by Ciara Cole
Her face was streaked with tears. She shivered in her nightgown and barely even seemed to register what he was saying.
“Logan?” She squinted at him in shock as she slowly focused. “What are you doing here?”
She pushed her hair from her face and her breasts beneath the sheer gown strained and lifted, the thick brown areolas evident through the fabric. Shit! Logan gulped and this time it was him having difficulty focusing.
“You screamed. And you’ve been crying. Is something wrong?”
Her face crumbled and she shook her head mutely. She looked sixteen. Logan really shouldn’t be having the X-rated thoughts he was having with the view he had of her body in that sheer gown and the covers kicked to the base of the bed, exposing her fabulous brown legs and the cute powder blue nail polish on her sexy feet.
A particularly loud thunder clap reverberated through the room, and they both jumped.
It was so incongruous, Logan felt a smile curving his lips, and even the corners of Cara’s mouth seemed to tug in amusement. “Storms make me crazy,” he admitted. “It’s just that feeling of not being in control that I think I hate. You know, the vast elements and finding you can’t really fight it and just have to ride through it.”
He saw her slowly begin to relax at his words, as she took them in. “I was having a nightmare. It gets worse during a storm. You’re right, it feels like it’s so much bigger and powerful than my strength can handle and it’s … ugh … so frustrating.”
Her smile widened shyly and she pushed back her hair from her temples. “It’s almost impossible to believe, though, that you’d be bothered about anything.”
“Of course, I get bothered. I hate when my methodical life gets disordered in any way, for one.” His expression grew wry. “But I particularly hate storms because it reminds me so much of the night my parents died.”
Cara’s face fell in dismay. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged, and then indicated the corner of the bed. “May I?”
She seemed to hesitate for a second, and then nodded.
“Hold on just a minute,” he said, lifting a finger. He saw her surprised look. But then she watched with interest as he retreated from the bedroom, only to return with candles. He lit them and placed them in corners and on tables, before turning off the rest of the lights.
The room was left in a warm, luminous glow that felt instantly calming. Cara was no longer shivering, and looked on with enthusiasm as Logan placed the last candle on the bedside table, before gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed.
Cara didn’t know what to think. “I feel so idiotic for waking you and keeping you up like this. There was just no warning with the storm and it just got worse and worse.”
“You didn’t wake me. It was impossible to fall asleep with this racket. The candles make it feel a little better, yes?”
Cara had to nod. “It softens everything, even the angry sounds of the storm. The room doesn’t feel as cold and unforgiving. Thank you, Logan.”
He wore a black silk robe, which had come slightly loose, so she had a glimpse of some tanned pecs and abs. She bit on her lip and averted her eyes, but still noticed when he tugged the robe tighter around himself. It almost made her giggle thinking he felt self-conscious in just his robe and pajama bottoms.
He always seemed so perfect and impossible to faze, but she liked when he showed a chink in his armor. It made her want him to open up to her more. But could she ask that of him when she couldn’t do the same herself?
Not when she knew it was impossible to tell him about Jude, her ex. And how she lost herself trying to hold on to the wrong kind of love, because she couldn’t see a way of finding anything better.
She’d known of his two-timing, but she’d looked the other way. She’d wanted to be with someone—to belong—at any cost. She was just so afraid that he’d leave that she’d taken a lot of things she shouldn’t have.
“I hold up this whole picture of being bubbly and carefree,” she worded almost to herself. “But I’m still so far from anchored, or pieced together.”
She sent Logan a self-conscious glance, not sure if he’d been paying attention. She felt her throat constrict when she found his mossy green gaze fixed on her face.
“We all have our flaws. No one expects you to be above mistakes. I don’t let myself worry about other people judging me. I simply ask myself if I can face the image in the mirror every day. If I can do that, then I’m still redeemable,” Logan said.
He laid it out so simply, Cara stared at him in awe at how sublime he sounded. She just thought he was some stuck-up rich foreign guy, too self-absorbed to care about much around him. Yet he spoke like someone who could be introspective, and have more substance than what his billions defined him as.
“How did your parents die?” she asked softly.
Her question out of the blue surprised him, but he didn’t seem reluctant to take the conversation there. “In a car crash. Their car was rammed by a speeding truck at an intersection. A drunk driving hit-and-run.” He paused and shoved his hand back through his hair. “I remember I was home in bed and the storm was raging hard that night. My grandmother woke me up, and my cousins and I were there to receive the news from the police that my parents had died.”
His voice had thickened, the Irish brogue more pronounced that it was difficult not to feel it creeping under her skin, much like the man seated across from her. He’d rested his back against the headboard, no longer looking like he’d rush off in the next second. Cara felt a lot more relaxed too, surprised at herself for not freaking out about this. Logan, in her bed—just not how she would have pictured it.
“It must have been devastating.”
He sighed at her soft words. “I relived that moment over and over for a long, long time. But I found a whole lot of outlet for my grief—the wrong kinds. My cousins, older than me, got into the gang life and it seemed the only way for me to have any kind of support system. I’m not proud of some of the things I did, but they all seem so petty and dumb now that I have the benefit of hindsight.”
