by Jane Porter
“I’ve no desire to hurt my daughter,” he interrupted. “And I don’t need a damn DNA test to confirm it. We’ll have it done so we can correct her birth certificate, but I don’t need it to prove anything. She’s obviously mine.”
“Ours,” she whispered, and it killed her to do it, killed her to say it but Jax had to be protected, no matter the cost. “Obviously ours.”
The corner of Rowan’s mouth lifted and his expression turned rueful. “I suppose it’s a good thing that your father died. In time we will even view his passing as a blessing because it brought us all together. You, me and our daughter.”
There was nothing frightening in his tone. If anything he sounded...amused. But Rowan’s sense of humor was nothing like hers, and her heart lurched.
“So what is the next step?” he asked, smiling faintly, green eyes gleaming. “A wedding at the castle? And do we do it before or after your father’s funeral?”
Thank God she was sitting. Thank God for armrests. Thank God Jax stirred then and let out a whimper, saving Logan from having to answer.
Jax whimpered once more and stretched, flinging out small arms in an attempt to get more comfortable.
Logan wanted to whimper, too.
This was crazy, so crazy.
Rowan was crazy.
“I think we do it before,” he added reflectively. “It will give everyone something to celebrate. Yes, there will be sadness over your father’s life being cut short—he was such a good man, so devoted to his family and community—but then everyone will be able to rejoice over our happy and surprising news. We’re not just newlyweds, but proud parents of a two-year-old girl.”
“You hate my father, and you hate me—”
“That’s the past,” he said gently, cutting her short. “It’s time to leave the past in the past and concentrate on the future. And you’re going to be my wife and we’ll have more children—”
“You’re having a really good time with this, aren’t you?”
His broad shoulders shifted. “I’m trying to be positive, yes.”
“I don’t think you’re trying to be positive as much as sadistic,” she retorted, fighting panic because she didn’t think Rowan was teasing. He seemed quite serious, which was terrifying as Rowan’s entire career was based on his ability to play dirty. “We’re not marrying. There won’t be more children. There is no relationship. There has never been a relationship. So don’t start throwing your weight around because I won’t put up with it.”
He had the audacity to laugh. “No? What will you do? Call Joe?”
Her cheeks burned. “You have such a problem with him. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were jealous.”
“I don’t even know where to begin with that statement...so many ways I could run with it.” He smiled at her, a charming smile that made her want to leap from her chair and run.
“Joe,” he said politely, “works for me.”
When her lips parted he held up a hand to stop her.
“He’s worked for me since the day you hired him. He didn’t attend USC. He never studied art, communications or design. And he’s not twenty-four. He’s thirty-one, and before he came to work for Dunamas, he was a member of Delta Force.”
Logan couldn’t wrap her head around what Rowan was telling her. Joe was not a military guy. Joe was young and sweet and hardworking...
But Rowan misunderstood her baffled expression. “First Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta,” he said.
“I don’t need an explanation for the abbreviation Delta Force. I need to understand how someone I hired from a pool of candidates worked for you.”
“They all worked for me.”
“No.”
“How many résumés and cover letters did you get?”
“Six. No, five. One withdrew hers.”
“How many did you interview?”
“Four.”
“How many in person?”
“The top three.”
“Trish Stevens, Jimmy Gagnier and Joe Lopez. Trish wanted too much money. Jimmy made you uncomfortable because he knew about your family. And Joe was just so dang grateful to have a job.” The corner of his mouth quirked but he wasn’t smiling. “And you believed him because you wanted—needed—to believe him.”
“But I called his references...” Her voice faded as she heard herself and realized how foolish she sounded. She stared hard at a point just past Rowan’s shoulder, willing her eyes to stop stinging, willing the awful lump in her throat to stop aching.
She’d trusted Joe.
She’d trusted him with her work and her family and her life...
“I thought he was a good person,” she whispered, feeling impossibly betrayed.
“He is. He would have died for you. No questions asked.”
“I’m sure that must have cost you a pretty penny.”
“Joe did protect you,” Rowan said. “And he wasn’t a spy—”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“If he was a spy, he would have told me about the baby. He never did.” Rowan’s voice deepened, hardened. “His job was to protect you, and he did. He was so devoted to you that he also protected you, and Jax, from me.”
Logan had nothing to say to that. She stared at Rowan, stunned, because theoretically, if Joe was employed by Rowan, he probably should have told Rowan he was protecting a woman and a baby...
“Yes,” Rowan said. “He took his job as your security detail very, very seriously. He never once mentioned anything about a pregnancy or a baby or that he spent lots of time working from your home.”
She almost laughed, feeling slightly hysterical. “Do you have any idea the things I had him do? The errands after work? The trips to the dry cleaner? He even helped feed Jax dinners when I was working away at my computer...” Logan swallowed hard. “I thought he loved her. And maybe it wasn’t love, but I thought he really did care about us.”
