by Beck, Jamie
They’d been given a small, round table with a view of the bay. After dining on oysters, lobster, and a tableside flambé, they practically rolled out of the restaurant. He loved her appetite. The soft sway of her hair as she ambled ahead of him made him wonder if she was as voracious when it came to more intimate pleasure.
They strolled out on the back terrace, peering down at the sea below. “I should’ve brought my camera from the car. The moon and the sea and you—”
“Sometimes a memory is better than a photo. Besides, my lips will turn blue in a matter of minutes. Not a good look.”
“I’d keep you warm.” He glanced up from the sea to her. “What are the chances I could convince you to extend this walk on the wild side?”
Before she answered, he gathered her in his arms. She was so petite he could lift her without much exertion. She didn’t push him away, and even in the dark, he could see her cheeks warming.
“What are you up to now?” she asked.
“Whatever it takes to prolong the night. You’re more relaxed here than you are at home.” She pushed him away every chance she had when other people were watching and waiting. Here she seemed less inhibited. “Let’s run away for a while, or at least take a room for the night.”
His hopes soared when she didn’t shoot him down right away.
She laid her cheek against his chest. “You’re making it very hard for me to keep my head, Logan.”
“Good.” He held her tighter. “It’s past time you led with your heart.”
“Except my heart can’t be trusted.” She peeked up at him. “I don’t think I can be ‘fluid,’ not even for you.”
He kissed the tip of her nose, disappointed but not surprised. It had been a long shot. “Then we’ll go home. If you change your mind, let me know.”
Ninety minutes later, he pulled his car up to the curb in front of her house.
“I’m impressed. You managed the ride home without the mask and without turning green. A little pale at points, but not green.” He grinned.
She unwound her purse strap from her fingers, then briefly touched his shoulder. “This was a memorable day, Logan. Thank you for planning it.”
“You’re welcome.” He killed the engine. “Can I come inside and see what you’ve been working on for my place?”
“I’m not finished with the plan.” She clutched her purse in front of her like a shield.
“Okay, then just invite me in and we’ll see where the night takes us.” He opened his door before she could say no.
When he rounded the hood, he met her on the sidewalk.
“Logan, I’m not sure what you have in mind, but I’m not like most girls you know . . .”
He stood face-to-face with her, gently playing with the ends of her hair, watching for a sign. Any sign that would bring him relief from all this suppressed want. “That’s exactly what I like about you, Claire.”
He brushed his thumb along her forehead and tucked her hair behind her ear, then traced the cup of her ear and along her jaw, coming to rest on her lower lip. She stared at him, short of breath.
“Logan—”
He pressed his finger to her lips. “Don’t ruin this moment by reciting all of the reasons you think this is a bad idea. Hold those thoughts. Let’s pretend that no one else exists for a while . . .”
He removed his finger, then leaned forward, his lips a hairbreadth from hers. She didn’t move except to close her eyes, a move he took as consent. He lifted her chin and kissed her. She tasted like ripe, sugar-sweetened strawberries, and he wanted to devour her right there on the pavement. “Claire, this feels right, doesn’t it? There’s something here worth exploring.”
“Something more than a one-night stand?”
“Invite me inside,” he said, his voice roughened by desire. He kissed her again, letting his hands glide down to her waist, squeezing it and tugging her closer.
Her breath quickened, and she emitted a slight groan of pleasure.
“I promise I won’t push you anywhere you don’t want to go.”
“That’s the problem. You know I’d probably follow you anywhere, even when I know it’s not in my best interest.”
“I think it is in your best interest. Ditch your preconceived notions and live in the moment. Fling yourself off the proverbial cliff for the thrill of it. You’ll survive it. I promise you’ve survived worse than me.”
“That’s not very romantic.”
“Would you rather I lie and make promises when neither of us knows what the future holds? No one gets guarantees in life, Claire. I only know how I feel right now. Right now, I don’t want this night to end.”
Her eyes glowed like the blue part of a flame as she whispered, “Neither do I.”
He felt his smile spreading as he turned and led her up the porch stairs and waited for her to open the door. He stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, and whispered in her ear, “I want you.”
She shook her head in disbelief as she opened the door.
“What?” he asked when they got inside.
“From the very first time I saw you—from a spot behind a tree on the shore near the end of Lilac Lane that first summer we moved to town—I wished to hear those words.”
“I don’t remember meeting you on the beach. I met you at the house, with Peyton.”
“I’d seen you before then on my own, when I was exploring the new neighborhood for the first time. I was south of your property, where you were standing by the water. Shirtless and tan, in gym shorts, and the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. To this day I don’t know what you were thinking about, but you were gazing at the horizon for a while before you picked up some stones and skipped them across the shallow water.”
“Why didn’t you come out from the shadows?”
She set Rosie aside and unbuttoned her coat. “I was shy. It seemed like I’d stumbled onto something private, and I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Well, don’t be shy now.” He helped her out of her jacket, letting it fall to the ground as he pulled her close again, nuzzling her neck and nibbling her ear, eager to hear that purring sound in the back of her throat.
