He was staring over at me as he locked up. “Grace.”
“Mr. MacLeod.” I glanced away, willing the memory of that bloody dream away.
“You all right? You look like shit.”
And that was it.
The straw that broke the back of that damn camel everyone was always piling straw on top of! Looking at him, seeing him standing there, well rested despite his sexual gymnastics at the crack of bloody dawn, I saw red.
“I look like shit?” I took a bristling step toward him.
Logan raised an eyebrow at my tone.
“Do you know why I look like shit?”
“No, but I suddenly have a feeling I’m to blame.” He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly not amused.
“Yes.” I nodded frantically, the lack of sleep making me frenzied in my anger. “You are to blame!” My voice echoed off the concrete walls of our stairwell, but I was past caring. “Seventy-two hours. Seventy-bleeding-two hours I have been awake.”
“That’s not my problem, and frankly, I’m not in the mood to deal with this… hysteria.” He walked toward the stairs, dismissing me.
“Don’t you walk away from me.”
He stopped. Turned. He raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be frightened? Christ, Grace, it’s like getting bitten by a butterfly.”
I huffed, furious that he was making fun of me when my standing up to him was a momentous accomplishment. “How dare you! For the last three nights I’ve had to put up with the constant loud sex from you and your bloody American. I just want peace and quiet! I want some bloody goddamn fucking sleep!”
My words seemed to soak into the coldness of the stairwell, ringing against the walls, stunning Logan.
After a moment’s silence, during which I at once berated myself for losing my ladylike cool and mentally shook my hand for taking a stance, Logan cleared his throat.
“Have you got a glass up against the wall?”
“Excuse me?” I shook my head, confused.
“How did you know I’ve been fucking an American?”
My mouth dropped open at his obtuseness. “Because. I. Can. Hear. Every. Word. She. Says.”
“Och, no. You must be straining to listen.”
My anger reignited. “Are you mad? Why on earth would I be straining to listen?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Are you always this deliberately irritating?” I huffed, mirroring his stance by crossing my arms over my chest.
To my surprise, this caused Logan’s lips to twitch, and his eyes started dancing with humor. “I only seem to irritate you.” He cocked his head to the side. “I wonder why that is.”
“Because,” I whined, my head lolling with exasperation and tiredness, “I’m sleep deprived, and it’s all your fault, you bloody wretched manwhore.”
“Well, this is a whole other side to you. It’s quite unpleasant. I may have to speak to the landlord about it. I can’t take this kind of abuse.”
My head jerked upright and I glowered at him. “I swear if you don’t start taking this seriously I will push you down those stairs.”
“Now you’re threatening my life.” He tsked. “That won’t do at all.”
“Now!” I yelled. “Now you decide you have a sense of humor?”