his scalp and his right eye. His size intimidated her. He stood over six feet tall, and he was impossibly broad. Then there was his shadowy past. Noelle had said he was some sort of detective, but what kind of detective wore motorcycle boots, a faded-to-gray button-down shirt and a watch that cost half a year’s salary?
His raven-colored hair was cut military short. Everything about him warned her to stay away. The man made her feel vulnerable, but she couldn’t make herself leave.
After pouring the champagne, he held up both flutes and tipped one in her direction.
She wanted him. And just as desperately, she wanted not to want him.
Noelle’s words, though, echoed in Jennifer’s head. ‘They say he’s an exceptional Dom. Unrelenting, demanding, but patient.’
Part of her still wanted to experience exactly that.
Rationalizing that her friend trusted him and that no harm could come from sharing a simple glass of champagne, Jennifer walked into the dining area.
When she accepted one of the flutes, electricity jolted through her.
Jennifer snatched away the glass. Some of the expensive liquor splashed over the rim. She licked it off, then became aware of his gaze on her.
“So you hate Valentine’s Day?” he prompted.
“I didn’t always.” She took a breath to steady her pulse. “I had a bad experience a couple of years ago.” At first, Brett had seemed like the ideal boyfriend. He was thirty-four, wore Italian suits, had an impressive portfolio, a stunning mansion off Eighth Avenue in Denver, a ritzy downtown office and he was a successful criminal-defense attorney. Her parents had loved him. But his expectations had started to wear her down. He was looking for the perfect wife, someone to host his events and organize a high-profile social calendar, and he’d made it clear that he expected her to forget her dreams of starting her own CPA firm.
“What happened?” Logan asked.
Dragged back from the unpleasant memory, she asked, “Does it matter?”
He shrugged. “I’m curious.”
Time and distance had helped. “Short story? A public humiliation.”
Logan kept his gaze steady.
His silence, nonjudgment and the fact that he didn’t immediately jump in with sympathy encouraged her to go on. “My boyfriend proposed at dinner on Valentine’s Day. When I said I wasn’t ready for his demands, giving up my dreams to become Mrs. Someone Else, he dumped my ring in a glass of water. Then he stormed out, leaving me to pay the bill and find my own way home.” Adding insult to the mortification, the meal and wine had been considerably more than she’d been able to afford.
“He sounds more like a child than a man.”
She nodded. “I tell myself that the unfortunate incident was better than a lifetime of misery. And honestly? I love my career, and now I have the time to invest in making my business a success. At certain times of the year, I work double shifts. I need the freedom to do that.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a CPA.”
“So you’re not available the first half of April?”
“From mid-March on, actually. But there’s always corporate work, extensions. It never really ends. And I’m hoping to go out on my own within a year or so.” Because of Logan’s patience and interest, some of her resistance to him faded. Maybe he wasn’t as dangerous as she’d originally thought. Feminine intuition shrieked in her ear. The fact that he was easy to talk to made him more dangerous than she’d originally thought. To silence the roar in her head, she asked, “What’s your story?”
To his credit, he didn’t stall. “I was an idiot. Actually, the world’s biggest asshole. I forgot it was Valentine’s Day. Worked late. Didn’t buy her a card or a gift.” His lips were set in a tight line. Although his words were light and easy, the underlying betrayal of pain in his voice was unmistakable.
Like he’d done for her, she waited for him to continue.
“When I got home, all the lights were on, but Helen and her belongings were gone. She left a note with two words on it. You can probably guess what they were.” He grinned wryly.
Their confessions had created an intimacy between them and she smiled back. “I bet I can.”
He angled his flute and they clinked their glasses.
“We got off to a bad start the first time I met you,” he told her. “I was an oaf, came on too strong. I apologize.”
“An oaf?” She toyed with her glass. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone actually use that word in a sentence.”
“I’m one of