“Normally I don’t,” she conceded, “but the baby does. I get spicy food cravings all the time.”
A half-smile quirked his lips. “I don’t think the baby can tell the difference.”
She shrugged. “All I know is that I want spicy food and raspberry yogurt. I just obey.”
Logan chuckled, the sound deep and pleasant. Claire liked to hear him laugh. He did it so infrequently. “Do you think the baby is a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know.” Claire’s hand crept to her rounded midriff. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”
“I have,” Logan admitted, his voice soft. “I have a room I’d like to set aside for a nursery, and I was wondering if I should have it painted blue or pink.”
Claire liked the idea of Logan contemplating painting a nursery for their baby. Her initial concerns about his fathering abilities had long faded. She expected him to dote on the baby, probably to the point of spoiling him or her terribly. Just the thought of Logan cradling their tiny baby in his arms, of the look of awe and love on his face when he held him or her for the first time, made a big lump swell in her throat.
Think nursery, she told herself firmly, before you start crying right here in the middle of the restaurant.
“Maybe you should paint it yellow,” she suggested, her voice sounding husky even to her own ears. “Unless you want me to ask the doctor at the next sonogram?”
“No.” Logan shook his head. “I like wondering.”
“I do too.”
“At least we agree on something.”
She smiled. “We’ll have to agree on at least one other thing. A name.”
“Did you have any in mind?” From his tone, it was clear to Claire that he did.
“Not yet,” she answered honestly. “I haven’t been able to find any I names like enough. What do you think?”
“Well,” he paused, looking hesitant, like a boy about to be told he was kicked off the baseball team. “What do you think about the name Julie for a girl?”
“Julie.” Claire tried the name on her tongue and found she liked it. “It’s a pretty name. What made you think of it?”
He looked a little sheepish. “I saw it on a license plate on the drive down here, and it just struck me. We have plenty of time to decide on names, though. We don’t have to decide anything now.”
“No.” Claire’s tone was thoughtful. “I like the name Julie for a girl. I think it fits.”
“I’ll be damned.” Logan grinned at her, looking boyishly sexy. “We agreed on two things.”
“We did,” she said, grinning foolishly back at him. “Amazingly enough, we actually did.”
Maybe, she thought, coming on this vacation with Logan had been a step in the right direction. They were certainly making some headway already, and she planned to cover much more ground before the week was over. Yes, coming here with him had been the right decision to make. No doubt about it.
Agreeing to accompany Logan on this trip had been a mistake. No doubt about it.
Claire glared at the receptionist at their hotel as if she were part of the conspiracy. “What do you mean you only have one room available?”
The woman, looking very regal with her ice-gray hair in an upswept ’do and a diamond pin winking from the bodice of her black dress, sent Claire an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but there must have been some sort of clerical error. We’re overbooked. Are you sure you booked two rooms, Mr. Monroe?”
Logan looked grim. “Absolutely sure. I booked one previously, and when my plans changed, I booked another online.”
“Do you have a confirmation number?”
“No.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “I don’t bother to print them, and I’ve never encountered a problem until now.”
The woman frowned. “I apologize for the inconvenience. We’ve been having some glitches in our online booking system, so I suspect that could be the culprit. Do you have the card you booked with available?”
Logan pulled his credit card from his wallet and handed it to her. “So you only have one room open and it’s ours?” Logan asked, reiterating what they’d already learned upon their check-in attempt following lunch at the café. Maybe he, like Claire, hoped that if he remained at the front desk long enough, another room would magically become vacant.
“That’s right,” the woman confirmed. She typed away at the computer before her. “I’m sorry, but it looks like we’re booked solid for the rest of the week. If one room is a problem for you, we can refund your payment and you can try to book at another hotel. I don’t know whether you’d be able to find anything else. This is a very busy time of year for us.”
Logan turned back to Claire. “Do you want to try to find another hotel?”
That was an exceedingly tough question for Claire to answer. On one hand, she didn’t really want to share a hotel room with Logan, since said hotel room had one—count it, one—queen-size bed that would be impossible to share with him for a week without indulging in the same sort of activities that had gotten her into her current predicament. And she hadn’t really decided that she wanted to be intimate with Logan again yet. Well, of course her body wanted to, but her mind was a different matter. But on the other hand, she’d already fallen in love with the hotel. It was wonderfully preserved in its original style, with lush carpets spread over hardwood floors and beautiful antique furnishings. Claire really wanted to stay.
“I don’t know,” she said at last, still uncertain. “What do you think?”
He studied her. “I love it here, and I think you will too, but if you feel uncomfortable about sharing a room with me, we’ll find another hotel.”
It wasn’t that she felt uncomfortable about sharing a room. It was really that she didn’t trust herself. How could she sleep next to Logan and not touch him?
Of course, maybe she could control her baser, hormone-run-amok instincts. Maybe she could resist for the entire week.
Or maybe she didn’t want to.
In the end, it was as plain as that. Sophie’s words came back to her yet again. Hadn’t she decided that she needed to know, one way or another? The only way to do it was to take a chance.
“I don’t mind sharing a room with you,” she told him quickly before she could try to talk herself out of her decision. “Let’s just stay here.”