“At least you made good. Not many could be that lucky,” Cara said. She hovered around the urge to tell him about her abusive relationship, and how dark her world had been. But could she risk him starting to think she was unfit to be his surrogate? He’d made mistakes, just like she had—but what if he ended up judging her like he said he would never do?
For now, Cara couldn’t do it. But she would, some day if she had the chance. She wanted him to know the real her first, not the needy, spineless Cara from her past.
They were going to create a beautiful new soul together and Cara wouldn’t want any shadows lurking where there shouldn’t be. She’d pick up the courage to open herself completely to Logan one day and hopefully they would find some common ground, and even become friends. That wasn’t too much to ask was it?
***
Logan hadn’t expected to wake up in Cara’s bed, with her body draped over his. He’d savored the feeling of her so close in his arms, and he found it was more than pleasant. He also felt more than a stirring in his loins, which would have turned to full-blown arousal if he hadn’t hastily sprang off the bed and out of contact.
Luckily, Cara didn’t awaken. Hours later, when they met over breakfast it was a shy Cara who thanked him and admitted, she didn’t like to sleep alone. “I haven’t had such a good sleep in ages,” she added.
Neither had he, but he couldn’t tell her that. Things were getting too comfortable between them and it had his danger signs lighting up. He wanted a baby, not a girlfriend. But what about a fling? Was that advisable when she was contracted to be around for a year at least? How could they become lovers amidst all that they had going on?
Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to have his surrogate under his roof. But the control freak that he was, made Logan uncomfortable with the idea of trusting anyone enough to leave them to their own devices. He’d read enough horror stories about surrogates.
He wanted Cara where he could see her, and make sure she kept to his rules. Only, he hadn’t planned on liking to see her this much. His first glimpse of her each day, gave him a strange contentment. Catching her laugh from meters away or even through the walls of the mansion, felt comforting.
Too bad he did so much to hide the fact, and even fight it. Like he was doing now.
He’d picked up the habit of listening for her any time he was home. Now he could hear her in her makeshift studio, in between cursing and swearing as she moved from one corner of the room to another. Items clattered to the floor, maybe even an easel toppled.
Logan really had too much on his plate to be mindful of every little thing about Miss Cara Stiles. But just when he told himself this, his mind flew back to that early morning sensation of her warm, soft body close to his, her lips inviting and dewy, and her breasts straining against his arm, making him realize he did see her as a woman. He’d had a split second of wishing he could pin her down on her back, seize her mouth, and find out if she tasted as good as she looked.
She was much of a handful—in more ways than one. He could no longer deny that he found her curvaceous body tempting, he just couldn’t handle how she needed to be so high-octane and restless … even when she was applying herself to the simplest tasks, like her painting.
He knew how much she loved it, but he wondered if he should begin to take more of an interest. For the purpose of keeping them both sane, of course.
Good thing that an unexpected delay had kept Meg out of town for a few more days. She would definitely not approve of Logan’s current attitude and would talk him out of any more uncharacteristic behavior. But would that worrisome thought be enough to deter him?
***
Cara had spent the whole morning trying to work on her new painting. By late afternoon, she felt dejected by the results, since she’d used most of the time rattling around the studio feeling melancholy and directionless.
She’d been having these moods lately with all those nightmares making a comeback. Last night’s storm had made things worse. Surprisingly, having Logan there with the whole candlelight effect, had helped. She could still remember waking up at some point in the morning and finding his face close to hers.
Her hand had unthinkingly reached up to touch his beard and it had felt so nice against her palm. Not too soft or rough, just right. Her hand had fallen away as she’d fallen back to sleep with a contented sigh. By the time she woke up again, he was long gone, his side of the bed cool and empty.
She’d been so shy facing him again today. A part of Cara wondered, if this wasn’t one of the factors affecting her concentration. Her interest in this new man, and her bad memories of her old one, were such a bad mix. Add on the fact there was this surrogacy agreement to see through, and it was a wonder how she was keeping it together.
When Logan walked in just then, it was to find Cara stabbing angrily at her canvas with her brush. Suddenly, a large hand grabbed hers and stilled her motions, causing a loud gasp to escape her lips. She jumped and looked over her shoulder at Logan.
“What do you think you’re doing?” was his mild enquiry, to which she huffed in reply.
“Not painting, if we’re to take the discordant mess before me,” she returned. “I was so into it earlier this week but now my blankness of mind is not helping me create what I envisioned when I started the painting.”
As she spoke, she jerkily shifted around and managed to knock a bottle of paint off the stool beside her. It clunked to the floor and spilled its Prussian blue contents.
“Okay, now add clumsy to my having-a-bad-day list,” she complained, about to stoop to the floor when Logan’s voice stopped her.
“Don’t move.”
She stiffened, eyes darting at the authority she heard in his tone. She stood still as a statue, slowly becoming aware of how close he was, and how overpowering his presence seemed looming behind her.
“Breathe, Cara. Deeply—in and out.”
“Logan …”
“You aren’t permitted to speak,” he said.
