse for acting that way with me, because that is about to stop right fucking now.”

  Logan wrapped his hand around the one clutching his tie and glared at the man fuming down at him. “I just didn’t feel like talking today, okay?”

  “Not. Okay,” Tate growled. “You’re the one who stipulated no silences.”

  “We’ve been together all week.”

  “We’ve been together, but you? Your head has been somewhere fucking else.”

  “Tate…” he warned.

  “Logan,” Tate said right back.

  “It’s just…Monday night,” he started, dropping his eyes until Tate tugged the tie. “Would you stop doing that?”

  Tate’s eyebrows rose and a rebellious look entered his eyes as he yanked on it again, bringing him forward in the chair until he had to put his hands on the arm rest to steady himself.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You meant to stop doing that?”

  Logan clenched his back teeth together and grated out, “Yes.”

  “Or else…what?”

  “You’re really fucking pushing it, Tate.”

  Tate’s eyes glinted at him in a way that made Logan realize he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Am I? Or maybe you just need to work this mood out of your system.”

  “And how do you propose I do that? I’ve been trying to run it out all damn week.”

  Tate wound the tie around his hand and jerked it so he was forced to look up at him.

  And yeah, fuck… The aggression pouring off him is unbelievably arousing.

  Logan knew he could stand if he wanted to. He could push Tate away. But as his words and actions washed over him, Logan remained where he was. Maybe a good argument was exactly what he needed.

  “You do realize that every time I’ve been in your office it’s resulted in an argument of some kind.”

  “And?”

  “And,” Tate said as he touched their lips together, “I think you need a reminder that you might be their boss and get to tell them what the fuck to do. But between us, you are not always the one in charge.”

  * * *

  Tate didn’t dare drop eye contact as he stared Logan down. It was imperative that he keep the upper hand here, even surrounded by the glaring reminders that in these offices, in this building, Logan was the boss.

  But not with me. No, with me, he’s—

  “Remind me,” Logan whispered.

  —pliant.

  Tate brushed a kiss across Logan’s top lip, and when his eyes slid shut, he crushed their mouths together in a savage kiss. Logan automati
cally opened for him, and Tate heard a groan escape his own throat as he slid his tongue between his lips.

  It felt like an eternity since they’d last touched, and wanting to get back their usual connection, Tate pulled on the tie in his hand until Logan was standing from his chair so they were on the same level.

  He felt a hand grab his waist and one push into his hair, and then he turned them so Logan’s ass was against his desk and he could grind against him as he continued to devour the mouth moving hungrily under his.

  Jesus. He loved that Logan never held back, always letting him know he was with exactly whom he wanted—and Tate couldn’t get enough. Logan angled his head for a deep connection, and there was no way he wasn’t going to give it.

  With one hand still gripping the tie, he sucked and bit at Logan’s lips as he worked the other between their bodies and cupped the erection he could feel pressing against his own.

  “Oh, fucking hell, Tate,” Logan cursed as he ripped his mouth free.

  He put his lips to Logan’s throat, just above the collar of his shirt, and asked, “Do I have your attention?”

  Logan thrust his hips against the palm of his hand and tightened the fingers in his hair, yanking his head back with enough force to make him wince—but Tate didn’t care. He knew what he was doing. Logan needed him whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  He nipped at Logan’s chin and then stopped what he was doing, and when their eyes met, he could see Logan’s desire and annoyance that he’d stopped.

  “You’re going to come to me tonight. I finish at two. I expect your ass on a barstool, asking for a drink, at one forty-five, and not a minute late. Got it?”

  Logan said nothing, but Tate saw his jaw clench and knew he’d heard.

  “We’re going to talk about what’s bothering you. The same way you make me talk,” he said and then tightened his fingers around Logan’s erection, pulling a harsh moan from him. “Then we’re going to work this attitude out of you.”

  Tate felt Logan’s chest rise and fall against his own, as he released his hold of the hard cock in his hand and let go of the tie. Then he walked away from the man still frozen to his desk, unable to move.

  When he got to the other side, Tate said Logan’s name. He waited until he turned his head, and then he pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and slapped it down on the desk.

  “Here are my results. Tonight, your ass is mine.”

  Yeah, Tate thought as he backed away, remembering what Logan had told him. You’re gonna go out of your fucking mind.

  He picked his helmet up, well aware of the wild eyes tracking him. Logan looked like a caged animal, and Tate couldn’t wait to unleash him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Logan had to hand it to him. Tate had finally managed to take his mind off his fucked-up week. With his parting line, the presumptuous bastard had firmly planted a new obsession in his head—one he was still thinking about now, hours later.

  He looked himself over one last time. Navy-blue pants, a light-blue shirt, and a grey pullover that made his eyes appear exactly how he felt—stormy. He then grabbed his black, woolen trench coat from the coatrack by the door. Tonight, he’d dressed with one thing in mind: to bring Tate Morrison to his fucking knees.

  With his keys in one hand, he shoved his and Tate’s papers in his pocket and set out to find his bartender. It was time to remind him that, sometimes, things were more interesting when there was a fight for who was on top—and I want it with the sexy fucker who left cocksure and victorious. Yes, it’ll be real nice to get one up on him.

