Intimate Surrender

by RaeAnne Thayne

  "They were still able to get to the water."

  "Keeping a good water supply is vital to the cattle all year long but especially in winter. We'll have to keep an eye on it. It's solar powered but has a battery backup that should keep it juiced up even during the cloudiest of days."

  She stepped away from the horse and he had his first full-on look at her since he had returned to the barn. Her eyes looked puffy and her nose was red.

  "Is everything all right in here?"

  She tilted her chin, a belligerent look in her eyes. "Just fine. Why wouldn't it be?"

  He couldn't just come out and say she looked as if she'd been crying. In his experience, women didn't always appreciate that kind of information.

  Besides, if she had been crying—something he found hard to reconcile with the sneaky manipulator he had decided she must be—he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It made her too human, too vulnerable.

  Had he come on too strong before, bossing her around as he had? Too bad, he thought. He meant every word and would have had no compunction about locking her in the tack room while he cared for the stock.

  If she was crying, it was probably because she hated being beholden to a Logan. Rather than go down that dangerous road—or any road that involved a woman's tears—he opted to change the subject.

  "Nice horse. Is she yours?"

  Katie gave him an odd look but seemed willing enough to travel the conversational side route. "Yes. Her name is Susan."

  "And does Susan ever answer during your conversations?"

  She flushed so brightly he had to wonder what she had been talking to the horse about. "No. That's why she's such a perfect conversationalist. Unlike some people," she added pointedly, "Susan doesn't pick at me or make unfounded accusations or call me names. All she does is snort once in a while."

  "What's the fun of that?"

  If he didn't know better, he would have thought there was a smile lurking in her eyes, but she didn't allow it anywhere near her mouth. "Does your family have horses?"

  "No. I've ridden a few times but I would probably fall into the tenderfoot category. I suppose you grew up riding."

  Her laugh was brief and humorless. "No. Sheila hates horses, unless she's watching them on the racetrack. She dislikes animals of all kinds. We weren't allowed any pets."

  That didn't surprise him at all. He knew the grim history between their families well enough to hold Sheila Crosby responsible for much of the pain his parents had endured at the loss of their oldest son. Robbie supposedly had been under her supervision at the time of his kidnapping. Even after she realized he had disappeared, she had been too busy covering her own rear end to help the investigation.

  He despised the matriarch of the Crosby clan. In his opinion she was selfish and amoral, interested only in herself.

  "But you ride now?" he asked Sheila's daughter.

  "I didn't learn until I was sent to Switzerland and boarding school. All the other girls seemed to have been born in the saddle. They couldn't understand how anybody could be as graceless and uncoordinated as I was at it. I was terrified of the horses and was forever falling off."

  Girls could be cruel to each other—especially spoiled rich girls at Swiss boarding schools, he imagined.

  "You must have stuck with it or you wouldn't be here talking to Susan, the great conversationalist."

  She smiled suddenly and Peter was startled at how just that small change in her expression could make her look so young.

  "The first year I was away from home I spent every afternoon at the riding stables until I was able to overcome my fear of the horses. The riding master and the grooms were just about the only friends I had for a long time. I'm sure they were sick of me, but they were very patient."

  He didn't like the image that had suddenly formed in his mind, of a younger version of this woman haunting the stables at her school until she could overcome her fear.

  "How old were you when you went to boarding school?"

  "Eleven."

  What had her parents been thinking to send her away at such a tender age? His dislike for Sheila Crosby intensified. Everything he'd seen about the woman showed him she treated her children with casual disinterest, except when she wanted something from them.

  "Tough age," he murmured.

  "I survived. The horses helped."

  How much pain and loneliness did those mild words conceal? he wondered.

  Being away at such a formative time in a young girl's life must have been terribly lonely, especially if she hadn't fit in at her boarding school.

  He thought of his own sisters, Bridget and Jillian. His mother never would have let them leave the house so young. She would have shriveled up and died without them. But Sheila Crosby was a far different woman than Leslie Logan.

