Ulterior Designs (House of Evans Book 1) (13 page)

As the music
played and he listened more closely to the words, his arousal piqued again. He wanted to show her things, to make her think in his design like the song said. He wanted to teach her to become the kind of woman who reveled in her sexual awareness while taking pride in her ability to acknowledge her wants and needs without feeling ashamed of them.

When she finally met his gaze, the throbbing desire in the pit of his belly twisted into yearning. It was a familiar feeling, but it was unwanted—like a violent tidal wave smashing against his body and ravaging his sense of self-preservation. His lips parted, ready to tell her that this thing between them would never work on anything more than a physical level, but his words became wedged in his throat. She was so damned beautiful, so eager and willing to learn from him. She was designed to please, designed to be this thing that he needed and wanted—this person who was seemingly there solely for his purpose and pleasure.

She was happy and content, and though he was pleased with himself for having put her in that frame of mind, his desire turned to guilt in an instant when Jess' face flashed in his mind. Had he become so jaded by her traitorous actions that he had turned into the selfish asshole that he hated in other men? What a disturbing thought. Yes, Chloe was all of those things, but she was also still young and probably untainted by heartbreak, and he sure as hell didn't want to be the first one to deal that blow to her.

This thing, or rather,
non-thing
, between them would just have to play out the way in which it was
designed
. If only he could allow it.

N
apa in the evening was spectacular. Just as the first drops of rain dotted the pavement, Logan and Chloe left his home for the journey to her apartment in Russian Hill. The intense oranges and reds that peeked over the horizon as the sun began to set made the greens of the valley shine even brighter. Music would probably have been appropriate to break the silence that seemed to be lingering between him and Chloe, but the low hum of insects outside and the whistle of the breeze coming in through his cracked window were a kind of music all their own.

He could sense that she wanted to talk. He did too, but her aroused feminine scent was still lingering on his clothing and that, along with the smell of rain, clouded his thoughts. When the silence seemed to become too much, Chloe reached into the messenger bag that sat at her feet and pulled out her sketch pad and pencil. The scratch of lead on the filament paper intermingled with the other sounds lulled Logan into a sense of calm, and brought back fond memories of drawing sessions with his mother.

She possessed a talent, even to this day, for creating caricatures, and he inwardly smiled at all the silly drawings he would find lying around the house. His mother’s drawings were a tell-tale sign of her mood and he knew if he found any illustrations with people sporting horns and hellfire around them, to steer clear of her. It was his mom who had gotten him interested in design.
Or, was it his father?
He couldn't remember. His father had been a county engineer, so quite possibly it had been him.

He wished he could remember the exact moment he had known he wanted to be an architect, but he couldn't. After his dad's death, his mother had turned to religion while he turned to the piano, though not by choice initially. Over time, though, what had started as an interest in sketching schematics and diagrams turned into a full-blown talent for drawing up floor plans. Before he knew it, he was spending his free nights at the library reading and learning everything he could about drafting. Not long after that he was designing everything from his friend's tree fort to his neighbor's greenhouse. When he’d hit high school age, he’d pushed himself to do well so that he could earn a full-ride scholarship and graduate a full year early, aware that it would be the only way he could go to college.

In all fairness, his mom would have undoubtedly found some way to make it happen for him, but after everything she had been through with his father's death and the issues with the life insurance, he hadn't wanted to burden her with that responsibility. Anyway, there hadn’t been much else he could have done in his small town except excel academically, especially since he hadn't exactly been the jock type. The only physical activity that had appealed to him at that age had the one that involved working his ab muscles while he thrust his dick into…

"I may ask for my father's help with these chandeliers. He's fantastic with metal work," Chloe's whispered statement interrupted his thoughts.

"You plan on making them yourself?"

"Uh-huh," she remarked without looking up.

He was impressed.

"Are you close with your father?"

"Uh-huh," her answer came back as casually as her previous response.

A twinge of jealousy shot through him.

Chloe stopped drawing and turned her body toward him. "Are you close with your father?"

His body stiffened with his response. "My dad died when I was seven."

"I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago," he shrugged off her sympathy.

"Time doesn't matter when it comes to losing a loved one," her voice lowered.

Logan glanced at her. She spoke as if she knew the pain of loss. "Did you lose someone?"

"I lost my grandma a few years ago," she quickly looked back down at her drawing.

Chloe was right. Time didn't matter when it came to losing someone. Twenty-three years after losing his father, the pain was still present.

She laughed as if she had remembered something. "She was such a perv! God, I loved that woman. She taught me so many things, including Spanish. Even a few of her secret recipes,” she waggled her eyebrows at Logan. “She was my staunchest supporter. She'd be so happy for me right now."

He smiled, but it faded quickly. He didn't recall much about his dad except that he always seemed to be working. Or, at least that's what they thought.
What a fucking joke
. The few memories that Logan did have of him were so tainted by everything that had come out about him afterwards, he didn't know which ones were real or made up in his head.

His mom had taken his father’s death and the news of his lies hard. They both had, though she had managed to do a good job of shielding him from the harsh truth for many years. The shock of his accidental death lingered for months before their grief finally set in, and when it did, the gray cloud of sadness seemed to hover over them for years. He couldn't imagine losing a spouse the way his mother had; to be submitted to the onslaught of bullshit that always seemed to pop up at the most random times because of someone's lies—someone that they had believed loved them.

That was at the top of his ever-growing list of reasons why he never wanted to get married. When it came to love, people couldn't be trusted. Jess had already proven that.

"How did he die?"

Chloe's questions began to grate on him. What was the point of getting to know personal histories anyway? To offer up fake sympathy? To try and make some kind of connection with someone even if there wasn’t one to be made?

His answer came out clipped, "An accident."

