“Mom and Dad are coming over to see the pictures,” Sophie admitted, looking guilty.
“Soph.” Claire grimaced. “When are they coming?” A slightly evil inner voice added, I can leave before they get here.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents, because she did. It was just that she’d been avoiding them both—mostly her mother—as much as possible lately. Her mother was absolutely in love with Garrett, and every time Claire saw her, she was treated to endless sermons on the benefits of marital counseling. It got old.
Not to mention the tiny issue of the paternity of the baby. Okay, so it wasn’t tiny. It was rather large and rather important, especially since Claire’s mother still thought Garrett was the father.
“When are they going to be here, Sophie?” Claire asked again when her sister stalled.
“Well…” Sophie hedged. Two short honks of a car horn burst through the silence. “That would be them pulling into the driveway now.”
“Sophie.” Claire pulled aside the curtain and peered out the window to see her petite, blonde mother and her father getting out of their Volvo. “You know I’m trying to steer clear of them.”
“I know, but I couldn’t not tell them we were back, and when I called, Mom was so excited that I couldn’t tell her she wasn’t allowed to come over,” Sophie said, still sounding as guilty as she looked when Claire turned back to her.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I know how she is.”
“Did you tell her about you and Logan?” Sophie asked.
“No,” she admitted.
“Claire.” It was Sophie’s turn to play the role of reproving sibling. “You’re going to have to tell her some time.”
“Actually, she wouldn’t have to, per se,” Trevor offered, casually stroking Sophie’s side as he spoke.
“Don’t encourage her,” Sophie chastised.
“Then don’t meddle,” he rejoined, giving Sophie a pointed look. “She’ll do what she thinks is right.”
“I guess so,” Sophie grumbled reluctantly as the doorbell chimed. “I’ll get it,” she added rather dryly, striding to the door in three steps.
Claire noted that despite Sophie’s rather large tummy, she didn’t suffer from the pregnancy waddle. Totally unfair.
Happy greetings interfered with her jealous musings as Sophie exchanged hugs with their mother and father. Her mother, a small, elegant woman in her sixties, wore white pants and a pink sweater set. Claire wondered how long it would be before she cornered her.
“Sophie, sweetheart, how was Paris?” their mother exclaimed, sending an arch glance Claire’s way. “Your sister has made herself so scarce we thought you took her with you.”
Claire groaned. Probably not long.
But her father approached her first, looking as if he’d just stepped off the golf cart with his sweater vest, tan pants, and loafers. He smiled down at her, his blue eyes reassuring. Claire noted he had a great deal more flecks of gray in his hair now than he had the last time she’d seen him.
She couldn’t recall when that had even been. Feeling guilty, she hugged him. “It’s good to see you, Dad.”
“And you, honey,” he murmured, pulling away to look down at her. “I hope everything’s all right.”
“Everything’s great.” The lie sprang to her lips easily, naturally.
His too-knowing gaze probed hers. “I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me. But now isn’t the time or the place, is it?”
“No,” she agreed, “it isn’t.”
He moved away from her to greet Trevor with a hearty clap on the back. Claire’s mother took advantage of the opportunity to swoop in, appearing before her next. She tucked her chin down and frowned at Claire in that patent, I-am-very-disappointed-in-you way that only mothers can really perfect. “How are you doing, dear?”
“Fine,” Claire answered as she received a hug from her mother.
“And how is Garrett?”
“I’m sure he’s fine too,” Claire gritted.
Her mother’s frown deepened until she had a deep vee furrowed in her forehead. “You don’t know how your husband and the father of your child is doing?”
Claire sighed, feeling a bone-deep weariness. “We’re getting a divorce, Mom. We don’t talk very often.”
“What is going through your head?” Her mother’s voice was discreetly low but still hard as steel. “You have that baby to consider now.”
“I know.” Claire made eyes at Sophie, who thankfully took the hint and came over for a rescue.
