“There are just some things I can’t tell anyone.” She takes my face in her hands. “Even you.” Her breath rushes against my lips and it’s all I can do not to press her against the wall and sink inside her right here and now. I could have her jeans off in seconds. Her legs around my waist. She breaks me from my haze of lust when she says, “I want to tell you everything.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything. But you can’t hold back from me.”

She lets me go and steps back, her breath rushing from her. I can feel the blast of it against my chin. “You mean like you’re holding back from me.”

I jerk her back to me, and she pushes away. She’s irked. I try to explain. “If I ever get to f**king be inside you, I want to know what to call you. I want to at least know your name. Because when that happens, you’re going to f**king own me.” I tip her face up so she’s looking at me. “Do you understand?”

She looks unsure.

“You’re going to own me.” I jerk her hips to mine, letting her feel how much I want her. “And there’s nothing I want more.”

I step back, brush her hair from her face, and open the door, tugging her by her fingertips until she follows me. She’s dragging. She tugs on my hand until I look at her.

“I want everything you want,” she says. She’s not looking me in the eye. So, I wait for her eyes to open. They finally do. She meets my gaze. “I do want everything you want. I just can’t have it.”

I lay her hand on my chest, and spread her fingers over my heart. “You already have me.” I laugh. “You had me from that first moment in the shop.” I hold up my arm, so she can look closely at her tat. “I’m wearing your f**king brand, damn it.” I tip her face up to mine. “What are you afraid of? You’re hiding from something. I know it. But I don’t know what.”

She bites her lower lip between her teeth and worries it. I tug it free with my thumb and lean down, sucking it between my lips. She steps onto her tiptoes and growls against my lips. I set her back and away from me, and I can feel the rumble in her chest as she moves.

“I’ll tell you. I can’t tell you everything. But I can tell you some of it,” she says.

My heart swells. I take her hand and lead her into the apartment. The whole place is quiet. Everyone is already in bed. “Want to take a shower?” I ask her. She sweated the night away.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she says, looking everywhere but at me.

“I do.” And I don’t. Now I’m really afraid. “Take a shower and then we can talk until the sun comes up, if you want.”

She nods and bites her lower lip, which sends a kick straight to my gut. Then she turns from me. Suddenly she spins back. She grins and jerks her thumb toward the bathroom. “You want to join me in the shower so we can talk in there?”

Something tells me that if we end up in the shower, we won’t be doing much talking. “We’ll talk when you get out.”

Her bottom lip pokes out. But then she shrugs and says, “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Emily

I shower quickly, trying to put my thoughts in order. I have to be really careful about what I tell Logan, mainly because there are so many people looking for me. I still see the lost posters at times. And there are news blasts sometimes with pictures of the old me. They’re of the me who had dark blond hair, pretty headbands, and shoes that cost more than the Reeds’ monthly budget. I ignore them, telling myself that person no longer exists. It’s easier that way.

I miss home with the longing of a toothache. But I’ve been gone so long now that I can’t go back. I left out of anger. And I can’t go home out of shame or necessity. I will only go home when I’m strong enough to stand up for myself. And I haven’t felt like that for quite some time.

I wrap a towel around my head and one around my body, and I step into the bedroom. Logan’s reclining on the bed wearing nothing but his boxers. He tosses me a clean shirt, and I pull it over my head. He closes his eyes as I slide his shirt on and step into my panties. I can hear the hiss of his heavy breaths across the room, and it’s a heady feeling to know how I affect him.

“You still want to talk?” I ask. “Or are you too tired?” I shake out my hair and run a comb through it.

“There’s no way you’re taking back your offer,” he warns. “You can’t tease me like that.”

I laugh. “I’m not taking it back. I just thought you might want to wait until tomorrow.”

He sits up and crosses his legs in front of him. I crawl onto the bed and mirror his position.

His gaze darts down to my panties, where he can probably see the strip of fabric between my legs. But I still sit criss-cross-applesauce. He groans. “You’re killing me here.”

I tug his shirt down over my knees. “You’re making me spill my guts. You can take some torture, too.” I glare at him until his gaze becomes indecipherable. “What is it?” I ask.

He heaves a sigh.

I hold up a hand to stop his melancholy mood. “If you could do anything, what would it be?” I ask.

His brows shoot up. “We’re supposed to be talking about you.”

“We will,” I warn. “I promise. Just tell me, if you could do anything, what would you do?”

He doesn’t even blink. But his eyes darken, and he says, “I’d lay you down, move your panties to the side and slide inside you.”