But here he was, staring up at the sloping ceiling above the loft bed, eyes dry and burning and sleep nowhere on the horizon. The silence of the empty cottage pressed in on him like a weight. And his preferred methods for shutting off his brain long enough to get to sleep—sex and alcohol—were unavailable for the moment. Frustration at his inability to conquer his own body, to simply give in and let sleep knock him unconscious, seethed through his veins like an unscratchable itch. To distract himself, he considered the most enticing dilemma he’d faced in quite some time. What question should he ask of the elusive, mysterious, impenetrably professional Jessica Bell? He considered what he knew of her already. Over the years since she first appeared in his lab and laughed at him when he ordered her to stop tidying and get out, Logan had discovered shockingly little about what made his personal assistant tick—other than her dedication to efficiency and competence.
