by Tia Souders
Fixing his gaze back on the painting, he took in the splotches of color and grunted. “What the heck is that?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MARTI
MARTI STARED AT THE canvas in front of them, biting her tongue. The pale golden lighting of the art gallery did little to soothe her nerves. Around them, people mingled, enjoying robust conversations about the art installations, aesthetic, and abstract impressionism, while she was conversing with a child.
Logan Love was one of the most infuriating men she’d ever met. It was as if he knew exactly how to get under her skin.
Marti counted to ten before answering, trying to harness her inner Yogi. “It’s a painting.” She waved her hand in front of her.
“Right. But a painting of what?”
Marti stepped closer and shushed him, glancing around her to ensure no one heard. This was an exclusive show, invitation only and a lot of important collectors were present. If it appeared they were snubbing the artist who was deemed “New York’s up-and-coming Picasso,” it wouldn’t bode well for her image or for PopNewz.
“Have you no couth?” she asked. Then she shook her head. “What am I saying? Look who I’m talking to.”
“You’re telling me you know what that blob is?” He motioned to the canvas.
Marti stared at the painting a little longer, then huffed out a breath. “Okay, fine. I have no idea.”
Logan chuckled, then squinted. “It’s a Ferris wheel. It has to be.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Yeah, it’s circular,” Logan said. “And see those little blue blobs? Those are the seats and—”
“So what are the little yellow things that look like worms?”
“Hmmm.” Logan squinted.
Marti peered at the plaque below the canvas, reading, “It’s a visual exploration of audial output.”
Logan raised a brow but said nothing, looking thoroughly perplexed. Though she hated herself for it, she smiled.
If Marti were being honest, she had dreaded this date. She wasn’t particularly a huge fan of these kinds of events. They were often dry, and she found herself putting on a show, feigning interest. Normally, it left her with a headache. Blue only requested she attend because it was good for her image to rub elbows with some of the guests here. Throw Logan into the mix, and she had wanted to attend about as much as she wanted an enema.
As she and Logan worked the room, moving from one painting to the next, trying to figure out what on earth each one was supposed to be, she found herself surprised with how much she was enjoying herself. Suddenly, she was grateful she hadn’t come alone.
“Okay, what about this one?” Logan asked. “This has to be a dude surfing. Right?”
Marti’s lips twitched, and her side hurt from holding in her laughter. Her eyes scanned the painting. It was a cloud of blue with a black blob in the middle.
She tapped a finger over her lips, then said, “I’m going with the aftermath of an explosion. It looks like a dust cloud.”
“No way. Unless there were people in the explosion. You’ve got this thing here.” Logan pointed to a flesh-colored blob and his eyes crinkled.
“Maybe it’s a visual reflection of war,” Marti said in a solemn tone, mimicking the explanations of the plaques they’d been reading. “Let’s see . . .” She trailed off as she stepped forward, eyeing the inscription below the painting. “It’s a reflection on the human condition.”
They both stared straight ahead, blinking before they burst into laughter. Marti’s body shook, and Logan fisted a hand in front of his mouth, turning his amusement into a cough when the man next to them glared in disapproval.
“What does it even mean?” He wiped the tears from his eyes.
“I have no idea,” Marti choked out, stifling a laugh.
“See, you act all high and mighty, Little Miss Sophisticated, but you’re just as clueless as I am.”
“I never claimed to be an art buff.” She took a sip of her champagne, eyeing him.
When he wasn’t purposely trying to goad her, he was actually kind of fun. Imagine that.
He scoffed. “When I first got here, you were so tense, staring at the paintings like an art critic.”
“That was just me fighting off my aversion to you.”
“Your attraction, you mean.” Logan winked. “It’s cool. I can see how you might confuse the two.”
Marti snorted and placed a hand on his chest, giving him a playful shove. His hand closed over hers before she could pull away, and they locked eyes. Energy zipped. Her smile faded, and her stomach flipped.
Instinctively, she pulled her hand out from under his, but he gripped her firmly. “A couple, remember?” he whispered into her ear, his hot breath tickling her skin.
Her breath snagged. Right.
A quick glance around the gallery confirmed the attention of half the room was on them. Most people in attendance knew her. No doubt, they’d be talking about this after they left. Marti and her new beau. Marti and Logan holding hands, whispering, staring into each other’s eyes, and holding each other close. Their hungry gazes ate them up. Their eyes burned into her back.
A flutter of panic squeezed her stomach. It’s not real, she reminded herself.
When she glanced up into Logan’s scorching gaze, she realized that while she was in over her head, he was in his element. She might not know how to be in a relationship and fall in love, but he did. By the looks of things, he was quite good at pretending.
“Freaking out already, McBride?” he asked in a low voice.
“Maybe just a little.” Her tone was breathless. How did he know her so well? Or was she that obvious?
She had no idea what her face looked like, but if it was anything like it felt, it was probably similar to a cornered animal. Wide eyes. Tense mouth. Sharp, jittery movements. Rapid breathing.
