Too Wrong: Hayes Brothers Book 2

Aisha sits on the loveseat in my studio, nervously tapping her foot on the floor and glancing at the clock every ten seconds. The model she hired for the photoshoot should’ve been here half an hour ago.

Thankfully, I had no idea what working with Aisha would be like or how demanding or picky she is, so I hadn’t booked any other photoshoots for today. I don’t mind the wait.

“Maybe he’s stuck in traffic?” I ask, emerging from the kitchenette with coffees. “He’s coming from Los Angeles, right?”

She bobs her head, lips in a thin line, and glances at the clock again, eyes narrowed.

“Do you have his number?”

“I tried calling, but it goes straight to voicemail.” She pulls the phone out, tapping on the screen. “I’ll call his agent. Maybe he knows what’s going on.”

I sip the coffee, watching the street, while Aisha paces the room, a phone to her ear. She huffs, one hand propped on her hip, eyes spewing fire as she glares at my camera and the photoshoot set-up to capture the perfect image.

I’ve studied the covers of her books and browsed Amazon for hours over the past few days, trying to spot the trends and judge what sells. Aisha’s covers feature broody, sexy, ripped men. As appealing as that is, I can’t shake the vision that hit me when she told me a bit more about the plot and the heroine—a young girl with long blonde hair. She’s the daughter of a police officer who jailed Aisha’s male character.

Obviously, they fall in love. The heroine gets in trouble, but even though it jeopardizes the hero’s freedom, he puts her on a pedestal, going against his principles and beliefs to protect her.

She’s the most significant part of the story, and I see her on the cover with the hero.

Aisha growls, shoving the phone back into her tiny bag. “He’s not coming. His agent double-booked the day, and he’s off to shoot elsewhere because it pays better.” She stomps her foot. “You’d think they’d have the decency to call and let me know!” She collapses onto the loveseat, hiding her pretty face in her hands. “God, what am I going to do now? The cover designer needs the shots by the end of the week. The cover reveal is two weeks from today!”

“Hey, don’t worry. If you can hire another model, I’ll juggle my appointments, and we’ll get the shots done. I don’t mind working after hours.”

She peers up, clearly distressed. “That’s the problem. I can’t get another model. I called ten different agencies before I booked Killian, and we’ve been waiting so long for today! No one has any availability.”

That’s an issue. I can shoot in the middle of the night, but it’s no use if we don’t have a model. Luke would gladly stand in, but he doesn’t fit the hero’s description in the slightest. He’s more suited for the villain of the story.

“What about that biker guy?” I ask, remembering he was tall, ripped, and could pass for the hero.

Aisha cringes, clutching the cup of coffee with both hands. “No, we’re not exactly on speaking terms anymore. Urgh! I really need to start planning ahead of time.” She glares at the door as if willing some hottie to arrive and save the day. “What about you? You know anyone who fits the character and would be willing to do the photoshoot? I’ll pay double Killian’s rate, and that guy charges a bomb.”

Do I know any tall, dark-haired, broody, handsome, ripped men? If one. I can think of three right off the bat, but I doubt either will agree to help. Not if I’m the one asking.

Aisha’s face lights up as if she can read my mind. “You do know someone, right? Oh, please, please, please call him.” She’s almost on her knees, hands together as if she’s praying. “Please.”

I push the air through my nose, the hairs on my neck standing to attention at the thought of reaching out to Logan after he threw me out of his house three weeks ago. I grind my teeth, chewing the words, my tongue slick with bile rising up my throat. I don’t want to do this. A lead weight pulls at my chest, my fingers numb from clenching the cup I’m holding too hard.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dream of asking him for help, but… always a fucking but.

This is my job.

Aisha is my client, and my client’s happiness always comes first. Furthermore, I like the girl, and I love her books. If we don’t find a model, she’ll have to change her publishing schedule, and I know for a fact it’ll piss off a lot of readers.

“I can ask, but don’t get your hopes up,” I force the words past clenched teeth, bracing to lose a bit more self-respect. “He’s not the most easy-going person.”

“Okay, okay! I’m not getting my hopes up.” She beams, contradicting her words. “Please ask him.”

I’m too chicken shit to dial Logan’s number, so I shoot him a text, typing and re-typing the message three times before the words make sense.

Me: Hey. This is unusual, but I’m out of ideas and options, and my client is losing her mind. A model booked for a book cover photoshoot today didn’t show. I need a substitute: tall, toned, dark hair, dark eyes. Rings a bell? I’m too scared of Nico and Theo to ask, and the triplets are too young.

My heartbeat pulsates in my fingertips when I hit send, watching the screen. Logan reads the text within a few seconds as if he held the phone when my message arrived. Three dots start dancing, and a cold sweat makes my skin feel clammy.

Logan: If you want me, you need to ask nicely.

The nerve of him.

He didn’t bother to nicely ask me to leave his house. Jerk. I type out, forget it but catch a glimpse of puss-in-boots-eyed Aisha watching me as if I’m a Genie about to make her wish come true. I take a deep breath, shepherding the anger soaring through my veins, delete the line, and stuff my pride in my back pocket for now.

