Chapter8 The New Neighbour
983 Words
Lynn’s POV
Every stroke cuts through the pool with effortless grace, muscles shifting beneath sun-warmed skin.
When he surfaces near me, the sight punches the air right out of my lungs. Water runs down his chest in silver rivulets, tracing every ridge of his abs before pooling at his waist. His shoulders look sculpted by divine hands—broad, powerful, impossible to ignore.
Dark hair slicked back, ocean-blue eyes locking on me. A face too perfect for real life—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, mouth built for sin.
And then there’s his scent.
Clean rain, cedar, and something feral underneath—danger wrapped in silk. It hits me like a drug. My pulse jumps. My body knows him before my brain does.
"Sorry," he says, voice low and rough, like gravel smoothed by whiskey. "Didn’t know anyone else was up here."
Words. Right. I should probably say some. Except my brain is currently malfunctioning because—dear God—this man looks like temptation in human form.
He grips the pool’s edge and hauls himself out in one fluid motion, water cascading down a body that should come with a warning label. Every line, every flex of muscle, perfectly controlled.
“I’m Logan,” he says, running a hand through his wet hair.
For a second, I swear his eyes flash gold—bright, unnatural, gone before I can be sure.
“Your new neighbor, I’m guessing?”
“Lynn.” My voice sounds steady. Miraculously. “Just moved in today.”
“Welcome to paradise.” He grins, grabbing a towel but not actually using it, which means I’m still staring at him like an i***t. Every droplet of water clings to his skin like the universe is showing off.
Get it together, Lynn. You just escaped one monster. Don’t walk into another one with better abs.
But Logan isn’t just pretty. There’s something coiled in him—controlled danger, restrained power. The kind that doesn’t ask permission. The kind that makes you wonder what would happen if it ever let go.
“The view’s incredible,” I say, forcing myself to look at the sunset instead of his chest.
“Never gets old.” He drops into a lounge chair nearby, still gloriously shirtless. “You picked the right time to move in. Building’s quiet, weather’s perfect…”
“Quiet?”
“The other penthouse’s been empty for months. Previous tenant wasn’t exactly… a good neighbor.”
I smile. “Wild parties?”
“Among other things.” He chuckles, a low sound that does things to my spine. “Something tells me you’re not the redecorate-the-lobby-without-permission type.”
“Please. I’m more of a hide-with-takeout-and-trashy-TV kind of girl.”
“Now that,” he says, eyes glinting, “is a lifestyle I respect. Pro tip—the Chinese place downstairs delivers until midnight. Thai two blocks over has killer pad thai.”
“Good to know.” I tug my feet from the pool, hyperaware that I’m in a thin sundress while he’s sitting there practically glowing with male perfection.
“I was just finishing up,” he says, finally toweling off—slowly, too slowly. “But if you ever want company for dinner, I know all the best spots in the city.”
Was that an invitation? A flirtation? Both? My heart can’t seem to tell the difference anymore.
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Kind has nothing to do with it.” His grin is pure sin. “Beautiful woman moves in next door—what kind of man wouldn’t say hello?”
“Friends, then,” I say, though the heat in his eyes promises something far from platonic.
“Perfect.” He wraps the towel around his waist—tragically—and leans back, that lazy confidence radiating off him. “Fair warning though—I can’t cook to save my life. If this friendship involves food, I’m counting on you.”
"Are you fishing for a dinner invite?"
"Maybe." He smirks, completely unashamed. "Is it working?"
And damn it, it is. Despite everything—Charles's betrayal, Amy's lies, the wreckage of my old life—I feel a flicker of something I thought was dead. I'm smiling. For real.
"Maybe," I say. Then catch myself.
Because my heart is doing something genuinely alarming right now. Fast, insistent, the kind of rhythm that has no business existing after a day like today. I'm hyperaware of how close he's sitting, the easy way he holds himself, the fact that he is objectively, unfairly, almost offensively attractive — and that I am apparently not as dead inside as I'd hoped.
This is insane. I just left one disaster. I am not walking into another one, no matter how good the abs are.
"Actually—" I I tried to appear casual as I spoke. "I still have half my boxes to unpack. The bedroom looks like a moving truck exploded in it. I should really get back."
It's not entirely a lie. But the real reason is the way my pulse hasn't settled since he sat down, and that is absolutely none of his business.
Logan watches me stand up. Something shifts in his expression — just briefly, a flicker of something that might be disappointment, and gone. Then it smooths out.
He tilts his head slightly. That half-smile returns — quieter now, like he knows exactly why I'm leaving.
"Rain check," he says simply.
"Rain check," I agree, too quickly.
"You know where to find me."
"Right next door," I say.
"Exactly."
He steps toward the elevator, every movement smooth, predatory. At the last moment, he glances back. And there it is again—
That flash of gold in his eyes. Bright. Unmistakable.
"I'm glad you moved in, Lynn," he says, voice low, intimate. "Something tells me life just got a lot more interesting."
- Writer
