Page 15 of Consuming Logan

No one, not even his mother, could dampen his spirits. But he was a little taken-aback. Ava had defended herself with a ferocity he’d never witnessed. She must have had a zinger of a day in the office. Watching the scene between her and Maribelle reiterated how important it was for him to know the secret she harbored. Not for lack of trust, rather he wouldn’t allow her to carry the burden alone.

Looking straight ahead, Logan focused on the master of ceremony taking the stage. Glancing over at his parents, he saw his Dad pull his mom in for a hug. Ava followed his line of sight.

He pointed to his parents. His parent’s marriage had as many valleys as peaks, but they’d stayed together for forty-five years. “That’s going to be us on the stage in fifty years.”

Ava turned in his arms until she faced him. He bent at the waist, lowering his head until their forehead’s touched. Immediately his body responded in need, his muscles tightening.

“I love you so much, Dr. Masters,” she whispered. “I’m not being mean, but we’d better have a happier marriage than your parents or I’m packing my things when we get home.”

Logan laughed. “That will never happen.”

She couldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t ever let that happen. Two hours later, Logan had the Lexus parked in one of the handicap spots and was climbing out. Hey, it was after nine and their party was the only event. He would be gone before security noticed the violation.

Just as Ava exited the swinging doors, a waiter ran up to her, handing her a single flower with lavender blooms. She stared down at the gift, a furrow between her brows. What was up with the flowers? Even with all the drama surrounding his mother they’d managed to have a good time. The food, the wine, the live band had been stellar. With this woman he felt a vulnerability, yet her every touch strengthened him while making his legs wobble. A flash of metal caught Logan’s attention.

“Ava,” Logan yelled, his feet already moving faster in her direction. “Behind you.”

He was running now. Logan’s heart lurched in his chest when he saw the knife blade. Adrenaline surged in his veins powering his movement.

“Logan,” she screamed. He had to protect Ava. Protect the baby.

In a powerful burst of speed, Logan pushed off his back foot, propelling his body forward. He reached her, throwing his hand up to block the attacker’s blade just as it slashed at Ava’s belly.

Chapter 5

Running astride, Ava stumbled, her four-inch heels losing purchase on the slick floors. Grabbing one of the guard rails, she righted herself.

Damn it. Keep up, Ava. No time to play the stumble and fall scream queen heroine from a nineteen eighties horror movie. Reaching down, she snatched off her Manolos, tossing them aside.

Admittedly, this entire evening had been something akin to a nightmare. Worse yet, thinking about Logan’s blood loss she didn’t know how this would end.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Real fear, guttural and rampant, drummed through her veins. Breathing in hurt like hell. Her throat raw from screams gone unanswered. In her mind she saw the slash of the blade. Again. And, again. The feel of Logan’s body shuddering with every penetrating blow would haunt her dreams forever. It should have been her. But he’d been there. Risking his life…to save her.

She wouldn’t let him out of her sight. She couldn’t.

Logan lay on his back.

Too still.

Too quiet.

Yellow restraint straps crossed his chest, his hips and legs securing him upright as the emergency medical technicians propelled the gurney forward. She would keep him safe.

Letting her eyes rove, Ava scanned Logan from head to toe.

His ruddy blond locks were disheveled. A halo of white gauze surrounded his head to cover the gash to his head. The healthy bronze glow to his skin had been replaced with a grayish pallor. Dirty holes marred his once pristine white dress shirt. A few of the buttons had been torn free from the fabric. And then, there was blood. Too much blood on the piles of oilated gauze to his chest wound. She moved lower, fixing her stare on his limbs. A collage of bright red circles soaked the bulky dressing to his right arm. Ava swallowed. For a surgeon, a hand injury could be more fatal than a gun wound.

The glass doors hissed apart. They barreled through the SCMC emergency department’s ground floor entrance, the cold, medicinal air slammed into her, chilling her icy skin more. With each rotation of the wheels, there was a ticking sound, counting down the explosion in her head. As the familiar sounds of the hospital — ringing phones, beeping monitors, dozens of conversations hidden behind drawn curtains — Ava fought to hold onto the details of the attack.

She looked down at her trembling hands. They were covered in blood. Logan’s blood. She’d pressed her bare hands against his chest wound, praying the bleeding would stop.

It hadn’t.

Her once white gown, now hung in tattered folds of sheer material. Like poisonous flowers the sight of the dirt and blood splatter dragged her back to that portico.

The flower.

Lavender blooms just like the bouquet she’d received at the office.