One-Click Buy: December 2009 Silhouette Desire

by Susan Mallery

  “As many young girls do, who don’t know the power of their sexuality and where it can lead. No, I was older. I should have faced the reality of what I did, of what happened…that I cared about you…deeply. I knew you loved me, and I was stupid and cruel and set on an idiotic course because of outdated ideas about duty and family. Damn.” Guilt and shame filled his broken tone.

  She leaned across the bed to touch him, to comfort him, but the moment her fingertips slid against the hot, hard flesh of his shoulder, he jerked away from her.

  “No. I don’t deserve you. Not after this.”

  “Logan, it was a long time ago.”

  “Do you think that matters?” he demanded icily. “I should have thought about the possibility of a baby. I should have listened when you called me. Cici, oh, God, Cici, I’ll never forgive myself for making you go through that alone. I can’t even begin to imagine how terrible it all must have been for you.”

  When he stood up and began to dress, her heart began to slam in slow, painful beats. “I didn’t tell you about our son to make you unhappier or guiltier. I think I forgave you a long time ago. Tonight, I just wanted to share his short life and my love for him with you. That’s all. I wanted you to know that we had this precious, darling son together.”

  “Well, I’m glad you told me,” he said coldly. “Now I’m going out. I have to be alone.”

  “But Logan… I need you…”

  “No, you don’t. When have I ever satisfied any of your real needs? Tomorrow I think you should leave.”

  “What? You’re sending me away?”

  “It’s for your own good.”

  “You’re really serious?”

  “Someday you’ll thank me,” he said savagely.

  “No. I won’t. Don’t I have any rights in this relationship?”

  “Like I said, you’ll be better off!”

  “But what if I don’t see it that way? You have no right to make this decision for me.”

  “I have news for you. The decision has been made.” He stalked toward the door.

  “You’re as high-handed and arrogant and hateful as you always were!” she shouted.

  “Finally, you understand me as well as Mitchell Butler does—only he’s got an advantage—because he’s exactly like me. I eat people alive!” He opened the door, banged it shut and was gone.

  She heard his footsteps slamming down the stairs. The front door opened and closed. She heard his car start. Then tires squealed down the drive.

  After that, except for the pulse that knocked painfully in her throat, his empty house was silent and still.

  Eight hours later the gray afternoon sky threatened rain as Logan knelt before Noelle’s white marble, above-ground tomb in Lafayette Cemetery No. 1.

  Carefully he laid a single red rose on the gleaming white step before the marble angel that bore a profound likeness to Noelle.

  “I’m sorry I made you so unhappy,” he whispered, hoping she could hear him. “I wanted to marry you so much. I was so sure I was doing the right thing. But I lied to you. And to myself. And I hurt you…just as much as I hurt Cici and our son. Just as much.”

  There was a low sigh, and he started. Looking up, he saw it was only the wind in the trees.

  How could he have been so horribly wrong about everything when he’d been so sure he was right? He’d hurt so many people he’d thought he’d loved.

  Last night when Cici had told him about their son, the pain in her voice had pierced his heart like a knife. If he’d helped her back then, maybe their son would be alive.

  He’d driven around all morning, thinking about Cici and all that he’d put her through. He loved her, but after the torment he’d caused her, he knew he didn’t deserve her.

  He loved her. Maybe he’d always loved her. Too bad he hadn’t known it until it was too late.

  He had to let her go. For once in his life he wouldn’t go after what he selfishly wanted, just because he wanted it.

  He wasn’t worthy of her. She was better off without him.

  Slowly he arose, and as he walked out of the cemetery he thought of the bleak, empty years ahead and wondered how he would ever find the courage to face a future that didn’t include Cici Bellefleur. Would he ever be able to live with what he’d done to her?

  Cici was wearing dark glasses to hide her red eyes as she stepped out of the elevator on Logan’s floor late that afternoon just as Mitchell Butler rushed from the offices of Claiborne Energy.

