by Jo Goodman
Katy's mouth was dry as sand. Her mind was a blank. She could only stare at Michael's handsomely cut features with loathing. The ugliness that was at his core seemed to reach out to her. Involuntarily she found herself taking a step back.
"But then perhaps Logan understands the kind of woman you are. You were seeing him while still married to my father. Can he really expect that you would be any more faithful to him? He might be convinced those photographs were taken after your marriage to him. I doubt that would set well."
"I will tell him all about the photographs myself, Michael, and he will believe me. My portrait hangs in our home." In the bedroom she shared with Logan, she nearly added, thinking back to her surprise when she had first seen it. Nothing she said could persuade Logan to move it to another location. She gave up when she realized that he treasured the portrait in a way she never could. "Christian Marshall painted it, working from a photograph his wife took. Logan once returned such a photograph to me. You are wrong if you think he would believe you over me."
"Really? Then we will just have to see about that, won't we? I'll send one photograph to Logan and one to the city editor of the Chronicle. That should be an interesting dilemma for Logan. And if he cannot rise to the challenge, I'll send a photograph—anonymously, of course—to the Times and another to the Herald. We will see what his competitors do with the information. If the news does not circulate in the morning editions, it is certain to circulate the city by word of mouth. You will make Logan a laughingstock."
Katy felt the blood draining from her face. "Why are you doing this, Michael? I cannot believe it is all in aid of getting me. There is something you are not telling me."
"No, Katy, I've told you everything. You have never fully appreciated what you are to me. It is rare that a day goes by that I do not think of you, think of touching you. You owe me peace of mind, if nothing else. Allow me to get you out of my blood, out of my thoughts, and perhaps then I will be able to let you go." His smile held a trace of self-mockery, "Although I doubt a week will be long enough. Come, sit down. You do not look as if your legs will support you much longer."
This time Katy obeyed Michael, accepting a seat on the settee. Had her mind been clearer, she would have taken a chair so that there would be no chance of him sitting beside her.
"Your alternative is to leave the city again. Leave Logan Marshall."
Katy suddenly understood something she had been blind to in the past. "This is not only about me," she said, conviction in her voice. "This is about hurting Logan. It was about hurting your father. You will take what belongs to another man just to prove you can do it."
"I can hardly believe you would admit to belonging to any man." He slipped over the arm of the settee, folding one leg under him as he sat down. Leaning toward Katy, he took her hand and brought it toward his lap. "Besides, you are quite wrong. I am willing to share you with Logan... for a time."
Katy tried to pull her hand back and found it caught securely. "I cannot, Michael. Please... I cannot. You don't know what you are asking of me. Logan will kill you when I tell him."
"You won't tell him."
She hated the confidence in his voice, yet she knew he was right. She would do anything to spare Logan the public humiliation of those photographs. "If I become your mistress, I will want the pictures."
"Of course—after an agreed upon period of time. Shall we say one year?"
"No. I will not agree to those terms."
"Not so long ago you said you would never agree to be my mistress," he reminded her. "Things have a way of changing upon a little reflection."
"Three months," she said.
"One year. The only way it will be less is if I decide to end the relationship." Katy was silent so long Michael thought he had pushed her too far. He meant what he had said about using the photographs, but he hoped she would not push him. They had value only once. Made public, they could never be used against Katy again. He was giving up all hope of having her if he showed those pictures to anyone.
"All right," she said finally. She closed her eyes briefly against the pain of her decision. "Whatever you want."
He was immediately suspicious of her surrender. "You will regret it if you are playing me for a fool."
Katy shook her head. "I am the only fool here," she said softly. "I believed I deserved all the happiness I had found."
Michael raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her fingers. "You will not regret this."
Regret was too paltry a word to describe what Katy felt in the moment. Her heart was bruised, her soul offended by this devil's agreement. "I will need time," she said. "Time to get used to the idea. My routine... I cannot change everything in order to meet you. It would rouse suspicion."