“How about some pictures?” Sophie asked with an unnatural amount of brightness. “You should see some of the gorgeous shots I got of the Notre Dame, Montmartre, the Eiffel Tower. I managed to paint a bit too, believe it or not.”
“I can’t wait,” their mother declared, turning back to Claire and patting her cheek, rather condescendingly to Claire’s mind. “We’ll talk later, dear.”
“Why don’t we all go in the living room,” Sophie suggested loudly. “Can I get anyone drinks?”
As the group began filing into the living room, the telephone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Anne offered. “Sophie, you get the pictures ready.”
“The phone’s on the kitchen counter,” Claire called to her mother. “I left it there last night.”
Anne made her way to the kitchen, brooding over Claire’s ridiculousness as she went. Really, why couldn’t Claire see she and Garrett were perfect together? Why couldn’t she put the baby’s needs first? Was this some sort of premature midlife crisis?
“It better not be,” she grumbled as she picked up the cordless phone and hit the talk button. “Hello?”
“Claire?”
Anne blinked. The confused-sounding male voice on the other end of the line was definitely not Garrett’s. “No,” she said, “this is her mother speaking.”
“I’m sorry. Could I please speak with Claire?”
He seemed polite enough, but Anne didn’t like him. What was he doing calling for her daughter, anyway? “She’s not here,” she lied. “She’s back at the house with her husband.”
Anne didn’t know why she’d said it, but she was glad she did when she heard the man’s reaction.
“Why is she there?” he asked, sounding angry, maybe even a little jealous.
Oh Lord. Suddenly everything made perfect, awful sense to Anne. Claire’s leaving Garrett, her refusal to reconcile with him even with the baby, all of it. Claire was seeing another man.
“They’ve reconciled.” The lie left her mouth before Anne even thought it over. She couldn’t let her daughter throw away a good marriage with the father of her baby for an affair with some man.
“Excuse me?” The disbelief in his voice gratified her.
“I can give you the number there if you’d still like to reach her,” she offered, feigning helpfulness.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, and hung up.
Anne hung up the cordless and stared at it for a moment, feeling a pang of guilt for meddling. Then again, she was only doing what she thought best. After all, a mother’s duty was to look after her daughter, especially when her daughter was making a complete mess of her life.
Yes, it had to be done, Anne decided, going off in search of her family. It was as simple as that.
Logan didn’t know what the hell he was doing.
He didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do either. The only thing he did know was that he couldn’t allow Claire to reconcile with her shithead of a husband. Damn her. God, he was so furious. Like hell another man, especially that asshole, would be raising Logan’s child.
So he was at a bar.
If Logan could have solved all the problems in his life with lager, he’d be worry-free. A self-loathing smile curved his lips as he tipped his glass and drank deeply, his second lager going down smooth. He plunked his glass back on the bar. At least this place was rather nice, he thought, eyeing his surroundings somewhat unco
ncernedly, not a dive. He didn’t know what it was called. Mahony’s or Maguire’s or some Irish pub knockoff kind of name.
Not that it mattered.
All that did matter at the moment was that Logan had come here to drink away his problems. He never used alcohol as a tool of avoidance, never even got drunk. The feeling of losing control over himself or his situation had always been repellent enough to keep him from even thinking of it.
Until Claire.
Damn it, he should never have allowed the one lapse in judgment that let her under his skin. He’d always been attracted to her, and he’d always known that acting on that attraction would lead only to disaster. Still, that weekend in New York, he hadn’t given a damn for any of that. There had only been Claire and him and the best sex of his life.
But it hadn’t really been just sex for him, and that was the trouble. He’d felt and known it then, in the aftermath of their explosive passion, and dealt with it by retreating and putting up a cool façade. But the façade had begun to crack and slip away and he was starting to acknowledge he had feelings for Claire, as goddamn crazy as that was.
