Auctioned By The Ceo

Chapter 15

Hannah’s hands cramped in the tight grip she had on his shirt in an effort to not take the man by his

impossibly big shoulders and shake some sense into him. Not that it would have done any good, even

if she’d managed to do that. Without her heels, she only reached mid-chest on him, and the coldness of

the balcony was slowly seeping through the soles of her feet, adding to the shivers she didn’t seem to

be able to shake off. Now that the immediate adrenaline rush was wearing off, she felt the cold even

more out here, but she could have hardly had this discussion in front of his daughter, and she was so

not going back in that bedroom.

Logan sighed, ran a hand though his messy hair, and stared out over the city view. Damn the man.

Even having witnessed his temper, the violence he exhibited toward that admittedly vile man, she still

wanted him. Great sex had to be addictive or something, but this right here, that little frightened girl,

feverishly drawing on that couch, that was far more important than scratching any itch, and she wanted,

needed answers.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Damn you, talk to me. Why is your daughter sitting on that couch, clearly terrified out of her wits, or is

that none of my business, too?” That comment flung over his shoulder, when she’d first walked out into

this mess, still stung, and Hannah hated the wobble in her voice.

“Rhia is not my daughter.” Logan didn’t look at her when he said that, his voice so deep and raw, laced

with pain it took her breath away. His white-knuckled grip on

the railing and the way his whole body had tensed were other indications of his mental state, which

made her want to reach out to him and offer comfort.

She resisted, however, taking refuge in the righteous anger that bubbled up inside her at his lying to

her.

“Of course, she’s your daughter. She calls you Papa, for fuck’s sake, and besides she’s the spitting

image of you apart from her eyes. I’m assuming they’re her mother’s. Where is she by the way? What

the hell happened to that little girl, and you best tell me the truth or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Logan interrupted her, and she took an involuntary step back at the fury behind those few

words, as he addressed her. He looked as angry as he’d been when he hit that guy, not that he hadn’t

deserved it. She could still feel the other man’s lecherous gaze running over her, and bile rose in her

throat. That look and his accompanying words had made her feel so dirty, as though she’d been caught

doing something she shouldn’t. Which simply wasn’t true. There were no rules against sleeping with

your boss, and gah, she was such a fucking cliché.

How had she ended up in this position, freezing her butt off on a balcony at the Savoy, facing down her

furious boss while wearing nothing but his shirt? Her back hit the rough stone of the wall, and she

swallowed hard when he closed the distance. One hand either side of her head, Logan crowded her in,

and her traitorous body responded to his nearness with predictable results. At least she wasn’t cold

anymore, not pressed against him as she was, so close that she could feel him harden against her

belly. Logan inhaled sharply and rested his forehead on hers.

“Why do I still fucking want you this much?” NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

It wasn’t a question that required an answer. It sounded more like a plea, and echoed her own

frustrating emotions so clearly that her anger fled.

“Your daughter, she…” Hannah couldn’t continue, because his entire body tensed, and a deep

animalistic growl came from the big chest she was pressed against.

“For the last time, woman, she is not my daughter.” He pulled back just enough to glare down on her,

and there was no denying the sincerity of his reply. Hannah swallowed, licked her lips, and nodded.

“Fine, if she’s not your daughter, then—”

“She’s my niece, Hannah.” He pulled away and stared back out over the view. “I have an identical twin

brother. He’s currently rotting in prison for having beaten her mother into a coma, so it falls to me to

look after her.” He paused at the gasp, which Hannah couldn’t help but utter, and gave a short, grim

laugh. “She was there when it happened, hid in the wardrobe, hence the nightmares.”

He glanced into the suite, and Hannah followed suit. Rhia was still drawing. Her little tongue had come

out in her concentration, and Hannah’ eyes filled with tears at the horror of the situation, an echo of her

own past. At least she’d had her sister. Poor Rhia’d had no one.

“That’s … I’m so sorry.”

Logan swung back around, and the grief edged in his features took her breath away.

“Why?”

“Why what?” she responded in kind, not at all sure what he was getting at.

“This is why I don’t make a habit of telling people. They’re always fucking sorry. Why? You’re not the

one who used his fists on her mother. You’re not the one who should have seen this coming. You’re not

the one who ignored the bruises he saw, believed the excuses, and didn’t step in until it was too fucking

late. You’re not the one who introduced one of his best friends to his brother. You’re not, fuck … I can’t

do this now.”

Logan’s voice broke, and in a move so fast she never saw it coming he punched the wall behind her.

The dull thud and his accompanying grunt of pain should have scared the bejesus out of her, should

have made her run far away from him, but instead she grasped his fist and dropped a kiss on the

swollen and bleeding knuckles.

“Then don’t, and stop hurting yourself. You’ll only scare her more than she already is, and it won’t

change anything. Trust me, I know.”

Logan made a rough sound at the back of his throat and pulled his hand away. He flexed it few times

and winced.

“You should put some ice on that,” Hannah said.

“I should do a lot of things.”

He closed himself off again. She could almost see the bricks going up around him, as he stared off into

the distance.

“None of this is your problem, Hannah. You didn’t sign up for this, so I’ll call you a cab or something.

I’m—”

“You’ll do no such thing, Logan Bryce. Besides, no doubt my dress is ruined, and if you think for one

minute that I’ll be doing the walk of shame out of here in that dress, and at this hour, you’ve got another

think coming.”

His lips quirked up into the semblance of a smile at her outburst.

“What are you going to wear then? Leaving in my shirt will cause even more tongues to wag, I wager.”

Some of his usual arrogance returned with that statement, and Hannah breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“I know that. I was more thinking that the butler service that comes with these suites will be able to go

and procure some jeans and a top for me once the shops are open. Lord knows, I’ve dealt with the bills

for that sort of thing often enough for some of our more illustrious clients who stay here, so I can’t see

any reason why I shouldn’t take advantage of that for myself. And then, there’s Rhia. I promised her

we’d flush those bad dreams down the toilet, and she looks as though she’s done.”

Sure enough, the little girl looked up at that moment and gave an almighty yawn.

“She looks exhausted,” Logan said and then opened the doors and strode back in the living area,

leaving Hannah no choice but to follow.

“All done, munchkin? Let me see?”