She wound her arms around his neck, raked her fingers through the back of his hair, and kissed him. “This might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, but right now I couldn’t care less.”
“Stop with all the flattery,” he teased, caressing her abdomen and then moving his hand up to her breast. “Now tell me, which way to the bathroom?”
“The bathroom?” Her eyes widened.
“A warm bath will help your hip—warm, steamy air, soft filtered light, and I’m betting you have a nice assortment of bath salts and soaps, too.”
“I’m more of a ‘lights off, under the covers’ kind of girl, Logan.” She looked down, pursing her lips.
He held her close, nudging her chin up. “I promise there isn’t an inch of you I won’t have seen by morning, lights or no lights. Besides, there’s nothing you need to hide from me. I think you’re beautiful, inside and out.”
He saw doubt in her eyes, but he would make sure she believed him soon enough. He led her upstairs, curious to see what else he could convince her of before the night was over.
Chapter Twelve
Claire woke with a start and glanced to her left. If she weren’t naked, and if the empty side of her bed weren’t a tumble of blankets and pillows, she would’ve thought it’d all been a dream.
Logan must’ve left before dawn, which was for the best. Strolling into Arcadia House midmorning would’ve invited questions from Peyton and his parents. Claire couldn’t bear that scrutiny. This way, the reckless thing they’d done would remain their secret.
She’d never had secrets before, but now she’d grown weary of people’s pity. And pity would be what others would feel for her if they found out about her night with Logan. In no universe would anyone believe she could be more than a passing infatuation for him. Even within his own “fluid” world, she�
��d be a fluke.
Last night he’d almost made her believe otherwise with tender words and touches, and scorching kisses. Now, with no note or other sign of him, she remembered why she’d been hesitant to follow her heart. Still, she couldn’t make herself regret what she’d done. The reality of her long-held fantasy had exceeded her imagination.
A noise from downstairs caused her to bolt upright midyawn. Sliding out of bed to pull on her robe, she then tiptoed across the room.
Did she smell bacon? She cracked open the door. Yes, that was bacon . . . and Logan humming something unfamiliar. She padded down the stairs and wandered to the kitchen, where she found him drinking a cup of coffee in his snug boxer briefs while flipping an omelet.
The sight of his near nakedness—the indents of his six-pack—brought back vivid memories of licking his torso and grabbing hold of his tight behind while he’d—
“Good morning.” He smiled lazily.
She stood, frozen. “What are you doing?”
He set his cup down and turned off the stove. After coming over to give her a quick kiss, he pulled out a kitchen stool for her and forced her onto it. “I thought you might be hungry.”
She remained dazed by the unexpected sight of him cooking—like she’d awakened in some alternate world. Slowly the reality dawned, and the scrutiny of others would follow. “Thank you, but, I mean, why are you still here?”
He poured her a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter. “Where else would I be?”
“Having breakfast with your family.”
“You’re not making any sense. Have some caffeine.” He cut the omelet in half and then plated her half beside buttered toast. “Eat.”
Mindlessly, she obeyed, unprepared for the delightful burst of butter, bacon, and cheese that melted in her mouth. “This is awesome, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He kissed her head and sat beside her, which was when she noticed her media scrapbook on the peninsula.
“What’s this doing here?” She reached for it, but he stuck out his hand to prevent her from taking it.
“I found it on the bookshelf. The spine piqued my interest.” His finger traced along where she’d written “Smoking Guns” in calligraphy, then he opened the binder’s cover. “Quite a collection of news clippings, Claire. Now I understand how you’re so well informed about gun-violence stats. Morbid, though, don’t you think?”
She glowered at him. “You should ask before you snoop into people’s private things.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t look terribly sorry, though. “But now that I’ve seen it, can you tell me about this unhealthy obsession?”
Morbid. Unhealthy. Not the words she’d use to describe her interest in the rapid rise of gun violence. As horrible as these incidents were, she needed to dissect them and try to understand why they kept happening. These clippings helped her search for patterns or explanations to better predict when and where such atrocities might occur. They helped her write persuasive letters to politicians about gun control. They gave her some sense, however illusory, that she could exert some kind of control.
Not that it worked. Not yet, anyway. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“Could this hobby be keeping you from getting past your fear?”
“Facts are facts. Even if I didn’t collect these reports, I’d still see them in the news. Violence is everywhere and getting worse. Any reasonable person should be wary, considering the statistics.” Her appetite fled—a first!
He studied her, his green eyes lit with compassionate determination. “Let’s start a new scrapbook. One filled with pictures of places you want to visit. People you admire or want to meet. Anything positive and life affirming.”
Instantly, she remembered the Lilac Lane League scrapbook, which was in her old bedroom at her parents’ house. It’d been filled with all kinds of hopeful wishes, and look where those got her.
She felt herself tightening into a ball on the kitchen stool. Logan must’ve noticed, too.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the morning with a lecture. I’m not used to frank conversations with women, so please be patient while I learn the boundaries.” He rubbed her back. “Let’s change the subject. What’s on your agenda today?”
