by Jane Porter
High risk, high stakes all the way.
“You are so focused on the end goal—getting Jax, being with Jax—that you don’t realize you’re crushing me!”
“I’m not crushing you. I’m doing my best to protect you. But you have to trust me—”
“I don’t.” Her voice sounded strangled. “At all.”
“Then maybe that’s what you need to work on.”
“Me?”
He shrugged, as if compromising. “Okay, we. We need to work on it. Better?”
* * *
Back in her suite of rooms, Logan paced back and forth, unable to sit still. It was late, and Jax was asleep in the modified bed that had been assembled earlier against one wall of the huge walk-in closet, which had been turned into a bedroom for the toddler with the addition of a small painted chest, large enough to hold toddler-sized clothes, and provided a place for a lamp. It was a small, brass lamp topped with a dark pink shade that cast a rosy glow on the cream ceiling chasing away shadows and gloom. A framed picture of woodland fairies hung on the wall over the chest, giving Jax something to look at while in her snug bed. Rowan had even made sure Jax would be safe from falling out by adding a padded railing that ran the length of the bed.
But with Jax in bed for the night, Logan had far too much time to think and worry.
And she was worried.
She was also scared.
She was caught up in a sea of change and she couldn’t get her bearings. She’d lost control and felt caught, trapped, pushed, dragged about as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.
But she wasn’t a doll and she needed control. And if she had to share power, she’d share with someone she liked and admired and, yes, trusted.
Someone with values she respected.
Someone with integrity.
Rowan had no integrity. Rowan was little more than a soldier. A warrior. Great for battle but not at all her idea of a life partner...
Logan swallowed hard, trying to imagine herself wedded to Rowan. Trying to imagine dinners and breakfasts and holidays, never mind attending future school functions with him...
She couldn’t see it.
Couldn’t imagine him driving Jax to school or returning to pick her up or sitting in the little chairs for parent-teacher conferences. She couldn’t see him being that father who was there. Present.
And then a lump filled her throat because maybe, just maybe, she didn’t trust Rowan to love Jax because her father hadn’t loved her. Maybe this wasn’t about Jax at all—history was full of men who were good parents.
Logan had grown up surrounded by men who knew how to put their families first. Men who were committed and involved. She’d envied her classmates for having devoted fathers...fathers who routinely made it to their daughters’ soccer games and dance recitals. Men who zipped up puffy jackets before they took their little girls outside into the cold. Men who’d put out an arm protectively when crossing a busy street. Men who didn’t just show up in body but were there emotionally. Men who taught their daughters to ride bikes and drive cars and navigate life.
Logan’s eyes stung. She held her breath, holding the pain in.
She’d wanted one of those fathers. She’d wanted someone to teach her about life and love and boys and men.
She’d wanted someone to tell her she was important and valuable. She’d wanted someone to say she deserved to be treated like a princess...like a queen...
Logan blinked, clearing her eyes.
But just because she didn’t have a loving, attentive father, it didn’t mean that Jax couldn’t. Maybe Rowan could be a proper father. Maybe Rowan could teach Jax about life and love and boys...
And men.
Exhaling slowly, Logan glanced from the door of the closet—open several inches so she could keep an ear open in case Jax needed her—to the bedroom door that opened onto the castle hall.
She needed to speak to Rowan.
She didn’t know what she’d say, only that she needed to speak to him about the whole marriage thing and family thing and understand what it meant to him. Was he going to be a father in name only or did he really intend to be part of Jax’s life?
Because being a father had to be more than carrying on one’s family name. Being a father meant being there. Being present. Being interested. Being patient. Being loving.
Logan peeked in on Jax and in the rosy pink glow she could see her daughter was fast asleep, her small plump hand relaxed, curving close to her cheek.
Jax’s steady breathing reassured her. She was sleeping deeply. She shouldn’t wake for hours—not that Logan would be gone hours. Logan planned to find Rowan and speak to him and then return.
She’d be gone fifteen minutes, if that. It’d be a short, calm conversation, and she’d try to see if they couldn’t both discuss their vision for this proposed...marriage...and find some common ground, create some rules, so that when she returned to the bedroom she’d feel settled, and perhaps even optimistic, about the future.
At the foot of the staircase Logan encountered an unsmiling man in a dark suit, wearing a white shirt and dark tie.
“May I help you?” he asked crisply, revealing an accent she couldn’t quite place.
“I was just going to see Rowan,” she answered faintly, brow knitting, surprised to see someone so formally dressed at the foot of the stairs, and then understanding seconds later that he wasn’t just anyone in a suit and tie, but a bodyguard...probably one of Rowan’s own men. Which also meant he was probably armed and dangerous. Not that he’d pose a threat to her.
“Is he in his study?” she asked, nodding toward the corridor on the opposite side of the stairwell.
“He’s retired for the night.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that, unable to imagine Rowan retiring from anything.
