Chapter Eight

Logan

Arya receives the glass of wine with unexpected eagerness and takes a huge sip, which surprises me. She then licks her lips in a slow torturous manner. My cock twitches in response. Fuck!

"I've ordered already. I hope you don't mind," I tell her while taking a sit.

"No, that's fine," she says with a gracious nod.

"It's good to know that you can be amenable," I smirk.

"I am not entirely stubborn as you think of me," she leans back in her chair.

"You called me to prove something to me," she says, focused on the task at hand, but then she takes a large gulp of wine, and her cheeks color. She must be looking for courage. I'll have to watch how much she's drinking because she's driving.

"I would prefer that we talk about that later after we have something to eat," I respond.

She sips again from her glass and then places it on the table. She looks exquisite: her hair falls in soft waves to her breast on one side, and on the other, it's pinned back so it's easier to see her delicate jawline and the gentle curve of her slender neck.

She could always spend the night here…then I could peel her out of that enticing dress.

We both fall silent as the waiter enters with our appetizers.

"I hope you like oysters," I remark to Ana as the waiter leaves.

"I've never had one."

"Really? Well. All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that." I stare pointedly at her mouth. cue she blushes and I squeeze lemon juice on the shellfish and tip it into my mouth. "Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea." I grin as she watches me, fascinated. "Go on," I encourage her, knowing that she's not one to back down from a challenge.

"So, I don't chew it?"

"No, Arya, you don't."

She presses her teeth into her bottom lip, leaving little indentation marks.

Damn. The sight stirs my body and I shift in my chair. She reaches for an oyster, squeezes the lemon, holds back her head, and opens wide. As she tips the oyster into her mouth my body hardens.

"Well?" I ask, and I sound a little hoarse.

"I'll have another," she says with wry humor.

"Good girl."

She asks me if I've chosen oysters deliberately, knowing their reputed aphrodisiac qualities. I surprise her when I tell her they were simply at the top of the menu. "I don't need an aphrodisiac near you."

Yeah, I could fuck you right now.

Behave, Logan! I scold myself to my right senses.

"So where were we?" she asks.

"You wanted to know why I called you here," I respond. "I want to prove to you that I am not entirely a monster like you think of me. Tough? Yes. I need to be tough, Arya. It helps me focus. With all the responsibilities I have, I can't afford to be soft or my subjects will step on my head, people would take advantage of my empathy," I tell her. She has stopped eating. "Go on and eat," I coax her. She reluctantly picks up another oyster.

"About your accusation of murder. I am not the only one who killed your father. You can't blame me for that and neither will I defend my father," I say, hoping she understands that.

"What about all the people you've killed? Taking Blade, the beta of the Moonstone pack?" she inquires.

"I killed him because he deserved it. As leaders of these packs, we settle for laws that govern the relationship between our packs. When there is a law, then there is also a punishment when you break that law. We also agreed to the punishments. Blade was worth the punishment so I enforced it without hesitation, and you, Arya were to serve a punishment intrusion that I overlooked. I was supposed to kill you on spot without thinking twice." Her expression is one of alarm. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

"For the others, there is no justification for them. Wars happen among packs and warriors die. Those that I killed, I was just trying to defend my pack. I won't promise you that no one else is going to die in my hands because I will be lying," I tell her.

"For the other accusations, let me see. Greed, well, that is rather a hasty generalization. Every living creature On this planet yearns for good things. We all want the best, you can't accuse me of making good use of opportunities when they come my way. About being heartless, that I won't deny. I lost my heart hundreds of years ago." Her jaw drops to the floor.

"Still with me?" I ask, gently. The waiter sneaks into the room, and with a nod I give him permission to clear our table.

"Would you like some more wine?" I ask her.

"I have to drive."

Good answer.

"Some water, then?"

She nods.

"Still or sparkling?"

"Sparkling, please."

The waiter leaves with our plates.

"You're very quiet," I whisper. She's barely said a word.

"You're very verbose," she shoots straight back at me.

Fair point, pretty face.

"I was just trying hard enough to prove myself innocent. I hope you now see me a bit differently.

And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress."

