The Billionaire's Intern - Part 2. Maisey Yates

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      “Sure,” Logan said, feeling the familiar nausea start to rise as the car began to move down the street.

      “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

      “Would you feel very enthusiastic about the idea of having your skin peeled away from your bones?” He looked over at her, at the predictably horrified expression on her face, and he had a feeling he’d gone too far. And for the first time in his memory, he regretted it. Regretted the possibility that he might touch her with his darkness. She was so beautiful, so perfectly forbidden to him.

      “Is it that bad?” she asked.

      “I’m not trying to be poetic about it. Or dramatic.”

      Addison laughed, the sound catching him completely off guard. “You know, some people might think you have a flair for it.”

      “And what, the hell, is that supposed to mean?”

      She smiled, her attempt at keeping it light not going unnoticed. “Oh, I don’t know, prowling around your offices without shoes, lurking in your gym in the dark. Refusing to come in to work until the late hours of the day. Using your limitations to your advantage by forcing everyone who deals with you to come into your lair to do business.”

      He turned to her and arched an eyebrow. “My lair?”

      “Your domain. Your cave. Some might call it your island, but that would be insensitive.”

      “And you are never insensitive.”

      “Oh, heavens no. Grace and poise are my middle names.”

      “Are they really?”

      She surprised him again by smiling. “No, do you want to know my real middle name?”

      And because the distraction was welcome, he did. “Sure.”

      “Jane. Addison Jane Treffen.”

      “Well,” he said, “now I’ll know what to call you if you’re ever in trouble.”

      It’d been long enough since he was in a sexual situation that the sudden tension between them caught him completely off guard. Not that this was the first time tension stretched between them. But it was the first time it had been brought about by something he’d said. Something that had almost been teasing, provocative on purpose.

      He didn’t provoke women anymore. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t seduce.

      He had lost that right.

       * * *

      Addison looked out the window and focused on the passing scenery. Bright lights that blurred into continuous lines. Things that almost felt normal with Logan. Well, as normal as things could feel when you were out with a man who hadn’t been outside in three months. A man who was consciously fighting off a panic attack.

      So, all things considered, it had felt normal.

      Until he’d looked at her, with those deep blue eyes, so deep the color was visible even in the dimness of the car, and spoken to her about using her middle name, when she was in trouble. The words a velvet-covered promise, of pleasure, of pain. And she had no idea how the two things had melded together into that one simple phrase, but they had. She had no idea how the two things had melded together in her.

      Because they weren’t the same. They didn’t mesh.

      And she was quite possibly crazy. She would go ahead and blame daddy issues. If anyone had that right, surely she did.

      Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the limo eased up against the curb in front of Black Pearl. The streets were relatively clear, but there were still people wandering around, heading to plays, leaving restaurants.

      And really, as much as Logan had told her about his anxiety, he’d left out an awful lot. Was the panic triggered by an unfamiliar area? By people? Open space? Or by something else entirely?

      If things went well, she would avoid finding out. All things considered, she was okay with that.

      She pushed open the limo door and walked to the sidewalk. Logan’s door remained closed. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. Drag him out? She was here to help, but she still wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed. She had a feeling he wasn’t either. Which helped not at all.

      She decided, in this case, she would go with inaction. About a minute after her, Logan stepped out of the limo. Every line in his body, from his square jaw to his broad shoulders and his fists clenched at his sides, was tense. He didn’t look hunted, or afraid, but he did look ready to fight.

      “Ready?” she asked.

      “No,” he said as he charged ahead of her, head down, into the hotel.

      She clutched her purse to her chest and scurried after him, having to move quickly to keep up. She followed him inside the building, and through the lobby. People were staring, openly, as they passed, not bothering to hide their shock at seeing him. She imagined that the reclusive Mr. Black, who hadn’t been seen outside in three months, was definitely stare-worthy for his employees.

      Logan seemed oblivious, and Addison had a feeling that was just as well.

      The ballroom was at the end of the hall, through a pair of deep blue, gilt-edged double doors. Logan pushed the doors open, pausing in the entryway, scanning the room as if he was looking for a threat.

      “You know,” she said, keeping her voice soft, “you could look slightly less like you’re charging into battle.” Though she had a feeling he was, in his mind, doing precisely that.

      He let out a long, slow breath, then straightened and walked into the room.

      It was empty, nothing but a broad expanse of marble tile, heavy stone columns and ornate crown molding. None of it said Logan to her, but Logan had mentioned that it was his father’s baby, and not his.

      It made her wonder about the Black Book, if it was really his, or if it was simply a part of the company.

      And that was not her concern.

      She stayed in her position at the back of the room as Logan walked toward the stage, where he would undoubtedly be giving his speech. He walked up the steps, his every movement slow, deliberate.

      He turned to face her, well, not her, the back of the room. But even though she knew that he wasn’t looking at her, she could feel his gaze, a spark from a fire, drifting down to land on her exposed skin, leaving her scorched.

      He looked up, then scanned the room from left to right. The change in him was almost imperceptible. It would’ve been entirely imperceptible had she not been watching him so closely. Had she not learned, already, to sense the shifts in his mood.

      He lifted a hand and raked it over his hair. It was then that she noticed his fingers were trembling.

      Without thinking, she started walking toward the stage. Driven by something, she didn’t know what. Driven to do something, she didn’t know what.

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