8. Sierra

8

SIERRA

I scan the crowd streaming out of LAX, nerves and excitement swirling inside me. Where is he? The tinted windows of the SUV shield me from prying eyes, but I still feel exposed. I drum my fingers on my knees, impatient.

Then I spot him. Seeing him, my heart hiccups. Logan looks a bit lost, his rugged appearance out of place among the rest of the crowd. His eyes search his surroundings as he looks for me.

"There," I point, leaning forward. "The guy in the flannel shirt."

My driver nods and eases the SUV forward. Logan is still looking around, his brow furrowed. God, he's so handsome.

The SUV pulls up beside him. I open the door and his eyes light up when he sees me. Relief washes over his face.

"Sierra," he breathes, climbing in.

Before I can speak, his hands cup my face. His lips meet mine in a kiss that makes me want to cry with happiness. I melt into him, savoring his familiar scent of hay and sunshine and something uniquely Logan.

"Hi," I say giddily when we break apart. I'm grinning like an idiot but I don't care a bit.

"Hey, you," he says, his blue eyes shining. "It's so good to see you."

My driver's voice breaks our bubble. "Back to your place, Miss Adams?"

"Yes, please," I call out, keeping my focus on Logan. I can't stop smiling.

He's here. Finally. He's really here.

The LA traffic crawls on our drive back to my house, but I don't mind. With Logan by my side, nothing else matters. Logan tells me about the latest happenings at the ranch, and at his insistence, I fill him in on the whirlwind of performances and interviews I've had since I left Montana. His hand rests on my knee, a comforting weight that grounds me.

As we pull up to my house, I watch Logan's eyes widen. He lets out a low whistle, taking in the sleek modern architecture and manicured landscaping. Then he shakes his head, chuckling.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing. I don't know why I'm surprised. Of course you've got a place like this."

I bite my lip, suddenly nervous as I lead him inside. The entryway feels cavernous, and I'm hyperaware of how different this is from his cozy ranch house back in Eagle Falls.

"So, um, this is it," I say, gesturing awkwardly. "I know it's a lot."

Logan's eyes roam over the high ceilings and designer furniture. For a moment, I'm terrified he'll feel uncomfortable here. But then he turns to me with a warm smile.

"It's beautiful, Sierra. I'm glad you've treated yourself to a place like this. You deserve it."

Relief washes over me. "Thank you."

He hefts his duffel bag. "So, where should I put my things?"

I lead Logan up the stairs, my heart fluttering. "This way," I say, pushing open the door to my bedroom.

He steps inside, taking in the space. It's as modern and sleek as the rest of the house, but there are plenty of personal touches, too. Logan's eyes land on a small, framed photo on my nightstand.

"Is that...?" he asks, moving closer and picking it up.

I nod, warmth spreading through my chest. "Yeah, that's us at the Harvest Festival when we were still in high school."

Logan's fingers trace the edge of the frame. "I love this photo."

"I love it, too," I say softly.

Carefully setting down the framed photo, Logan turns to me. "So, what's the plan while I'm here? I bet you've got a whole itinerary."

I laugh. "Well, if you want, we can hit some of the touristy spots. The Hollywood Sign, Venice Beach, maybe a studio tour. But we don't have to do any of that if you're not into it. We can just hang out here too."

Logan's eyes grow warmer as he steps closer to me. "I'm thinking I'd like to spend a lot of time right here in this room."

My heartbeat quickens as he pulls me against him. "Yeah?"

His lips brush my ear. "Mmhmm. If that's all right with you."

I close my eyes, savoring the warmth of the kiss he presses to my neck. "It's more than all right, cowboy," I murmur, desire shimmering through me.

Logan and I spend the first twenty-four hours of his visit holed up in my bedroom, making up for lost time. It's intoxicating to have him here in person instead of just a voice on the phone. I savor the weight of his body on mine, the taste of his skin, the way he growls my name as he drives into me.

