Chapter Thirty
James winced. “Any particular reason you’ve now got my hand in a death grip?”
His words made Fiona aware that she was doing it to both James and Logan, but Logan hadn’t mentioned it. Instead, he continued to look at her with that smug expression on his face.
Snatching her hands away, she then surreptitiously wiped her damp palms on her skirt. “S-sorry.” She offered no explanation. One wasn’t needed.
“So,” Logan said, his features now arranged into a look so wicked she half-expected horns to sprout from his head, “will you be joining us in our suite, Fiona? I believe we’ve got some unfinished business, don’t you?”
Emotions rushed through her at a rate of knots—and she couldn’t make sense of a single one. Christ. She gripped the edge of the table, then increased the press