She inhaled a shaky breath, willing the heat of his gaze to fade from her skin. The thump of her heart slowed. Still, she needed fresh air, some room to breathe—the cold to clear her senses.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Logan beat her to it.
Leaning closer, and bringing his crisp, masculine scent with him, he said, “Have you seen enough?”
She nodded, wordlessly, desperate for an escape and unable to find her voice if she tried.
“Good.” He pulled her toward the door, his voice trailing after him. “I think they have too.”
MARTI CRAMMED THE GIANT slice of pepperoni pizza in her mouth and moaned.
They’d left the art gallery nearly an hour ago and walked a couple blocks in the cold. Logan had protested, wanting to take a cab, but Marti insisted, needing the brisk air to clear her head.
They wound up at the new pizza shop, Antony’s, just South of her apartment where the only feelings involved were her love for pepperoni. There, in the soft lighting of the little shop, they could be themselves—no pretenses or prying eyes.
“This is divine,” she said between a mouthful of dough and gooey cheese.
Now, this was the way to a woman’s heart.
“Attractive.” Logan grinned.
“Oh, yes, because my main objective at all times is to be attractive to men.” Marti snorted and took another monstrous bite.
“It should be.”
“Don’t get me started.”
“Maybe I like getting you started,” he said with a lascivious smile.
“Why is it your goal in life to say just the right thing to annoy me?” She ripped a piece of pepperoni off her slice and threw it at him, but he dodged it, laughing.
“Because it’s just too easy. Besides, you make it kind of fun. Your cheeks turn a cute shade of red and you have this vein.” He motioned toward her forehead. “It bulges just the slightest bit when you’re angry.”
“It does not!” Marti reached up to feel her forehead with a frown.
Logan wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, while Marti scowled into her slice. “When I was in medical school, I
practically lived on pizza. But not the good stuff, those cheap frozen ones you get for a dollar in the freezer section because it was all I could afford.”
“It’s a miracle you didn’t graduate with coronary disease.”
He nodded. “I gained twenty pounds though. Between that and coffee, they were the only things that kept me going.”
Marti allowed her gaze to flicker over him. He had removed his black sports coat, giving her the opportunity to better admire his physique beneath the faded gray t-shirt. There was nothing soft about the body sitting across from her. The thin layer of cotton barely concealed the hard lines of muscle beneath it, not to mention those arms . . .
He winked, reading her thoughts. “I work out a lot.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said with a sniff, which earned her a laugh.
“Sure, you hadn’t.”
“I was just thinking how you better be careful or the half a pie you just inhaled might go to your gut.”
Logan patted his abs, and Marti swore she saw the muscles ripple. “I’m not worried.”
Marti averted her gaze and took a sip of her wine, hoping to distract from the disturbing ball of warmth pooling low in her belly. “Tell me about medical school. What was it like?”
Logan thought for a moment, staring down at his plate before he answered. “In a single word? Intense. With all the labs and notes and vast quantities of information you need to retain at once. You study until your eyes bleed. It’s one giant time-suck. There are days where all you do is eat, sleep, and breathe school. There’s no time for anything else. The clinical work just adds a whole other level of exhaustion. But if you love it, it’s worth it.”
Marti loved her job, and she enjoyed college, but it was hard for her to imagine that kind of passion and drive. It made her wonder if Logan gave the same kind of focused dedication to all aspects of his life, including women.
“So, your mother . . . I assume she’s the reason you went into obstetrics?”
Logan nodded. “I was pretty young when she died. Young enough to rebound without too many scars, but old enough to have memories of her, miss her, and feel the loss.”
“Why high-risk pregnancies and Hidden Heartbeat?”
Logan toyed with the stem of his glass, as if considering her question. “Beating the odds, knowing things are stacked against someone, yet through sheer will power, knowledge, medicine, and faith, I can help her deliver a healthy baby. . .” He shrugged. “That’s where the magic is, when I help someone with an impossible situation, and they come out on top. If another doctor tells a woman there’s no chance they’ll carry a pregnancy to term, I thrive on proving them wrong and defying the odds. When you hold that life in your hands, get to see an infant take its first breath, nothing is better.”
Marti appraised him. Did he have to be such a good guy? “A real-life miracle worker.”
He glanced down at his plate and toyed with his fork. “I don’t know about miracles. That’s not my territory. I leave that to God.” He glanced up at her again, and continued, “But I do everything in my power to ensure no life is lost, and it amazes me every day that people let me, that they trust me enough. If that trust were ever broken . . .” He trailed off, his gaze taking on a faraway look, and Marti sensed he was holding something back.
His humble answer surprised her. It didn’t jive with the same cocky man she met on night one. Then again, it seemed there were all kinds of layers to Logan Love. While he seemed to have her figured out, she sensed she could peel back a thousand layers of him and still not fully know the man inside.
The fleeting thought that she might want to know him settled in her gut like a stone.
“Has there ever been a mother or baby you couldn’t save?”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “One. I mean, I’ve had women with miscarriages. There have been a couple preemies unable to thrive. That’s always a possibility. But there was one . . .” Gone was his playful banter. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and the energy shifted.