Logan nodded, looking satisfied. “It’s settled,” he told the receptionist. “We’ll stay here.”
The woman nodded and offered another apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for the confusion and inconvenience. I’ll look into the matter immediately, Mr. Monroe. In the meantime, you’re in room twenty-four.” She handed him a brass key fitted with a disc that bore the number of the room on its time-dulled surface. “It’s on the second floor. Make a left, then a right when you get off the elevator.”
Logan thanked the woman, took the key and led the way to the hotel’s only elevator. Claire followed, pulling her luggage behind her. Logan carried two bags slung over his shoulder and pulled his luggage. He’d insisted on carrying her bag in addition to his own. The elevator doors slid open with a loud ding, revealing an empty, wood-paneled square inside. Several old pictures of the hotel were hanging on the walls.
He held the doors open and motioned for her to precede him inside. She pushed the button for the second floor and glanced at the black-and-white photograph to her left. “I wonder what it would have been like to live here then,” she murmured as Logan joined her in the elevator.
“Difficult, filled with disease, and slow,” Logan replied, effectively ruining her idyllic musings. “Definitely no elevators.”
“Of course you would say something like that,” she returned, annoyed at his cut-and-dried, everything-is-black-and-white perception of the world.
He raised a brow at her. “It’s only the truth. How would you like to travel everywhere by horse and to lack decent medical treatment? Not to mention no time for vacations.”
“You’re too cynical.” The elevator
shuddered its way to a halt and the doors opened in time with another loud ding. She wheeled her luggage out into the hallway. “I think it must have been a fascinating time. Imagine life without cell phones, computers, iPads, the internet.”
Logan followed her. “I’d rather not, thanks. I happen to like all my twenty-first-century gadgets.”
“You might be happier without them,” Claire said truthfully. Logan had come to depend too much on the business world and not enough on his heart. How could she undo years of damage with one week?
He didn’t respond, so Claire resumed wheeling her luggage again. She pivoted to the left, walking into a long, wide hall dotted with more photographs and antique furnishings. An alcove was straight ahead, framed by burgundy velvet drapes that had been pulled aside to reveal the small room. Enchanted, Claire headed straight for it.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Logan called after her.
She chose to ignore him, entering the alcove to find a chessboard set up inside, flanked on either side by gilt and velvet chairs. A velvet settee lined the opposite wall, and intricately carved doors opened at the front of the alcove out onto a small balcony that overlooked the town’s main street.
“Logan.” She turned back to him, a smile curving her lips. “Isn’t this adorable? Look at the chess table. Can’t you just see two men from the photographs playing it together?”
He sent her a rueful glance. “You must be wearing off on me, Claire, because I almost can.”
“I can’t wait to see the room.” She wheeled her luggage back out of the alcove and made a left down the hallway. There was a sort of magic inherent in the hotel, she thought. It was like walking into another world, another time and place, just to head through its front doors.
She stopped outside a white door with a brass number twenty-four hanging on it and waited for Logan to catch up to her. He approached, watching her with a hooded intensity in his gaze that unnerved her. The keys jangled as he reached out to unlock the door and his hand grazed the underside of her right breast. She inhaled, shocked by the unexpected contact, and her nipples tightened instantly in response.
Logan’s gaze was dark and glittering as it met hers. “I’d apologize for that, but it wouldn’t be genuine,” he told her.
She swallowed and shifted to the side as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Her intense attraction to him had robbed her of the power of speech. She was afraid that if she attempted conversation it would emerge as gibberish.
“You go first,” he murmured, his lips so close to her ear that she felt his warm breath fanning her bare neck.
Jumping like a startled deer, she hurried inside, feeling every bit like Logan was the hunter and she the hunted. How could she resist him if he chose to turn on the charm? And did she really want to resist him?
Forcing her mind to think of something else, anything else, she stopped at the foot of the bed and glanced around the room. The bed, though a queen, dominated much of the space. Its headboard and footboard were wrought iron fashioned in fancy scrollwork. The floor was hardwood covered with a red carpet. A black hand-painted dresser dominated the far wall, set beneath an old beveled-glass mirror. A small flat screen sat in a corner on an antique table, and fashion prints from the nineteenth century dotted the walls. In all, it presented quite a charming picture.
“What do you think of it?” Logan asked, so close behind her again she actually jumped.
“It’s lovely,” she said, aware she sounded breathless and extremely aware that her heart had begun pounding like a hammer in her chest. Logan was within arm’s reach, looking down at her with an open expression that suddenly made the room feel as if it were the size of a dollhouse. He wanted her. It was written all over his gorgeous face.
Oh God, they’d been in the hotel room alone for less than forty-five seconds and already all she wanted to do was get him into bed. Focus, she reminded herself. She had to get away from him before she did something stupid.
“I’m going to check out the bathroom,” she said suddenly, seizing any excuse. She ducked away from him and fled into the nearby room, which was actually a sight to behold in itself. A white claw-foot tub stood in its center, accompanied by an antique wicker chair. Even the lighting fixtures and the sink looked to be original to the hotel’s beginnings.