“His room is upstairs, just down from yours,” the man added.
She knew where Rowan’s room was. It was just on the other side of Jax’s closet. The suite of rooms all had interior connecting doors, with the closet being shared by both bedrooms, but the door to Rowan’s room had been locked and the chest of drawers had been placed in front of it, making the closet more secure.
It had been Rowan’s suggestion.
He’d thought Logan would sleep better if she knew that no one could enter the room without her permission.
He was right. She did feel better knowing that the only way in and out of her suite was through the door to the hall, a door she could lock, a door she could control.
She’d been grateful for Rowan’s understanding.
“Did he turn in a long time ago?” she asked.
“Quarter past the hour maybe. I can ring him for you, if you’d like.”
“Not necessary,” she answered lightly. “I can just stop in on my way back to my room.”
She hesitated, glancing to the heavy front door across the entry hall.
She wondered just how far she’d get, if she ran for the door. Would she be allowed out? Somehow she suspected not. She sensed that this bodyguard wasn’t just there to keep the bad guys out of Castle Ros, but to keep her and Jax in.
Rowan wasn’t taking any chances.
And just like that she thought of Joe, and how Joe once upon a time must have been a bodyguard very much like this, a tall, silent man in a dark suit. That is, back before Rowan sent Joe to her, and Joe dropped the suit and intense demeanor to become her Joe, the recent college grad grateful to have a job...
Even though he was already employed, and apparently drawing two salaries. Her mouth quirked. She ought to speak to Joe about that.
“I’ll head back upstairs,” she said. “Good night.”
His head inclined. “Good night.”
And then she retraced her steps, footsteps muffl
ed on the thick carpeting on the stone steps. The same carpet ran the length of the second-floor gallery with the corridor stretching east and west, marking the two wings of the castle.
Rowan opened his bedroom door just moments after she knocked, dressed in gray joggers and a white T-shirt that stretched tight across his chest and then hung loose over his flat, toned torso.
She couldn’t help wondering if he’d been expecting her.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
He nodded and opened the door wider, inviting her in.
As she crossed the threshold, she flushed hot and then cold, her skin prickling with unease. She wasn’t sure this was a good decision. She wasn’t sure how she’d remain cool and calm if their conversation took place here.
As he closed the door, her eyes went to his oversize four-poster bed and then to the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the night. The room was close to the same size as hers and had the same high ceiling, but it felt far more intimate. Maybe it was the big antique bed. Or maybe it was the thick drapes blocking the moon. Or maybe it was the man standing just behind her, sucking all of the oxygen out of the room, making her head dizzy and her body too warm.
She drew an unsteady breath and turned to face him, thinking she’d made a mistake. She shouldn’t have ever come here, to him.
A tactical error, she thought. And worse, she’d voluntarily entered dangerous territory.
Swallowing her nervousness, she glanced to the chairs flanking the impressive stone hearth. “Can we sit?”
“Of course.”
“It’s not too late?”
“Not at all. I was just reading. I don’t usually sleep for another hour or two.”
Her gaze slid over the bed with its luxurious coverlet folded back, revealing white sheets.
She wanted to leave. She wanted to return to her room. It was all too quiet in here, too private. “Maybe it’s better if we talk tomorrow. I’m sure you’re as tired as I am—”
“Not tired yet. But I will be, later.”
“I’m tired, though. Probably too tired to do this tonight. I just thought since Jax was asleep it might be convenient, but I’m worried now she’ll wake and be scared...” Her voice drifted off and she swallowed, her mouth too dry.
He said nothing.
Her heart hammered harder. She felt increasingly anxious. He was so intense, so overwhelming. Everything about him made her nervous, but she couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t let him know how powerless she felt when with him, and how that was bad, really bad, because she needed control. She needed to be able to protect herself. And Jax.
Logan grasped at Jax now, using her as an excuse to leave Rowan’s room. “Let’s schedule a chat for the morning. It would be best then. I wasn’t thinking when I came here. I really don’t want Jax to wake up and be frightened.”
“I have security cameras. We’ll know if she stirs. You’ll be able to be at her side before she even wakes up.”
Logan straightened, shocked. He had cameras? Where? “You’re watching our rooms?”
“I monitor the entire castle. There are cameras everywhere.”
“You’ve been spying on us in our room?”
He sighed and crossed to a wall with dark wood paneling. Shifting a small oil landscape, he pushed a button, and suddenly the wall split, opening, revealing a massive bank of stacked TV screens. There had to be five screens across, and five down, and some of the screens were blanks, while others showed interior castle rooms and corridors, and others revealed exterior shots: entrances, garden paths and distant iron gates.
She walked to the wall of monitors and searched for her room with the pretty canopied bed, but the only thing she could see was the closet door, slightly ajar, just as she’d left it. And then she found another monitor showing the hall outside her room.
