“What the fuck are you talking about? What girl? I haven’t even looked at another woman!”

“Julia told me,” I confessed, holding his steely gaze in mine. “About the woman you met a couple years ago and flew back and forth to see, doing to her what you’re trying to do to me.”

“My sister had no right to tell you anything. If you want to know about my past, then ask!” he all but roared, anger evident in his tight expression. “And as for this woman she told you about, my sister has spun that into something very different than it was. Have I ever met a woman on a plane before? Yes, I have—more than one. Not that I feel it’s relevant, but if you feel the need to hear about my past, then I’ll tell you. None of those women ever got more than a one-time trip to the airport hotel.”

He was watching me as I stood there, hanging on every word.

“However, due to geographical issues and a bored mind, I found myself flying out to see one woman in particular who refused my advances. My attention was caught, which was what she’d set out to do. She started a game, trying to seduce me, and pulled back every time before I was satisfied.

“Did I want to date her, start a relationship? No! I wanted to fuck her, and made that perfectly clear. She was the one who thought she could persuade me otherwise—play me using sex so she could marry a man who would help boost her placement in society. There were no feelings involved—we played a game—and when I had my fill, I left. She knew exactly what it was. I never led her on, which was why she went snooping into my life and tried to meet my son.”

I didn’t know what to say. Of course he had a past—I knew that—but the fact that he’d been infatuated with someone before, even if he’d treated her differently, only fed my insecurities further.

“Don’t keep pushing me away. You’re not like her; you’re not like any of them. I feel this. I do. You’re a part of me that I can’t escape. I don’t ever want to. I’ll tell you whatever you need to hear, do whatever I have to. But you have to stop pushing me away,” he pleaded, reaching out to grab my hands, but I stepped back farther into the house.

“You should go. I’m sorry, but you need to let me go. Don’t keep doing this to me, to you. It’s time to move on,” I said, beginning to close the door.

He stood there, eyes dark and hard and jaw clenched until the door latched shut.

The moment I turned the lock, my back slumped against the closed door. The pain in my chest was gut-wrenching and tears pooled in my eyes, but the thought of giving in was more terrifying.

A loud spin of tires pulled me from my thoughts and I peeked out the front curtains to catch Logan peeling out of my driveway. But instead of pulling into his, he flew down the road, heading toward town.

Chapter Eight

Poker Face

The next morning, I sat up, having spent too much of the night staring at the bronze ceiling light, my mind devoid of everything but him—the taste of his lips, feel of his hands. I wasted hours trying to decipher the oddity of my emotions and undeniable sensations in my body when he was near. The combination of his thick voice and deep, thoughtful eyes did something to me I couldn’t comprehend. Worse was the knowledge that he left angry, heading someplace unknown to do God knew what.

With a scrunched face, I grimaced at the throb in my chest as I threw my legs off the side of the bed; it wasn’t from my bruised ribs, but my angry heart. I didn’t want to miss him. I didn’t want to feel any of these complex and infuriating emotions tormenting me.

The rising sun shining through my bedroom curtains brought a frown to my lips. It was the time of morning I’d usually be out for a jog. Even in the coldest winters, I never skipped my morning exercise. But that wasn’t an option now, and no amount of charming endearments, fancy flowers, or free meals would change that. Yet there was no denying Logan cared in a way that taunted me. But was it enough?

After watching him walk away, I was even more torn. I wished he could give me more time—allow me to come to him when I was ready.

With a tightening grip on the robe I’d flung on, I shuffled to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of orange juice. The plastic bottle of pain pills sat on the table, but the dull ache was manageable enough, so I decided to go without. A little pain was better than spending another day heavy headed from the side effect of fatigue they caused.

The sun was making its way up and the cool morning air leaked in from the old windows, further energizing my renewed spirit. It was a new day and the beginning of a new week, and I was ready to start taking advantage of a fresh start.

Enjoying the freedom of my own house so early in the morning, I heard a honk sound from outside. It was none of my business, but I couldn’t help myself as I approached the front window and pulled back the curtain with one hand, holding my juice in the other. I beamed at the snow covering the ground, nearly a foot deep. My driveway sat empty. No car to warm up or scrape ice away from...no, my car sat in a junkyard somewhere, demolished.

The thought brought a sigh through my downturned lips, which grew deeper when I noticed movement in Logan’s driveway. My attention was diverted back to why I was staring outside to begin with. I assumed he was heading to work, and part of me hoped he wouldn’t stop over as he said he would. It was going to take more than a few days apart to flush him from my system.

What I wasn’t expecting, however, was what I saw when I leaned in a little closer to the glass: he wasn’t alone. Craning my neck every which way to get a better angle, I pressed my nose against the cold window, my breath fogging it up. I squinted to see beyond the snow-covered shrubs separating us and caught sight of a woman standing in front of him.

My stomach dropped, the death grip on my juice glass nearly bursting it into tiny shards as an unexpected surge of fury coursed through my veins. Logan stood beside a sleek black SUV, laughing with the unfamiliar woman. Her short, dark hair was cut into a sloping bob, but that was about all I could make of her appearance other than the skintight jeans she wore with a form-fitting, snow-white coat.

My mouth lacked enough moisture due to my gaping, and thus swallowing proved futile. I stood there, unblinking, zoned out until the woman leaned in, embracing him in an all-too-comfortable and lingering hug followed by a kiss on his cheek.

I dropped the curtain and stepped back, struggling to control the jealousy festering in my heart and seeping into my wounds. I’d made it clear the previous night that he stood no chance, and he’d finally listened. That was that. Logan was the same guy he’d always been—quick to jump into bed with the first woman who looked his way. I knew it was bound to happen, but it still stung.

I wasn’t worth fighting for, after all, and I was right to hold onto the fact that he wasn’t going to change for some small-town kindergarten teacher.

The walk back to the kitchen was nothing more than a fog-induced trance. I dumped the remainder of my orange juice down the drain. Then something, most likely my self-preservation switch, clicked.

I was stronger than I ever thought possible—Logan had said so himself, though I didn’t need to hear it from him to know it was true.

A soft knock rattled my front door as well as my thoughts, pulling me away from the melancholy breaking my spirit as quickly as it had recovered.

Through the peephole, I was met with the brilliant smile and scruff jaw of the infuriating neighbor I couldn’t dismiss. I was sure he’d had a hell of good night with Miss Too Tall for Her Own Good, so what did he want with me?