Yeah, right.
Chapter 7
Charlie smiled brightly as she walked back into the bar. Her heart was breaking, but she was not going to let Logan Johnson spoil her evening with her sister and friends. The absolute gall of the man—she wasn’t his type but he wanted her? Seriously?
He made her so mad and that was what she was going to cling to. As long as she stayed angry, she could—maybe—forget how perfectly and precisely she fitted against his body; she could try not to think about his hungry kisses, the desperate urgency in his touch and the desire she’d tasted on his lips.
Oh, hell—this wasn’t helping.
Eleanor was looking at her phone, frowning. As Charlie sat down, she looked up. “A message from Logan. He says he’s going back home?”
Charlie shrugged and looked around her. “I don’t know. What happened to Blake?”
Lindsay lifted her glass. “Not sure. He was here the one moment and then he left. Here’s to us girls.”
They all lifted their glasses and within minutes Eleanor had them giggling again. Charlie did her best to join in the conversation and fun but a huge hole had opened up inside of her, leaving her feeling empty and drained.
Taking a sip of her wine, she tried to shake off the silliness. This was why she didn’t date, remember? She had a charmed life—she had a job she loved, wore clothes that made her happy and she shared a lovely home, colorful cushions included, with her favorite person, Lindsay. Damn it, she’d known Logan was trouble the minute he’d walked into her rooms. She should’ve listened to her instincts.
Brooke got up. “More drinks, everyone?”
Lindsay jumped up, as well. “Of course. Let me help you.”
They left and Eleanor moved closer to Charlie. “Are you okay, love? I’m sticking in my nose where it doesn’t belong, I know, but I couldn’t help noticing my son had difficulty taking his eyes off you.”
Smiling vaguely, Charlie took another sip of her wine. “Your imagination, I think. I’m so not his type.” Where were Brooke and Lindsay? She really didn’t want to talk to Eleanor about her son. But her sister and Brooke were having a lively conversation with Tod and Larry at the bar; they would not be rescuing her anytime soon.
“You know,” Eleanor continued, “my husband died when Logan was about ten and Brooke eight. It was unexpected and I sort of fell apart. It was only much later I realized the devastating effect his death and my subsequent struggle to handle basic things impacted Logan. He and his dad were very close. At that point, my husband had a ranch outside town and Logan loved spending weekends and holidays there. My husband was also wonderful around the house and when I was busy with a painting, he’d made sure everything else ran smoothly.”
She laughed. “I’d often burn the food or forget to do the washing or cleaning and then he’d jump in to save what could be saved. But when he was gone, especially in the beginning, I just didn’t have the energy to do anything. I sold the ranch. Logan was very upset although he tried not to show it. What he did was to take on the role as caretaker—not something I immediately realized. He washed the dishes, did the laundry, made sure everything was super clean. He became obsessive about keeping everything in its place. I think it was his way of trying to control the uncontrollable. And I don’t know, but I think inside of him there is still a little boy who misses his dad.”
Fortunately, at that moment, Brooke and Lindsay returned with their drinks and Charlie didn’t have to answer.
But later that night when she was in bed, Eleanor’s words kept replaying over and over in her head. Her heart ached for the little boy who’d lost his dad and who had tried in his own way to control the uncontrollable. Was that why he still had such a tight control over his emotions?
Her phoned buzzed. Who would send her messages this time of night? Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe Gavin? Did something happen? Quickly she sat up and picked up her phone. Even before she opened it, she saw the message. It was from Logan. She’d saved his number when his mother had given it to her, but she didn’t know he had hers.
Flying back early tomorrow morning
Rolling her eyes, she threw the phone down. What was she supposed to reply to such a remark?
Logan sat staring at his phone. Charlie had read his message—he could see that, but that was minutes ago, damn it. Was she seriously not going to reply? Yes, he remembered every single thing he’d said, but she had to know it hadn’t been easy for him to walk away.
With a curse, he threw down his phone and headed for the shower, pulling his shirt over his head. Tonight, his mom’s house was way too small and cluttered for all the emotions warring inside of him.
Earlier that night, he’d ended up walking around in the familiar streets of his boyhood. But not even the well-known sights could ease the restlessness inside him.
Charlie. Charlie. She was all he could think about. His hands still carried her scent and it was driving him crazy. Swearing, he marched back to his bathroom. This madness had to stop.
Not waiting for the water to heat up, he stepped under the cascading stream. Ice-cold water pounded on his back, nearly knocking out his breath. He braced himself against the tiles, remembering soft skin, short breaths, glazed eyes, trembling fingers.
Cursing, he closed the tap and grabbed a towel. How the hell was he supposed to sleep if he couldn’t stop thinking about her? In his room, his eyes caught the light on his phone and with two strides he reached his bed and picked it up.
She’d replied to his message.
How’s your back?
His back? What the hell? Was that all she had to say?
He leaned back against the pillows, ready to send her a scathing message. His hand stopped. His back. He sat upright again, turned to his right, then his left. It was better. Much better. There was still some discomfort but not nearly as bad as it had been on Friday while he was driving to his mom’s place.
