Logan

Logan

N. F. Coeur

161.5k Words / Completed
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Introduction

Pone mi pie en un asiento empotrado en la pared de la ducha y usa la mano que sostenía mi pierna para meter tres dedos en mi punto G. Pierdo la voz cuando se me corta el aire y se me doblan las rodillas. Nunca hubiera creído que podría esforzarme tanto antes de experimentarlo con este hombre. Quizá le mentí a Cora. Quizá sea un dios del sexo.

***

¡Logan ha encontrado de repente a su pareja predestinada! El único problema es que no sabe que los hombres lobo existen, o que técnicamente es su jefe. Lástima que nunca haya podido resistirse a lo prohibido. ¿Qué secreto debería contarle primero?
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About Author

N. F. Coeur

Chapter 1

—Emory—

Beep, beep, beep, beep… Beep, beep, beep, beep… Beep, beep, beep, beep. Apreté el botón de "descartar" en mi teléfono para terminar con la tortura auditiva. La mayoría de las personas configuran su alarma matutina con algún tipo de música preestablecida que pueda despertarlos suavemente. Yo, tengo que tener el ruido más molesto para levantarme a tiempo o simplemente termino soñando con ascensores.

No quiero levantarme de la cama. Es acogedora y cálida, por un lado. Por otro lado, ayer hice ejercicio con una resaca y hoy lo estoy sintiendo. Cuando digo "sintiéndolo", quiero decir que estaba a tres analgésicos de poder levantarme del inodoro. ¡Pero no voy a fallar! No puedo ser esa persona que pierde sus resoluciones de Año Nuevo en el maldito día tres. Miro el reloj—mierda, ya son las 7:15 AM—y rápidamente reviso mi plan para la mañana.

Por mucho que quiera llamar y decir que estoy enferma, necesito este trabajo. Lo necesito como necesito comer. Bueno, lo necesito porque necesito comer. Sabía que no era lo mejor obtener un título en diseño de interiores, pero me encantaban todas las texturas y colores divertidos, y poder transformar un espacio es posiblemente mi sensación favorita en el mundo. No estoy segura de cuántos años tenía cuando me di cuenta, pero desde que tengo memoria me ha encantado cambiar y reorganizar espacios. Dicho esto, sabía desde el principio que los trabajos no crecían en los árboles... al menos no de este tipo. Así que cuando finalmente, finalmente me contrataron en el ala de diseño de Úlfur Industries, supe que tenía que sobresalir o mejor cambiarme el nombre a McBoned.

Fue mi determinación de ser la mejor lo que impulsó la lista de resoluciones demasiado ambiciosas de este año: ser la mejor en mi trabajo, encontrarme un novio que me guste más que una noche tranquila a solas, y perder 7 kilos. Con suerte, solo dos de estas serían imposibles. En mi determinación de tenerlo todo, decido que simplemente caminaré en lugar de tomar un taxi, y usaré las escaleras en lugar del ascensor en el trabajo. Trabajo en el octavo piso, así que me siento bastante confiada en contar las escaleras como mi ejercicio. ¡Cinco veces a la semana, bebé! El 3 de enero, llego al trabajo con mi nuevo plan de ejercicios, empiezo mi jornada con el primer paso.

Nueve cuadras de la ciudad—con un abrigo pesado, ropa de negocios casual y un par de zapatos Louboutin, nada menos—y cinco pisos después, soy un desastre rojo y sudoroso y voy a llegar tarde al trabajo. Me he resignado completamente a este hecho. Me estoy arrastrando por las escaleras agarrándome de la barandilla en una resistencia simbólica a encontrar un ascensor y no creo que dure mucho más. También me he resignado a la vergüenza de ser alcanzada y superada por el hombre más en forma que he visto en persona. En serio, parece un modelo anatómico de un libro de texto, pero con una mandíbula cincelada y cabello oscuro y ondulado y, oh Dios, piel naturalmente morena que tiene ese delicioso bronceado todo el año. No es que realmente lo note acercándose detrás de mí porque mi visión se está estrechando. Tal vez es un ángel, aquí para decirme que mi corazón explotó y que no voy a ir al infierno, después de todo. Tal vez debería acostarme aquí y aceptar mi vida después de la muerte. Tal vez el ángel me llevará al cielo y podré apoyar mi cabeza en su enorme hombro y ver si huele celestial también. Deslizo mi trasero al suelo de concreto de la escalera en total aceptación. Estoy lista.

—Logan—

No sé cuánto más puedo caminar detrás de esta mujer sin volverme loco. Normalmente, corro duro por los quince tramos de estas escaleras solo para quemar la energía extra suficiente para pasar un día en mi escritorio. Esto fue después de correr desde mi condominio y eso fue después de una rápida carrera en el parque cercano en mi forma de lobo a las 5 a.m. Cuanto más puedo ponerme a prueba, mejor control tengo sobre mi lobo. Después de todos estos años solo, se está volviendo menos como un lobo en temperamento y más como un husky siberiano: bonito de ver, pero nervioso, hablador y propenso a destruir todo sin una gestión cuidadosa.