Chloe's lips parted as if she wanted to say something more, but instead she immediately went back to sketching. It was good because he wasn't particularly in the mood for dredging up his past only for her to end up in the arms of another man and breaking his fucking heart.

Just as the rain picked up, he let out a miserable sigh and shook his head.

He truly was jaded.

*

The rest of the drive to Chloe's apartment was spent in silence. After Logan's unexpected defensiveness, he turned introspective. His withdrawal puzzled her, especially after the intimacy they had shared. And that kiss. People didn't just share a kiss like that and then simply back away.
Or did they?
Oh, hell, what did she know?

A grin formed on her lips thinking about the kiss again and about their piano-top experiment. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his mouth on her and his hands roaming over her breasts. She glanced at him, hoping he would open up again, but his blank expression gave her no hint as to what he was thinking.

As the sun fully set and the intense silver glow of the three-quarter moon lit their way, she gazed through the rain-slicked windshield. Logan's quietness was maddening. The least he could do was make friendly conversation, though she supposed the sound of the rain was better than phony sincerity. As much as she wanted to delve more into his past and get to know him, she figured it was probably best to let him be. At least for now.

Tired of the awkward silence, she put her pad and pencil back into her bag and retrieved her phone to queue some music. When the song
The Touch
began, Logan shot her a narrow-eyed-look that said her choice of music was immature. She smiled because maybe it was, but at least she had gotten his attention.

As soon as the song ended, he touched the screen of his stereo. Chloe perked up. She could hardly wait to hear what song he was going to play. When it began and she heard the lewd lyrics, her joy quickly vanished.
Mistakes Like This
flashed on the digital screen of his fancy blue sports car that carried a name she had never heard of—Fisker Karma something or other. It figured that Logan Evans, architect-extraordinaire, would have a vehicle with the word
karma
in its title
.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "Is that how we're going to communicate? Through music?"

Logan's somber mood waned and a smirk formed on his lips. "It seems legit. Anyway, you started it with that
In Your Design
song."

He was right, she had, but she didn't know it was going to become a theme with them. "I have plenty more where that came from, Logan. I've got a whole stockpile of songs just waiting to get my message across to you."

He belted out a sarcastic laugh. "What message is that?"

"That I find you sexy as hell. That I want…" her mouth suddenly became parched.

His ornery smile widened. "Go on."

"You know what I want."

"No, I don't. I hardly know you."

"You had my nipples in your mouth, your head between my legs and your tongue in my … you know me."

He laughed louder. "You can't even say it! Your
pussy,
Chloe. I had my tongue in your
pussy.
And no, I don't know
you,
I just know what you taste like. There's a huge difference."

She was glad to be hidden by the darkness of night when her face flushed at his crudeness. "I'd like to know what you taste like, too," she whispered.

"Wow," he parked his car in front of her building and faced her. "Is that first time you've ever said that to a man?"

"Shut up, Logan. I already told you that I'm not a virgin."

"Virgin is a subjective term."

"
Subjective
? The last time I checked, never having a penis in one's vagina is the only way to define being a virgin."

"Penis? Vagina? Good god, Chloe, no one talks like that."

“Fine. I’m thirsty for your cock. Is that better?” She huffed as blood rushed to her cheeks for having been put on the spot.

His amusement flared up again and a burst of laughter barreled out of him. "Well, at least you’ve got the terminology down. And you're wrong—being virginal can relate to more than just the act of sexual intercourse. You're obviously a kink virgin. You
were
a spanking virgin. I suspect you were a bondage virgin, as well. So, see, you have
virgin
written all over you."

"I'm done with this conversation," she huffed and reached for the door handle to step out. "Do you want to come up?"

Logan's playfulness died down in an instant and a look of trepidation flashed over his features. "I can't… I mean, I shouldn't."

She reached for her bag and hovered in the open door of his car as the rain died down. "Which is it?" He simply smiled without answering. "I know my apartment isn't much to look at from the outside," she gave him a sheepish smile, "but I've done some nice really things with my place."

"I’m sure you have,
Minou
," his answered softly.

"Wouldn't you like to see it so you can judge my designing abilities?" Since he obviously wasn’t getting the hint, she gave him her best flirty smile in hopes of enticing him.

"I have faith in your abilities, even without seeing your apartment."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. When he handed it over to her, she let out a sigh of disappointment.

"Well, if you change your mind, I'm in apartment three."

He gave her an apologetic smile. "I'll see you on Monday evening. I have a busy day planned. Actually, my whole week is full. Feel free to let yourself in and do what you need to do, while keeping me updated."

"Why not tomorrow?" She could hear the desperation in her own voice, making her cringe.

He shook his head. "No, Monday. We'll start fresh then."

She couldn't help but wonder what Logan meant by
start fresh.
Perhaps he was having second thoughts about their blooming intimacy. That would be just her luck. Fate always seemed to intervene and fudge everything up when it came to men. Here she was throwing herself at him and all he could do was sit in his damned car staring back at her as if she had a raging case of vaginal leprosy that he didn't want to go anywhere near.

What was this guy's problem?
He had spanked her, tied her up, and, yes, had his tongue in her
pussy,
but he wouldn't come up to her place when she had just blatantly stated she wanted to give him a blow job?

Frustrated with the situation and his refusal to take her up on her offer, she snatched the key from his hand.

"Look, Chloe," he began, but she spun on her heel and slammed the door shut.

She didn't want hear what he had to say.

Marching toward her apartment building, she remembered that she had forgotten to give him the list of questions she had written up. She paused at the threshold of the entryway mulling over whether or not to go back and give them to him, but she ultimately came to the conclusion that her pride couldn't handle facing him after being rebuffed for a third time. She would just text him the questions later.

A day off from the exasperating man known as Logan Evans was exactly what she needed to clear her mind and get back on track. A day to get
inspired.