  “You!” he snapped, bristling upon seeing her.

  “Good afternoon,” she whispered as she tried to move past him.

  He grabbed her arm and then realizing he shouldn’t have done so, dropped it. “If you’re smart, young lady, you’ll stay away from him. He’s marrying my daughter, Alicia.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you last night. He’s buying my shipyard and marrying my daughter—to seal the bargain, so to speak. So if you think he wants to have anything to do with you, you’re crazy.”

  “If you think I’ll take your word for that, Mr. Butler, you’re the one who’s crazy! I know you probably feel pretty desperate about the merger. You’d do or say anything…”

  Hatred and wrath seemed to spew from his eyes even as his jaw went slack. Not wishing to prolong their unpleasant exchange, Cici ran past him into Mrs. Dilling’s outer office.

  “Is your boss here?” she asked, turning to see if Mr. Butler had followed her and feeling relieved when she saw he hadn’t.

  “Sorry,” the woman said as she looked up from her computer.

  “Where is he?”

  “Do you have an appointment… Miss Bellefleur, is it?”

  Cici nodded. “When…when do you expect him?”

  “Not until next week. Do you wish to make an appointment?”

  Without bothering to answer her, Cici walked to Logan’s door and threw it open. Like his house, his office was empty and felt cold and dead without him in it.

  “He’ll be back next week,” Mrs. Dillings said from behind her. “I’d be happy to schedule—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Cici said in a dull, defeated tone. “He’s made it very clear he doesn’t really want to see me.”

  The next morning an article in the Times-Picayune caused quite a stir over breakfast at Belle Rose as the early morning sun slanted across the emerald-green lawn and turned the columns of Belle Rose to pillars of gold.

  “Mitchell Butler says right here that Claiborne Energy is buying Butler Shipyard and that Logan’s marrying his daughter,” Pierre said. “I thought you and he… I mean I thought that you went to New Orleans to be with Logan.”

  Cici didn’t trust Butler, so she wasn’t so sure that Mitchell’s account was entirely accurate. Still, since what he said upset Pierre, her hands tensed as she tried to frame an answer.

  “I’m afraid that’s all over,” she said. “I’m going on assignment to Egypt. A feature story about…”

  “But you can’t leave,” Pierre said from his wicker chair on the gallery. “What about our tours? And your book? Our research? Our interviews? Logan?”

  Wincing because he’d been so enthusiastic about helping her when she’d first arrived and now, because now at the thought of her leaving, he looked so small and lost, Cici gently set her tea cup down.

  Leaning toward him, she patted his hand. Its coolness and thinness along with the slight tremor she detected frightened her a little.

  “You know you can give the tours without me. And…my agent got that extension she promised me, so I can put the book off for a while.”

  “But I just set up an interview with Eugene Thibodeaux. And I told you how busy he is.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I must ask you to cancel it.”

  “Because of Logan?”

  “I do have a life of my own you know,” she said.

  Pierre’s hands had begun to shake. The color had drained from his face. He looked too white, too th
in, and very old.

  Damn Mitchell Butler.

  All lives, but especially those of the very young and the elderly are so fragile. Because of Butler, Pierre, who didn’t need to be upset, was in real emotional pain.

  “I’m truly sorry, Pierre,” Cici said softly. “But I’m afraid this can’t be helped.”

  Her uncle chose that moment to call her on her mobile and say he’d read the article.

  “Not now,” she whispered. “I’m trying to explain the situation to Pierre.”

  “As if anything needs explaining,” he said. “Call me back when you get the chance.” He hung up.

  “It’s my fault,” Pierre said. “I was too imperious and intolerant back in the old days. And I insisted Logan follow suit. Together we’ve made you think you don’t really belong and can never be happy here.”

  At the thought of losing the chance at happiness she’d longed for only yesterday, her voice caught. “You’ve made me happy while I’ve been here this time.”

  “Not happy enough apparently.”