At the time the pain in his back was all he could think about—he’d been very uncomfortable. But tonight, it hadn’t bothered him. Why? Because, damn it, he’d been so caught up thinking about Charlie, it hadn’t registered his back wasn’t bothering him. Quickly, he typed a message.
Much better, thanks. Your hocus pocus worked.
And waited. Three dots appeared, hovered, and disappeared again. Again, the three dots appeared but within seconds they were gone. He kept waiting. Nothing.
Disgusted with himself, he dropped his phone and pulled on pants before he opened his laptop. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well work. He hadn’t even opened his laptop once over the weekend—a first for him.
Aargh! Irritated with herself, Charlie switched on the light next to her bed. Rubbing her face, she checked her watch. It was nearly four o’clock and she was still tossing and turning. A thousand little men were running around, banging on drums in her head, and no matter what she’d tried, sleep evaded her.
She’d tried to focus on her breathing. That usually did the trick but tonight nothing seemed to be able to calm the craziness in her head. The minute she closed her eyes, Logan’s face was right in front of her, brooding blue eyes watching her. And then she remembered the way he’d kissed her, the way he’d held her, the way he’d made her feel.
His mother’s words echoed over and over in her mind and she couldn’t stop thinking how hard it had to be for him to lose his dad at such a young age. She and Lindsay had been in their twenties when their parents had died, but even then, it had been a devastating event for them. How did a little boy process such a loss?
She kept trying to remind herself over and over again he’d told her she wasn’t his type, but that didn’t seem to help keep the memories of the brief moments they’d been together at bay.
At least she now knew his back was better. He should really try to see another therapist as soon as possible, but she’d already told him that.
Her phone lit up and she picked it up quickly. It was another message from Logan.
On
my way to the airport. Sleeping much?
Seriously? Furious with him, she quickly sent a message.
Ask someone who’s your type.
She’d barely sent it when her phone rang. Logan. Of course. She stared at the phone. Why was he doing this to her? The phone stopped ringing and another message appeared.
You’re awake, answer, damn it.
And before she’d finished reading the words, her phone rang again. Taking a deep breath, she answered. This had to stop.
“You’re not being fair,” she said crossly.
“Me not fair? You’re the one who’s driving me nuts!” His voice in her ear sent delicious shivers down her spine.
She groaned. “What do you want?”
His deep sigh sent goose bumps all over her body. “What I want, Charlie, is you.”
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows. “But I’m not your type. And I’m not changing for anyone.”
“But I do like your mouth. And that soft spot below your ear. And your smell—it’s still with me. And I like your shoulders. Do you know when I kiss you, you make this sound in your throat? It drives me crazy.”
Her body was burning up. What this man could to do her with just his voice, was ridiculous. “You can’t say things like that to me, Logan. You’re going back to what I’m sure is your compartmentalized and probably monochrome apartment, and tomorrow you’ll put on your tie and suit and go back to your tidy workplace. And I really don’t have time for this. I’ve finally been able to make a home for Lindsay and myself. A place where she doesn’t have to be afraid of anything. I don’t need complications in my life. This...what happened between us, was temporary madness. You agreed with me, remember? And it’s probably because I haven’t had sex in a while, you’re devastatingly attractive, and I...” She closed her hand over her eyes. Oh, hell, she hadn’t just said that, had she?
He chuckled. “Devastatingly attractive, uh? And how long is ‘a while?’”
“Good night, Logan,” she said.
“Don’t hang up yet, I like talking to you.”
“Well, I have work tomorrow and—”
“You’re the reason I’m flying back to Seattle, you know?” He sounded cross. “I didn’t want to see a therapist, I don’t have time to fly home, I work! But I agreed, to please my mother. And then there you were—gorgeous, with your bangles and soft skirt and blue eyes and I...” He swore softly. “You are so beautiful.”
Her heart tripped. “Don’t say things like that to me!” she scolded.
In her ear, his breath hitched. After a few silent seconds, he cleared his throat. “I have to know—who’s Gavin? And why was what’s-his-name sitting so close to you in the pub earlier tonight?”
“Why does it matter to you who I know or talk to?”
“I don’t know, damn it. Do you think I like not being able to work or think about anyone or anything else but you?”
“Logan, seriously...”
“Just tell me. Please?”
Rubbing her face, she sighed. He was driving her insane. This had to end and quickly. Her poor heart could only handle so much. “I’ll tell you because I want to go back to sleep. Gavin is our brother. He stayed behind in South Africa when Lindsay and I moved here. And Blake Davidson is the new martial arts instructor in town. Lindsay took self-defense classes when we moved here. And after the message she’s received from her ex-boyfriend, she reached out to the dojo where she used to train, but the previous owner left earlier this year and Blake has since taken over his dojo. She and I will be taking lessons from him from Monday. That was what he and I talked about. There—happy now?”
“So you’re going to see what’s-his-name on a regular basis from now on? And you want to know if I’m happy? Of course, I’m not happy! I won’t be happy until...until...” He inhaled, cursing softly.
“Exactly. I’m not what you want, Logan. I’m not relationship material. And you are not part of my plans. Good night.” And before she could say something stupid like ‘I miss you,’ she disconnected the call.
