picturing what it would be like to have Logan’s rough hands on my body, to feel the heat of his skin, to breathe in his musky scent and feel the stubble of his jaw against my cheek.
‘Ashlyn?’
I realized that I’d just been standing here visually molesting him for God knows how long and I was about to stammer out an apology, when he turned to the side and I caught sight of another tattoo.
There was something familiar about the phrase scrawled along his ribcage. Without thinking, I marched forward and grabbed onto his hips, turning him to get a better look.
It couldn’t be.
He chuckled at me, low under his breath. ‘See something you like?’
‘This tattoo. Do you know what it means?’
He looked down at the curvy text and shook his head. ‘Haven’t had access to look it up just yet. Besides I’m not even sure what language that is.’
‘It’s Latin.’
‘You know it?’
I unbuttoned my jeans and eased down the zipper.
‘Whoa, Ashlyn.’ He took my wrist, stopping me, but I could see the heat building behind his gaze, which did nothing to extinguish the jittery excitement I felt. He ignited something in me. I thrust my jeans down just enough so I could show him my tattoo. Aut viam inveniam aut faciam tibi written in Latin over my left hipbone. The font on mine was smaller, but our tattoos were the same, complete with the curvy script written gracefully in black ink.
He released my wrists, dropped to his knees, and delicately ran a fingertip along the lettering that matched his own. He dipped his fingertips just inside the waistband of my white cotton panties, moving them aside to read the phrase uninterrupted. My stomach jumped at his touch.
‘What does it mean?’ His voice was husky and thick.
I realized I’d been holding my breath and pulled in a lungful of air before answering. ‘I will either find a way or make one.’
The phrase had been etched into my mind long before it was permanently inked on my body. It reminded me to challenge myself, to never settle, and to push through my shitty upbringing to become who I wanted to be. It was a saying that would speak to those who had struggled in life and wanted better, and were willing to fight for it. I wondered what would have possessed Logan to have this marked into his skin. By the look on his face, he was clearly wondering the same thing about me.
He rose to his feet, and after trailing his fingers one last time over the words, he zipped and buttoned my jeans. I stood there completely at his mercy and utterly fascinated by him. What were the chances that we’d have the exact same Latin phrase on our bodies? The similarity was unnerving, but also interesting.
There were lots of things about him that were beginning to intrigue me. The way his green eyes followed mine, his musky, male scent. It also probably didn’t help my libido that both times I’d seen him, he’d been shirtless. There was no way not to notice how attractive he was. My two-year sexual dry spell might have also contributed, but my body’s response to him could only be described as primal…needy.
He appeared just as intrigued by me. He hadn’t yet moved, and was still gripping my hips. I looked down at his hands, which he quickly dropped away. I took a step back trying to ease the sexual tension that crackled in the air between us.
He cleared his throat, mumbling something about getting dressed and disappeared into the bathroom again.
When he closed the bathroom door, I realized our encounter had left me light-headed and dizzy. When he’d leaned in close, the warmth of his skin and the light scent of soap had invited me forward, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his sculpted abs and trim hips had barely held the towel in place.
I gave my head a quick shake. Now was not the time for fantasizing. I was not some hormonal teenager, I was a doctorate student, but I’d never been quite so taken with a man before. The experience was unnerving. I’d practically whimpered when his fingertips touched me. And I sure as shit shouldn’t have unbuttoned my pants. This was completely unlike me and totally unprofessional. I rushed from the room as a sudden wave of panic hit.
I needed to get a hold of myself. I slipped into the ladies’ room before my nerves overtook me. I looked at my pale skin and wide set blue eyes in the mirror. A frail frightened girl stared back at me. I splashed cold water onto my cheeks, hoping to add some color back to my face.
I took a few deep breaths and the color in my cheeks slowly began to return.
I had a decision to make. I could move past my obvious lapse in judgment of allowing myself to become attracted to him, or I could back out of the assignment and let Clancy know that I wasn’t cut out for this. Then what would I do? Move home to Detroit? Find a job in the city? Work in an office from nine to five every day in a boring job I didn’t care about? No, I had worked too hard for that. I was passionate about this research. Quitting now would be silly. I wasn’t that impulsive. It would be fine.
I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath. I would just have to do my best to keep things professional in his presence. At home later was a different story —I couldn’t be held responsible for the Logan-induced fantasies that were likely to haunt my dreams.
After giving myself a much needed pep talk, I went back to Logan’s room and slipped into the plastic chair near his bed. When I finally looked up at him, I knew my mistake instantly. I hadn’t allowed myself to become attracted to him. I had no say in the matter. It was simple chemistry. A primal attraction that couldn’t be controlled or turned off simply because I willed it so.
I took a moment to clear my head and focused on our work for today. I needed to maintain utmost professionalism with him. I had to set the tone and parameters of our relationship. He was in a fragile emotional state, and the last thing I needed to be doing was fantasizing about having sex with him. But God, I knew it would be good. That he would be good. He was entirely fuckable, and brought out my inner vixen in a way no man had before. I remembered his fingers on my skin, and mentally chastised myself for not wearing sexier underwear. A trip to the lingerie store at the mall was long overdue. I pushed the last lingering thought of his fingertips brushing across my belly from my mind and put on the most professional face I could manage.
After the fascinating discovery of our matching tattoos, we spent the afternoon listening to the various genres of music I’d checked out from the library. We discovered that he preferred rock music and blues over classical or country. He’d cursed when I put on rap and crossed the room to turn it off, which was funny. He made me replay a particular blues song three or four times, saying he was sure there was something familiar about it, but ultimately he couldn’t recall anything specific.
Despite the lack of progress on producing any memories, the afternoon hadn’t felt like a failure. It had actually been sort of fun. Logan had lain across the bed, his eyes closed, deep in concentration as I played the music, skipping through songs, or turning it up based on his preferences.
He asked me to leave the books behind for him to read, that way I was guaranteed to return to see him, he said, at least to pick up the books. If only he knew I was already anticipating my next visit.
The smile on my face had not faded when I ran into Dr. Andrews in the hallway.
‘Have you been here all afternoon?’ He frowned,