Mientras me irrito tanto con el ritmo que siento que me salen ronchas, sigo notando los... atributos de mi obstrucción. Tiene un brillo agradable en la piel, presumiblemente por el ejercicio. Debe no saber cómo dosificarse para el cardio. Ese brillo ilumina incluso el escote que muestra su blusa. Obviamente, ha pasado demasiado tiempo para mí si no puedo dejar de notar. Es un alivio cuando finalmente se detiene para apoyarse y recuperar el aliento, así puedo dejar de mirarle el trasero. Estoy seguro de que tengo alguna regla registrada con Recursos Humanos contra sentirme así por alguien en este edificio; con suerte, ella no nota hacia dónde ha ido mi mente.

Tratando de recuperar mi ecuanimidad, me quedo parado como un idiota por un momento antes de pensar en ofrecerle una mano para levantarse. Me aclaro la garganta para intentar llamar su atención, o al menos hacer que abra los ojos. Espero que no se haya desmayado. No estoy seguro de poder manejar ese tipo de emoción hoy con cómo está actuando mi lobo en este momento.

—Emory—

Después de un minuto, me doy cuenta de que no estoy muerta. Ojalá lo estuviera, porque el Sr. Anatomía solo parece un ángel y me está mirando como si estuviera a dos segundos de llamar a una ambulancia. No puedo permitirme eso, ni en mi billetera ni en mi orgullo. Intentando pensar rápido, digo:

—¿Puedo ayudarte?

La única respuesta es una ceja levantada, porque ¿qué demonios significa eso?

—¿Puedo... ayudarte? ¿Estás bien?

No. No lo estoy. Ojalá pudiera derretirme en el suelo, a través de los cimientos del edificio, el centro de la Tierra y salir por el otro lado a un lugar donde nadie me haya conocido antes y pueda desaparecer. Para siempre.

—Sí, estoy bien. Solo tomándome un minuto. Estaba corriendo las escaleras durante una hora o dos antes del trabajo y supongo que me excedí. Reduciré el cardio en el futuro.

Eso era creíble, ¿verdad? Me sonó creíble.

—Imagino que normalmente no harías cardio con una blusa o tacones. ¿Quizás estás acostumbrada a hacer ejercicio con ropa más adecuada y subestimaste la diferencia que harían?

Dios, eso era mucho más creíble que lo que dije. No quiero confirmar ni negar, así que solo digo algo como:

—¡Probablemente!

El Sr. Anatomía—probablemente debería averiguar su nombre pronto antes de que se me escape en una conversación—me sonríe con escepticismo y hace un leve gruñido antes de extender una mano para ayudarme a levantarme.

—¿Si estás lista? Probablemente deberíamos llegar a nuestros escritorios.

Mierda, estoy tan tarde. Esta no es la manera de ser la mejor en mi trabajo. Agarro su mano e intento ignorar lo bien que se siente en la mía. Hay una especie de... reconocimiento, casi. Como si nuestras manos pertenecieran juntas, casándose en una iglesia de manos y teniendo bebés de manos y envejeciendo juntas con manchas y arrugas, pero eso es una locura.

Mi mente está divagando de nuevo, así que vuelvo a concentrarme justo a tiempo para ver los ojos oscuros del Sr. Anatomía abrirse y sus fosas nasales ensancharse, como si acabara de oler la playa, o tal vez galletas de chispas de chocolate recién salidas del horno, mientras está parado en medio de un basurero. Parecía que pensaba que yo era un fantasma y lo sorprendí al ser corpórea. Nunca me han confundido con algo más que robusta antes; no es que sea pesada, pero podría perder unos siete kilos. Bueno, veinte. Añade eso a mi cabello rojo ondulado y mi inclinación por los tacones a pesar de medir 1.73 metros y todo asegura que nunca me he desvanecido en el fondo, no importa cuánto quiera a veces. ¿Quizás fue mi perfume? O, más embarazosamente, ¿mis manos sudorosas? Desafortunadamente, solo se ponen más sudorosas mientras me levanta y me doy cuenta de que sigue siendo más alto que yo con mis tacones de tres pulgadas.

Para intentar distraerlo del posible nivel de sudor en mi piel, aprovecho el momento para presentarme.

—Soy Emory, por cierto. Gracias por la mano.

Recibo un parpadeo lento antes de que responda:

—Logan. Cuando quieras.

Y camina alrededor de mí para subir las escaleras corriendo. Bueno, la forma en que se movía parecía un trote, pero era mucho más rápido de lo que yo podría haber logrado, incluso antes de mis "horas de cardio en tacones". No puedo creer que intenté hacerme pasar por algo tan estúpido. Probablemente quería salir de la escalera y llegar a su escritorio antes de contagiarse de mi locura. Ahora que me han levantado, hago los últimos tres tramos impulsada solo por la mortificación.

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