Logan thought she was beautiful. It shouldn’t matter but it did. Deep inside her, something that had been wound up tightly loosened ever so slightly. Grabbing one of the pillows, she hugged it against herself.
It had to end tonight. Dreaming about Logan Johnson would only lead to heartache, she knew that. If she could now only persuade her heart to listen to this piece of logic.
Her life was great, she was happy. She didn’t need this complication.
Chapter 8
Thursday morning, Anna, Logan’s PA of seven years, knocked briskly on the door before she stepped into his office. Closing the door behind her, she crossed her arms. “Logan, I need a moment of your time.”
He scowled. “I don’t have a moment, damn it. I’m busy, can’t you see?” He knew he was rude but at this point he didn’t even care. It had been a hell of a week. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, and he kept smelling roses, damn it.
But instead of retreating, as he’d hoped, Anna walked right up to his big desk, put her hands on his desk, and leaned forward on her arms. “I love you like a son, you know that. But you’ve been impossible this week. Poor Jenny has just left in tears and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Peter this angry. Obviously, something happened to you between last Friday and Monday morning. The question is, what? Is it still your back? I’ve sent thank-you-but-this-is-over flowers to Kate.” She frowned. “Or was it Yvonne? I can’t keep track. So, it can’t be a woman, or is it? Or don’t you get enough sleep? We have to talk about this, because if you continue behaving like a spoiled brat, I’m going to quit.”
Logan threw down his pen and got up. “I’m fine!” he growled.
But Anna didn’t budge. “No, you’re not. Is it your back? I’ll make an appointment...”
“My back is actually better, thanks.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Do you want to tell me you’ve seen a physiotherapist or a chiropractor? I’ve been trying for weeks to get you to see someone.”
He put his hands in his pockets. “Actually, my mother made an appointment for me.”
“But that’s wonderful, Logan. So, who helped you? A physio or...”
Exasperated, he raised his hands. “I don’t know why I have to tell everybody every little thing about me, but no, it was with a Bowen therapist. In Alisson.”
Her mouth fell open. Okay, now all he had to do was wait for her to process this bit of information. Within seconds, her frown cleared and she smiled. “Ah, I see. And she’s beautiful?”
He looked out of the window. It was another lovely summer’s day, beckoning one to wander outside and enjoy the sun. Why the hell was he staring out of his window and thinking about summer? He didn’t have time to think about the weather. Scowling, he turned back to Anna. “Yes, she’s gorgeous, but not my type.” He glanced at his watch and fastened the button on his jacket. “I have a meeting. Is everyone in the conference room?”
Still smiling broadly, she nodded. “Yes, they’re waiting for you. But may I be so bold and suggest another trip to Alisson this weekend? It would be to everyone’s advantage. And isn’t the flight to Bozeman only about an hour and a half?” And with that she turned around and left his office.
He glared at Anna’s retreating back, cursing.
“I heard that!” she called before disappearing from his view.
He grabbed his laptop. Anna had been with him since he’d started this company seven years ago. Before that, she’d been his secretary at his previous job. She was the one he counted on to make his life run smoothly—she made his appointments, she sent flowers and an apology to someone when he felt a relationship had run its course. Trust her to quickly get to the bottom of why he was feeling so out of sorts this week.
There were clients who depended on his logical, rational thinking to invest their money, but this week he’d been anything but logical and rational. He stopped at Anna’s desk. “Will you please send Jenny
flowers—”
“And a bottle of the best Scotch for Peter?” she added.
“Yes, please. And do get flowers for yourself, as well, okay?” He smiled.
She snorted. “Don’t try those baby blues on me, I know you too well. By the way, if you give me her number, I’ll make another appointment for you. You know, with the Bowen therapist for this weekend?”
“I’ll make my own damn appointment,” he muttered as he strolled out of her office.
Her chuckle rang in his ears all the way to the boardroom. There were way too many women in his life telling him what to do.
Thursday afternoon, just after lunch, Charlie was trying to finish an email when Lindsay knocked on her door and entered. “I don’t think I want to continue with the self-defense classes.”
“Why not?” Charlie asked, still concentrating on the email. “You were the one who thought it would be a good idea to sharpen your skills—why stop after just one lesson?”
“Because...” Lindsay began quite vehemently and finally Charlie looked up. Fidgeting, Lindsay pressed her lips together before she spoke again. “Maybe I overreacted when I saw Mark’s email.”
“If you say so. But I really enjoyed Blake’s class, and you have to admit, he goes out of his way to help his students. You should re-think your decision. It’s the kind of thing—”
“Why he had to pick me each time for his demonstrations, I really don’t know,” she interrupted Charlie.
“Maybe because you were standing in the front, closest to him?”
“Where he told me to stand! Anyway, I don’t think it’s really necessary at this point. Besides, Gavin will be here tomorrow and we should...I don’t know? Clean his room or something.”
“We cleaned his room last night, remember?”
“I know but...” Lindsay began but Charlie’s phone rang.
“Don’t go, let me answer this. Good afternoon, Charlie Wilson speaking. How can I help you?”
Kissing Charlie Page 6