"Of course," he said. "I understand. I have waited this long. I can wait a little longer while we explore the best arrangements. We will correspond as though Ria were writing."
"Just as you did to get me here."
"Yes. It worked well."
Too well, she thought. She said nothing.
"I will want something now. A token of good faith that you intend to keep your side of the bargain."
Katy had been staring at her hands. Now her head jerked in Michael's direction. "A token?" she asked.
"Mmm." His forefinger stroked his mustache in an absent gesture while his light blue eyes settled on Katy's mouth. "A kiss."
"One?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"I would rather not be held to that."
What choice did she have? Still, she would not give in without something for herself in return. "I will want a token from you as well," she said. "One photograph."
Michael chuckled. "You have a trader's heart, Katy. I think I like that." He excused himself from the settee and returned to the desk. "I put them in here this morning in the event you wanted to see them." He lifted them out of a drawer and fanned them as if he were holding cards. "Any particular one you want?" he asked.
"You choose."
Without examining them, Michael drew out one and put the others away, this time locking the drawer. He dropped the key in his pocket and returned to Katy's side. "Here."
Taking it from his outstretched fingers, Katy barely glanced at it. It was enough that she saw the flash of her naked leg. She tore it in quarters and thrust the pieces back at Michael. "The fireplace," she said.
"Very well." He took them to the hearth and dropped them on the cold ashes. "It is too warm for a fire."
Katy could have argued the point. She was frozen inside. She started to get up, intent on retrieving the pieces to dispose of them more completely, when Michael stopped her by blocking her path.
"I will take care of it," he said, taking hold of her just above the elbows. He drew her toward him. "Now, the proof of your promise, please."
She did not know how she was going to let him touch her without being sick. The feel of his hands sliding along her arms to her shoulders caused her stomach to churn. She would never be able to make him believe she wanted him. She was not that good an actress. His fingers were fumbling with the cameo at her throat, unpinning it. He had three buttons unfastened before she found her voice. "You said a kiss."
Michael bent his head. "I did not say what I was going to kiss."
Katy moaned softly, tears coming to her eyes as Michael's mouth touched the bare skin of her neck. She felt the tug of his lips, the suck of his mouth, and knew he was leaving a mark on her skin. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Please stop, Michael. Don't do this to me."
He ignored the softly spoken protest. His fingers moved swiftly over the front of her gown until he had it open to her waist. His hand moved under the material of her gown to cup Katy's breast through her chemise. Michael's thumb moved back and forth across her nipple.
Katy bit the inside of her lip as her breast responded to Michael's stimulation. How was it possible, when she was dead inside? Her throat clogged with unshed tears, and her eyes closed as Michael's mouth moved ac
ross her chest. His fingers pulled the neckline of her chemise lower until most of her breast was bared. His lips hovered at the level of her nipple, and then she felt the quick, snakelike flicking of his tongue across the sensitive and swollen tip.
"No!" With all her strength she shoved Michael away. Turning aside, Katy righted her chemise and began to close the front of her gown, all the while stepping backward, putting distance between her and Michael. "You said a kiss!" she said accusingly. "That is all you said." Her fingers were trembling so badly that she could barely work the buttons.
"Are you reneging on our arrangement already?" he asked, his blue eyes icy.
"No," she said. "No, but I told you I need time. I cannot... I am not ready to..."
"Damn you, Katy," he said, crossing the room. "You had better give me something to show you mean to keep your promise!" He backed her against the door, his arms on either side of her shoulders. She averted her face as Michael lowered his head. Undaunted by Katy's attempt to get away, he placed his hand under her chin and forced her head around. His lips ground against hers. Katy stopped fighting him, hoping the terrible pressure would ease. It did not. She sobbed once, helpless, as his tongue speared her mouth.
Abruptly it was over. Katy raised the back of her hand to her mouth and stared at Michael with wounded, wary eyes.
