Coming Home (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 2)

by Jill Blake

  The woman was tall, with dramatic auburn curls and a figure-hugging red dress that should have clashed but didn’t. “I thought that was you!”

  He smiled and rose. “Cheryl. How are you?”

  “Great.” She leaned in to air-kiss his cheek. “How about you?”

  He glanced toward the back of the restaurant, where the restrooms were. Still no sign of Grace. “Fine, thank you.”

  “You’re looking good, Logan. Are you here on your own?”

  “No.” He paused, wondering how to describe Grace. Friend? Girlfriend? Significant other? He sidestepped the issue altogether by returning the question. “You?”

  Cheryl smiled, waving toward a large table surrounded by women. “Bachelorette party.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize...” When had this happened? They’d dated for nearly six months last year. And broken up for the same reason most of his breakups occurred. He wasn’t interested in getting fitted for a matching tuxedo, china service for twelve, jumbo mortgage, two-point-four children, and furry pet. “Congratulations.”

  Her soft laughter, which had once made him stand at attention, washed over him without any visible effect. “Oh, you should see your expression, Logan! Commitment’s not a dirty word, you know.”

  “Well...”

  “It’s okay, don’t apologize. Besides, the party isn’t for me. It’s for one of the girls at the office.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, I assumed...” He trailed off as he caught sight of Grace weaving between the tables toward him. Desire stirred in the pit of stomach. And immediately on its heels, a touch of panic. He had maybe five seconds to get rid of Cheryl before introductions became inevitable. “It was nice seeing you, Cheryl.”

  “You, too, Logan. Don’t be a stranger, okay?” She leaned in again, this time making contact with his cheek, while he stood frozen, eyes glued to the only woman in the room who mattered.

  “Sorry, the line took forever.” She turned a polite smile toward Cheryl. “Hi. I’m Grace.”

  “Cheryl.” They shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

  Logan cleared his throat. “Cheryl works in the university’s intellectual property office.”

  The woman returned Grace’s smile. “Patent law. Boring stuff.”

  “Oh, I’m sure not,” Grace said. “You get to see results of cutting edge research before it hits the market, right? Sounds pretty interesting. Have you been with UCLA long?”

  “Almost a year. Before that, I was at the same firm as Angie, Logan’s sister.”

  “Really? What led you to switch?”

  As Cheryl launched into a diatribe on the difficulties of being a female associate at a big law firm, Logan searched Grace’s expression for any hint of irritation or jealousy. But all he could discern was polite curiosity.

  He should have been relieved. Instead, he felt his earlier annoyance returning. How could she remain so calm? Bad enough that she dismissed his concerns over intrusive and downright insulting press coverage. But this casual acceptance of another woman horning in on their date was too much.

  Not that he wanted Grace to be upset. He would have preferred to get rid of Cheryl without introducing the two women. As far as he was concerned, whatever he and Cheryl had shared was firmly in the past. No need to flaunt it in front of Grace.

  But a little show of emotion or possessiveness from Grace would have been reassuring. He certainly wouldn’t have been this cavalier if he’d found some ex-boyfriend of Grace’s cozying up to her.

  Either Grace’s psychiatry training had taught her to completely mask her reactions, or she was confident enough not to feel threatened by the presence of another woman. A third possibility—that she simply wasn’t as invested in the relationship as Logan—occurred to him, but he rejected it.

  The scorching heat of her kiss, the unmistakable promise in her eyes, the burning memory of her body moving against his, all pointed to one incontrovertible fact: Grace wanted him as much as he wanted her. If not for that damned flashback interrupting last week, they’d be well past this stage of circling warily around each other.

  He could only hope that eventually his patience would pay off. Not just physically—though this “look but don’t touch” business was getting old fast, and he was tired of walking around with a constant case of blue balls. But even more important than that was earning Grace’s trust.

  She’d clearly been traumatized by her bastard of an ex. While Logan was no expert on the after-effects of domestic violence and rape, he’d read enough in the last six days to understand that there were no shortcuts when it came to healing.

  He needed to continue exercising patience, biding his time until she was ready. And when that day came, he’d be there.

  Because despite all his efforts to convince himself that a friends with benefits arrangement would be enough, he recognized now that he’d been lying. It might have been enough in the past. It had certainly been enough with all the other women he’d dated and slept with after Grace had moved to New York.

  But it was nowhere near enough now. And he intended to make that clear to Grace, just as soon as he could get her full attention.

  ###

  “She seemed nice,” Grace said, after they were seated again and the waiter had taken their orders.

  “What? Oh, yeah.”

  Grace watched him fiddle with his silverware. “What’s going on, Logan? You seem distracted.”

  He frowned. “There was another piece about you in some tabloid.”

  “I thought you were going to stop reading those things.”

  “Angie sent me the link.”

  Grace wondered what new garbage had been written about her, and then decided she was better off not knowing.

  The mention of Logan’s sister gave her an excuse to change the subject. “I need to call Angie and thank her for sending Quinn my way.”

  Logan stiffened. “She sent Quinn?”

  “Yes. Apparently he does a lot of securities litigation for their firm.”

