Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 64: Marcus Ashby

He shakes his head. "Just let me ask you the questions, Ms. d’Armand. Don’t worry about being helpful. The facts are what they are, and we have to work with them."

I nod jerkily, trying to pull my feet away from Logan, but he traps them between his with another grin. I scowl at him and turn my body so I’m more firmly facing Marcus. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

"Yes. We’ll also be questioning you about the events with Officer Nancy Stewart, and also about your relationship with Jonathan Fernsby."

Shaking my head, and trying to ignore Logan’s flirtatious stare, I say, "I don’t have a relationship with Jonathan Fernsby."

Marcus’s finger jabs the air, pointing straight at me. "And the lie detector determined that was a lie."

I blink, caught off guard. My mouth opens, then closes, like a fish out of water. Logan’s low chuckle sends a shiver down my spine, not helping my mental state one bit.

"I... what?" I manage to stammer out.

Marcus leans back, his crisp suit rustling softly. "While you may not have known Mr. Fernsby well, Ms. d’Armand, you did have at least a professional relationship with him. Isn’t that correct?"

My mind races, trying to catch up. Its efficiency is halved thanks to Logan’s pheromone attack. "Yes, I suppose that’s true." I hadn’t even considered my work with Fernsby as a ’relationship’, but his words make sense.

"Denying even that level of connection undermines your credibility on the stand," Marcus says, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind.

"On the stand?" The words tumble out without thinking. "Am I going to be testifying?"

Marcus’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes softens slightly. "We’ll take it one step at a time, Ms. d’Armand." He stands, smoothing down his impeccable suit. "Would you like anything from the menu? I’m going to place an order."

I shake my head, my throat suddenly dry. "No, thank you. I’m fine."

As Marcus walks away, Logan seizes the moment. His hands, warm and strong, envelop mine. My breath catches as he brings them to his lips, grazing my knuckles with a kiss that’s pure seduction.

"Hello, Nikki," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates through me. "I missed you."

My skin tingles where his lips touched. My head spins. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen him, touched him, and my body reacts like a parched traveler finding an oasis.

"Logan," I breathe, barely able to form coherent thoughts. "I missed you too."

Wait.

This reunion is giving off major relationship vibes. I need to hit the breaks.

But his eyes lock onto mine. The intensity I find there steals what little breath I have left. There’s hunger there, yes, but also something softer. Something that makes my heart ache.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "They didn’t... hurt you, did they?"

He chuckles, even as my eyes cling to the bruise on his cheek. It looks new. "Nothing I couldn’t handle, Nikki. Don’t worry about me."

But I do worry. I want to reach out, to trace the line of that bruise, to soothe away the hurt. But we’re in public, and—most importantly—we aren’t in a relationship.

A relationship is not good for us right now.

I bet if I ask his lawyer, he’ll tell Logan to keep his dick out of my pants... but I already know I’m not going to.

Plausible deniability, I guess.

"Logan, I—" I start, but he cuts me off with a gentle squeeze of my hands.

"Later," he says softly. "We’ll talk later. Can I come over tonight?"

My vagina wants me to say hell yes, let’s go right now, but my brain shakes my head. "I don’t think that’s a great idea. Not without supervision, anyway."

Logan’s lips brush my knuckles again, his tongue flicking out in a teasing caress. A hiss escapes me as desire surges through my body, hot and demanding. I yank my hands back, pulse racing, just as Marcus returns with a simple black coffee.

He slides a business card across the table. I pick it up, blinking in surprise at the New York City address.

"You’re based in New York?"

Marcus nods. "I’m licensed to practice here as well."

"Oh," I mumble, mind reeling.

"Sergeant Everett and I go way back," he explains casually.

"Marcus," Logan warns, a hint of steel in his voice.

There’s history there. I should ask about it someday, but I have the feeling Logan doesn’t want me to know about it. Why? Maybe there’s an ex-girlfriend story in there somewhere.

For some reason, that thought annoys me.

The lawyer clears his throat. "When would be a good time for you to come in for a more extensive discussion, Ms. d’Armand?"

"I’m working again," I admit. Logan grimaces, muttering something that sounds like "wasted time" under his breath. I shoot him a look, then tell Marcus, "I can come by anytime after work."

Logan makes a thoughtful sound that has me eyeing him suspiciously.

"How about tomorrow evening, around seven?" Marcus suggests.

I nod. "That works."

He scribbles something on the back of his card. "Excellent. Come to this address—it’s my hotel and room number."

Then he stands, straightening his impeccable suit. "Thank you for your time, Ms. d’Armand." He turns to Logan with a pointed look. "Remember, you’re in public. Be mindful."

With that parting shot, he leaves us alone.

So, yes, he definitely knows about us. Awkward.

Or it would be, if the tension that’s been simmering doesn’t roar to life now that we’re finally alone.

Our eyes lock.

Logan leans across the table, his breath hot against my ear. "If we don’t find a bed in the next five minutes, I’m going to lose my mind."

My body screams yes even as my brain tries to form coherent arguments against this spectacularly bad idea. But two weeks without him, two weeks of worry and frustration and longing, have worn away my resolve.

I throw caution to the wind. "There’s a hotel across the street."

Logan’s eyes darken, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He stands, offering me his hand, and I take it.