  As he lifted his coffee cup, she wondered if Pierre had heard anything she’d said other than that she was leaving. His face was pinched and set, and he was squinting as he stared unseeingly into the sun in the direction of the swamp and her uncle’s land beyond.

  He’d adjust, just as she would. He just needed time. Anybody who’d lived as long as he had knew changes and losses were inevitable.

  “I’ll go and make an airplane reservation,” she said.

  He looked so ashen and lost as she arose, she wondered if she should call Logan and warn him she was worried about him. After all, he’d give her all his phone numbers.

  No, he’d made it clear he couldn’t deal with the past or his guilt or her.

  She wouldn’t talk to him; she would tell Noonoon to call him instead.

  Twelve

  Logan’s bedroom television was blaring. Not that he was concentrating on it even though the story was about Mitchell’s deluded lies. The man’s empire was built on hype and debt. He’d gone off his rocker after Hayes had pitched Mitchell his offer.

  Not that Logan was thinking about Mitchell. He’d asked Hayes to deal with Mitchell.

  All Logan could think of was Cici. Did she believe Mitchell about Alicia? If she did, maybe it was for the best. She would hate him more and forget him sooner.

  Logan’s gaze drifted to his bed. In this room, on that bed, he’d made love to her for the last time, a mere twenty-four hours ago. He’d been the happiest man in the world until she’d told him about their son and he’d realized how utterly unforgivable his behavior to her had been. In some ways he was exactly like Mitchell Butler.

  Noonoon had told Logan Cici would be leaving for Egypt soon. He regretted driving her away, and it saddened him he might not see her again for years. But it was for the best. How could he ever look at her again without remembering what he’d done?

  She’d accused him of being high-handed and arrogant. Why couldn’t she understand that unlike the last time he’d left her, he was leaving her for her own good this time?

  When his phone rang, he was sprawled in his easy chair thinking about her because he was unable to focus on his business journal or the television. Thankful for any diversion, he grabbed the receiver.

  “Mr. Pierre, he be gone,” Noonoon said in a worried tone.

  “What?” He grabbed his remote and punched Mute.

  “I tried to get you earlier, only I got a message saying you had your phone turned off.”

  “Sorry about that. I’ve been doing some thinking. What about Grandpère?”

  “Mr. Pierre, he been in bad mood ever since he read the paper and had breakfast with Miss Cici. She told him she would be going away. After that nobody could console him. Not even me. So, he be gone. Mr. Jake, he come as soon as I called him.”

  Why in the hell had he turned his phone off?

  “Mr. Jake and Miss Cici and Mr. Bos, they be in the swamp in Mr. Bos’s boat looking for him.”

  “I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Logan said. Slamming the phone down, he jumped to his feet.

  Dressing hurriedly he tore out of his bedroom, down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Then he was outside his mansion, storming blindly to his Lexus.

  A cool, cloaking mist was seeping up from the swamp, shrouding everything. There was no wind, no movement of any kind.

  Cici felt cramped, hemmed in.

  “Pierre?” she called, her heart hammering as the swirls of fog wiped out familiar landmarks.

  She hated the damp this evening, hated the way everything was so still and gave off the dank odor of rotting vegetation. Uneasiness swept her. Pierre wasn’t strong. She was no longer sure where she was on the plantation, so how could she possibly help Pierre? Would he venture this far into the swamp?

  The last of the sunlight was almost gone, but, at least, the evening was still fairly warm. So, maybe he wouldn’t be too cold despite the damp. Still, the thought of him walking in this mist, especially after it grew dark, filled her with dread.

  Their search party had split up hours ago, so Cici was alone as she picked her way through the dense forest made up of blooming dogwood and tupelo gum as well as cypress and oak at the northern edge of the Claiborne property.

  “Pierre?” Her voice sounded soft and fearful even to her own ears, muffled as it was by the mist.

  Off to the right she heard a twig pop as if stepped on by a heavy boot, and she jumped.

