have to find a way to take the edge off.
“Who at the newspaper?” he asked, keeping his voice low, like hers.
“A good friend of Logan’s, Alex Trudeau, took the photo you saw.”
“And you think he’ll point me in Johnny boy’s direction?”
Sheila’s eyes glinted at that. “Alex Trudeau is a she, and rumor has it she knows your brother quite well.” She winked at him, clearly happy to help without breaking any rules. “If you know what I mean.”
Butch’s heart swelled, and his cheeks heated with excitement. It sounded as though John Logan did have a girlfriend. “Do you know how I might contact Alex Trudeau?”
“I can’t give you that information, either, but I believe she’s listed in the phone book.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A lex woke slowly, aware first that she felt . . . better. Much better. Sitting up, she ran her hands through her out-of-control curls to try to tame them. The action reminded her of Logan’s fingers clutched in her hair as he kissed her breathless and aching. Right before he’d stepped back. Damn. It figured she’d think of that first thing.
She pushed back the pang of disappointment that knotted in her belly and got out of bed. Right now, she was hungry, which she considered a good sign. When she’d fallen into bed last night, slightly nauseated and fighting a headache, she’d thought she’d never want food again.
First, she stopped in the bathroom to take care of business and wash her face. The mirror told her that empathy wreaked havoc on a girl’s face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and her skin looked ashen, her cheeks hollow. If she stretched out on her back and rested crossed hands over her chest, she’d look ready for a coffin. Lovely.
Breakfast would help, she decided. A heaping plate of protein and carbs to chase away the pallor, to restore energy. Then she’d figure out her next step. No way in hell did she plan to just sit back and let her new psychic ability drive a stake into what she had with Logan. If she was going to learn how to cope without him knowing she could drop into his head right after something bad happened to him, she had to get busy.
As she walked down the hall toward the kitchen, she wondered why the brood of pooches hadn’t spent the night sprawled in various positions around her bedroom as usual. In the arched doorway that led to the living room, she stopped to see each member of the menagerie occupying a different area of carpet, some still dozing, others lifting their furry heads to ask with their eyes how she was today. She saw why in the next instant and stopped to stare, eyes welling within a heartbeat.
Logan was sprawled on his back on her sofa, in cargo shorts and nothing else, one tantalizingly veined forearm thrown over his eyes, his other hand resting flat on his muscular abdomen. A light snore told her he hadn’t heard her stir, and that was fine with her, because it gave her a chance to admire that tan, ripped body.
Her mouth watered, and she swallowed, getting familiar now with the tightening low in her belly when she was around him. A woman would have to be dead not to appreciate the planes and valleys and ridges of this man’s physique. The fact that he’d camped out on her sofa after she’d so unartfully fled to bed last night just made him all the more appealing.
Determined to do something nice for him, to make up for the night before, she went into the kitchen, a trail of furry critters in her wake. She fed them, taking care to lavish lots of affection on each, shooed them out the back door into the warm sunshine, then got started on breakfast for humans.
She’d transferred the last of the sizzling bacon to a paper-towel-covered plate when Logan’s hands settled on her shoulders from behind, his palms warm against skin bared by the straps of her tank top. Instant tension stiffened her spine, but when nothing nasty happened in her head, she relaxed again. The empathy was behaving as she expected.
She turned
“Who at the newspaper?” he asked, keeping his voice low, like hers.
“A good friend of Logan’s, Alex Trudeau, took the photo you saw.”
“And you think he’ll point me in Johnny boy’s direction?”
Sheila’s eyes glinted at that. “Alex Trudeau is a she, and rumor has it she knows your brother quite well.” She winked at him, clearly happy to help without breaking any rules. “If you know what I mean.”
Butch’s heart swelled, and his cheeks heated with excitement. It sounded as though John Logan did have a girlfriend. “Do you know how I might contact Alex Trudeau?”
“I can’t give you that information, either, but I believe she’s listed in the phone book.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A lex woke slowly, aware first that she felt . . . better. Much better. Sitting up, she ran her hands through her out-of-control curls to try to tame them. The action reminded her of Logan’s fingers clutched in her hair as he kissed her breathless and aching. Right before he’d stepped back. Damn. It figured she’d think of that first thing.
She pushed back the pang of disappointment that knotted in her belly and got out of bed. Right now, she was hungry, which she considered a good sign. When she’d fallen into bed last night, slightly nauseated and fighting a headache, she’d thought she’d never want food again.
First, she stopped in the bathroom to take care of business and wash her face. The mirror told her that empathy wreaked havoc on a girl’s face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and her skin looked ashen, her cheeks hollow. If she stretched out on her back and rested crossed hands over her chest, she’d look ready for a coffin. Lovely.
Breakfast would help, she decided. A heaping plate of protein and carbs to chase away the pallor, to restore energy. Then she’d figure out her next step. No way in hell did she plan to just sit back and let her new psychic ability drive a stake into what she had with Logan. If she was going to learn how to cope without him knowing she could drop into his head right after something bad happened to him, she had to get busy.
As she walked down the hall toward the kitchen, she wondered why the brood of pooches hadn’t spent the night sprawled in various positions around her bedroom as usual. In the arched doorway that led to the living room, she stopped to see each member of the menagerie occupying a different area of carpet, some still dozing, others lifting their furry heads to ask with their eyes how she was today. She saw why in the next instant and stopped to stare, eyes welling within a heartbeat.
Logan was sprawled on his back on her sofa, in cargo shorts and nothing else, one tantalizingly veined forearm thrown over his eyes, his other hand resting flat on his muscular abdomen. A light snore told her he hadn’t heard her stir, and that was fine with her, because it gave her a chance to admire that tan, ripped body.
Her mouth watered, and she swallowed, getting familiar now with the tightening low in her belly when she was around him. A woman would have to be dead not to appreciate the planes and valleys and ridges of this man’s physique. The fact that he’d camped out on her sofa after she’d so unartfully fled to bed last night just made him all the more appealing.
Determined to do something nice for him, to make up for the night before, she went into the kitchen, a trail of furry critters in her wake. She fed them, taking care to lavish lots of affection on each, shooed them out the back door into the warm sunshine, then got started on breakfast for humans.
She’d transferred the last of the sizzling bacon to a paper-towel-covered plate when Logan’s hands settled on her shoulders from behind, his palms warm against skin bared by the straps of her tank top. Instant tension stiffened her spine, but when nothing nasty happened in her head, she relaxed again. The empathy was behaving as she expected.
She turned
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