“A little tongue,” he bartered. He closed the distance between their mouths, stroking her upper lip with the tip of his tongue as he drew away.
Staring up at him with wide eyes, she took a step back. And then another.
“Oh my God!” she cried. “My breath really is toxic. Your face is melting off!”
She dashed up the steps, and laughing, Logan chased after her. In the kitchen, her mother’s harsh stare drew him to a halt. His smile faltered.
“Logan is here!” Birdie yelled, running in his direction with three dogs on her heels. She looked him up and down, her eyes overlarge and inquisitive behind her thick glasses. “Where is your shirt? Are you going swimming?”
Logan covered his chest with one arm, similarly to the way Toni had concealed her breasts in the car. “Someone took it.”
Joanna grinned as she handed his shirt to him. “Someone misplaced it,” she corrected before she returned to the stove to stir a pan of scrambled eggs.
Logan gratefully tugged his shirt on over his head, and he swore he heard more than one disappointed sigh in the room.
“I’m going up to shower,” Toni said. “Keep Logan company while I’m gone.”
And then she left him there. With her family. He would have tried to join her in the shower if three pairs of eyes weren’t watching his every move.
“Do you need help with anything?” he asked Toni’s grandmother, glancing toward the stairs in hopes that Toni had just secured the world record for fastest shower ever.
“You’re a guest,” Joanna said. “Have a seat.”
He’d much rather have had some mundane task such as buttering toast to keep him occupied, but he sat on a stool at the kitchen island and fought the urge to pull out his cellphone to pass the time and avoid awkward questions.
“Not there, silly,” Birdie said. She took his hand and urged him from his perch, leading him to a square blue-gray breakfast table in a corner nook. “We eat over here.”
“As you wish,” he said with a cordial nod, and Birdie giggled in delight.
He watched her collect plates and set one in each spot while Joanna manned the stove. Eloise hadn’t moved since he entered the room. She was watching him so closely that he considered hiding under the table. After several uncomfortable moments, he met her gaze and held it, which apparently was her cue to sit at the table beside him.
“I’m not sure what Antonia told you about the incident with the tabloid,” Eloise said.
“Just that she wasn’t the one who sold our stories.”
“It wasn’t her,” Eloise said, licking her lips. “I didn’t act alone, but ultimately, I am responsible.”
“You!” Logan blinked at her, unable to fathom what she’d just told him.
“I wish I hadn’t done it. I don’t want this incident to damage Antonia’s future career prospects or her um, friendship . . .” Eloise tilted her head toward him as if waiting for him to qualify what she was saying. He shrugged and shook his head, not sure what she was going for. “Or damage her friendship with you.”
Oh, she was baiting him for relationship information. “I wouldn’t be here if it had damaged our friendship,” Logan said. “I knew she wasn’t capable of hurting people she cares about. She isn’t like that.”
Eloise closed her eyes and nodded. “I always worry that she’s too soft, too good, too gentle for her own benefit and that the world will chew her up and spit her out. But maybe instead of her changing to try to appease cruel reality, the rest of the world would do better to become more like her.”
Yes, exactly. He was surprised he and her mother saw eye to eye on something like that.
“I’ve got her back,” Logan said.
“Do you think it would be best to break our publishing contract with your band—”
“No!” He hadn’t meant to shout, but if there wasn’t a contract, there would be no reason—besides him—for Toni to return to her place on tour.
“—and let Toni pursue the book’s publication independently?” Eloise finished.
Logan rubbed the back of his neck. He had no clue what would be best for the book or the band or Toni in that regard. All he cared about was that she would be at his side.
“I don’t know,” Logan said. “Why don’t you ask Toni? Or Sam. He’s the one who thought your publishing house was best for the job. There has to be a reason for that.”