I lower my arm, aiming at her foot. And I’ll do it, I swear—it won’t kill her but I bet it’ll hurt like a bitch.

“And make me believe you mean it or you lose a motherfucking toe.”

“Ellie!” Logan barks.

But I ignore him.

The douchebag brother laughs and the mother seems interested in personally ripping my head off just as soon as she possibly can. But my gaze stays pinned to the sister.

Slowly, she turns to Logan, her voice just a little less hateful. “I’m sorry, Logan.”

With that, my anger dissipates. Leaving me drained . . . and sad. Because it shouldn’t have been like this for him—he should’ve been loved and supported and admired. Not this—not these awful people.

I shake my head at them.

“You don’t deserve him. Not any of you.”

And I lower the gun.

“Can we please go home now, Logan?”

He backs off from where he still has his brother pinned to the car, and his brother slinks into the house, cradling his hand. Then Logan turns toward his mother, quiet and firm. “Don’t call me again, Mum. I won’t come.”

When we’re both in the car, I hand him the gun, barrel down. He takes it without comment, clicks the safety and puts it back under the seat.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m good.”

Logan pulls away from the curb, down the street and onto the highway. Away from this sad place.

I breathe out a long breath. “So that’s your family.”

“That’s them.”

I watch him as he drives. Because I can; because I like being this close to him. “You should be so proud.”

“Proud?” he scoffs, disbelieving.

“Proud that you are who you are. Of what you’ve made of yourself . . . if that’s where you started out.”

“Thanks,” he says a minute later. “And, I’m grateful for what you said back there. You, sticking up for me like that . . . it was cute.”

“Cute?” I say it like it’s a dirty word.

“Very cute?” Logan tries.

“I was hardcore. I was scary—threatening. Grrrr.”

And the bastard laughs at me. If he didn’t look so gorgeous doing it, I’d be pissed. Except not really.

“You promised you’d stay in the car,” he reminds me.

“Yeah, well since me getting out of the car prevented you from getting slapped again,” I put an accent on my words, imitating Logan. “I’m gonna put this one down as a win.”

He laughs again.

After flashing his ID at the security checkpoint, Logan drives through the rear gate of the palace. He pulls around to the west-side courtyard, to the exterior entrance of Nicholas and Olivia’s apartments. There’s a uniformed guard outside the door, but we’re parked far enough away, under a tree, that it feels private. Intimate. The air in the car is close and I inhale his scent—wood, and crisp air and man. I watch the pulse in his neck thrum, slow and steady, and I want to lean over and kiss him softly right in that spot.

And this is it. It’s go-time. Do or die. Now . . . or never.

“I have to tell you something, Logan.”

“It’s late, Elle. You should—”

“But—”

“You should go in, now.”

The words come easier than I thought they would. Simpler. Because they’re just the truth.

“I like you, Logan.”

His eyes slide closed, but he’s not shocked. “Ellie—”

“I always have. It’s always been you. Always.”

“You don’t want to—”

“And more than that . . .”

“Don’t—”

“I want you. I want you so much, some nights it feels like my skin is on fire. My bones burn with it.”

“Fucking hell—”

“I can’t think, I can’t eat . . . When I sleep, you’re all I see.” I rub my neck, and everything inside is needy and tight. “When I touch myself . . .”

“Christ, Ellie—” He sounds like he’s drowning.

“. . . you’re all I feel. You, Logan.”

And then he stops talking. But I know he hears me.

“Do you want me, Logan? Do you feel it too?”

His throat ripples when he swallows and I want to lick him there. Suck on him with my lips—right in the center of his throat, that thick, manly Adam’s apple.

When he speaks, his teeth are gritted.

“No, I don’t want that. That’s . . . not what this is for me.”

His words are crushing. My ribs squeeze and my chest tightens too hard to take a breath. And it hurts . . . it hurts so damn much. I’d hoped and I wanted . . . and I thought I sensed something from Logan tonight, something I felt, that he felt for me . . .

But then, I don’t just draw a breath—I gasp.

Because I’m looking at him—really looking at him—maybe for the very first time. With new, open eyes. I’m looking into the face of the man who showed me how to spot a liar.

His expression is blank and rigid. His brown eyes are flat. Dull.

“Their look will seem unnatural . . . off,” he’d said. “Any time someone has to put effort into their words, you can bet what they’re saying is a steaming crock of shit,” he’d told me.

And slowly, I smile.

“You’re lying.”

SHE’S TRYING TO KILL ME.

With her words, her looks, her innocent touches—brushes of her arm and hip as she passes me—and with the tiny, tempting outfit she’s wearing today. Bloody Christ—my head’s a mess. Has been a mess since she smiled at me in the car last night, a smile that was confident and sure, as she called me a liar. Even when I denied it, Ellie wasn’t having it.

“You are so lying right now—holy shit!”

My voice is cold, harsh—for both our sakes.

“Ellie, I don’t feel—”

“Do you like me, Logan?”

I swallow hard. “Not like that, no.”

“That’s a lie too!” she squeaks, completely delighted. “It’s like a superpower! Is this how it feels to be you?”

Ellie lifts her hand towards my chest and I jump back in the small confines of the vehicle as if her hand is on fire. Bad move.

“Are you scared, Logan?”

Fucking terrified. Of a girl. A small, seductive, beautiful girl who could wreck me.

“I don’t get scared.”

“I scare you. With the family you grew up in, it’s understandable. This thing between us—”

“There’s nothing between us, Ellie.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Of course there’s something between us.” Then she leans closer and lowers her voice. Changing tactics. “Do you want to kiss me, Logan?”

And just the words, the mere suggestion, brings such scorching images to my brain—of the magnificence of what kissing sweet Ellie could be—sucking lips, nipping teeth and wet, searching tongues.

I sound like a man being tortured, because I am—in the truest sense of the word.

“No.”

Ellie wets her lips and her chest heaves, bringing her breasts nearer—I would just have to lower my head just an inch to taste her.

“Liar,” she whispers.

And I growl. “Ellie . . . fuck.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to that.” She smiles, so damn cute I want to kiss the hell out of her, then turn her over my knee, lift her dress, spank her then kiss her there too.

I press my fists into my eyes, trying to force the thoughts out. Trying to regain control of the situation.

“Ellie . . .,” I point towards the palace. “Go to your room.”

Pathetic.

Her eyes sparkle. “Do you want to come with me?”

Hell, yes.

“I don’t.”

Her blue gaze gentles, gliding over my face, before turning to stare out the front window with a sigh. Then, by some miracle, Ellie steps out of the car.

But before closing the door she leaves me with one giddy parting reply.