“Oh yes, I’m here for a reason,” Logan announced as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and brushed it aside to slide his hands into his pants pocket.
And yeah, Tate thought, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Tate felt his palms sweat as he stared at the man squaring off with Diana, and he wondered for a split second just how far Logan’s outrageous behavior extended. Would he really say something to her just to gain the upper hand?
“I’m here for Mr. Morrison. I need him,” Logan stated and moved toward the conference room door. When he reached it, he looked back over his shoulder to Diana, who was completely ignoring him, and promised in a voice that seemed to have a direct link to Tate’s cock, “His lawyer wants to speak to him. Don’t worry, I’ll send him back to you as soon as he’s done,” and then he left.
Tate’s erection noticeably throbbed between his legs, and he was curious about how exactly Logan expected him to get up and walk out after the sensual threat he’d just heard in his voice. Several seconds passed, and it wasn’t until Cole moved to stand beside Diana that Tate looked up at the blond guy and saw him raise his brows.
“Your lawyer’s waiting for you.”
Tate nodded silently, understanding that both Cole and Logan were not referring to Mr. Branson. He looked to Diana, who aimed daggers back at him, and finally having gained some control of his body, Tate pushed back from the table. “I’ll be back in just a minute then.”
Cole inclined his head but said nothing as Tate hurried around the table and made it out the door, walking toward the office where his lawyer was waiting for him.
* * *
As soon as the knock sounded on his office door, Logan yanked it open and stared at Tate. Without a word, he stepped aside as the man walked inside. Turning to watch him, Logan lightly pushed the door closed as to not disturb the thick silence that had engulfed them. As he made his way over to the man with his back to him, Logan’s palms itched to slide into Tate’s jeans pockets covering that perfect ass. That ass which is soon going to be mine.
“You came to me,” Logan murmured from where he stood behind Tate, not yet touching but close enough that his suit jacket was brushing the material of Tate’s clothes.
“You said you needed me. How could I refuse that?”
Isn’t that the fucking truth? Logan thought, looking at the back of Tate’s head, wanting to remind himself that this man was his.
When he’d walked into the conference room and seen Tate’s ex wife with her hand over Tate’s, Logan had felt a moment of—
What? Jealousy?
But as quickly as it had surfaced, it disappeared because Tate had looked up at him, and the eyes that had met his own had been full of want, full of need, and full of everything he himself felt, and it had all been directed at him.
So, Ms. Cline can go fuck herself.
Raising his hand, Logan brushed his fingers on Tate’s shoulder where he trailed them down his arm until their fingers met and interlaced.
“I do need you,” he confessed so close to Tate’s hair, that his breath made the curls shift. “I’ve never been so distracted in my life, thinking about you in there with her.”
Tate turned, and as Logan stared into the dark eyes hooded with desire, he lifted their hands.
“Look how far you’ve come? Holding my hand and everything?”
Tate’s mouth curled up on the sides as he took Logan’s other hand in his. “I want to do a lot more than holding hands. And look at you, finally admitting you’re jealous.”
“I did not.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Hmm, so tell me more about what you want to do,” Logan said.
He stepped in close until Tate’s legs hit the desk, and he settled, allowing Logan to maneuver between his legs. Bringing their hands around his waist, Logan placed Tate’s palms over his ass and sighed when he felt him squeeze and bring him closer. Removing his hands, Logan placed them on Tate’s chest.
“I can’t stop thinking about coming to your place tonight after work.”
Logan rubbed himself between Tate’s legs and fingered his hair. “And?”
“And”—Tate chuckled—“you know why.”
Logan pressed his lips to Tate’s. “Yeah, but I want you to say it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Tell me you’ll be mine, that I can finally have you.”
Tate blinked, and this close, Logan thought it was astonishing that he’d never noticed how thick his eyelashes were before.
“Yes, you can fucking have me. I want to be yours.”
Logan threaded his fingers through Tate’s hair and tilted his head back, so he could take his mouth. As Tate’s lips parted, Logan eased his tongue inside, and he could taste the hazelnut and the lingering hint of tobacco as they seeped into his senses and rolled into the deliciousness that was Tate.
The hands on his ass increased in pressure as Tate stood up from the desk and his body brushed directly against Logan’s, ripping a raw groan from them both as their lips parted. Tate then lifted one of his hands to cradle Logan’s cheek as he pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and in that simple moment, Logan knew that he’d never experienced such perfection in his life.
As his mind spun and his brain kicked into overdrive, Logan didn’t hear the door to his office push open. He didn’t hear Cole’s wife, Rachel, as she knocked on the door, but as she stepped inside, he did hear a soft laugh, which had him pulling his mouth away from the one that was still clinging to his and turning to see Mrs. Madison with a woman he didn’t know.
Just as he was about to greet Rachel, Tate moved out from behind him, obviously realizing it was no one that they—
“Tate?” the woman beside Rachel questioned incredulously.
Logan turned to the man beside him who looked as though he’d seen a ghost and thought, Okay, scratch that. Apparently, it is someone Tate knows.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tate stared at the two women standing in front of both him and Logan. He knew that he had to say something, but he found himself ironically incapable of speech. One minute, he’d been in the middle of the best kiss he had ever received, and the next, he was standing in front of—
My sister.
“Tate?” the all-too-familiar voice questioned again.
This time, Jill stepped around the other woman, who Tate didn’t know, and moved closer. “Oh my God! It is you.”
Tate swallowed several times and ordered himself to, Speak, speak. Open your mouth and fucking speak!
But nothing happened, and Jill continued, “But you were just…just…were you kissing him?”
Yes, I was definitely kissing him, Tate thought, but still nothing left his brain via his mouth.
Finally, Logan spoke up, “Excuse me? Who exactly are you? Rachel, what’s going on?”
But before Rachel—whoever she was—could answer, his sister took another step toward them, and Tate saw her mouth open and shut several times as though she, too, had lost the ability to speak. Jill, however, found it again, much quicker than him.
“I thought you were meeting with Diana, and instead, you’re in here, kissing a…a…”
“A man,” Logan added dryly. “I’m a man.”
“Is this who you’re dating? Does Diana…does she know?”
Jill’s voice had risen to a high-pitched shout, and the questions she was demanding answers to were hitting Tate with the force of a sledgehammer. Still standing mute and apparently immobile, Tate watched Logan take a step toward the two women.
“Look, I don’t know what is going—”