What kind of a child had he been? she wondered. Had he been obedient or rebellious? Extroverted or withdrawn? She knew he had been a good student and she knew he could have moments of deep kindness but she suddenly wanted to know more.
Since they had nothing else to do, maybe they could manage to set aside their differences and have a real conversation, just so she could gain some insights into his personality. Maybe if she knew a little more about him, she could get some idea what traits he might pass on to their child.
“You’re the oldest child, right?”
“The oldest living child,” he said sharply.
Robbie again, she remembered, with her customary pang of sympathy for the Logans. As tragic as Robbie’s kidnapping and death had been, she never forgot that although they had lost a son, in a very real way she had lost a brother that day, too. Danny had never stopped blaming himself for his best friend’s disappearance, for not protecting him somehow.
Over the years, that guilt had manifested itself in horrible ways. In his teens, Danny had sought release in drugs and alcohol but had since turned his life around.
After he married, she thought maybe at last he could be happy. But that, too, had ended tragically when history grimly repeated itself and Danny’s own son was kidnapped from a city park. His wife had been unable to bear the pain of losing her child and had killed herself, and Danny had retreated to his private island off the coast of Hawaii. No one seemed able to reach him. She tried as best she could but he was lost in his own hell outside her understanding.
Although she had visited him a few times, he seemed to prefer his solitude.
“Do you get along with your siblings?” she asked Peter.
He looked surprised at the question but finally nodded. “We’re a very close family.”
“There are five of you, right?”
“Right. I’m the oldest, then the twins, although my parents didn’t adopt them until they were five, after they’d had Eric and Bridget.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten David and Jillian were adopted, too.”
“Right.”
“You were six when you were adopted by the Logans, weren’t you? Do you remember anything of your life before you went to live with them?”
The sudden chill in his eyes at her question was far colder than anything Mother Nature could dish out. Despite the merry warmth from the fire, she shivered. Apparently she had crossed some intangible line by asking about his childhood. She wished she could yank back the question, but the words were already out there, hovering in the air.
“Forget I asked. I was simply making conversation but I can see now it was a presumptuous question. I apologize.”
He was quiet for a moment longer, the silence broken only by the flames snapping in the hearth.
“I remember a little,” he finally answered. “Not much of it good. I remember washing up in a dirty bus station sink once and sleeping at a shelter with some other kids. A bigger kid stole my toy airplane so I belted him. The woman who gave birth to me—I don’t consider her my mother—was a heroin addict and a prostitute. She couldn’t even take care of herself, forget about seeing to the needs of a kid. We were lucky to have a roof over our heads most nights.”
Her heart twisted with sorrow for the little boy he must have been. Tears burned behind her eyelids and though she knew perfectly well he wouldn’t welcome the gesture, she fought the urge to draw him against her for comfort.
“And your father?” she asked, then hoped he didn’t notice the rough note in her voice.
“Don’t know. I doubt she did, either.” He shrugged. “I don’t think about it much anymore. In every way that matters, my father is Terrence Logan and my mother is Leslie Logan.”
“You were happy with them?”
“The day they adopted me from Children’s Connection was the best day of my life. My first good memory is riding home with them from the orphanage, sitting wedged between them in the front seat of the car and feeling safe and warm for the first time in my life. I vowed that day that I would never do anything to disappoint them or make them regret picking me out of all the other kids at the orphanage.”
Was that why he was so driven to succeed? she wondered. Why he was known as a completely focused, brilliant executive? When Terrence Logan retired, one of the Portland newspapers ran a big story about Peter taking over. She had always been fascinated with him and had read it with far more interest than she liked to admit.
In the story, she learned he had worked harder than she to get where he was. He was valedictorian of the exclusive private prep school he attended and also graduated magna cum laude from the Harvard School of Business. Like her, he had gone to work at his family’s company right after graduation.
Where she preferred working behind the scenes in research and development, he seemed to have no problem being in the limelight. Through his tenure at Logan, Peter had earned a reputation in the Portland business community as a fiercely loyal, dedicated, passionate CEO who gave everything to his work.
Was his dedication to the firm and his passion for the job just another way he tried to prove to Leslie and Terrence they hadn’t made a mistake in adopting him?
She had a feeling he would deny it vigorously if she asked but something told her she was on the right track.
“I’m sure they’re very proud of you,” she said quietly. “You’ve been a good son to them.”
“I’ve tried. I’m sure they’ve been disappointed in me a few times but they’ve always loved me anyway.”
Would Terrence and Leslie be heartbroken if they ever found out Peter had fathered a grandchild they would never know? The thought jolted her. She had been thinking all along of the ramifications of keeping her pregnancy a secret from Peter but she hadn’t given a thought to the concentric circle of people who would be affected by her decision.
By keeping the information from him, she suddenly realized she would also be depriving his family of the chance to know his child—and her child the chance to know his or her birthright.