  “I know. I just didn’t realize he’d be the one helping you.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No.” His fingers tightened around the water glass. “You just need to be careful around him. He’s a player.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m serious. The guy hits on anything in a skirt.”

  The image was so at odds with her impression of the man that Grace laughed. “I guess it’s a good thing I wore pants, then.”

  “You think I’m joking? Ask Angie, she’ll tell you.”

  “Really? I thought there was some code of ethics rule that forbid lawyers from dating clients. Kind of like the doctor-patient prohibition.”

  “Maybe. I still wouldn’t trust the guy.”

  “You realize this makes no sense, right? Angie was the one who recommended him. She said he’s helping your sister Eva with something as well. Are you telling me you gave Eva the same lecture?”

  “Actually, no. I talked with Quinn directly about Eva. Told him that she wasn’t on the market, and he should keep his hands to himself.”

  She blinked. “I’m sure that went over really well.”

  “Not exactly.” He drank some water, then set the glass down and looked at her. “You think I’m overreacting.”

  She raised her hand, thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Maybe a tad.”

  He seemed to consider that. “Fine. Now tell me how your meeting today went.”

  “You’re not going to jump down my throat?”

  “No.” At her skeptical look, he sighed. “I promise.”

  She proceeded to summarize the interview, shaking her head in response to his question about what the FBI was really after. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re frustrated because William Blackwell managed to fool so many people for so long. He might have started out trading stocks, but by the end he was simply shuffling investors’ money around, and funneling a large chunk of it into his own pocket. The problem is that so much of it re
mains unaccounted for. With Harry gone, they’re probably scrambling for someone—anyone—who might help them track it down.”

  “I thought the guy in charge of the recovery efforts—what’s his name...?”

  “Oscar Chaiken.”

  “Yes. I thought he was just slapping everyone with clawback lawsuits. Even people who weren’t aware that the so-called profits they were withdrawing were fake.”

  “That’s part of it. He’s also suing the banks and feeder funds that channeled billions into Blackwell Securities. But the FBI is still running the investigation. It’s their job to figure out how the scam was run and who else might have been involved.”

  Their appetizers arrived, and for several minutes they concentrated on eating.

  The sound of loud laughter had Grace glancing across the room. “Looks like your friend is having fun.”

  Logan took advantage of her distraction to steal a ricotta-stuffed zucchini blossom from her plate.

  She turned back in time to catch him in the act. “Help yourself.”

  “Oh, was I supposed to ask first? Sorry, I thought we were beyond those niceties.”

  “Sure, why not. What’s mine is yours. And what’s yours is—” She examined his plate. “Also yours.”

  “I can get rid of the prosciutto,” he offered. “The melon is pretty good even without it.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  “So you think this will be the end of it?”

  “The end of what?”

  “The FBI’s interest in you.”

  She shrugged. “I hope so. I doubt there’s much they can come up with to justify another trip out here. No matter how crappy New York weather is.”

  Logan laughed. “You think that’s the real reason they flew out?”

  “Makes as much sense as anything else. Some people like four seasons, don’t mind the snow and ice in the winter and the humidity all summer long. Personally, I can do without it. Give me a nice ocean breeze, seventy degrees year round, and I’m happy.”

  “So you’re back for good. No more moving.”

  “No more moving,” she agreed.

  “I’m glad.” His hand settled over hers on the table.

  Her breath caught at the heat in his gaze. Oh, yes, the evening was definitely looking up.

  The waiter came by to remove their plates. Logan eased away. “Spring quarter ends June sixth. I was thinking of taking some time off after finals. Maybe driving up the coast, spending a few days in Santa Barbara.”

  “Sounds like fun.” She raised her glass. “But don’t you have a lab to run?”

  “That’s what post-docs are for.”

  She sputtered as her sip of water went down the wrong way.

  “I’m kidding,” Logan said, after she stopped coughing. “But I’m sure one of them would be happy to cover for a week or so. And Chuck will be there.”

  “Chuck?”

  “Charles Liu. From your psychiatry department. He co-directs the lab with me.”

  “Ah. Well, in that case, you should definitely go.”

  He caught her hand again. “Want to come along?”

  She wanted to say yes. Almost did, until reality intruded. “Thanks, but I can’t. My rotation doesn’t end until the thirteenth.”

  “I’ll wait. We can leave the minute you’re done. What do you say?”

  She chewed on her lip. It sounded wonderful. Except for one niggling worry. What if the sex part just didn’t work? Would he still want to be with her if all they did in bed was...sleep? Could she commit to a romantic getaway that was at least a month away, not knowing what the state of their physical relationship would be by then? For all she knew, Logan might get so frustrated by her hangups and inability to engage fully in the moment that he might regret making the offer. But he’d still feel obligated to follow through. A promise was a promise, even when it morphed into an act of pity toward the poor ex-girlfriend whom he couldn’t quite bring himself to dump a second time.

  “Let’s talk about it closer to the date,” she hedged. “Okay?”

  Was that a flicker of disappointment on his face? The expression passed so quickly, she couldn’t be sure.

