“Easy for you to say.”
“It is, yes.”
How was it that he managed to defuse her anxiety so easily? She shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It’s just going to take a bit of getting used to for me.”
The doors opened on the fourty-fourth floor, and they stepped out. Brontë glanced down the hall, surprised to see only one set of doors. “Is this your apartment?”
“It’s the only one on this floor.” He moved forward and slid an electronic key out of his wallet, pushing it into the lock.
“You have an entire floor? For one person?”
He chuckled. “Would you prefer I had a studio?”
“Studios are cozy,” she pointed out, uncomfortable. Why did one person need an entire floor?
“I prefer more living space. A studio doesn’t exactly set the right image for a billionaire.” The door opened with a click, and he gestured for her to enter.
She did, a bit stunned at her surroundings. She knew Logan had money. Lots and lots of money. But it was hard to visualize that. Even the jet, as ridiculous as it had been, hadn’t really made things sink in for her. Walking into his apartment, though, she realized just how much of a strange world she was entering. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before.
For one, it was enormous. Wasn’t the joke that apartments in New York City were the size of closets? This man’s living room was three times the size of her Kansas City apartment. Brontë stared around her in awe. His entire apartment was a showplace. He had vaulted ceilings, delicate crown molding accenting a chandelier in the center of the room. Across from where she stood, the entire south side of his apartment was nothing but windows looking out on the city. In between her and the windows, designer couches were strategically placed on plush Persian rugs over the most gorgeous oak floor she’d ever seen. Nearby he had a fireplace with a marble mantel, and over it was a painting she was pretty sure should have been in a museum somewhere.
She turned to look back at Logan, who was casually tossing his keys and wallet onto a small nearby table. “This is where you live?”
That charming half smile that made her insides melt slid across his face again as he turned to look at her. “When I’m in the city, yes.”
Which was a totally vague nonanswer that she could have asked a million more questions about. But she didn’t, since that seemed nosy. “How many rooms is this place?”
He shrugged. “I don’t recall. Four guest bedrooms? Five?”
“Naturally,” she teased. “Every bachelor needs at least five guest bedrooms.”
Logan moved forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her against him. “Are you uncomfortable?”
“I’ll be fine,” she lied. Since he was good at evading, she supposed she could be, too. “How long will you be gone?”
He glanced down at his watch. “Three hours, depending on traffic, of course. If you need anything, dial nine on the phone. That’ll forward your call to my assistant, and she can get you anything you need.”
“Gotcha.”
“What do you want for dinner? I’ll make reservations.”
She had no clue. Brontë had never been to New York City in her life, so she had no idea what was in the area. “You pick.”
He nodded and then glanced at his watch one more time. “I should go so I’m not late.” He hesitated again, watching her.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, straightening his jacket. “Seriously. It’ll probably take me three hours to figure out how to work the remote on your TV. Or discover where the TV is. You’ll be back before I know it.”
“If you need anything, call,” he said, then leaned in for a kiss. “Or if you’re thinking of me, call. Actually, think of me anyhow. I know I’m not going to be able to take my mind off of you here in my home, waiting for me.”
This was the part of Logan that she’d never be tired of. His lips met hers, the kiss starting out featherlight and sweet. His tongue brushed over the seam of her mouth, requesting entrance, and she opened for him. He swept into her mouth with a possessiveness that made her knees weak, and when they finally broke the kiss, she was dazed, and bitterly regretting that he had a meeting.
Logan gave her one last kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”
When he let go of her, she staggered, her legs wobbly. “I’ll be here.” She gave him a small wave as he left, and when the door shut, she sighed and stared around her like she’d been dropped on another planet.
But since she was alone, she decided to explore and count rooms. Sure enough, there were five bedrooms, six bathrooms, a game room with a pool table, a patio with trees and grass on it overlooking the city, a media room, and a study. She stopped in the study, delighted and wondering what kinds of books a billionaire would have. Of course, she was disappointed to find that the too-uniform books lining his shelves were nothing more than false fronts. Either he’d had a decorator just fill in the room with whatever or Logan didn’t read at all.
The bathrooms were exciting, though. The master bathroom had a sunken marble tub with jets that she was dying to try out, and a glass-walled shower. It was also lined with windows, and overlooked a distant Central Park. She wanted to see the park, but not today.
After wandering around Logan’s ridiculous apartment, she was a little bored. She would’ve liked to sit out on the patio for a time with a good book, but there weren’t any in the apartment. So she headed to the media room instead. Logan had a desk and a laptop set up in the corner, and she was tempted to play around with it, but she avoided it. Computers were personal. Instead, she sat in one of the enormous leather chairs and tried to figure out which of the six remotes on a nearby table turned the TV on.
When she gave up on that, she returned to the master bedroom and examined it. The bed was neatly made and a pair of Logan’s shoes tucked under one side of the bed. Either Logan was a very neat person or he had a maid come in and clean house. She suspected the latter. Unable to resist being nosy, she opened his closet and examined his clothing. Row upon row of suits on dry cleaning hangers hung before her, each one with a more impressive label than the last. Armani. Versace, Domenico Vacca, and others she’d never heard of but was pretty sure were equally pricey.
Yeah. His socks probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. A little disturbed by that, she took off her shoes and lay on the bed. It seemed like the only safe thing to touch at the moment.