Trust (Temptation #3)(43)

Unknowingly, he’d struck a chord with that one, because Tate’s mouth fell open and he informed him, “Maybe he wouldn’t have had to be so bossy if you hadn’t been such an ass these last few days.”

Logan let his eyes wander to Tate’s mouth. Tate was getting fired up. He’d played it cool up until this point, but now, there was impatience flickering in those eyes. About damn time.

“Did you miss me, Tate?”

“You know I fucking did.”

“Hmm, I like that,” he said, touching the hand Tate had on the bar.

“You like that I missed you? Fuck you. I thought we decided we wouldn’t pull this shit anymore.”

Logan took his glasses off and touched the end of the frame to his lips as if thinking over Tate’s words. “We did. You agreed to no silences, and we decided that you would know where I was, and you did, did you not?”

“Don’t use my words against me, I’m not on fucking trial. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You got hurt Monday night, and instead of talking about it, you decided to pretend it didn’t happen and shut me out.”

“Sounds familiar. Doesn’t it?” As soon as Logan said the words, he wanted to take them back—but it was too late.

Tate lowered his voice then and asked, “Do you really think that being an asshole to me is going to make me leave you?”

Logan wasn’t sure what he thought. For so long, he’d run from any kind of commitment that maybe he was, in his own way, testing the boundaries with Tate—pushing to test those extra bonds of trust.

“No.”

“I think you do. I think you’ve been let down so many times, by so many people, you’re intentionally provoking me to see what I do.”

Logan shoved his glasses back on, always feeling a little more in control with them in place.

“But I’ve got news for you. Your shitty behavior this week doesn’t make me want to leave. It just makes me want to pin you down until you open your mouth and start talking. I was there. I know how much she hurt you. Just like you know how fucked up my family is. So stop being such a prick and share it with me. I love you.”

Well, damn…

He’d come down there tonight with one goal in mind, but after Tate’s little “fuck you, I love you” speech, Logan didn’t want to wait to continue their conversation. He wanted to get him alone and reconnect—the sooner the better.

He looked over at Tate, who was staring at him with such focus that he felt as though he were the only person in the bar. Standing, Logan fished out his key ring and checked the clock on the back wall. Tate’s shift would be over in approximately five minutes.

Facing Tate, he told him, “I came to you per your instructions. Now, you can come to me.”

As he put his jacket on, Tate’s eyes narrowed on him.

“Meet me at the elevator to Mitchell & Madison in ten minutes.”

“Why? Everything’s locked up.”

Logan adjusted the collar of his jacket and then slowly backed away, dangling the keys. “Not if you’re the owner, it’s not.”





Chapter Twelve





Tate hauled ass out of the bar at two. After grabbing his leather jacket and helmet, he was striding through the lobby like a man on a mission—and his mission was to find the owner of Mitchell & Madison.

As he crossed the marble floor of the tall high-rise, the only sound he could hear was the echo his boots were making, which made what he was about to do feel even more risqué. He rounded a large, cement pillar, knowing the way to the elevator banks like the back of his hand, and then came to a stop when he saw the low lighting of the empty building illuminating Logan.

He was leaning against the wall by the elevators, his hands stuffed in his navy-blue pants. His coat was on and unbuttoned, the collar still flipped up around his neck, and when Logan saw him, he pushed off the wall and waited for him to do exactly as he’d requested—come to him.

No fucking problem, Tate thought, floored by how devastatingly handsome Logan looked tonight. There was no other place he’d rather be, and as he got closer, he let his eyes take in every minute detail of the man waiting on him.

As Tate advanced, he kept his face neutral and popped a piece of Big Red into his mouth, not willing to give the upper hand away just yet. It wasn’t until they were only inches apart that Logan seemed to realize he wasn’t stopping and backed up to where he’d just been lounging. But that wasn’t enough. Tate wanted reconnection, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got it.

When there was barely any space left between them, he asked, “So, how’s that mood of yours?”