Even though she wasn't expecting any company, somehow she wasn't surprised when a hand touched her shoulder. "I can't . . . stop . . . " she managed, gasping.
Maybe Troy had come into their storage room and heard her, no matter that she was trying to strangle back the sounds. But it didn't matter how he'd gotten here. The important thing was that he was. Sliding down the wall to take a seat next to her, he folded her in his arms. Her own went around him, clinging as she sobbed. Barely a minute later, her heart broke open all the way, because Logan joined them as well.
When he knelt by her other side, she released Troy to turn toward him, pressing her face into his chest. She was suddenly quite certain she'd be ripped in two if he wasn't there to hold her. As Logan's arms went all the way around her, she let out a sound she expected she'd make if he caught her before she fell over a cliff. Troy stayed at her back, rubbing it until she could breathe again.
Logan wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and Troy found her tissues to blow her nose. They didn't ask her to talk. But she still managed to stammer out the words. "It was wonderful . . . and so hard. So hard."
Logan nodded against her temple, holding her tighter. Troy put his lips to her shoulder, leaned against her back. They surrounded her, and she didn't have to explain. They understood.
Revisiting her sister's memory with those who loved her had been wonderful, yet she still stood apart, alone. Her bond to Alice was singular, a blood connection. And Alice was gone, that connection severed, casting Madison adrift. Yet here they were, holding her, keeping her anchored. Somehow, knowing she wasn't alone made it seem that Alice was still present, the tether to her still there.
The first day Madison had met Logan, he'd said Alice had given her to him. At the time, she'd reacted the way she expected anyone would react to such an astounding statement from a stranger. Now she was both paralyzed and suffused with hope that her sister had known what she was doing.
*
Coming back to the present, Madison remembered how Logan had taken her home, tucked her into her bed with a cup of tea. He'd stayed with her until morning, leaving her with a vague awareness of his lips brushing her brow before she was lost again to a dreamless, exhausted slumber.
In her more or less lucid moments, depending on her mood, she found it unsettling, how easily she let him past any emotional shielding or barrier she had. She wanted to believe it was evidence of positive growth in their relationship, rather than her following the same track she always had, trusting too much of herself, too soon, opening herself to being shattered.
Stop it. Trying to distract herself now, she picked up a wooden paddle and slapped it against her hand, giving herself a suitably disapproving look in the mirror. She was finding she could really get into the different ideas she created for her clients, but when it came to punishment, she was still playing around the edges. Logan had given her a brief taste with that one smack on her ass at her house during movie night, but she didn't have a firsthand understanding of the connection between pleasure and pain.
As soon as she gave the word, he would address that deficit of understanding. Every day she came closer to telling Logan yes, she wanted another session. As a result, that coil of anxiety in her lower belly about it was becoming ever more intense. Anticipation and anxiety mixed together, like most things that involved Logan.
Despite all her attempts to stay rational, detached, she was all too aware Logan hadn't mentioned going to his preferred BDSM club since that night at her house. He also found a reason to check in on her every day. No, that described her, not him. She never went next door without a justifiable, somewhat business-related reason to explain her visit. Whereas he didn't present a reason at all when he came over to her store, beyond simply wanting to see her.
This morning he'd brought her a cup of his coffee and asked her how she'd slept last night, engaging in warm chitchat. Then he'd slid behind her counter, gathered her up to him and put his mouth on hers, leaving her with a kiss that was like a straight shot of caffeine, waking her up head to toe.
He was treating her like a love interest. A lover. He wanted to be around her, wanted to see her. It was always nice to be wanted--for however long it lasted.
Did she always have to add those depressing caveats? This time the disapproving librarian face she made really was at herself, not an imaginary late-book offender. She wanted to see him right now, for no other reason than that. It had been too long since that morning kiss.
She waffled over it. She should be as brave and open about it as he was, but she wasn't there. She had to protect herself, no matter how flimsy the shield. Picking up a stack of the new coupons she'd printed up last night on colored paper, as well as the small shopping bag she'd packed up a little while ago with treats for the two men, she put her clock sign out, indicating she'd be back in ten minutes, and locked the door. She was proud that she moved with a brisk, casual stride toward the front of his store, rather than skipping like an infatuated schoolgirl.
Logan was discussing a floor nailer with a customer, the two of them analyzing the different possibilities. She leaned against his counter, watching him and listening to the rise and fall of his voice. If she wasn't careful, she'd just close her eyes and ride that timbre like a boat on a smooth current. To avoid embarrassing herself that way, she focused on what they were discussing. His sales approach wasn't much different from her own. His primary concern was ensuring the customer got the right tool for the job, even if it was only available at Home Depot.
Remarkably, she'd found such an approach still fulfilled her bottom line. From the account history, it was clear Alice had succeeded more because of repeat business and referrals than impulse buys.
Troy emerged from the center aisle. He'd been unloading a truck: he was sweaty, his shirt clinging to his upper body. When he saw her, he headed her way, wiping his neck and face with a bandanna. "Hey, Madison. Wow. I like the outfit. Librarian?"
She peered over her glasses at him with a stern look. "That's Miss Fine to you. Didn't I tell you what would happen if you brought your books back late again, Troy?"
In his flash of surprise at her teasing, she caught an unguarded reaction, a short but very sweet taste of what it must be like to be his Mistress, to have those blue eyes look at her with aroused yearning, an eager desire to please her with every inch of his muscular young body. It made for a nice, quick fantasy.
He recovered in a blink, gave her his slow smile. She was amused when he changed the subject. "We're having a sale on lawn art today. Can I interest you in a concrete frog? You'll be saving a life, because Logan swears he's going to take them all out for target practice if he doesn't get them out from underfoot."
He ducked into the appropriate aisle and retrieved one. The impossibly cute small concrete frog fit into the palm of his hand. She decided it would look lovely sitting on her counter, right next to the basket of hopping genitalia.
"I'll be happy to take one. How much will it set me back?"
"Three dollars. I'd slip it to you for free, but you know how he is." He winked at her. "Just as cost conscious as you are."
"That's how it is when you're the one who pays the bills," she said reprovingly. Then she cocked her head. "You're in a good mood, for a man who just unloaded a truckful of heavy things."
"It just means he isn't working hard enough," Logan said, joining them. His thorough perusal made her blush.
"Stop it. You saw me a couple hours ago."
"Doesn't mean I don't enjoy the hell out of the experience every time. Or can only Troy stammer and blush around you?"