Read Online Waiting for the One by L.A. Fiore - Free Book Online Page B

she asks.
    “He’s that famous guy, an artist or something.”
    “A sculptor. We were just discussing him and his work. He’s a genius.”
    I have to take their word for it, since I have never seen a David Cambre sculpture.
    “He would feel at home here, all the inspiration and the solitude.” The woman hesitates a moment before she takes out a black-and-white photo of a man. My God, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen: short, spiky hair and a face that even Adonis would envy. But the eyes hold my attention—there’s an arrogance about them that is both wickedly sexy and oddly familiar.
    “Wait, isn’t he the one who modeled that line for Armani a few years back?” How could I forget that face or body? Not only was he splashed over all the fashion magazines but every tabloid wanted a piece of him. A bit of a playboy, that one. I think I taped one of his spreads on my wall for a time.
    “Yeah, have you seen him?”
    “Here, in Harrington? No. Believe me, if that man was here, we would know.”
    The woman’s shoulders slump, which I understand completely, before she slips the photo back in her bag. “That’s what I thought. Oh well. We’ll take the next round and then the check.”
    “Sure. Can I ask why you’re looking for him?"
    She regards me as if I’ve started to drool as I speak. “Well, he’s gorgeous, single, and aloof, and the combination is too great a challenge for us.”
    I’m tempted to point out that they are acting very much like stalkers—having tested my feet in the waters as a stalker that night at Logan’s house, I know what I’m talking about—but instead I smile despite my disgust. Poor David.
    A few hours later the door opens, and in walks Logan. I haven’t seen him in over a week and, I have to say, he is a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed him, my Bigfoot. His facial hair is shaggy again, which means that while he paints, he clearly doesn’t groom. He walks to his spot at the bar, catches my eye, and winks. Tommy is there to take his order and calls to me from down the bar, “Saffron, can you get Logan a Guinness?”
    “Sure thing.” I build the Guinness and bring it to him. He isn’t chatting with anyone. His focus is solely on me. After I place his beer down, he reaches for my hand to press a kiss in my palm.
    “I’ve missed you,” he whispers. My hand tingles where his lips touched.
    “I’ve missed you. How’s the painting?”
    “I finished it.”
    “That’s exciting. Are you happy with it?”
    “I am, but it’s the opinion of the one I painted it for that matters to me.”
    “Oh. Like a special order?”
    “Something like that. Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
    “Sure.”
    “I’ll pick you up around half past six?”
    “Okay.” Before we can continue our conversation someone calls an order to me.
    “I better get back to work. Enjoy your beer.”
    “I’ll enjoy watching you more.” In response, I nearly fumble over my own feet as I turn to walk down the bar, the sound of his chuckle following me.
    As I fix the drink, my thoughts remain on Logan. I love his grin and how the subtle movement of his lips transforms his face and causes that sparkle to flash in his emerald eyes. I love how he can do something as casual as glance at me from over the rim of his glass and it causes my pulse to soar. I love how incredibly sexy he looks in his flannel and faded jeans and how my name rolls off his tongue with that deep intonation that is so Logan. Standing there thinking about the man that stirs these reflections has me realizing that I am dangerously close to falling in love with him. The bottle of gin I’m holding slips from my fingers and crashes to the floor.
    “Ah hell.”
    “Saffron, are you all right?” Tommy’s at my side in an instant. “You’re as pale as a sheet.”
    It takes me a minute to find my voice because I’m still in mild shock. It’s too soon, I know very little about Logan, but my heart doesn’t seem to care.