She sure as hell didn’t want him as her unsuspecting mother had so cheerfully let him know.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Logan glanced up from his lager to find an attractive brunette at his side, a flirty smile on her glossy red lips.
He gestured to the empty barstool to his left. “Be my guest.”
She seated herself gracefully and crossed legs that were long, lean, and capped off by sexy red heels. “I’m Carla,” she told him, the flirty smile still in place.
“Logan.” He introduced himself, raising his glass to her in a salute. Her eyes were blue, he noticed, but not as deep and radiant a blue as Claire’s.
Damn it, there he went again, thinking about her. And why, when he had a pretty woman at his side who was clearly interested in him? Hadn’t he always been partial to leggy brunettes over petite blondes, anyway?
“Can I buy you a drink, Carrie?” he asked, hoping like hell he’d gotten her name right.
She laughed, a deep, throaty, wait-until-you-see-me-naked kind of laugh. “It’s Carla, and yes, you can buy me a drink. Make it a Cosmo.”
Logan gestured to the bartender, a twenty-something who spent more time hitting on women than he did pouring drinks. The smarmy bastard looked over, got an eyeful of Carla and sauntered their way. “What can I get for you?”
“A Cosmopolitan,” Logan informed him coolly.
“A Cosmo it is,” the bartender said, grinning at Carla, not even bothering to spare Logan a glance.
There goes your tip, asshole.
To her credit, Carla virtually ignored the bartender beyond a polite “thank you” when he delivered her drink. Sensing more susceptible prey elsewhere, he moved to the other end of the bar. Carla sipped her drink delicately. Logan decided what he needed was sex, meaningless, mindless, leave-before-she-wakes-up sex. Maybe that would cure him of the disturbing preoccupation he’d developed with Claire. She was having his child, but that didn’t mean their relationship needed to go beyond that of co-parenting.
He just needed sex, that was all. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman. In fact, he hadn’t been with a woman since Claire. Logan decided it was definitely time to rectify that little situation.
“Are you from Philadelphia?” she asked, her gaze dropping to his mouth.
“My business is here,” he replied. “I live in a suburb. You?”
“Oh I’m here for a business meeting,” she replied, raising her glass to her full red lips and taking another sip. “I fly back to Chicago tomorrow afternoon.”
Perfect one-night-stand material. Tomorrow, she would leave and they’d never see each other again.
“Where are you staying?” Logan took a long draught of his lager, awaiting her response.
“The Pierpont.” She put her hand on his arm, her eyes meeting his frankly. “My room has an incredible whirlpool tub in it. Maybe you’d like to see it.”
There it was, out in the open, a blunt invitation for what he’d been craving. Logan should have felt elated, but he felt slightly sick instead. He couldn’t do it. An image of Claire rose in his mind.
“I’m sorry,” he told Carla abruptly, “but I can’t. I have to get home.”
Carla removed her hand and studied him. “I see. Have a good night then.”
She took her drink in hand and walked away.
Logan dropped some cash on the bar and made a beeline for the door, feeling even more pissed than he’d felt half an hour earlier at his arrival. The fact that he’d been in the bar and that he’d turned down a willing woman proved one thing. Logan didn’t want his relationship with Claire to be just that of co-parents.
He wanted more.
Damn it. And damn Claire too.
Claire’s steps faltered when she entered Logan’s office. He stood facing her, uncharacteristically before his desk rather than behind it. He wore only his customary white shirt and black pants and his eyes seared her with an intensity she had come to recognize as desire. A heady charge filled the air between them, and Claire knew in an instant his summons had nothing to do with business.
Nothing at all.
The door clicked closed behind her, a loud sound in the palpable silence. She swallowed heavily, feeling her heart kick up its pace. He strode toward her almost leisurely, that gaze boring into hers, leaving no doubt to the sensual promise reflected there.
“Lock it,” he commanded, his voice low, deep.
Claire felt breathless. Witless. She’d lost all ability to formulate coherent thought. “What?”