"Don't you dare wipe my kiss away," he said, his voice soft with menace. For a moment the only sound in the room was Michael's labored breathing. His face was flushed. Passion, equal parts anger and arousal, had darkened his eyes. "You won't like the consequences." The unspecified threat hung in the air between them.
Lowering her hand, Katy denied she had been about to do just that. "I want to leave," she said.
Sensing that he had been the victor in this brief encounter, Michael nodded. "I think you've honored your promise, if not quite with the spirit I will expect in the future." He moved away from the door and yanked twice on the sash, paused, then pulled it again. A quick assessment of Katy brought the sharp, humiliating comment, "You have misbuttoned your gown."
Katy wanted to sink her nails into his face. Instead, she clenched her fists and sank them into her palms. Duncan opened the door, and it was Michael who left. Katy collected herself in private, and when she felt she could face Duncan, she asked for her cape and bonnet in the hallway.
* * *
"Is Mr. O'Shea still following me around," Katy asked abruptly. The question, and the sharp tone in which she posed it, startled her almost as much as it startled Logan. She saw him pause in lifting his fork to his mouth, look at her oddly, then take a bite of rare roast beef.
Logan swallowed. "Have you seen him?" he asked politely.
"No."
"Then why would you think he is following you?"
Katy had been pushing her dinner around on her plate since Mr. Reilly served the meal. She had hardly been aware of Logan's attempts to engage her in conversation. Since leaving Michael, she had only been able to think of him, think of the promise she had made in exchange for the photographs. She tried to shed Michael's touch by talking a hot bath the moment she returned home. It did not help. Thinking about him brought back the memory of his touch. She could not put it behind her.
"I did not think Mr. O'Shea was following me," she said impatiently. "I simply asked if he was. Can you never give me an answer without interrogating me first?"
Logan held up his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. His eyes widened slightly at her tone. "Liam O'Shea stopped working for me when I went to Washington."
"Thank you," she said ungraciously. "That is all I wanted to know." Relief swept through her briefly. If O'Shea hadn't followed her, then there was no one to suspect she met with Michael today instead of Ria. Her future meetings with Michael would be just as secret. Katy nearly moaned aloud; the thought of seeing Michael again made her feel nauseated. She put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. Without quite meeting Logan's eyes, she excused herself from the table.
Logan made no attempt to call her back. He watched her go in silence, taking note of the tense set of her features and the vague, unhappy expression in her dark eyes. He was glad he had not been strictly honest with her. Liam O'Shea had stopped working for him when he went to Washington. But they were in New York now, and Logan had never felt the incident at the Chesterfield Hotel had been settled. Seeing Katy now, Logan did not think he was being overly cautious. She had left New York for a reason, and he did not believe he was that reason. Whatever haunted her, Katy was determined to exorcise it alone. Logan was equally determined that she shouldn't.
* * *
Logan was sitting up in bed, reading, when Katy entered their bedroom. She was not completely successful in hiding her disappointment that he was still awake. Logan pretended not to notice. He continued making notes on the editorial he was preparing until Katy finished readying for bed. When she slipped between the sheets, he put his papers on the nightstand and started to turn back the lamp.
"You do not have to stop what you're doing," she said. "I can sleep with the light."
"I'm done for the night anyway." He extinguished the lamplight. After a few moments his eyes adjusted to the dark and he could make out Katy's profile. She was lying on her back, staring straight up at the ceiling. Logan moved toward the middle of their bed and lay on his side, propping his head on an elbow. "Were you with Victoria?" he asked.
She nodded. "Mrs. B. told me she was fussing, so I went to see what I could do."
"She's all right?"
"It's the beginning of a cold, I think. She will be fine. I'll send someone for Dr. Turner in the morning just to be safe."
"Good idea." Logan's fingertips sifted gently through the hair at Katy's temple. "Did you enjoy your tea with Ria? You have not said a word about your visit."
