Finally, I realized it was time to give up. At least for that night. I was getting tired, things were getting rowdier (the Trench) or quieter (the outskirts), so people were settling in for the night one way or another, and if Logan was there, he’d be doing the same.

Therefore I needed to pack it in, go home, get some rest, and come back the next night.

I didn’t think of finding Logan with a woman (which could be possible).

From the conversation I overheard at Chipotle, it seemed he was getting divorced or was finalizing but he could have moved on (though whatever ended that relationship was not him straying—he’d never do that, not in a million years, I knew that for certain).

But I’d deal with that if it happened and when I told myself I’d deal, I also told myself that it might even be good. He’d have someone and I wanted him to be happy.

And if he had someone, it might free me to find someone. Knowing Logan was with someone (and hopefully happy this time, as a possible divorce stated he hadn’t been the last time—but I tried not to think about that) might release me from his snare and finally allow me to move on.

I thought this even knowing there would be consequences from seeing him with another woman.

But I’d deal with them if they happened too.

What I hoped was that in the next two days, I’d actually find him.

If I didn’t, I’d have to go to Chaos. I’d have to go to Ride, the store or the garage, and look for him, ask after him.

Or, God I hoped not, the Compound.

But if that happened, it would.

And that, too, I’d deal with when it did.

Night one was a bust but I wouldn’t give up.

I’d come back for night two.

This thought made me sigh as I made my way through the bikes, trucks, and other vehicles parked outside the camp areas. Apparently, going to Wild Bill’s was like riding a bike since I remembered to make note of landmarks that would lead me back to my SUV in that sea of vehicles.

Back then, Logan had taught me to have that care.

Therefore, twenty years later, I had that care and walked right to my car.

I beeped the locks and had a hand to the handle when I heard, “Lookin’ for me?”

When that deep, coarse voice came at me through the dark, my body became paralyzed, my eyes glued to my hand on the handle.

Then it kept coming at me.

“Bitch, followed you the last forty-five minutes. Reb got in touch. Told me you hit Scruff’s.” On the next, the voice was nearer. “You’re lookin’ for me. So tell me what the fuck you want so you can quit lookin’ and I can quit lookin’ at you.”

Slowly, I turned, my head going back automatically because I felt him close and I knew what close to Logan meant.

I was five-seven.

He was six-one.

He towered over me, or at least that’s what it always felt like because he wasn’t only tall, he was also a big guy with a big presence.

And right then, it felt like that, especially since his big presence was an angry one.

His face was in shadows, I could barely see it.

But I could feel him.

And I could smell him.

God, I could smell him.

He didn’t wear cologne or aftershave. His scent was all his. And I remembered lying in our bed holding his pillow to me, my face shoved into the sheets, taking him in after I’d made him walk away.

His scent hadn’t changed. Not even a nuance.

Smelling it without warning felt like walking unsuspecting into the street and having a truck slam into you. And that feeling was so strong it was a wonder my body didn’t go careening through the trucks and bikes, slamming into them, shattering every bone.

He moved forward so he was in my space, the smell strengthened and my body tightened to guard against it.

“Woman, after all this time, whatever shit you gotta hand me, fuckin’ do it,” he ordered irately. “You got two seconds to spit it the fuck out. You don’t, you won’t get another chance, and you know I’ll make it that way. So this is your only shot. Take it or get in your fuckin’ car and get your ass outta my world.”

I stared into the shadows of his face, wishing with everything that I could see it.

Apparently, I did this for two seconds because Logan bit out, “Right. See nothin’s changed. Weak. Now get your ass...” he dipped his face to mine, “gone.”

And when he did, I got up on my toes and kissed him.

It was totally crazy

But I also totally couldn’t help it.

He smelled so fucking good.

And he was Logan.

Close. Right there. His face in mine.

He jerked away, muttering a disgusted, “What the fuck?”

But the words or their tone didn’t penetrate.

I smelled him and I’d had a taste.

I was gone.

I lifted both hands to either side of his head, yanked him down to me, and went back in, going for it, giving it my all. Even when his fingers clenched painfully into my hips pushing them back to set me away, I held on tighter and shoved my tongue between his lips.

It touched his, just that, just a touch, and then I cried out into his mouth when I found my back slammed into my SUV.

But it wasn’t his way to get me to let him go.

No.

His head slanted and he forced my tongue out of his mouth when his invaded mine.

And that was when I was gone.

I was already gone but right then there was nothing to me.

Nothing at all.

Except my hands on Logan’s head, his body pressing mine into my car, his smell all around us, his tongue plundering my mouth, all this exploding fire everywhere.

He drove a hand into my hair, twisting it, the pain bristling over my scalp and I cried out into his mouth again even as I arched deeper, pressed closer, willing, like it had always been, to give it all because he was Logan, he got it all.

But also because I knew I’d get it back a hundredfold.

He swayed us forward so his other arm could lock across my back and he kept at my mouth as I rolled way up on my toes, pushing deep, wrapping my arms around his neck, consumed by the kiss and not giving that first fuck.

I was ready to ride it out.

No, I needed to ride it out.

No matter where it went.

He broke away and that was when my hand went into his hair, fisting tight in protest.

“That what you want?” he growled, his voice lower, the abrasion physical, and I shivered with delight.

I wasn’t entirely certain of the question but I answered a breathy, “Yes.”

“That’s what you want,” he repeated, a statement this time, seeking confirmation.

“Yes, Logan.”

He let me go but took my hand, his skin rough against my fingers. The feel of it back after all these years washed through me and I fancied I remembered every time, in quick succession, from the first night we met to the night before I broke it off when he’d taken my hand and guided me somewhere.

Lost in it like I’d always been lost in it, I followed blindly.

Attached to Logan, I’d go anywhere.

Even if we were walking through fire.

He wended his way through the vehicles, quickly, strides long, and I rushed to keep up, my fingers curled tight around his just in case he got any ideas of letting me go.

Finally, he pulled me down the side of an RV I knew was part of the Chaos zone, stopped at the side door, and didn’t let me go as he dug some keys out of his pocket.

He inserted one, unlocked the door, yanked it open, and tugged me up the steps as he shoved the keys back in his pocket.

I had the barest moment to look around and be stunned at the utter opulence of the place as he stopped us inside and locked the door.

Total mega-platinum-rock-star-on-the-road-mobile, including manly mess, like he didn’t give a shit about the opulence to the point it was in your face just how much he didn’t care that this thing likely cost more than many people’s homes.