On Dublin Street The Bonus Material - Samantha Young Page 0,51
to push his patience any further.
The dirty look she threw him only pissed him off more.
In fact, Logan didn’t think he could get more pissed off at her right then.
Until she snapped, “I don’t know if you realize this, Logan, but I don’t actually have to tell you anything about my life.” It wasn’t the words that threw him over the edge, although every possessive cell in his body screamed at him that he did actually have a fucking say in her life.
But right then he was too busy losing his mind over her outfit because she’d shrugged out of her jacket, revealing what was beneath.
A little black fuck-me dress.
It was molded to every inch of her curves and her tits pushed up against the neckline.
Logan had never seen her like this. Between the make-up and the shoes and that fucking dress, he barely recognized her. Every time he thought he had Grace figured out she did something else to surprise him, and standing in her kitchen looking like a wet dream threw him completely.
And all he could think was that she hadn’t done herself up like this for him. She hadn’t given this sexy, so goddamn sexy it hurt, side of her to him. She did this for some bloody stranger.
“Logan?” she asked in that soft, posh voice that made his dick twitch.
“Is that what you wore?” he asked, the words coming out guttural with his agitation and frustration. “For him.”
She looked down at herself and then back to him and whatever she saw on his face made her blush.
Blood shot downwards.
“Was he worth it?” he gestured to her, wanting to push that dress up around her waist and lose his body in hers. The idea that someone else had touched her fucked with his head in a way he could never have imagined.
“There’s nothing wrong with this dress,” she snapped, no longer flushing with embarrassment but anger.
That fire buried beneath her lady-like façade was addictive. Logan wanted to believe it was just for him. Only he could make her lose her self-control like she did with him. But had she given her fire to someone else? Dressing that way… like she’d wanted to. “Well, he could be in no doubt what you were offering when you turned up in it. So what the hell happened? Or was it the true definition of a quickie?”
He cursed himself as soon as he said it, hating the hurt he inflicted.
“Get out of my kitchen.”
But he couldn’t. He was driven like a mad man. He needed to know. He moved toward her. “Not before you tell me what that bastard did to you.”
“It’s none of your business. For the fifteen hundredth time.”
Bullshit.
“I beg to fucking differ.” He towered over her, his fingers itching to touch her.
She glared that fire up at him. “You’re being ridiculous. I am not your sister!”
The words rang out around her kitchen and he stumbled back under their weight. Under the bloody goddamn realization that she thought his behavior was because he felt brotherly protectiveness of her.
Jesus Christ if he didn’t want her so much he’d walk out over her absolute fucking cluelessness. He could barely speak, his voice hoarse with disbelief, when he retorted, “Believe me, I know you are not my sister.”
Grace skirted past him, seeming to need distance.
Her confusion calmed him. Just a little. Enough to say, “I just want to know if he hurt you.” What he really wanted to know was if she let this guy screw her but she might throw him out if he asked it out right.
“No, he didn’t.” She threw back the last of her wine and leaned heavily against the wall at her back.
He took the opportunity to devour her with his eyes. His body locked with incredible tension as he forced himself to stand still, to not go to her, to not put his hands and mouth on her and see if that fire caught ablaze.
As if sensing his regard, Grace looked up from beneath her lashes, a look she had no idea was unbelievably seductive. “No, he didn’t,” she repeated, “But he was only after one thing.”
Logan bet he was, Grace turning up in that bloody dress. “What did you do?”
“I told him I didn’t do one-night stands because when I went to bed with a man I wanted him to do whatever he wanted to me, and for that I needed to know and trust him.”
Her words might as well have been her hand wrapping