  “Pierre?” Her voice cracked. “Is that you?” Please, God, let it be Pierre.

  There was a long silence. Then another twig broke, this one nearer than the first.

  “Pierre!” she cried.

  “No, it’s me, Cici,” Logan said, his voice deep and cold.

  “Logan…” Relief swamped her.

  She almost ran to him before she remembered he’d deliberately rejected her, just like he had before. Freezing, she stood her ground even though the mere sound of his hard, strained voice made her feel as if chains that had bound her heart ever since he’d walked out on her were falling away.

  “Where are you?” she said.

  “Stay where you are,” he commanded. She heard crunching footsteps. Then he stepped out of the fog, but no joy of recognition or love lit his tense, blue eyes.

  She drew a deep breath in an attempt to fortify herself.

  “I’m sorry about Pierre,” she whispered. “This is all my fault. He hasn’t been the same since I told him I was leaving.”

  “I tried to call you.”

  “But my phone was turned off.” His bleak eyes held no light as he stared through her. “Like always. I’m never there when you need me.”

  She felt the final death of something in his low tone and couldn’t bring herself to reply.

  “We’ll find him,” Logan said but in a heavy, dull voice that didn’t cheer her. “This isn’t the first time he’s pulled a stunt like this. He always just reappears, almost as if by magic, from his wanderings. Usually…he turns up…right before dark. I think the old fellow has a healthy respect for the dark, or maybe he’s being considerate of us. He’s not that far gone that he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.”

  “He wants his way, and I can’t blame him.”

  “Still, it’s one of the reasons I wanted to move him to New Orleans. His little disappearances always scare everybody half to death—me included.”

  She swallowed. “I’m sorry that I didn’t consider this possibility. Noonoon had told me about the other times.”

  “When will you leave?”

  “In a week.”

  “So, you have plenty of time to prepare and pack,” he said indifferently. Then he turned. “Maybe we should head back to the house just to make sure he hasn’t come home already. Like I said, he doesn’t like being out after dark much.”

  Sure enough, everybody, including Pierre and Jake, was on the porch drinking hot tea and laughing when they returned.

  “Can
I pour you a cup, Mr. Logan, yes?” Noonoon asked, a smile in her voice now that the crisis was over, and she saw Logan with Cici.

  “I’m afraid I have to get back to New Orleans,” Logan said curtly as he shook his head. Turning on his heel, he strode off into the darkness in the direction of his car.

  Everybody began chattering anew, and Pierre seemed very happy to be home safely and to find himself the center of attention after his misadventure.

  All Cici could hear were Logan’s footsteps dying away on the gravel path.

  “Stubborn, high-handed idiot,” Jake muttered, slamming his teacup down. “Some things never change.”

  She’d told Jake about her misunderstanding with Logan earlier, and he’d told her that Butler had, at least, been lying when he’d said Logan intended to marry his daughter.

  When she could no longer hear even Logan’s footsteps, pain clogged her throat. He was still stubbornly set against her.

  He’d said he was walking out on her for her sake, but to her it felt like history was repeating itself. He was leaving her, and she couldn’t bear it. And he didn’t care.

  Jake leaned toward her. “What are you waiting for? It’s obvious you’re both miserable. Go after him. He loves you. He’s always loved you.”

  “And you know this how? You’ve barely spoken these past nine years.”

  “I still know,” he said. “He thinks he’s protecting you. He’s hell on wheels when he’s protecting one of us. I should be the one to know. Don’t let him drive you away, the way I did.”

  As suddenly as she had when she’d been a child and had seen Logan disappearing into the woods or swamp, she gave a little cry and began to run after him, slowly at first and then more swiftly.

  “Logan!”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Logan, wait!”

  His legs were longer than hers and he’d had a head start, so he had already reached his Lexus by the time she caught up to him.

  “Logan. I love you. Don’t leave me, or you’ll hurt me more than anything you’ve ever done before. I love you and I’ll be miserable forever if you walk out on me.”