Ms. Starr’s Most Inconvenient Change of Heart (A Raven's Run Romantic Mystery Book 1)

by Dorothy St. James

  My hands crossed the six-pack that was his abs and a sigh escaped my lips. No man should be this sculpted. It wasn’t fair to the rest of humanity.

  I touched the top button of his jeans. That was it. I’d searched everywhere that was decent to search. “There’s nothing here. I’m sorry.”

  Logan gave a tight nod. “We’ve looked from the neck down,” he said. “There’s nowhere else to go but...farther down. But if you don’t think you can—”

  “No.” We’re friends, just friends. “There’s no need to stop. I will—”

  The rest of my words got stuck in my throat as he unbuttoned his jeans. Slowly. One button at a time.

  It might have been my imagination, but his smoldering gaze seemed to issue a challenge as he stepped out of his jeans.

  Boxers. Thank goodness he wore boxers.

  They were like shorts, right. Silky black shorts with red lips printed all over them. Really, Logan? These are the kind of boxers you wear?

  “Start here.” He placed my hand on his upper thigh.

  My face felt as if it had caught fire.

  I meant to say something funny, or sarcastic. I needed to say something, anything to break the tension that had made the air so stiff it was nearly impossible to breathe.

  I parted my lips, but nothing came out except a little squeak.

  Perhaps if I closed my eyes...

  I brushed over something hard and, well, it was far too large to be the tracker.

  I jerked my hand away and opened my eyes. Logan chuckled.

  Is he enjoying this?

  No, the tight way he’d pressed his lips together and squinted his eyes didn’t look like an expression of enjoyment. He looked intense. Like a man on a mission. Like a man expecting to get what he wanted out of life.

  “Sorry,” I croaked and then quickly cleared my throat.

  “No problem.” The corners of his mouth lifted a bit. “Touch wherever you need to.”

  Did his voice sound extra husky?

  What would it matter if it did? Swearing to keep my eyes open from here on out I ran my hand over his thigh and down to his knee. That was safe territory, wasn’t it?

  After some mental pep talks that I could remain cold and clinical while touching what had to be the sexiest man alive, I moved my hand over to his left knee and worked my fingers up and up toward the place I shouldn’t even notice on a man who wasn’t my fiancé.

  I made it as far as his left thigh and stopped.

  Had someone turned on the heater? I wiped my hand over my slightly sweaty brow before getting back to the task at hand.

  That’s when I pressed an area close to his crotch.

  And stopped.

  “Um...Sam,” Logan croaked. Yep, there was no mistaking what I’d heard. It was clearly a husky croak that came out of his sexy mouth. “Y-you’re killing me.”

  “I feel something.”

  “Baby, you’re going to feel a whole lot more than that in a moment if you don’t move your hand. There’s only so much self-control a man can have.”

  “No, I’m not teasing you.” I pressed on the area again. There was definitely something under the skin. It was shaped kind of like the tip of a knitting needle. “The tracker.”

  “Show me.”

  I took his hand and pressed one of his callused fingers to the spot I’d found.

  “Son of a bitch. How did I miss that?”

  Chapter 21

  “Well...thanks for finding the tracker. I’ll take care of it.” Logan hoped he sounded professional, unemotional, when he felt anything but.

  If Sam hadn’t been engaged to be married in barely a week’s time, he would have swooped her up in his arms and dropped her onto that bed behind them. When she’d accidentally brushed against his cock, it had taken all his willpower not to let it show just how much he’d enjoyed and craved for her to touch him some more.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  Leaving her alone was for the best.

  He stared at the bedroom’s mauve-colored carpeting that hadn’t been new since the late eighties as he pulled on his pants and then his shirt.

  If he looked at Sam while still barely dressed, he didn’t know what foolish thing he might do. As soon as he’d gotten his clothes back where they were supposed to be, he braved a peek in her direction.

  “What are you going to do?” Sam’s soft brown eyes were big and round. She reached for him. Perhaps to comfort him. He sidestepped away from her like a skittish colt. If she touched him, he might lose it and try to seduce her.

  A man only had so much self-control. And his had already been pushed well past its breaking point.

  “I’ll cut it out and destroy it.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. “How?”

  “With a knife.”

  “By yourself? That doesn’t sound safe. What if you cut an artery and start to bleed to death?”

  “I’ll give a shout if that happens, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay.” She moved closer. “You could bleed out before—”

  “No!” He held up his hands hoping to ward her off. “I don’t need your help.”

  She doggedly ignored his efforts to keep his distance. She’d moved so close her sexy sweet scent wrapped around him like a drugging embrace. She placed her hand on his arm. “Don’t be silly, Logan. You asked for my help, and I told you I’d give it. Now let’s get that tracker out of you...and we’ll do it safely.”

  The thought of undressing in front of her and not acting on the stirrings that had made his blood feel like hot lava in his veins almost made his head explode. He couldn’t do it. Not without compromising his sense of honor or the mission.

  Without Rafe around to watch Logan’s back, he had to work even harder to keep his head in the mission. At. All. Times.

