Forbidden Desire

Chapter 5: The smell of him

The scent hit me first—heady, bold, and warm, like cedarwood soaked in sun and sin. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. Logan. There was a certain way the air shifted when he entered a space, like it bent in his favor, folding around him like a well-trained lover.

I froze mid-step as the bell above the restaurant door chimed. It was a quiet morning, the lull between breakfast and lunch, and only two other customers were seated. The familiar scent wrapped around me, invading my space like a memory I hadn’t invited back.

Logan had this cologne, subtle but intoxicating, like leather, smoke, and the faintest hint of something forbidden. It wasn’t just the cologne—it was him. That natural musk, raw and masculine. The kind that lingered on your clothes and in your sheets. The kind that made you remember.

I turned, slowly.

There he was—dressed in a charcoal shirt rolled at the sleeves, veins on his forearms taut like he’d just come from the gym, dark jeans that hung low on his hips, and that damn smile that told you he knew he shouldn’t be smiling.

He leaned on the host stand, not saying a word. Just looking at me.

"You're early," I said, finally finding my voice, though it came out breathier than I intended.

He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd stop by and smell the coffee—and you."

God.

I swallowed hard and walked over to him, my apron rustling against my thighs. "What do you want, Logan?"

He leaned closer, lowering his voice so it was just between us. "I want you to let me in. Not just here." He tapped the countertop. "But in there." He pointed, dead center to my chest.

I laughed nervously, trying to defuse the storm building between us. "You're impossible."

"You like that about me."

He wasn’t wrong. And he knew it.

I led him to his usual seat in the corner booth, the one with the best view of the door—and of me. I brought his coffee without asking, black with a touch of cinnamon. I remembered.

As I turned to walk away, he said, "Sit with me."

"I’m working."

"Take a break. Five minutes. Come on. You owe me that much after ghosting me all week."

I sighed but sat, folding my hands in my lap. My heart was thudding against my ribcage, aching to betray me. The distance between us was too little for comfort, but too much for what my body wanted.

He looked at me like he could see through my clothes, through my thoughts. "You miss me?"

I scoffed. "Don’t flatter yourself."

He leaned closer. His breath was warm against my cheek, coffee-sweet and dangerous. "Then why are your thighs clenched like you’re trying to keep something in?"

I gasped, face heating. "Logan, you—"

"I see it, Emily. I feel it. You ache when I’m around. And you suffer when I’m not."

Goddamn him.

I stood abruptly, but he caught my wrist, gently. Not forcefully. Just enough to stop me.

"He doesn't touch you like I do, does he?"

I yanked my hand back. "Don’t do that. Don’t talk about Daniel."

He leaned back, studying me. "He doesn’t see you like I do. He loves the version of you that plays it safe. But I see the wild. The fire. The part of you that wants to be taken."

I was breathing harder now. My skin flushed. My body traitorous.

"I have to go," I said quickly and turned away.

But later, when my shift ended, he was still there.

It was raining lightly outside, the kind that made everything feel slow and cinematic. He stood under the awning, cigarette in hand, the rain misting around him like he belonged to another time.

I stepped out into the cool breeze, wrapping my sweater tighter around me.

"Need a ride?" he asked.

I should’ve said no. I wanted to say no. But I nodded instead.

We didn’t talk during the drive. His car smelled like him—earthy, spiced, and magnetic. Every inhale twisted something in my stomach.

He dropped me at my building, and I hesitated before opening the door.

"Come up. Just for coffee," I said before I could stop myself.

He stared at me. "Coffee, huh?"

I nodded.

He killed the engine.

Inside, the air was warm and quiet. I moved through the kitchen, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. Logan stood in the doorway, watching me like a man who knew exactly how this night would end.

I handed him a cup, but he set it aside.

"You know what I want, Emily. And it’s not coffee."

I trembled.

He stepped closer. "Tell me to stop."

I couldn’t.

His lips found mine, soft at first, then hungry. His hands were on my waist, then my hips, then tangled in my hair. The kiss was a storm, all-consuming. My back hit the wall, and I felt his body pressed fully against mine. I melted into him, every rational thought drowned in the scent of him, the feel of him.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and tangled, he said softly, "This is just the beginning."

And somehow, I knew he was right.