"I don't think that's a good idea," she whispers. "We haven't had dessert."

"You want dessert?" When you haven't eaten your main course?

"Yes."

"You could be dessert."

"I'm not sure I'm sweet enough."

"You want to bet on that?"

"You can be serious right now. You just told me that you were supposed to kill me and of your heartlessness. How am I supposed to let you touch me without flinching?"

She looks down at her lap, and her voice is low and a little melancholy. She looks up again, pinning me with an intense stare, her powder-brown eyes unnerving…and arousing.

"I didn't intend to scare you off."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and her frown intensifies as she licks her lips.

"This suite has a bedroom. We can go and christen the bed," I say, testing my luck.

"You are so wrong if you think that I would want to get in bed with you," she tells me the drinks on her water. I watch her neck as she swallows. She then licks her lips and her eyes meet mine.

"I know you are lying."

"I can tell because your body gives you away. You're pressing your thighs together, you're flushed, and your breathing has changed."

"How do you know about my thighs?" she asks, her voice high-pitched, shocked, I think.

"I felt the tablecloth move, and it's a calculated guess based on years of experience. I'm right, aren't I?"

She's quiet for a moment and looks away. "I haven't finished my cod," she says, evasive but still blushing.

"You'd prefer cold cod to me?"

Her eyes meet mine, and they're wide, pupils dark and large. "I thought you liked me to clear my plate."

"Right now, pretty face, I couldn't give a fuck about your food."

"Logan. You just don't fight fair."

"I know. I never have."

We stare at each other in a battle of wills, both aware of the sexual tension stretching between us across the table. She picks out a piece of cod from her plate and puts it on her tongue. Her eyes never leave mine. She covers her mouth and chews in a slow seductive motion.

"I think you're toying with me, pretty face."

"I'm just finishing my food." Her lips curl wider, slowly, carnal, and the heat between us rises several degrees. She really has no idea how sexy she is…I'm about to pounce when the waiter knocks and enters.

Damn it.

I let him clear the plates, then turn my attention back to Arya. But her frown is back, and she's fidgeting with her fingers.

Hell.

"Would you like some dessert?" I ask.

"No thank you. I think I should go," she says, still staring at her hands.

"Go?" She's leaving?

The waiter exits quickly with our plates.

"Yes," Arya says, her voice firm with resolve. She gets to her feet to leave. And automatically I stand, too.

This is not going according to plan at all.

"I don't want you to go," I state because it's the truth.

"Please, I have to," she insists.

"Why? I could make you stay," I tell her, knowing that I could seduce her right now, in this room.

"Yes, you could easily, but I don't want you to."

This is all going south—I've overplayed my hand. This isn't how I thought the night would end. I rake my hands through my hair in frustration.

Lowering my head so my lips hover over hers, I wait until she raises her mouth to mine and closes her eyes. I want to give her a brief, chaste kiss, but as our lips touch, she leans into me, her hands suddenly fisting in my hair, her mouth opening to me, her tongue insistent. I press my hand to the base of her spine, holding her against me, and deepen the kiss, mirroring her fervor.

Christ, I want her.

"I can't persuade you to stay?" I whisper against the corner of her mouth, as my body responds, hardening with desire.

"No."

"Spend the night with me. I promise not to force you into anything you don't want."

"But I can't promise not to beg to do it, Logan. I lose all my senses when I am close to you like this," she confesses. I don't know how to react to this.

"Why does it matter anyway. We are mates. This is bound to happen."

"I know, but I am not yet ready. I need some time to process all this. To accept you for who you are," she responds, I almost give out a loud cheer. Relief sweeps through my body. She is going to give it a chance.

I take a deep breath and kiss her forehead, then bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet, autumnal scent and committing it to memory.

That's it. Enough.

Stepping back, I release her. "As you wish, Arya. I'll escort you to the lobby." I hold out my hand, and she places her hand in mine, and in silence, we head down to reception.

"Do you have your valet ticket?" I ask as we reach the lobby. I sound calm and collected, but inside I'm in knots.

From her purse, she retrieves the ticket, which I hand to the doorman.

"Thank you for dinner," she says.

"It's a pleasure, Arya."