No bed shots.
Nothing that indicated he was watching her. At least, not until she’d exited her room and approached his.
So he could have known she was coming to see him. He could have watched her leave her room and walk toward his.
She turned to face him. “You knew I was looking for you. You saw me downstairs talking to the bodyguard.”
“I knew you’d left your room. But I don’t have the sound on. I never do. It’d be too distracting.”
“So you didn’t know I was asking for you?”
“I thought maybe you wanted a snack.”
She just stared at him, trying to decide if she believed him or not. She wanted to believe him, but there was no trust, and that was a huge problem. “So you closed the door on the cameras when I knocked on your door?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t want me to see them.”
“I don’t want anyone to see them. Security is my business.”
“But you showed me.”
“I thought you should know they are there. I thought you’d be reassured that Jax isn’t alone or in danger.”
“But if the door is closed on the screens, how do you monitor movement in the castle?”
“The cameras also alert me to movement, and I get those alerts on my computer, my phone and my watch.”
“Can you turn those off?”
“I can disable them or mute them. Usually I just glance at the screen, note the alert and then ignore. I never disable them. It defeats the purpose of being secure.”
She turned to pace before the fire.
Rowan said nothing for several minutes, content to just watch her. Finally he broke the silence. “What’s on your mind, Logan?”
He didn’t sound impatient. There was nothing hard in his tone and yet she felt as if she was going to jump out of her skin any moment now. “I thought maybe we could discuss your proposal,” she said, unable to stop moving. Walking didn’t just distract her, it helped her process, and it minimized her fear and tension. She didn’t want to be afraid. She didn’t want to make decisions because she was panicked. Those were never good decisions. “I thought we could see if we couldn’t come to some agreement on the terms.” She paused by the hearth, glanced at him. “Clarity would be helpful.”
“The terms?” he repeated mildly. “It’s not a business contract. It’s a marriage.”
She stiffened at the word marriage. She couldn’t help it. It was one thing to imagine Rowan as a father to Jax, but another to consider him as her husband. “Relationships have rules,” she said cautiously.
“Rules?”
She ignored his ironic tone and the lifting of his brow. The fact that he sounded so relaxed put her on edge. “Most relationships evolve over time, and those roles, and rules, develop naturally, gradually. But apparently we don’t have time to do that, and so I think we should discuss expectations, so we can both be clear on how things would...work.”
He just looked at her, green gaze glinting, apparently amused by every word that came from her mouth. His inability to take her seriously, or this conversation seriously, did not bode well for the future. “This isn’t a game,” she said irritably, “and I’m trying to have an adult conversation, but if you’d rather make a joke of this—”
“I’m not making a joke of anything. But at the same time, I don’t think we have to be antagonistic the night before our wedding.”
She shot him a fierce look. “We’re not marrying tomorrow. There is absolutely no way that is going to happen tomorrow, and should we one day marry, we will not need a honeymoon. That is the most ludicrous suggestion I’ve heard yet.”
“I thought all brides wanted honeymoons.”
“If they’re in love!” Her arms folded tightly across her chest. “But we’re not in love, and we don’t need alone time together. We need time with Jax. She ought to be our focus.”
“An excellent point. Now please sit. All the marching back
and forth reminds me of cadets on parade.”
“I’ll sit, but only if you do,” she said, gaze locking with his. She wasn’t about to let him score any points on her. She hadn’t survived this long to be beaten by him now. Her father’s betrayal and abandonment had been one thing, but to be betrayed and abandoned by her first lover? That had opened her eyes and toughened her up considerably.
“Happy to sit,” he replied. “I imagine we will have many future evenings in here, in our respective chairs, you knitting, me smoking my pipe—”
“You don’t smoke and I don’t knit.”
He shrugged. “Then we’ll find another way to enjoy each other’s company.”
She was fairly certain she knew what he meant by another way to enjoy each other’s company. He’d always been about the sex. Maybe that’s because that was the only way he could relate to women. “You’re being deliberately provocative.”
“I’m trying to get you excited about the future.”
“Mmm.” She arched a brow. “Are you also going to sell me beachfront property in Oklahoma?”
“No. That’s the kind of thing your father did. I’m honest.”
Her jaw tightened, hands balling into fists. “You don’t have to like him, but I ask you to refrain from speaking of him like that in front of Jax. She doesn’t need to be shamed.”
“I’m not shaming her. And I’m not shaming you, either—”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m just not going to be fake. If I’m upset, I’ll tell you. If I’m content, you’ll know. And since we’re going to raise Jax together, it’s better if we’re both forthright so there is no confusion about where things stand.” He gave her a faint, ironic smile. “Or sit, since that was the whole point.”
She shot him a look of loathing before crossing to the hearth and sitting down in one of the large leather chairs, watching as he followed and then took his time sitting down in the chair across from hers.