“The door.” He smiled knowingly. “Lock it.”
Oh yes. The door. She shouldn’t lock it. In fact, she should open it and run away from the madness that gripped her whenever Logan was around.
Claire turned and flicked the lock.
Logan’s hands landed on her waist, and he pulled her back against the length of his powerful body. His arousal prodded her lower back. He buried his face in the side of her neck, pressing hot, wet kisses to her sensitized skin, trailing a brand with his tongue. She angled her head to give him better access, a moan escaping her.
His hand slid up the front of her shirt, unbuttoning it as he went. When he reached the top button and slid it from its mooring, he pulled her shirt down over her shoulder, kissing a path there. He nipped at her bra strap with his teeth, sending a shiver skidding through her. His hand found and cupped her breast through the lacy cup of her bra, rotating the nipple with maddening slowness.
“Logan.” His name was a plea on her lips.
“Does he make you feel this way?” he asked darkly, an angry edge to his voice as he continued to lavish her bare shoulder with his tongue, mouth, and teeth.
“Who?” Claire looked at his agonizingly gorgeous profile, confused.
He licked a path back to the curve of her neck. “Your husband.”
“What?” She stilled and turned in his arms, facing him.
Logan’s face was grim, his expression a combination of arousal and anger. “Your mother told me you reconciled with him.”
“She what?” Claire couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Of course we’re not reconciling. Wait a second. When did you talk to my mother?”
“Last night.” Logan’s grip on her had tightened, his face a frozen mask. “I called your sister’s house.”
Claire’s mind flew back to the previous night and her mother’s offer to answer the phone. She wouldn’t have done something so ridiculous, so meddlesome.
Yes, Claire realized as she studied Logan’s face, her mother had.
And there was no hope for it now, no evasion tactics available. “My mother lied to you.”
Logan was having a hard time swallowing that. She could tell by the look on his face. “Why?” His suspicious tone was laced with an angry edge.
“She’s desperate for Garrett and me to get back together. I k
eep telling her it’s useless, but she’s stubborn.”
The corner of Logan’s sulky mouth kicked up into a smile. He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “Stubborn, not unlike someone I else I know.”
“I’m not—” She began to deny it, but the arrogant look he directed at her silenced her. Okay, maybe she could occasionally be the smallest bit stubborn, but she was nowhere near as bad as her mother.
Logan’s gaze grew serious and his hand stilled, resting on her nape. “Your mother thinks your divorce is a mistake?”
“Yes.” His proximity and intensity were having ill effects on her breathing capabilities.
“Do you?”
Claire stilled completely, amazed. This was the very first time in all the years she’d known Logan that he’d ever sounded uncertain. He’d always reeked of confidence. Even his full stride spoke of his complete domination of himself and the world around him. Yet he stood before her now, his eyes grave and fierce, a man waiting to be told where he stood.
She shook her head. “No. I don’t. In fact, I wish we had divorced years ago, rather than making everything become so hurtful and nasty.”
For a moment, Logan’s mask slipped and Claire saw an expression of stark relief cross his features. It made her heart squeeze for him. He was so vulnerable beneath his veneer of impenetrability. She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, to make love with him again, this time out of caring and need rather than pure lust. He was like a stray animal she wanted to rescue and tame with tenderness and love.
Love?
No, not love. That was an emotion that had no place for Logan. The two words didn’t belong in the same sentence. These tender feelings she was developing for him were byproducts of the pregnancy. She couldn’t be expected to maintain complete detachment for the father of her child.
Claire couldn’t help herself. She reached out, caressed his face, enjoying the texture of his beard stubble beneath her fingers. “You didn’t shave this morning,” she murmured, her eyes trapped by his.
Before he could reply, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him as she’d been longing to, deeply and open-mouthed. It was a hot, carnal kiss, and it left her wanting more when it was over.
Perfect Persuasion (Love's Second Chance Book 2) Page 7
