“I need to study and I could have—”

I stopped talking that time because he lifted a hand and ran his fingers into the side of my hair, pulling it away from my face, then curling his fingers around my skull and dipping close.

“Give you what you need, Millie, even if you don’t know you need it and even when we’re at cross purposes, me doin’ that, you thinkin’ you’re givin’ me what I need by lettin’ my brothers stay.”

I stared into his beautiful brown eyes, so in love with Logan Judd, I knew I couldn’t fall any deeper.

Until he proved me wrong.

This happened frequently.

“Thanks, baby,” I whispered.

And I fell.

“Anytime, Millie,” he replied. “Every time.”

Every time.

We’d been together for five months and he’d proved that to be true repeatedly.

I smiled.

He dipped even closer to brush his mouth against mine.

When he pulled away, his eyes went up the stairs behind me, back to me, and he ordered, “Now get to work.”

“Right, boss,” I returned.

His lips twitched before he went on, “You want a Coke or should I make a pot of coffee?”

He knew me. He lived with me. He got my study habits.

It was past nine. The paper was important. The night would be late. I needed caffeine.

And, like everything else, he was going to give it to me.

“I think it’s a pot of coffee night,” I told him.

“Fuck,” he murmured, sliding his hand out of my hair and dropping it. “Am I gonna sleep alone again?”

I shook my head but said, “Not if we don’t keep standing here talking and I get to work.”

“Then get to work,” he repeated his order.

I lifted my hand to my forehead and gave him a salute.

His lips twitched again and he turned to walk into the living room that would take him to the kitchen and his errand of making me coffee.

I put a foot to the bottom step and called his name.

He turned back.

“Love you, Low,” I said quietly when he caught my eyes.

His warmed, he tipped his chin to me, and he replied, “Work, baby.”

He loved me too.

I grinned and skipped up the steps.

Logan made me a pot of coffee.

In the end, after coming in and kissing my neck, he went to bed without me.

I didn’t like him doing that, so I didn’t mess around, got my paper done and joined him as soon as I could.

We slept entwined and I woke up, even after only five hours of sleep, charged up to take on the day.

I got an A on the paper and Logan and I celebrated with Black, Keely, Chew, Boz, Kellie, Justine, and half a dozen other friends at Scruff’s.

It was awesome.

Life was awesome.

I was eighteen years old and it was crazy. I knew it. But I didn’t question it.

No one in their right mind would question it, no matter what their age.

So I didn’t.

Because I had it all.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Release Me

High

“THAT’S IT?” HE asked.

Shirleen studied him closely as she replied, “That’s it.”

High was standing with her among the shelves of Fortnum’s Used Books, a store owned by Shirleen’s boss’s wife, Indy Nightingale. Shirleen had a paper cup in her hand seeing as, at the front of the store, a lunatic named Tex made coffee.

The man might be lunatic, but he made good coffee.

But High wasn’t in the mood for coffee and he definitely wasn’t in the mood to put up with Tex.

She’d given him the preliminaries of Millie’s details the day before: address, phone number, place of business.

She’d just given the rest of it to him.

Never been married, no kids. Successful business. From what Shirleen could find, with her limited capabilities since High had not allowed her to pull in any of Nightingale’s boys, Millie lived quiet and was married to her job.

This shit did not jibe.

At all.

She’d liked to party. She’d liked to go out. She’d liked hitting bars to listen to music, going to rallies, shooting pool. She was social, friendly, vibrant. She’d wanted kids.

Actually, she’d wanted kids in a big way.

No, it did not fucking jibe.

None of it.

Like his discovery the night before of what her house was like did not jibe.

“Lovers?” he growled, not wanting to know but needing more than this. Needing anything he could use to win, however he had to do that.

“Boy, no clue,” she replied. “What I gave you is what I got. All I got. You want deeper intel, you gotta let me go into the field or get one of the boys on it for you,” Shirleen stated, still studying him. “Least let me set Brody on it. Get him to do some hacks.”

Brody was Nightingale’s geek. The guy was a wizard with a computer.

He also had a big mouth.

High didn’t need anyone else in his business.

Shirleen hadn’t come up with much and if she went further, he’d court that.

It was going to be up to him.

“No on Brody,” he told her. “I’ll get what I need.”

She continued her study of him even as she nodded.

“Thanks for what you got, Shirleen,” he muttered, turning to leave.

“High?” she called.

He turned back.

“You know what you’re doin’?” she asked.

He knew what he was doing.

Getting laid, phenomenally. Angry sex that melted into hungry sex that ended explosive.

Fuck yeah, he knew what he was doing and he liked it a fuckuva lot. He’d found this was a game he didn’t mind playing seeing as he had no intention of losing, and the way it was going, he’d be a winner repeatedly along the way.

Millie thought she had him and he had to admit, sitting on the end of her bed last night, watching her strut around in her classy, sexy pajamas he wanted to rip right off her, the pants clinging to her ass, the lace at the sides exposing her long legs, the material tight at her tits, he thought she had him.

The move with her lipstick was smooth.

But he saw it in her eyes even if she tried to hide it.

She was scared.

She was in too deep and she was in denial.

It had been his win.

So he’d take what she had to give until she went under and he’d make sure that was in a way she wouldn’t try to surface again.

Then she’d be in his rearview.

“Absolutely,” he answered Shirleen.

She didn’t nod again. She pierced him with a look he knew she was using to try to read him.

He didn’t give her much of a shot.

He lifted his chin and took off.

He left the store, went to his bike, got on, and rode right to Millie’s.

He’d cased the place the day before. But he’d chosen his time to approach last night with premeditation, when she’d be close to bedding down and had nothing else on her mind, so no distractions. Then he’d gone back.

Now it was early afternoon the next day. She’d be working in her studio at the back of her house.

So he’d be free to do what he needed to do in her house.

If she was there or came in while he was doing what needed to get done, he was good with that. He had two objectives that day and if she walked in on him, he’d instigate the second one.

He did a slow drive-by at the front of her house, seeing the rear of her SUV in the courtyard at the back, again taking in the tidy attractiveness of her pad.

Not a blade of grass out of place.

It set his teeth on edge because, again, it did not jibe.

He turned left at the end of the block, then left again into her alley. He rode down to the back of her house, stopped, and idled.

There was a garage back there built a long time ago. Unlike the house, it was not in good shape. Dilapidated, some of the glass in the windows of the swing-out doors broken. He cut the ignition of his bike, swung his leg over, and walked to the garage, looking into the windows.

Smartly, she hadn’t put anything in there worth anything. There were some paint cans on shelves. A broken broom in the corner. Other than that, nothing.