Taming the Playboy Read Online Flora Ferrari

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“I wanted to give you this too,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “I know I’ve asked before, but the big man’s giving a speech at next week’s meeting. I thought maybe you might be interested.”

I take the card and study it. It shows the time and address of a community center, with added information that Logan Locke will be giving a speech about his charity, their work, and how to move on after a catastrophe.

There’s a small photo of Logan on one side. I find myself wanting to stare at it, to disappear into it, but I don’t let myself.

Not here.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “I’ll try to make it.”

He offers his hand. “I’m sorry this happened, Miss Jacobs, but I am relieved we were able to see justice done. I hope to see you at the support group next week.”

“Thank you.” We shake hands. “I couldn’t have done this without you. You’ve done amazing work.”

He nods and walks down the steps.

I can feel Jane staring at me. When I look at her, I’m right, and she’s got a playful smile on her lips. She wipes it away when she sees me looking. I can see her thinking, Not the time and place for jokes, Jane Lane.

“What?” I ask as we walk down the steps.

I’m still itching to look at that photo of Logan, though it would be absolutely freaking pointless.

I could open any tabloid newspaper or go to any celebrity gossip site and find dozens of photos of him.

“Nothing,” Jane says innocently.

I could find photos of him spilling out of bars with a woman on each arm or posing at some celebrity function with a supermodel at his side. He always has a somber cast to his eyes, that pain speaking to his story and his reason for starting the charity.

My insides shiver, and not with sadness, when I think about Logan Locke, the way he is now, at forty-one years old, not the black-haired machine he was on the football field.

I think of silver hair, his haunted brown eyes, his clean-shaven face, and his massive muscular body, the way he always seems ready to erupt out of whatever outfit he’s wearing.

I hear his voice, remembered from interviews, and can’t help but imagine him saying things he’d never say to me in real life.

I want you all to myself. I need you.

I don’t want anybody else.

But that’s not true.

Logan Locke is a playboy, not my dream man, even if I can’t stop dreaming about him.

“I was just thinking,” Jane says as we walk toward the parking lot, the afternoon sun blazing down. “It’s a chance to get some eyes on your prize.”

I laugh sarcastically. “Oh yeah. I’m going to march right into that support group and woo the playboy. That’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

“Never say never,” Jane teases lightly, climbing into the car.

I get into the passenger seat, glad I don’t have to drive.

“Are you okay?” Jane asks, reaching over and gently touching my shoulder.

“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I keep trying to think what I’d say if this happened to one of my patients. You know, when I go back to college and get my butt in gear, I can even have patients one day.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s only been eight months.”

I sigh. “But still.”

“So, what would you say?” Jane asks.

I lean back, clasping my hands tightly, staring out the window as cars pull out and park. “I’d tell them to go to the support group, to make positive steps to stop feeling so…so dead. Like emotionally dead. Like so numb it doesn’t even make sense.”

I humorlessly laugh as I reach up, pawing more tears from my cheeks.

“How can I feel so empty inside and still cry, Jane?”

She gives my shoulder another squeeze. “You’re doing great. I want you to know that. You’ve been through a lot.”

I nod, wishing I could pull myself out of whatever funk this is.

“I think I might go next week,” I tell her.

“Yeah?” Jane says as she starts the car.

I want to see him, even if I know it can never happen. I want to see Logan in the flesh and wait for his intense gaze to rest on me. I can only hope and dream he feels something even close to the want raging through me.

It's been burning, calling, captivating me ever since I learned who he was, back when Joel hit Dad and then drove away.

Logan Locke, an ex-football star, is now in charge of the Never Alone charity, which specializes in hit-and-runs.

I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, my eyes stinging from grief, staring at Logan’s photo and imagining myself sinking into his arms.

And then came the google searches – the tabloids, the endless photos of him with other women. Women who are tall and athletic, wearing designer clothes, who are effortlessly gorgeous.


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