While trying to tamp down her embarrassment at what he’d discovered, she sipped her coffee. “Reality and work.”
“It’s Sunday, and reality is overrated.”
That remark earned him one of her side-eye glances. What must life look like from inside his head? “I got nothing accomplished yesterday.”
“Not true.” He nipped at her shoulder. “We got a lot accomplished yesterday. Let’s not backtrack now.”
In the dark, she’d been bold, but sunlight spilled through the window now, and like a hermit crab on the shore, she needed to duck for cover.
“I have to finish a plan for your home. And I need to talk to Mrs. Brewster.”
“That can wait until tomorrow.”
“I thought you were eager for me to show you sketches?” She pushed the omelet around the plate.
“There are more urgent things I want to see at the moment.” His foot hooked on to her stool, and he tugged it closer. He toyed with the robe’s lapel and caught his lower lip in his teeth. “Are you wearing anything under that robe?”
Instinctively, she batted his hand away. “Logan, be serious.”
“I am. You look enticing in the light coming through the window. How can you expect me to keep my hands to myself?” He ran his hands along her thighs, which sent a shock of heat to her core.
“Please, stop.” It killed her, but she pushed them away. Better a little pain today than a mountain of it later.
He raised his brows. “Really?”
“Yes. I painted outside the lines last night, and I don’t regret that at all, Logan. But I know me. If this were to go on, those lines will blur and I’ll end up hurt. I’m not a fluid kind of girl, and as an only child, I never learned how to share all that well.”
He frowned. “I wouldn’t see other women while we’re together.”
She almost laughed. Didn’t he hear himself? Maybe that sacrifice meant something to him, but it was a far cry from what she’d need to hear to move forward. While the odds of any relationship going the distance were slim for everyone, most people didn’t start out rejecting the idea like he did. And honestly, how could she carry on with him when she hadn’t resolved her feelings about Peyton—a point she’d conveniently ignored last night?
Fortunately, a knock at the door saved her from that conversation. “Can you run upstairs and get dressed while I answer that? It could be my mom, and she’s as fluid as this granite countertop.”
He sighed. “Fine.”
After stashing her binder back on the shelf, they scurried to the front of the house.
The doorbell rang next, but Claire waited until Logan hit the top of the stairs before opening the door. When she did, she wished she’d been better prepared. “Steffi? What are you doing here so early?”
Claire noticed Logan’s shoes by the coatrack too late. Hopefully, Steffi wouldn’t see them.
“It’s not that early, and I wanted to catch you before you went to church.” Steffi strode into the living room like she still lived there, then spun around and extended her left hand to reveal a diamond ring.
“Oh my God!” Claire screeched, grabbing her hand for a closer inspection. The princess-cut stone sparkled almost as much as Steffi’s eyes. “When did this happen?”
“Last night. Apparently, Ryan had been planning this with Lucia’s staff for a while. Of course, I had no idea when I invited you to join us. Our table had beautiful white lilies, and he did the whole traditional bended-knee thing. People clapped. It was completely corny and wonderful.”
Claire hugged Steffi as joyful tears stung her eyes. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you.” Steffi eased away to stare at her ring again. “These past few months have been a dream. I’m
honestly a little nervous that it’s all going to disappear.”
“It won’t. You deserve to be happy.” Claire smiled even though she was saddened that she and Steffi both lived in fear that happiness would be stolen from them. Paranoia was one of many invisible scars of surviving a trauma. “I guess it’s a good thing Ben and I both canceled last night.”
“I’ve never been so happy that Benny blew me off.” She laughed. “And apparently Ryan enlisted Logan to keep you occupied, so it all worked out for everyone.”
“It did indeed.” Claire kept smiling, although her heart sank. Yesterday hadn’t been a spontaneous adventure Logan had planned just for her. He’d been doing a favor for his friend. And she’d gone and slept with him because of it.
Steffi grabbed for Claire’s hands. “It goes without saying that I want you to be my maid of honor. Will you?”
“Of course! I’d love to.” She hugged her friend.
Steffi eased away again, this time with a slight grimace. “Before you say yes, I have to confess I’d also like Peyton to be in the wedding party.”
Claire should’ve seen that coming, but she was still reeling from the truth behind yesterday’s misadventure.
On cue, Logan descended the stairs. “I thought that was your voice, Steffi.”
Claire stiffened and watched Steffi’s jaw unhinge as if it were happening in slow motion.
Steffi darted a glance between Logan and Claire. “Logan?”
“That’s my name.” He winked. “Why are you here so early?”
“I could ask the same of you.” Steffi’s brows rose as her hands gripped her hips.
“Touché.” Logan leaned against the newel, casting a glance at her left hand. “Congratulations, by the way. Where’s Ryan?”
“At home with Emmy.” Steffi frowned without elaborating about the engagement. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Claire said at the same time Logan draped an arm around her shoulders and said, “Breakfast. Want some?”