She peered out a small window that graced the far wall and mentally counted to ten, willing her heart to slow down and her libido to get a grip on itself. When she finally felt more in control, she turned to leave the bathroom and froze. Logan stood at the threshold, leaning negligently against the doorjamb, watching her as if he was contemplating which article of clothing he wanted to peel off her body first.
Her mouth went dry. “Did you see the bathtub?” she asked lamely, her voice weak with sudden desire.
Logan cocked his head, considering her for a moment. “Claire, I don’t give a shit about the tub.”
“You don’t?”
He stalked toward her then, and she emitted an embarrassing squeak. He stopped just before her, so close her breasts almost brushed against his chest. “No. I don’t.”
“Well.” Her heart kicked into a steady drumming against her chest once more. “Did you want to look at the view out the window? There’s a charming little house across the street with a beautiful garden and a—”
“Claire.” Logan nearly undid her by running his fingertips along the length of her jaw. “I don’t give a shit about the view either.”
“No?” She flattened herself against the wall at her back. Resistance was becoming an increasingly remote possibility with every passing second.
Logan shook his head, a sensual smile curving his sulky mouth. “No.” He ran his fingers down her neck, dragging them in a lingering caress across her collarbone. His fingertip dipped into the hollow at the base of her neck where her pulse beat a frantic tattoo against her skin. “But I am beginning to rethink some things.”
“Really.” Claire ran her tongue over her dry lips, trying not to stare at his mouth and want it on hers but failing miserably. “What things?”
“I don’t want a business relationship with you.” His voice was low, deep, almost guttural. “I want you in my bed.”
The simplicity of that statement and the raw truth in it made her knees go weak. Any last hopes of resisting him died a hasty death. She grabbed a fistful of his white shirt and tugged him to her, closing those final inches between them. His mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding. She opened instantly, allowing his tongue to plunge inside.
Her hands slid into his thick, luxurious hair, its texture against her fingers every bit as arousing as his tongue inside her mouth. With Logan, her every sense came alive. The heady masculine scent of him turned her on. His taste filled her mouth. The feel of him branded her fingertips. She opened her eyes to find his gaze boring into hers, trapping her, making her know just how inevitable this had been for them. Her ears were filled with her heart’s frantic beats, of the growl he released deep inside his throat.
His hands found the hem of her tank top and dragged it up over her sensitized flesh. In an instant, it was over her head and tossed somewhere in the vicinity of the bathtub. Claire knew a brief moment of insecurity when Logan broke their kiss to look down at her overly ripe breasts and swollen belly. How could he find her attractive like this? She attempted to cover herself with her hands.
“No.” Logan took her hands in his and pulled them to her sides. “Let me look at you.”
“I’m pregnant, Logan,” she whispered, hating the fear of rejection bubbling up inside her.
“I know, sweetheart,” he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me.”
Claire searched his gaze for a sign that he was lying, but only honesty and passion glimmered back at her. “Logan.” She felt tears stinging her eyes for no reason.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, more so than she’d ever heard it. He kissed her lips, a feather-light
caress. “I hate to see you cry.”
She kissed him back, unable to get enough of him. “It’s just you, this, us…” Her words trailed off against his knowing mouth.
“I know.” He kissed her again. “It’s good between us. It always has been.”
She wanted to tell him it was more than good, but then his hands were cupping her breasts and she nearly went out of her mind. The pregnancy had made them so hypersensitive that when his thumbs flicked over her nipples she thought she might explode right then and there. Her head lolled to the side, a helpless whimper escaping her lips. And then she realized the bathroom window was still open, the shade at half-mast so that anyone walking by on the sidewalk below could look up and be treated to an X-rated scene.
“Logan, the curtain,” she said desperately, unable to reach it herself.
“The hell with the curtain,” he grumbled, picking her up in his arms and carrying her back into the bedroom. He laid her in the middle of the bed. Light streamed down over her body, kissing it in golden rays.
“This curtain is open too,” she reminded him, a smile playing at her lips.
With a growl of frustration, he reached back and yanked the drapery down over the window. Then, in one fluid motion, he was on the bed beside her. They met in a heated kiss and her hands tangled in his shirt, yanking it from his waistband and pulling it up over his head. Finally her eager hands were free to explore the muscled wall of his chest, his lean stomach, the hard, smooth strength of his back.
“Oh God, Claire, I want you,” he groaned against her mouth.
His fingers worked the zipper of her skirt before shimmying it down over her thighs. She freed a hand briefly to help him remove the skirt, then turned her attention to his pants. Clothing was an unwanted, annoying barrier at this point. She wanted to feel only Logan’s scorching skin against hers.
In moments, he had shucked his pants and was in the process of removing her bra. His hands found the clasp at her back, unhooking it one closure at a time while he lavished the exposed tops of her breasts with his tongue. As the hook gave way, she watched as he pulled the lacy cups down her breasts ever so slightly, centimeter by torturous centimeter, further stimulating her skin with the soft abrasion. Finally unable to stand any more, she tore her bra away herself, eliciting a hoarse bark of laughter from Logan.
Perfect Persuasion (Love's Second Chance Book 2) Page 12