What? Cara was both shocked and turned on at the same time. Seriously though, who did he even think he was talking to?
“Good,” he said, when Cara kept mute even with defiance filling her heart. “Deep breaths, Cara.”
She was breathing. Deep, noticeable inhales that made her chest move with each effort. So just what was this about anyway, wondered Cara.
“Now turn around. Slowly,” Logan instructed.
Cara reluctantly spun on her heels to face him. She looked up at him with a quizzical frown. One glance from his deep green gaze had her heartbeat pounding. He didn’t look away and kept that arresting gaze fastened on her. Cara had the urge to fidget but something in those eyes kept her spellbound.
“Have you ever tried to stand still? Even for a minute?” he teased.
Cara opened her mouth to reply but he held up a silencing finger, and she pouted.
“Let’s try that for a moment. I challenge you … to stand still, not moving or talking, for five minutes.” He arched a brow and then twiddled with his fancy-looking smartwatch. “Starting now.”
Oh, hell no, he didn’t really think she’d go along with this, fumed Cara. She wasn’t his puppet and she definitely didn’t like being ordered around!
Yet, the funniest thing happened when Logan grinned. Almost as if he knew she’d never give in to it. He almost looked like he wanted her to defy him. His next words proved it.
“I was right, wasn’t I? You can’t do it. Or is it that you won’t?”
“I can do anything I set my mind to,” she told him with a lift of her chin. “But what about you? Do you get some kick from being this dominating? You do have a thing for control, that much you admitted.”
“Yes. I’ll lay it out on the line that I thrive on control. I like when I can bring order and coherence to my environment.”
“But then, I’m not one of your computer programs or any of those codes you create,” Cara said daringly. She moved into him, her face tilted to meet his eyes unwaveringly. Her breasts brushed too close to his, causing her to wonder if she was trying to make him as physically aware of her body as she was of his.
A moment later, she realized what a dangerous game she was playing.
Suddenly, she stumbled back in confusion, and then gasped as her feet slid precariously on the spilt paint. She felt herself tripping backwards and her arms flailed in the air as she fought for balance.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, when strong arms caught her and righted her in an instant.
In that moment, she stared up at Logan, her fingers clutching his muscled arms. They both seemed caught off guard by this unexpected turn, the humorous air evaporating to be replaced by something crackling.
The second she felt that frisson, the spell was broken as the timer on his watch suddenly went off and Logan abruptly released her.
Cara had been so tangled by being in his arms, she lost equilibrium yet again. This time she cried out in panic as she began to fall on her back, as if in slow motion, her vision rotating to the ceiling. In seconds she would be descending on a heap of supplies and she already knew it would be a painful landing.
She heard Logan swear and he moved swiftly to catch her in his arms again. He swung her bodily out of harm’s way and pinned her body tightly to his. Now they were chest-to-chest, and Cara’s eyes grew wide in shock as the earth stood still.
It almost seemed like a time-lapse scene from a movie. In her mind it was all happening in an accelerated time frame but her body moved much slower, her hormones blooming from the close contact with this much masculinity.
“Are you okay?” Logan still felt apalled by what had almost happened. He shouldn’t have let her go at first, not without making sure she’d truly found her balance. She could have fallen back on that pile of brushes, easels, and cans and gotten hurt. He’d never have forgiven himself if she had.
His hands cradled the back of her head whi
le his other wrapped tightly on her waist. He could hear her deep, fast breathing.
“I’m okay,” she panted, her voice partially muted by her cheek resting against his neck. Her warm breath tickled his skin; her soft curves adhering to his hard frame in ways that made him lose focus.
Her hands flattened on his chest and pushed. Logan released her slowly, carefully. Then her next words took him by surprise.
“I have to go,” she mumbled, straightening the hem of her worn college hoodie over her jeans.
Logan blinked with incomprehension, still caught up in the fading hint of her flowery scent that still seemed to cling to the spots she’d come in contact on him.
“Cara,” worded Logan, his surprise now overtaken with concern as she made a haphazard path to the door.
She paused as she held the doorknob and looked back over her shoulder. “I just need a breather. I’ll be back.”
She disappeared and could soon be heard exiting the house. Logan moved to the window and just caught her figure moving swiftly to the gates. He shoved a hand through his hair and sighed. Damn. What the hell just happened?
***
Logan hadn’t meant to scare Cara off.
He normally didn’t physically intimidate women with force or aggression. He’d just been playing a game but obviously, Cara didn’t take to his kind of baiting.
He could understand if she needed some breathing space. But as the hours wore on, he began to worry. What if she wasn’t coming back?
It was a far cry to imagine Cara would just opt to abandon the whole arrangement. He’d given her more credit than that. But as it got dark he became more and more uneasy.
At the same time, he told himself not to let his imagination run away from him.
Even though Cara came across as someone not bowled over by money, Logan had got the distinct impression she was truly invested in the process. Besides, he didn’t think she had anywhere else to go. So where was she?
Logan was about to reach for his phone and make a phone call. He’d have his best contacts on the job of finding her and bringing her back. He couldn’t let her slip from his fingers just yet …