For several minutes there was just silence and then Rowan made a low, rough sound. “He did,” Rowan said shortly. “For two years Joe protected you and your secret. He shouldn’t have, though. That was a critical error on his part. I’ve fired him. He’ll find it difficult getting another high-level security job.” And then Rowan walked away, heading to the galley.
Logan watched his back, the sting of tears prickling her eyes. She didn’t think it was possible, but her very bad day had just gotten worse.
CHAPTER FOUR
ROWAN WAS POURING HIMSELF a neat shot of whiskey when Logan appeared in the narrow kitchen galley.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She was so much thinner than she’d been three years ago. He’d known she worked hard, but he hadn’t expected her to look quite so stressed. If he’d known she was pregnant...if he’d known there was a child...
He threw back the shot and looked at her. “Yes, love?”
“I’m not your love.”
His fingers itched to pour another drink but he never had more than one. At least, never more than one in a twelve-hour span. He couldn’t afford to lose his head. Ever.
But he had lost it once. He’d lost it March 31 three years ago to her. The evidence of that was curled up in a chair, hair in two tiny ponytails. They’d used protection the night of the bachelor auction. He knew he’d used protection. Clearly it hadn’t been the right protection, or enough.
“Have you heard anything about Bronson? Is he stable or still in critical condition?”
“Bronson will remain in ICU for another few days, but he’s been stabilized. The decision to keep him in ICU is for his protection. It’s easier to secure the ICU unit than another floor.”
“And Victoria? Where is she is right now? Who exactly has her?”
“By now you
r sister should be with Drakon and Morgan—”
“Oh, that’s going to go over beautifully.”
“Why?”
“They don’t get along. At all.”
“Drakon and Victoria?”
“Morgan and Victoria.” She frowned. “I wouldn’t leave Victoria there. She should go to Jemma. They’re close. Victoria will be far happier there.”
“It’s too late for that. What’s done is done and hopefully your sisters will realize that this isn’t the time to bicker.”
Her eyebrows rose. “They don’t bicker. They’ve had a massive falling out, over my father. It’s painful for everyone.”
“Then I wish Drakon well because it’s his problem now.” Rowan leaned back against the narrow galley counter, the stainless steel cool against his back. He allowed his gaze to slide over Logan’s slender frame, studying her intently. “Why didn’t you get an abortion?”
If his question shocked her, she gave no indication. “It wasn’t the right choice for me,” she answered, her voice firm and clear.
She was good, he thought. She sounded so grounded and smart and reasonable, which just provoked him even more.
He gripped the counter’s edge tightly. It was that or grab her by the shoulder and drag her into his arms. His kiss wouldn’t be kind.
He was not feeling kind.
It was difficult to feel kind when his cock throbbed in his trousers and his body felt hard and hungry.
He remembered the smell of her and the taste of her and how soft and warm and wet she’d been as he’d kissed her there, between her legs, and made her body tighten and break with pleasure. And then he’d thrust in, burying himself hard, and she’d groaned and stiffened and he’d thought that had been pleasure, too.
Now he knew he’d taken her virginity ruthlessly. Not knowing...
Not knowing the first damn thing about her.
A Copeland. A virgin. A society princess dethroned.
“Don’t fire Joe,” she said, breaking the tense silence. Her voice was husky. He heard the pleading note, and it made him even angrier. Why did it bother him that she was pleading for Joe? Was it because he worried that she cared for him? Or was it because he wanted her to plead for him...
She’d begged him three years ago, begged for his hands and his mouth, begged to be touched and taken, and he’d obliged.
Now look at them. Parents of a tiny girl.
He wouldn’t ignore his responsibilities. He wouldn’t punish the girl the way he’d been punished when his father knocked his mother up.
His father who drank too much and let his fists fly. His mother who drank too much and forgot to come home.
Not that he blamed her. Home was not a nice place to be.
“Please,” Logan started again. “Please don’t—”
“Joe doesn’t need you begging for his job,” Rowan said curtly, unable to bear hearing her plead any longer. It was far too reminiscent of a childhood he hated. It was far too reminiscent of a person he didn’t want to be. “He knew what he was doing. He made his own choices—”
“For Jax.”
“For you,” he corrected. “I know he cared for you. I know he developed...feelings...for you. I know when his attachment became more than just a strong sense of duty.”
“And yet you left him on the job.”
Rowan really wanted another drink, craving the burn and the heat in his veins because maybe then he wouldn’t want to push her up against the galley wall and put his hands into her hair and take her soft mouth and make her whimper for him.
He felt like an animal.
He didn’t want to be an animal.
His work usually kept him focused but right now he had none. Just her and her wide, searching blue eyes and that dark pink mouth that demanded to be kissed.
“No,” he ground out, knuckles tight as he gripped the stainless counter harder. “I didn’t leave him on the job. I relieved him months ago. Back before the Christmas holidays. He refused to step down. He refused to abandon you.”
