undeniable thrill.
She hid how much she liked the nickname with the ease of long practice. “What did you mean, then?”
Arching a brow, Logan warned, “You might not be any happier about this. But here are my terms: for every day I waste on this island, you answer one personal question.”
Jessica sucked in a breath, an instinctive denial on the tip of her tongue. Before she could say anything, Logan held up a hand. “I’m talking full and complete answers, to my standard of satisfaction—no simple yes or no. I want details, specificity.”
What Logan was asking was dangerous—to her mental health, if nothing else. Jessica knew him. He wasn’t going to be satisfied with inane questions about her favorite color. If she gave her insatiably curious, demanding boss this opening, he’d make the most of it. He wouldn’t be happy until he knew all the secrets she’d worked so hard to bury.
But … Logan needed this. He needed to rest, and he also needed a puzzle to solve, something to keep his brain just stimulated enough without overloading his system.
“So. What do you say?” He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing her gaze to the play of muscles under his T-shirt. For a guy who rarely took time off to hit the gym, Logan was ridiculously ripped. Must be all the heavy machinery he lifted in his lab, building his prototypes.
Tilting up her chin, Jessica planted her feet and mirrored his stance. “One question per day—and in that day, you eat what I tell you to, sleep when I tell you to, and in all other ways follow my instructions to rebuild your strength, or that day’s question is revoked.”
Those wickedly arched brows quirked up, and she knew she’d surprised him. Good. She was surprising herself, too. But this was a chance she had to take. If she could get him to listen to her, the way he rarely did back in New York … if she could get him to let her in enough to help him …
“You’re actually agreeing,” he said, wonder lightening his voice.
“I promised your brother I’d take care of this situation.” Take care of you, Jessica added silently. “You know me. I do whatever it takes to get the job done. Sir.”
His reflexive frown at the honorific lifted Jessica’s sprits. She could do this. She could bare a bit of her soul and her past to keep Logan on the island long enough to heal, without forgetting the essential truth.
Logan Harrington was her job. Nothing more, nothing less. And if anyone knew the dangers of mixing business and pleasure, it was Jessica Bell.
Chapter Two
When Logan agreed to Jessica’s terms, he hadn’t counted on his old pal, insomnia, showing up to make it impossible to keep his word about sleeping on command.
But here he was, staring up at the sloping ceiling above the loft bed, eyes dry and burning and sleep nowhere on the horizon. The silence of the empty cottage pressed in on him like a weight. And his preferred methods for shutting off his brain long enough to get to sleep—sex and alcohol—were unavailable for the moment.
Frustration at his inability to conquer his own body, to simply give in and let sleep knock him unconscious, seethed through his veins like an unscratchable itch. To distract himself, he considered the most enticing dilemma he’d faced in quite some time.
What question should he ask of the elusive, mysterious, impenetrably professional Jessica Bell?
He considered what he knew of her already. Over the years since she first appeared in his lab and laughed at him when he ordered her to stop tidying and get out, Logan had discovered shockingly little about what made his personal assistant tick—other than her dedication to efficiency and competence.
In fact, he barely knew more than he’d gleaned from hacking into the Human Resources department’s secure servers and reading her résumé.
Jessica Anne Bell, twenty-eight years old, bachelor’s degree in communications from Illinois State, previous work experience as the
She hid how much she liked the nickname with the ease of long practice. “What did you mean, then?”
Arching a brow, Logan warned, “You might not be any happier about this. But here are my terms: for every day I waste on this island, you answer one personal question.”
Jessica sucked in a breath, an instinctive denial on the tip of her tongue. Before she could say anything, Logan held up a hand. “I’m talking full and complete answers, to my standard of satisfaction—no simple yes or no. I want details, specificity.”
What Logan was asking was dangerous—to her mental health, if nothing else. Jessica knew him. He wasn’t going to be satisfied with inane questions about her favorite color. If she gave her insatiably curious, demanding boss this opening, he’d make the most of it. He wouldn’t be happy until he knew all the secrets she’d worked so hard to bury.
But … Logan needed this. He needed to rest, and he also needed a puzzle to solve, something to keep his brain just stimulated enough without overloading his system.
“So. What do you say?” He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing her gaze to the play of muscles under his T-shirt. For a guy who rarely took time off to hit the gym, Logan was ridiculously ripped. Must be all the heavy machinery he lifted in his lab, building his prototypes.
Tilting up her chin, Jessica planted her feet and mirrored his stance. “One question per day—and in that day, you eat what I tell you to, sleep when I tell you to, and in all other ways follow my instructions to rebuild your strength, or that day’s question is revoked.”
Those wickedly arched brows quirked up, and she knew she’d surprised him. Good. She was surprising herself, too. But this was a chance she had to take. If she could get him to listen to her, the way he rarely did back in New York … if she could get him to let her in enough to help him …
“You’re actually agreeing,” he said, wonder lightening his voice.
“I promised your brother I’d take care of this situation.” Take care of you, Jessica added silently. “You know me. I do whatever it takes to get the job done. Sir.”
His reflexive frown at the honorific lifted Jessica’s sprits. She could do this. She could bare a bit of her soul and her past to keep Logan on the island long enough to heal, without forgetting the essential truth.
Logan Harrington was her job. Nothing more, nothing less. And if anyone knew the dangers of mixing business and pleasure, it was Jessica Bell.
Chapter Two
When Logan agreed to Jessica’s terms, he hadn’t counted on his old pal, insomnia, showing up to make it impossible to keep his word about sleeping on command.
But here he was, staring up at the sloping ceiling above the loft bed, eyes dry and burning and sleep nowhere on the horizon. The silence of the empty cottage pressed in on him like a weight. And his preferred methods for shutting off his brain long enough to get to sleep—sex and alcohol—were unavailable for the moment.
Frustration at his inability to conquer his own body, to simply give in and let sleep knock him unconscious, seethed through his veins like an unscratchable itch. To distract himself, he considered the most enticing dilemma he’d faced in quite some time.
What question should he ask of the elusive, mysterious, impenetrably professional Jessica Bell?
He considered what he knew of her already. Over the years since she first appeared in his lab and laughed at him when he ordered her to stop tidying and get out, Logan had discovered shockingly little about what made his personal assistant tick—other than her dedication to efficiency and competence.
In fact, he barely knew more than he’d gleaned from hacking into the Human Resources department’s secure servers and reading her résumé.
Jessica Anne Bell, twenty-eight years old, bachelor’s degree in communications from Illinois State, previous work experience as the
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