"Haven't I?" she prevaricated. After a moment, she added casually, "It was not particularly eventful. We brought each other up to date and made plans to meet again soon. You won't mind, will you, if I see Ria? I think she is so lonely, Logan, in spite of all her social interests. I could tell she did not want me to leave." Katy thought she would choke on her lies.
"I don't mind," he said. "Not if it's what you want to do."
"I do. I am worried about her. I didn't tell you, but when I bumped into her the other day she was leaving Madame Restell's."
He waited, hoping she would tell him more. She did not. He asked, "Are you certain you want to spend time with her? You do not seem particularly happy about the prospect."
"Of course I am," she said quickly. "What a foolish idea." Katy turned on her side away from Logan. She thought he might move closer, take her in his arms. She did not know what she would do if he did. As much as she wanted to be held, she did not want to be touched. If it made absolutely no sense to her, how could she explain it to Logan?
"Katy, have I done something to make you unhappy?"
Guilt washed over Katy. She turned toward him this time and found his arms open and waiting for her. Despair sent her into the sanctuary of his embrace. Her arms circled his neck as she pressed her body against him. Katy's mouth touched the underside of Logan's jaw. Her breath was warm and sweet as she whispered against his skin. "It is nothing you've done, darling. Nothing. It's me. Forgive me. You cannot possibly know how much I love you." Hardly realizing what she was about, Katy began an assault on Logan's senses. She raised her mouth to his, touching him with the tip of her tongue. Her fingers trailed along his neck. Her palms caressed his shoulders. The sheet that covered his chest was pushed lower. She urged a response from him with kisses that tempted and teased.
Uncertain of the desperation that propelled her into his arms, Logan held Katy close, sheltering her, and returned the sweet kisses that made heat ripple along his spine. Her legs tangled with his. He felt one of her hands drift to the small of his back, and then she stroked his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. It seemed she could not get close enough to him.
"Katy," he said softly, run
ning his hand along the sensitive underside of her arm. "Talk to me, Katy. Tell me what you are thinking." Loving her now was akin to gentling a frightened filly. She was skittish and restless, torn and troubled.
"Love me, Logan. Just love me."
He did. He felt very nearly helpless to do anything else. It hurt that she did not trust him enough to share her troubles, but it eased the pain when she still turned to him with her need.
Logan loved her slowly and tenderly, raising the pitch of desire between them until neither of them was thinking clearly. They touched, retreated, touched again, exploring this time, waiting for the response that was no less exciting because it was familiar. He caressed her belly and thighs, liking the murmur of his name on her lips as she welcomed his touch. He cupped her breasts and kissed each in turn, arousing her with the rough, damp edge of his tongue. Her breasts were smooth, faintly swollen from his attention. The skin was silky and a musky fragrance arose from the valley between her breasts. Logan pressed his mouth to her heartbeat. He made her feel adored.
She made him feel desired. She opened herself to him, took him inside, and held him there, commanding his stillness until she began to rock her body against him. She kissed him, running her fingers through his dark copper-threaded hair. She cradled his narrow hips against her thighs. Her need was deep and only he could fulfill it. She told him this, speaking her love in a language that had few words but found eloquence in the shared pleasure.
When it was over and their breathing calmed, Katy did not move from the circle of his arms. "I would never do anything to shame you," she said when she thought he had fallen asleep. "Never."
Logan said nothing about Katy's forlornly whispered words or the hot tears that scalded his chest. He felt her pain as keenly as if it had been his own.
Chapter 14
Michael's invitation arrived on Wednesday. Katy stared at Michael's bold, decisive scrawl and wondered how she had ever mistaken a similar invitation as one of Ria's. He wanted to meet her in the afternoon on the following day. Katy understood now that Ria would be gone and that she could expect no interference from any of Michael's staff. She wanted to scream her frustration, wanted to throw things. What she did was slip the invitation under the sleeve of her gown and go to the nursery to be with Victoria. Her daughter seemed the only anchor in a world of shifting, dangerous tides.