  On the other hand, with Sheila for a mother, maybe boarding school hadn't been such a bad thing.

  He didn't like the compassion flickering through him. Why should he care if she had a lonely childhood? That didn't excuse the kind of woman she had become, one who could lie about her name and sleep with a business rival to pry out company secrets.

  He didn't care, he told himself. He only wanted to find out more about her. Know thine enemy and all that.

  "How long were you at boarding school?"

  "Five years. I was admitted early to Stanford when I was sixteen and graduated with my masters at twenty-one. I've been at Crosby ever since."

  "I understand your sister, Ivy, worked there, too, until her marriage to that Lantanyan royal."

  "Yes. I talked her into coming to Crosby after the dot-com she worked for went bust. That's how she met Max," Katie went on. "She was in Lantanya managing the installation of one of our high-speed computer systems to link all their schools."

  Her eyes lit up when she talked about her siblings, Peter thought. He wondered if she knew it.

  She talked about her siblings with the same pride he talked about Eric and David and Jillian and Bridget.

  He didn't like thinking they had this in common. It was far easier to dislike the whole Crosby clan when he viewed them as a bed of vipers, each willing to strike out at the other.

  "Trent must have hated to lose another potential spy in his little network," he said, then instantly regretted the comment. It was petty and mean and all but extinguished that light in her eyes.

  "Right. Technically, Ivy's staying on at Crosby to oversee the Lantanya project. But since she's busy with a new husband, her royal responsibilities and a baby on the way, she probably won't have time for much corporate espionage. I guess that means Trent is stuck with only me to do his dirty work."

  "Well, you're good at what you do."

  "If I need references for my next assignment, I'll be sure to come to you," she snapped.

  He opened his mouth to snap back a retort, but before he could, the horse whinnied and shoved her nose into Katie's back, almost as if she didn't like her suddenly sharp tone.

  Katie stumbled a little and would have fallen, but Peter instinctively stepped forward and caught her against him.

  She was curvy and warm in his arms, a perfect fit, and like a match set to dry tinder, his body immediately reacted to her nearness just as it had done the night of the gala, as if three months and a world of bitterness didn't exist between them.

  He would have released her as soon as she found her footing again but then she looked at him. An odd expression flitted across those huge, gorgeous brown eyes. He couldn't sort out all the emotions there, but if he didn't know better, he might have believed he saw longing and regret there.

  He still wanted her. He didn't like it, but his body still yearned for her, still ached to touch her skin and kiss her mouth and fill his senses with her. Knowing she shared his hunger didn't make things any easier.

  He had to kiss her. Just one kiss to see if the fire and intensity between them that night had been a fluke. He leaned forward, but just before his mouth met hers, he saw something else flare in her eyes,
something that almost looked like fear.

  What was she afraid of? Him? Impossible! Okay, maybe he'd groused and yelled a little since he showed up at Sweetwater. He might have come on a bit overbearing with that whole locking her in the tack room bit but she had to know he would never hurt a woman, even a Crosby.

  Despite what she had done to him, the irreparable harm she may have caused to his family and his position as CEO, he hated the idea that she might be afraid of him.

  "Katie—"

  He wasn't sure what he was going to say but she didn't give him a chance to finish the sentence. She jerked out of his arms and backed away until she almost hit the stall's wooden railing.

  "Since the animals are fed and watered, there's no reason to hang around here. I'm going back to the house."

  Before he could argue, she rushed out of the barn, leaving him with the odd feeling that something significant had just happened between them—if he could only figure out what.

  Six

  "Will this damn storm ever stop?"

  Katie glanced up from the mystery novel she had been pretending to read toward the spot where Peter stood at the wide picture window of the room, his fingers curled around the windowsill as he glowered out at the unrelenting snow.

  "It can't snow forever," she murmured. "Spring eventually comes, even here in Wyoming."

  "Very funny. I don't particularly care to be trapped here until the vernal equinox, thanks very much."