Her chest pinched, warning her to retreat. She shifted her thoughts to her column. “You know, the media attention will only get worse the longer we keep up this charade. I’m not some huge Hollywood celebrity, so I don’t have paparazzi trolling my every move, but the media tend to hang at most of the events I attend—that we would need to attend together. And my column will have to change. I’ll be focusing on this.” She motioned between them. “I know you wanted this, but if there’s any doubt whether you want to be in the spotlight or not, now’s the time to back out. Because writing about us will put a floodlight on your life, personal and professional.”
“Why does it sound like you’re trying to get me to back out?”
She cocked her head. “I’m just giving you a dose of reality.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about me, McBride. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”
“As long as we’re on the same page. Our goal is to put on a show, convince everyone we’re together, and nothing more.”
“I’m pretty clear on the logistics. Worried about falling for me so soon?” He assessed her coolly.
“Not hardly.”
He leaned across the table. “Not even a little bit?” he whispered.
Marti swallowed. His eyes were vast, dark, and green like a woodland forest. A woman could get lost in those eyes.
She unlocked her eyes from his. “Not in the slightest.”
He leaned back against his seat. “Are you concerned with what this will do for your column?”
“No.”
“Isn’t your whole platform based on how amazing the single life is? How will you be able to spin this?”
It was. “Let me worry about my column. I know how to handle it.”
“Just don’t make me out to be a jerk.”
Marti scoffed. Did he forget he was the one that asked for this? As far as he was concerned, she was doing him a massive favor in exchange for a small one. “Don’t worry, your reputation will remain intact, and Hidden Heartbeat will benefit. There’s no reason we can’t make this work for both of us.” She glanced away from him a moment, her thoughts in hyperdrive. “But you know what I’ve been trying to figure out in all this?”
“Do tell.”
“Why you’re still single? You’re a doctor, successful. You’re not totally hideous . . .”
Logan snorted.
“And you actually want to settle down. You’re like every woman’s fantasy.”
He shrugged but averted his gaze. “I haven’t met the right one.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re licking some pretty deep wounds?” He was lying, she was sure of it.
The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Aren’t we all?”
“Some more than others.”
“And which end of the spectrum do you fall?”
Now it was her turn to look away. Because she’d seen firsthand the damage love could do and knew he’d be able to read the fault lines in her eyes.
She glanced out the window of the small pizza shop, separated from the bustling metropolis by nothing more than a sheet of glass. Out there, things moved fast. She could bury the things she never wanted to think about. It was easy to forget and pretend. But in here, with him . . .
“Do you expect me just to believe you’re that way because you’re an ambassador for women’s independence? That there’s no reason you’re so jaded?” he asked.
Marti pinned him with her gaze. “Presumptuous much?”
“I call it like I see it.”
Marti toyed with the straw in her glass, needing to busy her hands. “Not wanting to lose yourself to someone doesn’t make you jaded.”
“I beg to differ.”
“The second you fall in love, you give a piece of yourself over to that person. You lose control. There is a part of you out there you can’t get back. A piece of you that can be crushed in an instant. Suddenly, your choices aren’t all your own. You do things in the name of love. You feel t
hings you don’t want to, both good and bad. And you better believe that person has all the power in the world. It’s like a free-fall. Love is closing your eyes and believing that person will be there behind you, to hold you up, without looking back. Why would any sane person give someone that much power?”
Logan stared into her eyes, and she didn’t like what she saw reflected back at her. The woman in the black of his eyes looked angry and bitter. Not at all like the strong, independent woman she prided herself on.
“Love isn’t a one-way street. It’s both people giving, sharing. Each holds equal power,” he said.
A part of Marti wanted to believe what he said. It was a nice thought, the existence of the kind of love he described. But the picture he painted was a fairytale. Every life experience she had told her otherwise. Even her own father had disappointed her. At the end of the day, people were selfish, and the only one protecting your heart was yourself. Marti would take solitude in exchange for a broken heart any day.
She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “The only person you can really trust in life is yourself. And that’s the truth. Everything else is just a lie we tell ourselves.”
Logan whistled. “Someone did a number on you.”
“I just call it like I see it.” She clenched her jaw—any harder and her teeth would turn to dust.
“Some of the best things in life come from giving up control. That’s when the real magic happens.”
Marti speared him with a look and raised a brow. “Losing control is reckless. Nothing good comes from recklessness.”
“You’re wrong.” His tone hardened.
Little bursts of anger lit up her insides like fireworks. He thought he was so clever. But he was wrong.
Leaning toward him, her eyes flashed with a challenge. “Prove it.”
His gaze flickered to her mouth, and he licked his lips while hers parted. Inching forward, he closed the gap as they faced off. The knot in her stomach tightened. Marti didn’t need to have a world of experience to know that look. Everything inside her screamed to pull back.
He was going to kiss her. Yet she didn’t move, didn’t budge or blink an eye.