  “Fine,” he said, dropping his gaze to their connected hands. He stroked his thumb across her knuckles, distracting her so thoroughly that it took her a few moments to switch gears when he changed the subject to her graduation plans.

  “I haven’t really thought about it,” she said. “It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Hello? You’ve worked your butt off for four years to get to this point. Of course it’s a big deal.”

  “What I meant was, I’ll get the official paperwork showing I completed residency whether or not I attend the actual ceremony.”

  “But why would you want to skip your own commencement?”

  “Because it’s in New York.” She pulled away. “I’ve had enough of New York for a while.”

  Logan studied her. “What about your father?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s in New York. Don’t you plan on visiting, after all the trouble you went through to find him?”

  “We talk on Skype almost every week. Maybe I can get him and Peter to fly out here for a visit.”

  “I’m sure your grandmother would appreciate that.”

  Okay, maybe not. “They could stay at a hotel. Or maybe...” She hesitated, thinking about her grandmother’s recent offer.

  “Maybe what?” Logan prompted.

  “My grandmother mentioned that she wants to downsize. Get someplace smaller. Maybe let me have the house.”

  “I thought the point of you moving back in was so she wouldn’t be alone.”

  “Technically, she isn’t alone. She has a live-in housekeeper who’s been with us forever. As long as I’m nearby in case of an emergency, I think it’s fine if we don’t actually live in the same house. Probably better, now that I think about it.”

  Logan raised a brow. “So she’d move out, and you’d keep the house?”

  “That’s the idea. Though at this point it’s all talk. I don’t think she’s even looked to see what’s out there. The prices might be so prohibitive that it isn’t feasible to hang onto the old house.”

  “Eva has a friend who’s a real estate agent. I can get you her number, if you want.”

  “Sure, I’ll pass it along.”

  The party across the room was getting rowdier, and this time Logan glanced over. A spurt of irritation shot through her, until he turned back to Grace and murmured, “What do you say we skip the rest of dinner and just head over to my place?”

  “But we already ordered...”

  “We can ask them to box up the entrees to go.”

  “You sure?”

  He leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers, and captured her lips in a slow kiss that melted away all her tension, along with every bone and sinew in her body.

  Oh, yes...

  He pulled back, just enough to breathe. “Yes?”

  Yes, most definitely yes.

  Minutes later, he was signing the check, and one arm around her waist, the other dangling a bag with containers of risotto ai funghi and scaloppina ai Piacere, he ushered her out of the building.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  What should have been a pleasant ten minute walk from the restaurant to Logan’s apartment turned into an hour long nightmare, thanks to the paparazzo Grace couldn’t seem to shake.

  The moment she saw the now-familiar reverse baseball cap, her heart sank.

  “Hey, Grace, who’s the new boyfriend? And what happened to the dude from this afternoon?”

  She felt Logan’s arm tense beneath her hand.

  “Hold this.” He passed her the bag with their food.

  “Logan, just ignore him. He’ll go away.”

  The man danced in front of them, camera flash illuminating his profile against the gathering darkness. “Are you going to Harry’s funeral, Grace? Is loverboy going with you?”

  Loga
n stepped forward. “Leave her alone.”

  She caught his sleeve. “Logan...”

  Another flash. “Or are you too busy spending your ex-husband’s money to mourn his death?”

  Afterwards, Grace couldn’t be sure what actually happened. One minute Logan was growling at her side, and the next he was standing over a smashed SLR camera on the sidewalk.

  The photographer stumbled back. “What the fuck? That was a three thousand dollar piece of equipment!”

  “I told you to back off.”

  “Are you fucking insane?” The man glanced around at the gathering crowd. “You saw this guy attack me and break my camera?”

  A few people shook their heads and made a wide detour around them.

  “That’s my livelihood, man.” He collected and examined each broken piece in the fading light. “You can’t mess with a man’s livelihood.”

  “Then you shouldn’t mess with people’s lives. Stay the hell away from Grace.”

  “It’s a public street, man.” He wrapped the gear in foam padding before depositing it in his shoulder bag. Loose shards of glass littered the sidewalk at his feet. “I have as much right to be here as anyone.”

  “Let it go, Logan.” Grace tugged on his arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait, where you going?” The man stepped into their path, digging a cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling the police. Don’t you go disappearing on me.”

  Grace turned to him. “Do you have a card?”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “We’ll pay for the camera. I’ll have my attorney call you and work it out. No harm done.”

  “No harm? Lady, are you for fucking real? The guy broke my camera.”

  “And I’m offering to pay for it. Take it or leave it.”

  He glared at Logan, who stood silently by, arms folded, radiating anger. “I’m still filing a police report.”

  “You do what you feel is necessary.” She accepted the rumpled business card he handed her and slipped it into her bag.

  “How do I even know your lawyer’s going to call?”

  “Oh, she’ll call. I’m sure she’ll have a few terms and conditions of her own she’ll want to review with you before she hands over the money.” Hand tucked into the crook of Logan’s elbow, she pulled him toward a break in the traffic. Just before crossing the street, Grace turned back to the reporter. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay? And enjoy the rest of your evening.”