  “Look, Sam.” He grabbed her shoulders and set her away from him. For that act of will alone, he deserved a medal. “I’m attracted to you. If you weren’t engaged to someone else, I would gladly welcome your help in more ways than just cutting a tracker out of my leg. But I respect—” No, respect didn’t explain it right. Respect sounded too formal. Respect didn’t honor the history they had together. Respect didn’t cover how having her in his life, even for a short time, had given him hope and something to live for. “I like you far too much to let things get any more out of hand than they already have.”

  And with that, he squared his shoulders and then walked out the door. He even managed to close the door to Sam’s bedroom calmly behind him.

  Walking away from her had to have been one of the most painful things he’d ever done. And that was saying something considering how he’d been to hell and back several times in his troubled life.

  I STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of the room, clutching my hands to my throat. Logan was attracted to me? And he liked me too much to act on that attraction?

  If that were true, there had to be something seriously wrong with the guy. Not that I didn’t believe he was an honorable man. It was the other part—the finding me attractive part—that had me questioning his judgment. I wasn’t wearing makeup. My clothes were nothing more than baggy sacks of cheap cotton material. And my hair wasn’t even done up right.

  Perhaps he was attracted to me before I’d taken off the expensive dress and the perfectly made-up face.

  But I was too skinny.

  How in the world could he be attracted to that?

  Frankly, I didn’t look healthy.

  In some ways, I wasn’t healthy. I had to live with my heart transplant and the complications that came with it for the rest of my life. The specter of needing a new heart when my body rejected this one would never go away. And there was more than a good chance I wouldn’t live a long life.

  Luckily for me, George cared only about image. What he wanted was the perfect picture portrayed in movies and on TV—the skinny wife, the perfectly coiffed, perfectly dressed, and made-up wife who’d hang on the arm of her successful husband.
I’d play the part of his perfect mate and in turn he’d become even more successful.

  He’d get the partnership he’d worked so hard to achieve at the investment firm, because only associates with wives were ever promoted to partner. And my mother would get a cushy retirement and the cottage on the Jersey shore she’s been dreaming she could one day afford.

  Everyone would win.

  I was happy with the situation. Thrilled, really. So why did Logan’s confession that he’d found me attractive knock me for a loop?

  After some hard thinking, I realized it had upset me because Logan didn’t strike me as a superficial guy. His attraction for me had left me feeling confused and a little angry at him for it. He was just the opposite of George with his lack of regard for appropriate clothing and the way he cared about this junky lake cabin as if it were a palace.

  George would never tell anyone if one of his relatives owned a place like this and he certainly wouldn’t admit to having spent summers during his childhood in a cabin that was close to falling down around his ears.

  Private schools. Nationally-respected sporting clubs. International vacations. Those were the stories he liked to tell about his childhood. Those were the very things Logan had never cared a fig about. So, what was it about me that could attract an intelligent man like Logan?

  It had to be our shared past. He was seeing me through the lens of the skinny teenage boy who’d been desperate for a friend at the hospital. I bet he still saw me as the partner in his hospital adventures. It was those memories he found attractive.

  Not me.

  Whew, that was a relief. With that problem solved, I crawled back into bed and stared at the ceiling.

  George still hadn’t called.

  It was probably a good thing. What was I going say to him when he did finally return my call?

  My entire body still ached for Logan’s touch. I thanked heaven Logan had had more self-control than me.

  In my defense though, Logan had started us down that slippery path to infidelity in the first place. After all, he’d asked me to touch him. It wasn’t as if I’d grabbed the man and began to rub myself all over him. Good gracious. I started fantasizing doing just that as soon as the thought tripped across my mind.

  I groaned into my pillow.

  What in the world was I going to tell George?

  Chapter 22

  Thunder crashed in the midnight sky. It sounded like gunfire. My heart racing, I jolted up in the bed.

  A bright slash of lightning lit up the room through the curtains. Another loud clap of thunder followed not a second later.

  Clutching my chest, I jumped out of bed.

  It’s just a storm. Just a storm.

  Without Logan beside me, all my old fears came tumbling back.

  Logan.

  Fifteen years ago, I’d run to his room during a storm just as vicious as this one. My heart had been beating erratically, partly from fear. Partly because my heart had been failing.

  “What are you doing here?” he’d whispered.

  “The storm,” was all I’d needed to say.

  Although he must have felt like hell from the medications and the leukemia, which had him looking gaunt and close to death, he sat up and opened his arms in an invitation to join him in the bed.

  He held me while I shivered in fear from the thunder and lightning. He whispered words of encouragement. And then he’d shared his secret dreams with me. In the dark, we’d imagined what our lives would be like without illness, what adventures we’d experience.

  Even after the storm had passed, I remained in his arms until a nurse found us and booted me from Logan’s room.

  Early the next morning my mother had abruptly checked me out of the hospital and had turned my life upside down.

  Although that night—the night he’d comforted me through the storm—had been the last time I’d seen or spoken to Logan until yesterday, every whispered word and every magical moment as we’d snuggled remained vividly alive in my mind. And while it had been a long time since I’d sought anyone’s comfort during a storm, if the way my body trembled was any indication, I certainly needed the kind of comfort Logan could give now more than ever.