She couldn’t change her mind now, Katie thought. Though she might better understand Peter’s single-minded passion to succeed now, that certainly didn’t ameliorate it, by any means. She had grown up with a father who had the same focus, who saw nothing beyond his ambition and his ego and the women who fed it.
Peter Logan was too much like Jack Crosby for her to ever consider him good father material, though she knew he would rather wander naked out into that subzero storm than ever concede he might have anything in common with her father.
She wished suddenly that she’d never asked him about his childhood. She didn’t want to picture a six-year-old boy with dark hair and brown eyes and a sweet smile vowing never to disappoint his new family. She also didn’t need this guilt pinching at her when she thought of depriving Leslie and Terrence—who had lost so much already because of her family—the chance to know their grandchild.
She especially didn’t want to feel this wary tenderness entwining around her heart.
* * *
Peter hadn’t meant to tell her that whole bit about the day the Logans took him home. He never talked about it—hell, he didn’t even think about it much. He meant what he’d said to her. In every way that mattered Terrence and Leslie were his parents. He loved them fiercely and never let himself forget how much he owed them.
He couldn’t imagine how his life would have turned out if they hadn’t adopted him. If he hadn’t died early from malnutrition or one of the other many dangers he faced living on the street with a junkie and a whore for a mother, he didn’t doubt that he would have spent his entire childhood either in the Children’s Connection orphanage or in the foster-care system as a ward of the state.
Everything he had, all he had become, he owed to Leslie and Terrence, and he refused to lose sight of that.
They had never treated him any differently than their other children. They showered all of them—Eric and Bridget, their natural-born, a
nd the adopted twins David and Jillian—with the same steady love and attention. But even when he’d been just a kid, Peter had always been conscious of the debt he owed them.
While other teenage boys were experimenting with alcohol or trying to score with the head cheerleader, he was knuckling down at his studies or following his father around, trying to learn the ropes at Logan.
As he’d said to Katie, he knew there had been times he had been a disappointment to them, but overall he knew they were proud of the man he’d become.
That all might change, though. He didn’t think they would be too crazy about the idea that he was here, trapped on a ranch with Katie Crosby—or about the circumstances that had led him here.
After all the bitterness between their families, he didn’t want to think about how disappointed Leslie and Terrence would be when they saw that article in the Weekly and when they learned he may have compromised an important project because of his lust.
He had a feeling they also wouldn’t be real thrilled to know how much he still burned for this particular Crosby.
Why was he so attracted to her? he wondered. He shouldn’t be. She wasn’t at all his usual type. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her short, choppy hair was tousled. She still had circles under her eyes and she wore a baggy sweater, a pair of old jeans with frayed cuffs and thick wool socks the color of dryer lint.
But still he wanted her. All he could think about was the tight, lithe body underneath her clothes and the way she had responded in his arms with such fire and heat.
There was the real reason for his restlessness. Whenever he tried to concentrate on the shareholders report, all he could think about was how different things could have been between him and Katie.
If he never learned who she was—if he still thought she was the incredible, passionate Celeste—he would have given his left arm to find himself snowbound here alone with her.
He could have come up with at least a dozen ways to make love to her in every corner of this sprawling ranch house. Instead of this restless tension between them, they could be cuddling together under thick quilts, listening to the wind moan under the rafters and the snow tap against the glass. Or they could have curled up together in front of the fireplace with a bottle of wine.
The possibilities were limited only by his imagination and his stamina, and he had a feeling when it came to Katie Crosby he would have more than enough of both.
His body was only too willing to forget how angry he was about this whole mess, about her lies and even about her identity. His mind refused to capitulate, though.
It didn’t help that he found her even more desirable here under these primitive conditions than with all the glitz and glamour of the charity benefit. She seemed more comfortable here, more natural.
Except for that moment in the barn when she had run away from him, she didn’t even seem to mind his company.
“Why are you staring?” she asked him suddenly. His gaze met hers before he had a chance to mask the desire he knew was only too evident there. To his surprise, a blush crept from her throat to her cheekbones.
He didn’t begin to understand this woman. He didn’t understand most women—he’d be the first to admit it. He enjoyed women, figured it was safe to say he loved everything about them. The way they smelled, the fancy things they did to their hair, the way they seemed incapable of visiting the ladies’ room unless they went as a pack.
His brother, Eric, was the expert, the one who always knew just what to say and how to smile and where to touch. Eric had been charming women from the cradle.
To Peter, all women were a tantalizing, delicious mystery. But this one in particular had him baffled. How could she seduce him with such calculating cold-bloodedness, yet still blush at a look in his eyes?
It didn’t make sense. She didn’t make sense. He knew she slept with him that night to spy on their super-router project. Why else would she have lied to him about who she was, have kissed him on the balcony of Dorothea’s hotel room and then again so eagerly in the limousine? Why would she have even climbed into that limo with him if she hadn’t been planning all along to seduce him into taking her home?