Me: Can you please take your shirt off in front of my camera today? You’ll need to sign release forms so the pictures can be used for the cover and marketing. Aisha’s paying good money for the shoot.

That’s probably not the way to convince Logan. He’s not short of cash by any definition.

Logan: What time do you want me there?

He’ll do it? Just like that? No questions?

A smug smile stretches my lips. I think I’m winning for the first time since I met him. He must feel at least a little bad about what happened if he’s ready to help.

Me: As soon as possible. I’m ready whenever.

Logan: I know you are, princess.

My stomach tightens in sync with a rush of heat prickling my cheeks. What the hell is he playing at? He said we’re done. He told me to memorize what it feels like when we’re in bed and use my imagination whenever I need to come—which I’ve done a shameful number of times during the past three weeks—because we won’t fuck again, but now his text reads like an innuendo.

Has he changed his mind?

I hope not. There’s no way I’ll give in to the asshole again after how worthless he made me feel.

Nope, that’s a lie.

I’m too weak, too defenseless in his presence to say no if he’d like to pick up where we left off.

“What’s the verdict?” Aisha asks, squirming in her seat. The tiny blue dress she wears struggles to keep her boobs in place.

“We’ve got a model. He’ll be here soon.”

She claps like a child, then lunges forward and wraps her arms around me, kissing my cheeks. “I owe you big time!”

Yes, she does, and one day I’ll knock on her door to collect the debt—thirty-six of her books, signed.

We spend forty minutes talking over the details for the nth time, but I can’t shake the idea I have in my head.

“Have you ever thought of including a couple on your covers?” I flip through the pages of one of the albums to show her what I have in mind. “I had an idea when you told me about the heroine.” I point at a picture of Luke, shirtless and glaring into the camera, his hand across the shoulders of a woman standing a foot to his left, facing him.

“Ooh, I like this,” she says. “We can think about it with the next book. Unless you have a friend who fits the heroine?”

“No, but you do. The cute blonde from the café.”

“Mia?!” She cocks a questioning eyebrow, then bursts out laughing when I nod. “No way. I mean, you’re right, she fits the heroine to an extent, but she’d never agree to be featured on the cover. She’s too shy for that.”

“No one would know it’s her. You can’t see the girl’s face in the picture.” I tap the photo again. “Just her back and hair.”

Aisha leans over the album, thinking for a moment before she shrugs. “Won’t hurt to ask, I guess.” She dials the number, sipping her coffee. “Hey, a question. I’m doing the cover shoot today. How would you feel about posing with the guy?” She pauses, listens to Mia, and rolls her eyes. “No one would know it’s you. Hold on.” She snaps a picture of the one in my album. “Check the message I sent. This is what we’re thinking.” Another pause, longer this time. Long enough that Aisha starts tapping her foot against the floor. “Please, I’ll drive you to Austin in September if you do this for me.”

It takes a bit of back and forth, but when Aisha bounces in her seat, smiling from ear to ear, I know Mia said yes. Before they finish talking, the door to the studio opens, and Logan walks in, no baseball cap on his head, hair damp. A gush of warm breeze breaches the studio, carrying the smell of his cologne across the room.

My knees turn weak, and every muscle in my body seizes. It’s so unfair that I melt into a puddle at his feet whenever I see him, yet he’s utterly unaffected by me.

Aisha cuts the call, eyes on the masterpiece of a man shedding his brown leather jacket. No jersey underneath, just a plain white t-shirt, damp around the collar where beads of water dripped from his hair, marking the fabric.

“Who would’ve guessed?” Aisha chuckles, but the sound is laced with a flirty undertone. “Welcome, Mr. Hayes.”

One eyebrow crooked higher than the other, he eyes her up. By the look of him, he’s having a hard time placing Aisha. “Yeah, sorry, honey, but you’ll have to remind me who you are.”

Aisha swats at the air, her smile intact. “You don’t know me, Logan, but this town is too small for anyone not to know the Hayes. I’ve seen you around. I’m Aisha Harlow.” She gets up on her four-inch heels and extends her hand, scrutinizing Logan like he’s a pair of shoes she wants to break in.

They shake hands, and finally, he looks at me. The pressure of his eyes roving over my body, the rich complexities of brown and gold flecks, and the way he holds a smile at bay has my heart singing. I’m not as sexy in a pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt as Aisha in the tiny dress, but his attention is on me, not her and damn if that doesn’t stroke my ego.

“Shit. I bet you don’t have a hairdresser on call, do you?” Aisha huffs, running her fingers through Logan’s hair. “That needs styling before the shoot.”

A pang of envy, like the swift kick of whiskey, burns my insides. Hands off, girl.

“I got you a model,” I say, careful not to let my voice betray that I want to remove her hand. “He can do his own hair.”

“Yeah, I bet, but I’ll take care of it myself today. I need to pick up Mia from college, so I’ll drop in at the store and get some products.” She grabs her bag and rushes out of the studio, showing me thumbs-up behind Logan’s back.

