Warmth and concern.

Logan.

My Logan.

He was back.

My fingers fisted in his shirt.

“I missed you.”

It wasn’t a whisper.

It was a breath.

Barely audible, each word weighed down by heartache and history.

But he heard it and then I heard his groan, felt it tearing through him, tearing through me.

Pain.

A sound filled with pain.

A sound made releasing pain.

Then his face was in my neck, we were on our sides, and his arms were locked around me.

I slid my hands up his back and fisted them again in the material there, latching on like I should have twenty years ago.

Like I’d never let go.

I turned my head, my lips seeking his ear.

“Please kiss me.”

No hesitation, Logan obliged. His hand sliding up to curve around the base of my head where it met my neck, he held tight, took my mouth, and kissed me, deep and hard and wet.

It hurt, God, it hurt. The pain was unbearable.

And it felt utterly, impossibly, magnificently beautiful.

He ended it, shifting his head so his temple was pressed tight to mine.

“Missed you, too, beautiful.”

I closed my eyes and clutched harder at him, pushing into his body, holding him to me and attempting to meld myself to him.

The hiccup I involuntary gave to hold back the tears was an unpleasant one.

“Oh shit,” I whispered, and his head came up.

“You gonna get sick?” he asked.

“I...” I swallowed, the wave passing so I went on, “Don’t think so.”

“Fuck, Millie,” he clipped.

I slid a hand to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I... this... it’s...” I shook my head. No words had been created to communicate it, how significant this was, how happy it made me. So I finished, “I’m ruining our reunion.”

“Don’t give a shit about that. You’re not feelin’ you, whatever. You’ll get past it and I’ll give you a reunion you won’t forget. But you not feelin’ you reminds me I’m pissed at you.”

My chin jerked back and my body locked.

“I thought—” I began.

“You went to Paris without me.”

My mouth dropped open.

“That shit ain’t right,” he growled.

I stared into his annoyed eyes, thinking about all that had transpired, twenty years of it, the intensity of the last weeks, the conversation we just had (well, mostly he had because he did all the talking but I was there), and I could just not believe in all that he was pissed about Paris.

“It’s still there, Logan,” I pointed out.

“I know that, Millie, doesn’t make it any better.”

“It’s been there hundreds of years, Logan,” I kept going.

“I know that, too, Millie,” he bit out. “Doesn’t make it any better.”

“What I’m saying is we can still go.”

“You seen the Eiffel Tower all lit up at night?”

I shifted my eyeballs to the ceiling.

“Right,” he stated irritably. “First time you got that it was without me and it was supposed to be with me.”

I had to admit, seeing the Eiffel Tower blinking into the night was absolutely magnificent but would have been much better shared with Logan.

And I had to admit that he was right. It was totally supposed to be with him.

Although I had to admit both those things, I didn’t do it out loud.

I looked back to him and requested, “Can we not fight when I’m jet-lagged and we’ve just reunited?”

“Yeah, we can not fight now. We’ll discuss that shit when you’re feelin’ better and after I instigate the official reunion.”

My thighs started tingling.

“The official reunion?” I asked.

“Like you don’t know I’m gonna fuck you breathless in a way you’re gonna remember every second of it for the rest of your life.”

I got breathless at that.

“But now, since you hauled your ass to Paris without me,” he went on, “and you’re fucked up because of it, I’m haulin’ your TV in here and we’re gonna hang and watch it. You’re gonna stay up the best you can so you can get over that shit. Then I’m gonna give you that reunion and after, we’re gonna sort the rest.”

Oh man.

“The rest?” I prompted.

“Babe, got kids. Kids who’re gonna be in your life. Got shit happening we need to make decisions on. And you’re gonna undo whatever you did to make plans to get outta Denver.”

Luckily, none of that last was set in stone.

Logan, however, wasn’t finished.

“And apparently, we got some cats to pick up.”

Tentatively, I grinned at him, ignoring the onset of anxiety at his kids who’re gonna be in your life comment.

“I saw pictures of the kitties on the Internet,” I told him. “A boy and a girl. They’re very cute.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, his eyes to my mouth. “The girls’ll love ’em.”

At that, it was harder to ignore the onset of anxiety since it was growing swiftly, even though I was pleased to learn his daughters liked animals.

“Now, I got dishes to get in the sink and a TV to haul,” he muttered, and when he did, something stole over me.

It was heavy, warm, frightening, comforting, so much of all that my hands clutched at his shirt again and he stilled.

“Babe.”

I stared at his chin. The whiskers there were long and I could feel just how long as the skin on my face felt the ghost of them from his kiss.

“Millie,” he called sharply.

I lifted my eyes to his.

“Are you really here?” I whispered.

“Fuck,” he groaned, moved in, and kissed me again. And again it was wet, it was deep.

But it was not hard.

He pulled away but not too far.

“You gotta put a damper on the cute and sweet, baby,” he said quietly. “I’m a big fan of your mouth, big fan of havin’ it back, big fan of finally havin’ it available to me again. Not a big fan of courtin’ you needin’ to puke durin’ a kiss. So help a man out. Hear?”

Hear?

I didn’t believe it.

Not until then.

Not until that.

Something that was so Logan. He was the only person I knew who said that like he said it.

Hear?

He’d said that the first time I met him. He’d said it a million times after.

And he’d just given it to me again.

Not like he did when we were playing our crazy game.

Like he used to give it to me.

Wars were fought for things that had no meaning. Hearts were broken. Betrayals were committed. Fortunes were paid. Sacrifices were made.

All for nothing. All for shit.

But I’d give anything, battle to the death, break hearts, tell lies, pay every penny I owned, sell my soul to have back Logan’s hear? just like that. Something that meant the world because it meant I had him.

And I had it back.

Him back.

I drew in breath through my nose as my sinuses started tingling at the same time I nodded.

Then I said, “I hear, Logan.”

“This is the last you’re gonna get, Millie, before we settle in so you can get sorted,” he said unceremoniously, like he was just carrying on our conversation.

Not like he was about to change my whole world.

Then he changed my whole world.

No, he didn’t change it.

He gave it back to me.

“I love you,” he declared. “Loved you then. Love you now. Never quit lovin’ you in a way I know I never will. You were it for me, the only one, the only woman I ever loved, and you never quit bein’ it. So I think you can get how I cannot find words to explain how fuckin’ pleased I am that you’re back.”

“I...” I hiccupped, deep breathed, clutched his shirt, and he waited through all that. “Ditto,” I pushed out.

Totally lame.

But it bought me his eyes smiling and a brush of his lips.

His lips stayed where they were, his eyes looking into mine, when he whispered, “You always sucked at that shit.”

I did.

I could tell him I loved him and I did. I could show it and I did.

But I didn’t do flowery.

Logan did biker, badass flowery and he did it really good.