When we finally emerge, disheveled and starving, I suggest we head to one of my favorite spots for dinner. It's a tiny Italian place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of LA, where the owners know me and respect my privacy.

Forty minutes later, we're sliding into a cozy booth at the restaurant. Logan looks adorably out of place in his flannel shirt, but he doesn't seem to notice or care, and I love that about him.

"What's good here?" he asks, scanning the menu.

I lean in, pointing out my favorites. "The gnocchi is to die for. Oh, and you have to try their tiramisu."

We order, and then we fall into easy conversation. It feels so natural, like we're picking up right where we left off when we were in Eagle Falls. The ease of it all gives me hope that this really could work out after all.

Logan is in the middle of telling me about his and his dad's spring plans for the ranch when I notice movement outside the window. My stomach drops when I see a man with a camera crouched behind a parked car, his lens pointed directly at us.

"Sierra?" Logan says. "You okay?"

I force a smile, trying to act normal. "It's nothing. There's just a paparazzo outside."

Logan's eyes flick to the window, his brows dipping as he spots the photographer. His jaw tightens, and his whole expression turns protective.

"What do you want to do about it?" he asks, voice low and controlled.

I sigh. "It's best to just ignore them. Hopefully he'll get bored and leave."

I try to steer our conversation back to what we were talking about before. But I can feel the pap's lens on us, intruding on our private moment. And Logan's responses become shorter, his eyes darting to the window more frequently. He can tell I'm annoyed, despite my attempts to hide it.

Suddenly, Logan stands up.

"What are you doing?" I ask, alarmed.

"I'll be right back," he says gruffly, striding toward the exit.

My heart races as I watch him approach the paparazzo. What is he thinking? These guys never back down, no matter how much you ask. I've tried reasoning with them before, but they always insist they have a right to be there.

Outside, Logan towers over the photographer. I can't hear what he's saying, but his body language is calm yet assertive. To my utter amazement, after a brief exchange, the paparazzo actually retreats. He packs up his camera and walks away, just like that.

I stare, open-mouthed, as Logan returns to our table. He slides back into his seat like nothing happened.

"How did you do that?" I ask, incredulous. "They never leave when I ask them to."

"I just told him the truth. That he was ruining a special moment for two people who don't get to see each other often. Asked him how he'd feel if someone did that to him."

I blink, surprised by the simplicity of it. "And that worked?"

He shrugs. "Guess so. Maybe he just needed a reminder that we're all human."

"Well, that settles it," I say, shaking my head. "I'm never letting you go back to Montana. I need you here full-time to chase away the paparazzi."

Logan laughs. "I don't think the horses would appreciate that very much."

We finish our meal, savoring both the food and the renewed privacy. As we head back to my place, Logan leans forward to speak to my driver.

"Mind if we make a quick stop?"

I raise an eyebrow at Logan, but he doesn't give anything away. A few minutes later, he hops out of the SUV, leaving me curious and slightly confused. When he returns, he's holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

"What's this?" I ask, taking them from him. Their sweet scent fills the car.

"I wanted to have flowers for you when I first saw you," he says. "But the airport was so overwhelming, I didn't get a chance. Better late than never, right?"

"They're beautiful," I say quietly, touched. "Thank you."

We arrive at my house, and I can barely wait for the car to stop before I'm pulling Logan inside. The moment the door closes behind us, I drop the flowers on my kitchen counter and throw my arms around Logan's neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

Logan's muscular arms wrap around me, and we stumble backward, not breaking the kiss as my back hits the wall. His hands roam my curves as I start unbuttoning his flannel shirt.

Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the intensity and depth of my feelings for him. Breathlessly, I pull back just a little so I can look him in the eyes. Logan's eyes are dark with desire, but there's a softness there, too.

"I love you, Logan," I whisper.

A smile spreads across his ruggedly handsome face.

"I love you too," he says, his voice husky with emotion. "Sierra, I never stopped loving you."

Tears prick at my eyes as I pull him in for another kiss. When our lips meet, it feels like everything in the world has finally clicked into place.