  Even so, I hesitated at the doorway to his bedroom. I couldn’t use Logan like this.

  But George wasn’t here to comfort me. And even if he was, he wouldn’t offer comfort. Giving to others like that wasn’t his thing.

  “Logan is your husband,” a wicked voice in my head reminded me.

  I moved my hand toward the knob. My fingers brushed the cool brass. Another loud clap of thunder shook the doorframe.

  “No,” I whispered. Not like this.

  I don’t know if what I did next was from a sudden flash of clarity or a brief attack of madness.

  I hurried into the living room and found Logan’s secure phone. Without stopping to think about the consequences I turned it on. It took a nervous moment to remember the number I wanted to dial.

  George had once told me he slept with the phone next to his bed so he’d never miss a business call. At three in the morning, he should be home.

  His phone should be on.

  As the phone rang, I wondered if he was lying awake worried about me. I’d missed the final cake tasting. It was something we’d planned to attend together. George was dedicated to his sweet tooth almost as much as he was to his career.

  Surely, when I’d missed the cake tasting, he would have fretted about my safety. Surely, he was now anxious to talk to me.

  The line clicked over to his voice mail.

  “George?” I paused unsure what to say. The reason I was calling wasn’t something I could or should explain in a voice mail. “George? I’m not sure why you’re not answering. I hope everything is okay.” I took a moment to compose myself. Voice mail or not, I needed to say what needed to be said. “There’s been some...um...I...um...I can’t marry you. Please let everyone know the wedding is off. Call me as soon as you get this message. Okay? Um...talk to you soon. I hope real soon. Bye.”

  I pressed end. And started to breathe again.

  It felt as if I’d been holding my breath for the past year. I’d been going through the motions, smiling, acting as if I felt giddy at the thought of marrying the man of my dreams. But that’d all been a lie. George had never been the man of my dreams.

  Logan was.

  He’d always been.

  The storm had grown stronger by the time I returned to my bedroom. Rain pelted the window as I dug through my purse for my phone.

  Once I found it, I made sure the ringer volume was on its loudest setting.

  George would be disappointed when he listened to my message. He’d want to talk about it. He’d want to hear my reasons for backing out at the last minute. But at least neither of us would be heartbroken.

  It wasn’t as if we loved one another.

  Calling off the wedding would cause some financial trouble. And it might embarrass him a little too. But he’d find someone else. I knew several models who might be interested in meeting a wealthy businessman with marriage on his mind.

  He’d land on his feet.

  SOMEONE WAS IN THE bedroom with him.

  Logan moved his hand slowly, carefully so the intruder wouldn’t notice him reaching for the SIG Sauer he’d stashed under his pillow.

  His finger rested on the trigger as he leveled the gun in the direction of the dark figure looming right next to the only door.

  Had a guard from Global Tech managed to track him down? Rumor had it that Jason Billings employed trained assassins, men who could slit your throat without you ever seeing a knife. He wasn’t worried about his own life. His thoughts instead went to—

  Sam. Was she safe? Or had the intruder found her first?

  His first impulse was to shoot his way past the intruder and run down the hallway to Sam’s bedroom. If he’d wanted to get himself killed, he might have done it.

  Since he had no way of knowing how many men were in the house,
he had to play it smart. Sam’s life depended on his ability to keep his head.

  Besides, if he killed the bastard who was still standing at the doorway, he wouldn’t be able to question him and find out who’d hired him and, more importantly, how he’d been able to track Logan and Sam here, to Logan’s safe harbor?

  He’d just started coming up with a plan to disable the intruder—maim him, probably, but not kill him—when a sharp crack of thunder shook the walls. The intruder let out a yelp.

  Wait a minute.

  His hand relaxed its grip on his gun.

  Hired guns didn’t startle at storms. And they certainly didn’t yelp.

  “Sam?” he asked. He removed his finger from the SIG’s trigger. “Is something wrong?”

  Instead of an answer he heard a whisper of a sigh.

  Then, a million heartbeats later, the shadowy figure spoke. “It’s me.”

  “Sam.” Logan blew out a relieved breath. After shoving the gun back under his pillow, he leaned up on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  Thunder rumbled again. It sounded like the storm was right above the cabin. Sam bit back another strangled yelp.

  “Oh,” he said, the reason she’d charged into his bedroom dawning on him. “The noise.”

  She nodded. Even in the darkness he could see the nervous, exaggerated movement.

  “That time in the hospital, the night of the big storm, was the only time I saw you show any kind of fear.” And even though he’d spend the first part of the night throwing up into a bedpan, he’d gladly welcomed her into the bed with him. It’d been his dream come true to hold Sam in his arms for that one glorious night. For the first time in months, he’d rested easily. “And then the next morning, you were gone. I never saw you again.”

  The shadow by the door shifted from foot to foot. “Sorry about that.”

  “Why did you leave like that? Without even saying goodbye?” A surge of anger hit him hard. He’d been terrified for her and for himself after she’d left. His best friend, the only person who had truly understood what he was going through had vanished from his life when he’d needed her most. “What the hell happened? Why did you abandon me?”