  Every inch of him radiated tension, from the stiff set of his shoulders to the taut muscles of his jawline, and she regretted baiting him.

  Peter Logan was obviously a man unused to inactivity. Since they had returned to the house from caring for the animals, he had been restless and edgy.

  Of course, she hadn't been exactly serene, she admitted. After that scene in the barn when they had bickered and he had nearly kissed her, she had rushed back to the house, barely noticing the snowdrifts she struggled through. She hadn't even minded the relentless wind that whipped icy air and snow in a vicious mix. At least the cold helped cool her cheeks and her overheated senses.

  How could she be foolish enough to crave his touch after everything between them? He despised her. She knew he did and yet she still hungered for him.

  What a disaster it would have been if he had kissed her. She had been so afraid he would, terrified that she would respond to him as she had the night of the benefit and that his kiss would lead to more.

  If she slept with him again, she wouldn't be able to keep the truth about the baby to herself. She would have told him everything, which would have been an unmitigated disaster.

  Nothing happened, though. He had stopped just before he would have kissed her. She was glad, she told herself. That ache in her heart had only been the exertion of fighting the storm.

  By the time she reached the house, she had her emotions firmly in control. He followed her a few moments later and she forced herself to pretend that scene in the barn never happened.

  He seemed just as eager to forget it. While she reheated stew for their lunch, Peter took out a laptop from the luggage he'd retrieved out of his rental Jeep the night before and began working feverishly on it, his brow furrowed with concentration.

  She had thought about retreating to her bedroom but it seemed foolish and wasteful to keep two fires going just because of her own cowardice. The great room was large enough that they surely could both inhabit it without gnawing at each other's throats, so she had forced herself to curl up on a couch and pretend to read.

  She should enjoy the chance to put her feet up for a few moments while she was temporarily nausea-free, she tried to tell herself.

  After a few hours of activity at the computer during which he had picked up the phone at least a half-dozen times looking for a dial tone, only to slam it down with disgust when he remembered the phone was out, Peter must have finished as much as he could. He snapped the laptop shut and stalked to the window, where he had spent the last fifteen minutes glaring out at the storm beyond.

  She was the hostess here, despite the fact that the role had been thrust on her against her will. She should at least try to alleviate his boredom.

  "I'm sure the generator's got enough power that you could watch something on TV," she offered. "There's quite an extensive DVD collection. Everything from comedies to action-adventure to Westerns."

  "I'm not much for movies or television. I like to watch a little basketball but that's about it."

  "The ranch has a satellite system. You might have to sweep the snow out of the dish but you could probably find a game on."

  "No, thanks."

  "We could play a board game or something. Chess, cards, Monopoly. You probably love that one."

  That idea obviously didn't appeal to him, either, judging by the surly look he sent her, so Katie figuratively threw up her hands. "Or you can keep pacing around the room like a caged grizzly. It's all the same to me. Stirring up all those molecules in the air must be helping the room stay a little warmer, at any rate."

  Perversely, her annoyance seemed to cheer him up. He smiled and returned to the couch. "Getting on your nerves, am I?"

  "You're not the most restful of companions." In more ways than one, she wanted to add, but swallowed the words.

  "Sorry. My brother, Eric, in his more lyrical moments used to complain that I've got more energy than a one-armed monkey at a flea festival."

  She laughed at the image. "My brother, Trent, is the same way. He always has to be busy doing something. I suppose it must be part of the whole CEO package."

  He didn't look thrilled at the comparison to her brother, but Katie refused to feel guilty for bringing up what was obviously a touchy subject. She loved her brother dearly and wouldn't allow Peter's irrational dislike to prevent her from even bringing up Trent's name.

  She waited for some kind of snide comment from him about Trent but he let the subject drop. Maybe he wanted a ceasefire as much as she did. She studied him, wondering about this complex, perplexing man who would give their child half its DNA.

  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 ha
d 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."