Why did I call him in here? Aisha’s beautiful, blonde, confident, and not an enemy of the Hayes clan. She’ll probably end up in Logan’s bed tonight.

I tip my head to one side, closing my eyes briefly to get the irrational emotions under control. If he wants to fuck her, there’s nothing I can do about it.

The atmosphere shifts the second Logan and I are alone, as if Aisha took most of the oxygen with her, and now the air is too thick to inhale. “Thank you for agreeing to help,” I say. I wish you wouldn’t. I point at the loveseat. “Sit down. We need to wait for the girl to arrive before we can start.”

He sits, the fresh, showered smell of his body now much closer and messing with my head.

“A girl?” he questions.

“Last minute addition,” I point at the album on the coffee table. “This is what we’re trying to recreate.”

He leans closer, studying the picture while I gather the cups and move to make coffee. Anything to busy my hands.

Logan follows. His tall frame crowds the small space when he leans against the doorframe, watching my every move like a hawk stalking his prey. The coffeemaker works at a snail’s pace, filling a tall cup with black coffee. On the flip side, the bitter aroma blocks the scent of Logan’s shower gel.

I shift from one foot to the other, aware of the dampness between my legs. I hate that my body betrays my mind. I hate that despite how deep Logan can cut, I’m turned on whenever I see him.

He pushes away from the wall and stands behind me, gripping the countertop on both sides of my waist. I feel the heat rolling off him, his chest hovering over my back. “Are you still mad, princess?” He dips his head, his warm breath on my neck.

“I wasn’t mad.”

I’m overcome with a sudden, hot rush—a sensation only Logan ignites. The vibration of his voice travels from his chest to mine when he moves closer, leaning into me, and I feel the outline of his erection pressing against my butt.

“Are you upset?”

“I… I don’t know why I expected you to be less of an asshole in the first place.” My voice is weak, the words almost a whisper when he places one hand on my stomach, spreading his fingers in a possessive manner. “You need to let me go, Logan.”

“Why?” he hums, his lips brushing against the soft spot where my shoulder and neck meet. “You don’t want me to let you go, Cass. Admit it.”

I shake my head no, but my eyes flutter closed when he traces open-mouthed kisses up to my ear, grazing the skin with his teeth. “We’re done,” I whisper, but tilt my head to the side, giving him better access. “Remember? You said it.”

“We never began, baby.” He moves the other hand to grip my hip, pressing himself into me harder. “We’ll never begin, but you’ve been good at keeping your mouth shut, and I can’t seem to shake you out of my system… I think I need to fuck you out.”

I’m not in control of my body when he’s this close. The cards are in his hands. He calls the shots. I’m a puppet, reacting to his touch and bending to his will, but I am, at least for a little while longer, in control of my mind.

“You think I’ll be your booty call after how you treated me last time?”

He moves one hand to my breast, kneading gently, tearing a soft gasp out of my lips before I can swallow it. My head falls back, resting against his shoulder.

“Yeah, I think you will,” he says, sounding pleased. The smug bastard. “What have you got to lose?”

My sanity.

Integrity.

Pride.

My heart.

My eyes roll back into my head when he pinches my nipple, building on the anticipation tingling between my legs.

“Say yes.” He spins me around, dark eyes on mine, one hand under my chin, fingers tilting my head, so I’ll look up. The other hand touches the button that fastens my jeans. He flips it open, slides the zipper, and shoves his hand under the fabric, touching my soaked panties. Applying just the right amount of pressure, he rubs small, perfect circles. “Always so ready for me,” he says, reminding me of what I told him three weeks ago. “You want to come, baby? Tell me to make you come.”

And once again, I’m unarmed. Helpless against the need thrumming around my entire body. “Yes.” I buck against him, pressing myself into his fingers. “Make me come.”

His lips crash onto mine, and he retreats his hand fast, yanking my jeans down to my mid-thighs. “We don’t have much time before Aisha comes back, so I choose.” He spins me back to face the coffeemaker, placing my hands on the counter. “Cock. You’ll come on my cock.”

The fabric of his jeans ruffles as he pushes his pants down and grips my hip with one hand, yanking my soaked panties to the side. He bends his knees, guiding his erection to my entrance. I expect a quick thrust, but Logan rubs the swollen head of his cock between my folds, the slick wetness aiding his work.

“Hold on,” he grinds out, wrapping one hand under my breasts, the other still on my hip as he fills me in one swift move. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

He feels amazing. Whenever he’s around, I’m calmer than I’ve ever been before. At ease. Composed. Happy despite our relationship being purely physical. The pent-up pressure that’s been building inside me since I last had him this close, gives way. I love when his hands wander my body while he slides in and out of me in a heated, unforgiving pace, lips on my neck or shoulder, his chest flush against my back.

I shouldn’t feel safe with Logan. I should run, hide, and not let him touch me because that man will be my death. He already owns my heart and body. It won’t take long before he claims my mind. Once I lose that, there’ll be no saving myself from the pain.

Logan Hayes will chew me up and spit me back out when he gets his fill.

And I can’t do a damn thing to stop him.