Pulse (On Hold)

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

I watch Logan silently as he stares at the road ahead. The streetlights barely offer any light to the night, so his face is hidden nicely in the shadows. He looks even more breathtaking now though, his profile looking like chiselled marble.

Logan's face is just so brooding and angular! His warm brown eyes are velvety dark, like the calm before the storm and his bruised lips mould into a sharp line. His nose is perfectly proportioned and his cheekbones are handsomely defined.

I notice that he’s dressed all in black, consisting of a tight-fitted t-shirt and dark jeans. His bare, muscular arms leave little for the imagination as I contemplate what his stomach and V-line must look like. His hair is messy in a sexy way, as if he’d been running his long fingers through it many times.

His expression is clearly one of deep thought. His thick, dark eyebrows are furrowed and his severe eyes are fixed on the road intently. I watch them patiently, counting up to a hundred in my head, waiting for his eyelashes to flutter. But he never blinks. Not once.

Perhaps it was wrong for me to accept a ride home from this man. A young woman really shouldn’t talk to older male strangers, especially if they’re as tempting as the one beside me. But I’m willingly choosing to go against my survival instincts. Maybe there’s a loose wire in my brain?

“Are you warm enough?” Logan speaks softly, carefully. “Let me know if you want me to turn the heater up, okay? I don’t really feel the cold, so I don’t know how you’re feeling.”

I can’t help but notice the double meaning to his words. He’s obviously wondering if I regret letting him take me home and whether I’m uncomfortable in his presence.

“I’m fine, Logan. Really I am,” I assure him.

Logan tenses up beside me after I speak his name aloud. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Logan reaches for the dashboard and switches on the radio. Harsh, screeching music blares from the speakers, filling my ears with the sound of hate. He quickly switches to another station, which is playing a soft melody, before his brawny arm settles on my side of the armrest.

As soon as his skin touches mine, electricity flies between us, leaving me tingling and feverish. His large, cold hand slides over mine and squeezes it in an affectionate way. My fingers curl around his, and before I know it, I’m holding hands with Logan.

A shy smile creeps over his handsome face, two half-moons forming on each cheek. “It’s nice to finally hold your hand,” he murmurs.

“I agree,” I reply timidly.

I look out of the window and watch in wonder as rain falls from the grey sky. Hundreds of tiny raindrops softly pitter-patter on the tinted glass, sounding far away.  

“I love the rain,” I speak aloud.

Logan squeezes my hand again. “So do I.”

We remain in silence until Logan pulls up in front of my family’s little cottage. My parents may be wealthy, but they also appreciate antique-looking homes. I turn my head slightly, unsure of what to say next, but Logan fills the air with the sound of his melodic voice before I have the chance to say something.

“It’s getting late,” he says, with a hint of disappointment lining his tone. “You should get some sleep.”

“Thank you for the ride,” I say appreciatively.

“Your welcome, Emerald.”

Why does my name have to sound so sexy coming from those perfect lips of his?