Page 59 of Consuming Logan

“I want to test you out on a new assignment.”

Hawk adjusted his glasses. She thought it more out of nerves, than a visual deficit.

“Of course.”

Poor man, he had no idea.

“Come here,” she said pushing away from the desk. She watched as his long legs made quick work of the distance. Still seated, she swiveled her chair to face him. “Get on your knees.”

“Ah,” he hesitated.

“Now,” she ordered. Slowly he sank to his knees.

Oh, he was manicured…the wire framed glasses and perfect mane added to his handsome features. She’d always preferred them on the tender-side.

“Lift my skirt,” she said. When he moved to touch her leg, she halted him. “If you disappoint me, getting your next fix will be the least of your maladies, Franklin. I’ll use my hair pin to saw off your finger.”

The first glide of his talented tongue through her tissues and she knew he would be hard to replace.

Chapter 22

Ava worried. The timeline for completion of her project had accelerated. With deadlines looming, she spent long days at the office. In her absence, Logan had taken to a rather strenuous physical and occupational therapy routine. He tried to hide his extra activities, but she noticed the laundry hamper loaded with sweat-soaked gear.

If she had a magic wand, she would abracadabra the last two months. Six weeks had come and gone. Logan still hadn’t been cleared to return to the OR. The road to recovery had been riddled with incessant calls from Kylie Rivers, Maribelle, and general frustration. As the weeks dragged on, Logan’s commitment to his daily exercise routine intensified. He’d tried everything to speed up his healing—protein shakes and sex, massage and sex, mineral water and sex. All the bed play helped Logan sleep like a baby.

Ava felt like crying.

Logan had taken to a whiskey chaser after dinner. She inhaled a calming breath and tried not to compare Logan’s indulgence to Maribelle’s alcohol dependence. It pained her to watch him suffer in silence.

She needed to do more. Maybe, her grandmother could help.

Removing her personal cellphone from the desk drawer, she scanned the digital display for message alerts. She held her index finger against the biometric control button, waiting. Seconds later the black screen glowed two missed calls.

Dialing Logan’s number, she unlocked her computer.

“Hey,” Logan said.

As if hearing their daddy’s voice, the babies increased their kicks and giggles in her belly. His voice, deep and rich, always gave her an internal shiver. They responded too.

“Hello, yourself.”

As the text edit box uploaded on her desktop computer, she scanned the list of email messages with a critical eye, mentally prioritizing them by subject. An orange flagged subject line caught her attention.

“Where are you?”

In the background, she recognized the voices of Women on Words literature and lifestyle podcast co-hosts she listened to on her morning commute.

“Still at the office. Listening to anything fun?” she asked teasingly. Grabbing a scratch pad, she started to jot down a checklist for tomorrow’s briefing, dividing them by project managers. The podcast replay stopped abruptly.

He laughed. “Shouldn’t you and my baby bundle be headed across the border by now?”

If only, she wished. Tonight made four days straight of after-hours briefings and working groups. She’d love to curl up in Logan’s arms and let him massage away the stress of the past four days. After the meeting with the medical equipment vendor, it would be three hours before she finished with the contractual landfill littering her desk.

“Not yet,” she sighed

Logan gave an exaggerated exhale, his frustration obvious.

Well, she was frustrated too. “Logan, I have to finish my work.”