Trust (Temptation #3)(105)

Tate looked over to Logan, whose jaw was ticking in frustration and annoyance. He knew he was raging mad, but Tate also knew that, if they wanted to win, they needed the smug prick standing in front of them.

“I want to win,” he announced and faced Daniel. “And if you can do that, then we’ll work with you.”

A victorious smile stretched across his face.

Then Tate placed his palms on the table and lowered his voice to one he barely recognized. “But the next time you feel the urge to invite us to your bed, squash it or I’m going to put my fist in your face. Got it? We aren’t interested. Not then, not now, not fucking ever. Am I being clear enough for you?”

Daniel’s eyes shifted to behind him, where he knew Logan was standing, but he didn’t dare look away. When Daniel’s eyes came back to his, he gave a slow nod.

“Got it.”

“Good. Now that we know who you are, your pricing, and your…practices, we’ll be in touch,” Tate said as he stood and found Logan glaring at him.

This time, though, there was something other than anger mixed with the fire blazing behind those glasses of his. Arousal?

“Ready to go?”

Logan didn’t take his eyes off him as he silently nodded, completely ignoring the other man in the room. Tate took his hand, and as they made their way around the table and toward the door, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction settle inside him.

As long as Finley was clear on who belonged to whom, then he had no problem what-so-fucking-ever working with the guy—especially if he was going to win.





* * *



Logan remained silent in the elevator as he and Tate traveled down to the parking garage. He was trying to calm his blood pressure, but every time he thought about that arrogant jerk upstairs, he wanted to—

“Hey?”

Tate’s voice broke through his irritated musings, and when he looked over at him and saw the possessive way he was eyeing him, Logan felt the adrenaline that was riding him course through his veins. He wasn’t a fan of being made a fool of, and he was even less of a fan of being cut off and not speaking his mind.

But hell, it was hot watching Tate tell Finley to fuck off.

“You okay?”

He didn’t reply as the elevator hit the ground floor. Instead, he pushed off the wall and pinned Tate with a no-nonsense look. And when the metal doors parted, he strode out into the cement underground.

He knew he needed to mellow, but when he remembered the way Finley had sauntered into the meeting today, it pissed him off even more.

Conceited fuck.

As he continued to walk through the rows of cars, he wondered how long Tate would let him simmer until—yes, there it is—a firm hand clamped around his arm and pulled him off the road, backing him up to a large pillar.

When his shoulders and ass met the cool surface, Logan angled his chin up and made sure to keep his eyes connected with Tate’s.

“I asked you a question,” Tate said, placing a hand on the cement block just over his shoulder.

“I’m aware,” Logan replied, and even though he knew that it wasn’t Tate’s fault, he couldn’t seem to help himself—he was spoiling for a fight. “Am I allowed to respond or are you going to cut me off and speak for me?”

Tate narrowed his eyes on him as he took a step forward and fit his foot between his own. “You’re pissed.”

Logan bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something along the lines of, “No shit.” It would be better for the both of them if he settled down before he spoke.

“Why are you mad?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Clearly,” Tate acknowledged, and then he lowered his mouth to his ear and whispered, “But that’s too bad.”

A shiver raced up Logan’s spine as Tate’s lips moved to his neck and pressed a kiss there.

“Why are you mad?”

He let his head rest against the concrete and balled his fists by his sides as Tate rubbed his leg against the inside of his own—immediately, his cock reacted.

“Tate…”

“Hmm,” Tate murmured as he brought his lips back to his ear. “Tell me, Logan. Why are you mad?”

Bringing a hand up to clutch at Tate’s arm, Logan turned his head, and when their mouths were only a whisper away, he admitted, “I don’t like the way he fucking looked at you.”

Tate dropped his eyes to his lips, full of possession, and Logan felt his breath catch.

“Good, because I hated watching him hit on you.”

Before Logan could respond, Tate crushed their mouths together under the flickering light overhead. He parted his lips, and when Tate’s tongue slid inside and his leg inched higher between his own, Logan groaned and arched his hips forward, rubbing his erection against Tate’s solid thigh. The hand that had been on the wall behind him speared into his hair, and as Tate lifted his head, Logan chased his mouth and recaptured his lips again.