  It took him less than twenty minutes to get over to the parking garage attached to the building his office and After Hours were located in, and by the time he made it up the elevator and through the front doors of his local haunt, Logan was pleased to note he’d arrived with five minutes to spare.

  There was a good amount of activity in the downtown bar, but that wasn’t surprising since it was a Friday night. As he unbuttoned his jacket and walked through the tables, he let his eyes scan the interior, searching out his man.

  Tate wasn’t anywhere to be found, and as he settled at the far end of the bar, Logan saw Amelia making her way toward him. With a smile on her face and a towel tucked into the side of her pants, she gave a flirty wink and leaned up against the counter to put a coaster down in front of him.

  “Evening, stranger. It’s been a while.”

  Logan placed his arms on the bar top and clasped his hands together as his eyes shifted past her to see Stacy, another employee, push through the doors of the back room.

  Where is he? he thought before he answered Amelia. “It has been, hasn’t it?”

  “Uh huh. So, how’ve you been?”

  Logan brought his eyes back to hers and noticed a sparkle in them. “I’m just fine. How are you?”

  She flashed him a mischievous grin. “I’m good. Looking for someone?”

  “Pretty sure you know who I’m looking for.”

  “Pretty sure if you turn around you’ll see him.”

  Logan swiveled on the stool and found Amelia to be right. Tate was standing over by the booths against the far wall with his back to him, but he’d know those shoulders and trim waist anywhere. The white towel that had been a fascination of his when they’d first met was hooked into the waist of Tate’s pants and automatically drew Logan’s eyes. He had one hand on the back of the seat he was standing by, talking to the women sitting in the booth, who were laughing up at him. When he bent across to take the glass from the blonde who was holding it out for him, Logan heard her giggle from across the room at something Tate must’ve said.

  Logan put an elbow on the bar behind him and continued to watch the way Tate engaged the entire table before he walked to the next. At each booth he checked on, the patrons smiled, chatted, and seemed to genuinely enjoy interacting with the personable, not to mention extremely good-looking, bartender.

  “He’s really good with them, isn’t he?” Amelia asked behind him.

  Logan observed Tate as an outsider might. “Yeah, he’s great. They really love him.”

  “Yep. They sure do. Not a hard thing, I imagine.”

  Logan chuckled. “Are you trying to weasel information out of me?”

  “Me? Never.”

  “Sure.”

  Amelia placed a hand on her hip and shrugged. “I’m just saying I bet he’s easy to love.”

  “That better be all you’re saying.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. Ever since you got your hands on him, he doesn’t even flirt with the customers anymore.”

  Oh really? Logan thought, loving that particular piece of information.

  “He’s friendly, but that’s where it ends. He’s a good—”

  “A good what?” Tate’s voice interrupted Amelia’s words and had Logan’s head whipping around to see him standing in front of him.

  Straightening on the stool, Logan took in the immaculate After Hours uniform and had a sudden flash of the last time he’d been up close and personal with it. That had him shifting on his seat.

  Tate glanced at the clock on the wall, and then he brought his eyes back to meet his and gave a smile that just about melted Logan’s insides. It was full of ego and sex as it screamed, I know you want me—but you’re gonna have to work real hard before you have me.

  “You’re on time.”

  With a sharp nod, Logan told him, “I’m not the one with time-management issues.”

  That was when Tate shocked the hell out of him. He placed a hand on his chest right there in the middle of the bar and kissed the corner of his mouth.

  “No, you just have an attitude one. You look seriously hot tonight, by the way.”

  When he took a step back and walked down the length of the bar to the pass, Logan was left sitting on the stool with his mouth hanging open, thinking, Oh, so that’s how we’re going to play… Challenge accepted.

  * * *

  Tate could feel Logan’s eyes on
him as he lifted the pass and stepped behind the bar. He liked that, tonight, they were back where it had all begun. Back to the place where he had first met the compelling man currently sitting at the end of the bar.

  Yeah, the only difference is I know exactly what’s going on behind those blue eyes of his.

  He made his way over to where Logan was watching him, and as he got closer, he pulled the towel from the back of his pants and ran it through his hands. Logan’s eyes dropped to the movement, and Tate couldn’t help the smug look that was plastered on his face. He knew that Logan was imagining what was planned for later—and damn if that didn’t excite the hell out of him.

  Stopping in front of the tense man, Tate leaned his hip against the bar and said, “The usual?”

  “No, not tonight. I think I’ll just have a water. Please.”

  Tate got a glass and some ice, and then aimed a look back at his “customer.” “A water, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever served you straight-up water. I thought, after the week you’ve had, you might go with something a little stronger. You seem like you need it to unwind. If you know what I mean.”

  As the words he’d once said months ago lingered in the air between them, Logan licked his bottom lip, and this time, Tate had no problem watching the sensual move. What had once been awkward, strange—even a little taboo—was now hot as hell and making him hard as a fucking rock.

  Those intelligent eyes behind the black, hipster frames were calculated as they swept over him, and Tate could tell that his words from this afternoon were now running through his lawyer’s head—just the way he’d hoped they would.

  Something that could be said about Logan: he could never resist an outright challenge. Especially one against anything authoritative. And ordering his ass to be in the bar at a certain time or else had definitely brought his competitive side out to play.

  “I know exactly what you mean this time. But water will do just fine. As someone once said to me, I want a clear head for whatever is going to happen later.”