Here, Katie seemed completely different. Softer, less sophisticated, maybe. She was someone he almost thought he could like under other circumstances.
“Peter?”
How long had he been staring at her with hunger in his eyes, he wondered, annoyed at himself.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he asked suddenly and rose to his feet.
Her eyes widened at the question. As if she didn’t like being at a height disadvantage, she rose, too, and stuck out that stubborn little chin. “I thought you already figured that out. It was all part of my devious plan. Isn’t that what you think? You never would have slept with me if you had known I was Katherine Crosby.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” he muttered in a voice that should have been too low for her to hear.
She must have uncommonly good hearing, though. She stared at him. “What did you say?”
It was too late to back down, even if he wanted to. “I know exactly who you are now. So explain to me how I can still want you.”
His words seemed to echo in the vast room. He would have let the matter drop, just left his imprudent admission to hover there between them, but he saw her pupils flare and saw her chest rise and fall in quick succession with her gasp.
Though he knew he would likely hate himself for it later, he couldn’t resist tasting her, just one more time. Only once, he promised himself as he lowered his mouth to hers. Just a taste and then he would retreat back into his anger.
He could swear he felt the slow churn of blood through his veins and each rapid beat of his heart as he lowered his mouth to hers, swallowing another quick intake of her breath as their lips met.
Her mouth was soft, warm and just as delicious as he remembered. He wanted to taste every inch of it, to lick and probe and savor until she forgot even her own name.
Or at least until he forgot it.
He had missed this, the low burn of desire in his gut. He hadn’t been with a woman since their night together three months ago. He hadn’t even dated anyone, hadn’t even been tempted to go out.
Even on New Year’s Eve, he had gone alone to a party at a friend’s house rather than summon the energy to ask anyone out when all he could think about was Celeste.
And here she was in his arms again, just as he had imagined hundreds of times, before he found out who she was. She fit against him just as perfectly as she had that night. Her body was curvy in all the right places. After that first moment when she stood motionless in his arms as though paralyzed by shock, her arms wrapped around him and she leaned into him. Her mouth softened under his and everything about her seemed to sigh.
He wanted to fill his senses with her. She smelled the same as she had that night, some kind of subtle floral scent that made him think of his mother’s garden after an April rain.
He didn’t know how long they kissed. He only knew he would have been happy to stand just like this for a week or two, with the wind howling at the window and the fire snapping in the grate. But when he lowered a hand to the small of her back to draw her closer, she seemed to snap back to her senses. Her eyes jerked open and she dropped her arms from around his neck and scrambled away as if she’d just found herself embracing a python.
If her uneven breathing was any indication, their embrace affected her as intensely as it did him. “What was that all about?” she asked, her voice thin, ragged.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She was quiet for a moment, then she shook her head. “You’re bored and restless. Inactivity is difficult for a man like you. I understand that and I’m sorry for it, but I won’t help you pass the time this way. I won’t. Not when it’s obvious you despise me.”
“I don’t despise you.”
Her laugh was harsh and disbelieving. “Right.”
Why so much bitterness?
he wondered. Her eyes were as bleak as the landscape outside the window.
“I don’t.”
It was the truth, he was startled to discover, but she didn’t appear at all convinced. “I’m going to check on the fuel level on the generator and then see what I can round up for dinner.”
And don’t bother coming with me. She didn’t add the words but he heard them loud and clear.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The storm broke a few hours before dawn.
Though Katie should have been sleeping, oblivious to any change in weather at that ungodly hour, she had been lying awake in bed, the quilt snug around her chin as she gazed at the dying flames’ sinuous dance and replayed their kiss.
She couldn’t figure out why Peter had done it. He had seemed genuinely shocked when she accused him of merely trying to pass the time, kissing her out of boredom and restlessness.
But what other reason could there be?
He didn’t like her and certainly didn’t trust her. He had made that abundantly clear since he arrived at Sweetwater. He thought she had slept with him only to learn Logan Corporation secrets. So why kiss her until her bones melted? Until she was moaning and panting and closer than she cared to remember to begging for more?
She knew how dangerous it was to kiss him. Between her pregnancy and the trauma of seeing him again, her emotions were fragile, weak. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable and exposed. She needed time and space to build her defenses against him but she’d had neither since his arrival.
Had it only been a day and a half? She couldn’t believe it. Time seemed to stretch and thin. She felt as if she’d lived a lifetime in those thirty-six hours. Maybe because they had been together almost constantly since he swept into Sweetwater.
Even after that kiss, when she had wanted desperately to retreat to her room and hide away, she had forced herself to remain either in the kitchen or the great room.
After the dinner she had put together—well, the lasagna she had pulled out of the freezer and baked according to Margie’s directions—she had even gone so far as to play a game with him. Monopoly. No big surprise, he won. She wasn’t any better at empire building, she decided, than she was at forgetting how she had wanted to let him hold her forever.
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