Her lips curved, tremulous. “Unlike you?”
If she’d been icy and mocking he could have ignored the jab. If she’d shown her veneer, he would have let her be. But her unsteady words coupled with the tremble of her lip made his chest squeeze, the air bottled within.
He’d hurt her, because he’d meant to hurt her.
He was very good at what he did.
Rowan reached for her wrist, his fingers circling her slender bones and he pulled her toward him. She stiffened but didn’t fight him. If anything she’d gone very still.
“Let me see your head,” he said gruffly, bringing her hips almost to his. He lifted a heavy wave of honey-colored hair from her forehead to inspect her temple.
With one hand still in her hair, he tipped her head, tilting this way and that to get a proper look. It didn’t look too bad. She must have cleaned the wound while he’d gone to pick up Jax. The cut was scabbing, and he saw the start of a dark bruise. The bruise would be uglier tomorrow, but all in all, she was healing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t catch you,” he said, his deep voice still rough. They might not be on good terms but he didn’t like that all he did was bring her pain. “You went down hard.”
“I’ve survived far worse,” she answered, her smile full of bravado, but the bold smile didn’t reach her blue eyes, and in those blue eyes fringed by thick black lashes there was a world of hurt and shadows. Far too many shadows.
He tipped her head farther back to look into her eyes, trying to see where she’d been and all that had happened in the past three years and then he felt a stab of regret, and blame.
He’d left her out there, hanging.
He’d left her, just as she’d said.
He, who protected strangers, hadn’t protected her.
His head dropped, his mouth covering hers. It was a kiss to comfort her, a kiss to apologize for being such an ass, and yet the moment his mouth touched hers he forgot everything but how warm she was and how good she felt against him. Her mouth was so very soft and warm, too, and her chest rose and fell with her quick gasp, the swell of her breasts pressing against his chest.
He had not been celibate for the past three years. He liked women and enjoyed sex, and he’d found pleasure with a number of women but Logan didn’t feel like just any woman—she was different. She felt like his. But he didn’t want to explore that thought, not when he wanted to explore her, and he slid a hand down the length of her back, soothing her even as he coaxed her closer, heat in his veins, hunger making him hard.
He wasn’t going to force her, though. She could push him away at any moment. He’d let her go the moment she said no, the moment she put a hand to his chest and pressed him back.
And then her hand moved to his chest, and her fingers grabbed at his shirt, and she tugged on the shirt, tugging him toward her.
The heat in his veins became a fire.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened her mouth. His tongue flicked over her lower lip and then found the tip of hers and teased that, and then the inside of her upper lip, teasing the delicate swollen skin until he felt her nails dig into his chest, her slender frame shuddering. He captured her hip, holding her close, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in her and make her cry his name again...
She wasn’t like any other woman. He’d never met another woman he wanted this much.
The kiss became electric, so hot he felt as if he was going to explode. He didn’t want to want her like this. He didn’t want to want anyone like this. He didn’t want his control tested, didn’t want to feel as if he couldn’t get enough, that he’d never have enough, that what he missed, needed, wanted was right here in this woman—
He broke off the kiss and stepped
back. He was breathing hard, his shaft throbbing but that was nothing compared to what was happening in his chest, within his heart.
She was not the right one for him.
She couldn’t be.
He didn’t like spoiled, entitled society girls, and he didn’t respect women who’d never had to work for anything...
“One of us should be with Jax,” he said curtly. “Make sure she’s safe in case there’s turbulence.”
“I was just on my way back to her,” Logan replied turning around and walking away, but not before he saw the flush in her cheeks and the ripe plumpness of her pink lips.
He nearly grabbed her again, wanting to finish what he’d started.
Instead he let her go, body aching, mind conflicted.
There was no love lost between them. They couldn’t even carry on a civil conversation but that didn’t matter if he took her to bed. They didn’t have to like each other. In fact, it might even be better if they didn’t like each other. It didn’t matter with them. The sex would still be hot.
* * *
Logan returned to her seat and carefully scooped Jax back into her arms and sat down with her daughter, not because Jax needed to be held but because Logan needed Jax for safety. Security.
Rowan’s kiss had shaken her to the core.
Her heart still pounded, her body flooded with wants and needs that could destroy her. Rowan was not good for her. Rowan was danger...
She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, determined to clamp down on her emotions, determined to slow her pulse.
She didn’t want him. She couldn’t want him. She couldn’t forget what happened last time, and she wasn’t even talking about the blisteringly hot sex, but the emptiness afterward. The sex hadn’t just been sex. It hadn’t felt like sweat and exercise...release...it’d felt transformative.
It’d been...bliss.
And then he’d walked out of her Santa Monica house, door slamming behind him, and her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. Never mind what he’d done to her self-respect.
She couldn’t be turned on now. She couldn’t be so stupid as to imagine that he’d be different, that the lovemaking would be safer or that the aftermath would be less destructive.
