I whirl on him, anger and frustration pulsing through me. “Hurt myself? It’s water Logan, not a gunfight.” He winces at my words and grits his teeth, his jaw flexing with the movement. Curiosity replaces some of my irritation, but I ignore it for now.
“No, and you’re damn lucky you’ll never have to experience one, but that doesn’t change the fact that there could be electrical wires in the water.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. I hadn’t thought of anything besides checking on my house and the only possessions I have left, post-divorce. Glancing down, I take in my sopping feet, the water now having soaked through my boots completely, when something dawns on me.
For the first time since I ran inside, I truly pay attention, taking in my surroundings. Inches of water cover the entirety of my living room, kitchen, dining room, and hall. I haven’t checked the bedrooms, but I can assume it’s spread like the plague and consumed every inch of my tiny house. The worst of the damage is the living room across from the busted wall. My couch is wrecked, my coffee table can’t be salvaged, and my armchair is now two different colors.
However, the one thing that sticks out above all else,is the smell. It’s sour, rancid, and strong.
Oh hell no.
I scream as I launch myself at Logan, throwing my arms around his neck and climbing him like a spider monkey. Later, I’ll question why I’d thought this would be a good idea, or maybe why I assumed he’d be able to catch me. He doesn’t disappoint, though, as he wraps his muscular arms beneath my thighs, cradling me to his chest like a small child.
“Is it poo water?” I ask, swallowing back bile. My toes curl in my soggy socks, bringing on the realization that I’m covered in an unknown substance. I gag, tucking my face into Logan’s neck. Inhaling deeply, I take in his pine and rain scent, allowing it to calm me.
“Is my house covered in shit water, Logan?” My lips coast over his skin with every word. His body involuntarily shivers beneath me. I smile faintly, loving the way I affect him so easily.
Logan chuckles as he turns away from my kitchen and toward the front door. “No, Babydoll. I highly doubt it’spoo water.” I swear I hear him roll his eyes. He opens the front door, and the cold wind blows through, sending another wave of sour water smell my direction. I gag again, afraid vomit might actually come up soon if I have to stay in this place.
“Then why does it smell like that?” I cry, burrowing deeper into his neck.
Again…later I’ll question why I feel so comfortable with Logan Huxley, trusting him implicitly to take care of not only my house, but me. I’ll question why I allow him to carry me outside, his strong arms wrapped tightly beneath my thighs. I might even wonder why I feel so dang comfortable that I never want to move, despite the fact that I barely know him.
Later. I’ll overthink things later.
I’m vaguely aware of us reaching his truck. He shifts his hold on me, sending me slightly off balance. Somehow, he opens the passenger door, never dropping or releasing me, until I’m settled back in my seat. Reluctantly, I peel myself from his warm, comforting body. Logan stands, stepping back slightly, and with that tiny amount of distance a wave of embarrassment floods me so rapidly, I get light-headed.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I murmur, my head dropping to my chest. I can’t look at him. How fucking embarrassing. I threw myself in the man’s arms. Hehadto carry me. It was that, or drop my big ass in the gross water. Oh my—
Fingers under my chin force my face up to meet his. Logans’ bright green eyes stare deeply into mine, a serious, almost annoyed, look on his face. I don’t blame him. I’d be annoyed if my employee jumped me, too.
Oh my god! I’m his employee! He’s my boss! What are we doing?
“Stop it, Shiloh.” My brows furrow in confusion. I open my mouth to question him, but he interrupts me. “Stop whatever stupid fucking thoughts are rolling around in your head. You look embarrassed and you shouldn’t. If I didn’t have to go back in your house to check shit out, I’d have held you all damn day.”
He’s just being nice.
I roll my eyes in an effort to minimize the way his words make me feel. It’s ridiculous. The warmth coursing through my body over just those simple words is insane and irrational. It’s not like he confessed his undying love, but to me, he may as well have.
“I’m too heavy,” I scoff.
His lip quirks. “You’re not. Try again.”
Lies.
“Your arms would get tired,” I point out with a shrug.
He smiles. “Babydoll, I’d hold you till my arms gave out.”
Stop. Please don’t say things you don’t mean.
“That wouldn’t take very long.”
“Then I’ll sit down and keep holding you. Wanna keep arguing?” He chuckles like this is some sort of joke. Like he isn’t shifting my world on its fucking axis.
Still, I try again. Pushing him away, reminding myself that pretty words don’t mean a thing. “Those are just words, Logan. Nice ones, I’ll give you that. But it’s not real.”
Logan steps forward, his hands landing on my thighs. He squeezes the flesh. My immediate response would be to cringe from the inability to hide my imperfections. “Shiloh. Listen and listen good, because I’m about to getrealwith you. Every fucking inch of your body is beautiful.” I shake my head, tugging my lip between my teeth. “Yes, it is. You’re thick in all the right places—”