Lineman scowled at him. I added my own scowl. I wasn’t his or anyone’s.

Lineman stepped between us, blocking me from total retreat. Logan still held my wrist. “You already had your fun.” He nodded at the pool table. “Now it’s my turn.”

Logan grinned like he wasn’t challenging the thick-necked guy who probably added steroids to his Chex Mix. “Sorry, man, but she’s not playing the game.” Logan clapped a hand on his muscle-sloped shoulder like they were old friends.

Lineman looked down at Logan’s hand on his shoulder and then back to him. “She took a ticket.” He sounded like a petulant child now.

“I—I’m sorry.” I finally found my voice. Stammer and all. “I didn’t know what the ticket was for.”

Lineman grunted and stepped out of the way. He held up a finger in my face. “You should always know the rules before you play.”

I nodded, feeling like an idiot. Like a child being scolded for not following the instructions so clearly written on top of the paper.

Logan pulled me through the crowd and out into the more open space of the loft. Only he didn’t stop there. He didn’t release me.

His long strides moved swiftly, leading us through the press of bodies. As if it was his right to touch me. As if his brother dating my best friend gave him the right to interfere in my life.

His grip shifted to hold my hand. I tried not to think about his hand. About how warm and firm and large it felt wrapped around mine. Harris wasn’t big for holding hands, but when he had it had never felt like this. For a guy, Harris’s hands just weren’t that large. Our hands were about the same size.

I shook my head slightly. I had to stop doing that. Stop comparing every guy out there to Harris. It wasn’t healthy.

“Where are you taking me?” I demanded.

“Out of here,” he said over his shoulder, his voice deep enough that he didn’t even have to lift it over the thumping bass for me to hear. I didn’t protest. Didn’t stop him. Eyes followed us as we moved across the room, and I just wanted to get away from the stares. At least I told myself it was that. I told myself it had nothing to do with the way my hand felt in Logan Mulvaney’s. Or that I couldn’t get the image of him and the way he had looked at me as he kissed those girls out of my head.

Chapter 3

HIS STRIDES WERE LONG. I took two steps for every one of his, trying to keep up. I spotted the elevator ahead, at the far end of the loft, directly in our path.

A voice called his name. “Logan?”

He stopped, turning partly to face the girl walking toward us. She was dressed all in black. Even her hair was dark as a raven’s wing. Dyed, I suspected. The only other color was the slash of cherry-red lips in her pale face. Her blue eyes shifted from Logan to me and then back again. I tried not to shift beneath her intense regard. She was beautiful in a devour-you-alive kind of way.

“It’s all right, Rachel,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and turned with a sexy slink of her hips, heading toward the pool table and the crowd still gathered there.

Logan pulled me back toward the elevator. I wanted to ask about her. I didn’t think Logan had a girlfriend. After the pool-table scene that seemed evident. Girlfriends, plural, was more his thing. But something had passed between them. Something that wasn’t casual. Something proprietary.

He punched a button, calling the elevator, and then looked at me. His mouth lifted in a half smile that was familiar because I saw it almost daily on his brother. It almost put me at ease until I recalled that he wasn’t Reece. He wasn’t that safe, disarming guy who was head over heels in love with my best friend. This guy was wicked and immoral and trouble with a capital T.

He released my hand, waving me inside the elevator. I finally found my voice as he pulled the sliding door shut after us. Leaning against the back wall of the elevator, I swallowed a breath and willed the heat to cool from my face. “Well, wasn’t that very caveman of you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to make out with Bubba back there on that pool table in front of all those people?” He jerked a thumb behind him. “ ’Cause I can let you go back in there if that’s what you want. You just looked a little green. I thought you were going to puke.”

“I wasn’t going to throw up. And you don’t need to escort me. Hate to drag you away from the fun you were having, after all. Looks like your girlfriend Rachel might be missing you.” Or any number of females inside that loft.

“She’s just a friend,” he replied casually, thankfully not picking up on my catty tone. But I did. I heard it and I mentally kicked myself for it.

And yet I kept talking . . . still sounding like a judgy little shrew. “Somehow I doubt that you and any girl are just friends.” I knew his reputation well enough to conclude that. And I’d just seen Logan Mulvaney give the performance of the century on that pool table to back it up.

I crossed my arms as the elevator began its descent.

He crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking my pose. “I’ve known Rachel since seventh grade.”

“Aw. And you hang out at a kink club together now. How sweet for y’all.” I opened my mouth to ask if he knew those other girls on the pool table, too, but managed to stop myself.

He smiled, shaking his head. “You’re funny, G. Never noticed that about you before.”

But he had noticed me. A stupid little thrill coursed through me.

He continued, “I’m guessing Anna brought you.”

“You mean Annie?”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter that he couldn’t get the name right of a girl he had made out with once upon a time.

“I came with Annie but drove my own car.”

“Good. You can drive yourself home then. She likes to stay late at these things.”

Of course he would know that. Apparently he was a kink club regular.

The elevator settled to a stop and he slid the door open, asking, “What is it with you guys? First, Emerson, and now you’re here.”

I bristled as I stepped out. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Emerson. This place is over your head. Hopefully, like her, you’ll have enough sense to never come back here again.”

This annoyed me. Maybe because I always prided myself on being so mature. I reveled when adults would tell my mother how composed and sensible and grown-up I was. It had always been a point of pride—for both Mom and me. But here he was treating me like a kid. And I was older than him!