Giving It All

by Christi Barth

  Oh, yes. It tugged at her heart strings, how he was already trying to open a path in his heart for this total stranger. Brooke curled her fingers around his forearm. “Your sister is going to love you.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s too late. Maybe I’ve already screwed it up too much.”

  Now he was all in his head. “Don’t be so defeatist.”

  “Madison said no to the trip. Said she’d rather stay in D.C. and work on making Knox marry her.”

  It took everything in Brooke not to do a spit take right in Logan’s face. “Knox? Marry Knox Davies? I read the article in Capital District magazine about him last year. Doesn’t he have a disgustingly sexist rule about no repeats when it comes to dating?”

  Logan snickered. “To say the least. A long-term relationship for Knox means he didn’t switch girls between drinks and dessert.”

  Only a guy would see that as funny. “Why on earth would your sister think she could actually even get him to say the word marriage without turning tail and running?”

  “I’m not sure. I know they’ve been screwing. I don’t know for how long. Knox gave me some song and dance about Madison being different.”

  Not only was Knox handsome—although not as gorgeous as Logan—but he was a gajillionaire. Brooke could almost hear the anguished cries of every D.C. bachelorette at learning their great white whale might actually be captured. “You mean he could be serious?”

  “No,” Logan said flatly. “No way. And that’s the other reason I came home.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The main reason, obviously, is that I need to apologize to Madison in person. To, you know, meet her and start being her big brother. Somehow. But part of being a brother—at least, the way I understand it—is protecting your sister. So then I need to beat Knox black and blue for toying with her. Get him to lay off the games. She’s my sister, for fuck’s sake, even if I didn’t know it last month. I won’t let him hurt her.”

  “That’s kind of extraordinary.”

  “Nah. It’s simply the right thing to do. Just like I know the right thing to do right now is to stop talking about myself. I’m not nearly as interesting as the beautiful and overly patient woman sitting across from me.” Logan flipped her hand over and began to draw a featherlight pattern on her palm that sent chills racing up one arm and down the other.

  “Logan. Are you trying to change the subject?”

  “Not trying. Already did.”

  “But we weren’t finished—”

  Logan cut her off by feeding her another morsel of conch with his unoccupied hand. “You’re the one who said we’re stuck in a hurricane. That it’ll be a long night. There’s time for everything.” His eyes flashed. “I want to get to everything with you, Brooke.”

  Obviously, that might be a line. Didn’t make it any less powerful, though. And it unsettled her, being the sole focus of such heat and intensity. “Okay. Where do you want to start? My address, which gym I belong to, or that I can’t do tequila shots?”

  Logan blew a raspberry. “That’s all pretty conventional stuff. But if you want to hit the basics, I’m good with that to start. Aside from the assumption your job provides toilet paper, given your stated preference earlier, I don’t have a clue what you do.”

  “I’m the cheerleading coach at Roosevelt Prep, and I teach Family and Consumer Science.” At his blank look—one she’d encountered dozens of times—Brooke added, “Formerly known as Home Ec.”

  “Why’d they change the name?”

  “Stigma. Misperceptions. To get boys to take the class by tacking science on the end.”

  Logan laughed. Which, sadly, interrupted his seductive finger tracing. “Did it work?”

  “Yes. My classes are split almost fifty-fifty.”

  That winged up a thick, dark eyebrow. “Because the boys think it’ll be a good way to hook up?”

  Probably. “It doesn’t matter why they take it,” she insisted. “All that matters is how hard they work and how much they learn, despite themselves.”

  With a wholly male smirk, Logan said, “The lure of a potential kiss from a hot girl can con men into doing almost anything.”

  “What’s funny is that your friend Josh said that very thing on the podcast last week. You know, the Naked Men podcast?”

  “You mean that’s happening?”

  “Logan. The podcast started months ago.” It wasn’t just all of D.C. that was listening. It was millions of subscribers everywhere who got satellite radio. The Naked Men were huge. And Logan was—technically—one of them.

  “I miss a lot when I’m gone,” he muttered. “I saw an email mentioning someone wanted to turn our blog into a podcast. I thought it was a joke. All we do is vent about whatever’s crawled up our ass that week, for a few thousand words.”

  She gave him an are you kidding me look over the rim of her glass. “I’m guessing there was a contract signed by your friends and the giant satellite radio company that broadcasts the podcast. Didn’t you see it? Didn’t you have to agree to it?”

  “They probably sent it along. I probably said I’d go along with the group. Then I lost my phone…and a couple of months went by.”

  “It’s actually terrific. I’ve listened to a handful of them.”

  His jaw dropped. “Why? Why would you listen to my friends sit around talking about guy stuff?”

  “I needed to vet it to see if it was too adult to recommend to my students. Because they absolutely adore the blog. They swear that every blog post is talking right to them. That even though they’ve never met any of you, it’s like all the Naked Men know exactly what they’re going through. It’s helped my boys so much…”

  Brooke let her voice trail off. Because then it hit her. The blog Logan and his friends put out—somehow those faceless strangers managed to reach her hormonal, confused teenagers. Over and over again, they managed to help her students. Whereas she sat with her students every single day. Talked to them. Watched them. Tried to be a mentor, to be available always and remain nonjudgmental. And yet she’d failed.

  Horribly.

  Horrifically.

  Her student Sarah had died because of her failure.

  Guilt—that feeling she’d grown all too familiar with—settled back over her like a suffocating cloak. An onslaught of silent tears racked her body. She couldn’t let Logan watch her fall apart like this. Shoulders shaking, Brooke jumped out of her seat. “I’m sorry.” And she ran from the room.

  Chapter 4

  It’d be easy for Logan to blame not being able to sleep on the eighty-five-mile-an-hour wind howling outside his balcony doors. Rain hammered against the glass like nails. Every so often what must be tree branches cracked against the railing. Up here at the top of the mountain they were above most of the tree line, which the hotel owner assured them cut down on both damage and danger.

  Worry about the hurricane wasn’t making him toss and turn, though. Neither was the fact that he’d hit the sack—for lack of anything else to do—once the power conked out at nine. Jet lag should’ve had him out like a light.

  It was the worry about Brooke that kept him awake. Awake and guilty. He’d had the dinner she ran out on sent to her room. Along with tea and another cocktail, just to cover all bases. That ought to be enough. It was enough. Technically.

  Then why’d he feel so damn lousy? Logan didn’t do crying women. Didn’t know what caused it most of the time. He definitely didn’t know how to stop it. And would bet good money that anything he said or did only made things worse, which is why he hadn’t even knocked on her door. Keeping his distance—he’d learned that was the smartest course of action. First sight of a tear and Logan made tracks. Brooke was better off without him butting in and putting his foot in it. Whatever it was.

  Except…they’d had a really great day. It’d reminded him how much he’d always liked Brooke. Fact of the matter was, he liked her even more now that she was all grown up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d
opened up to someone like that. Something about the way she listened made him want to spill all his secrets to her. Made him want to say anything that curved her mouth into that knockout smile. The look of pride she’d aimed his way—one he didn’t deserve—had knocked his feet out from under him. Brooke was special. If things were different, well…

  They weren’t.

  Yet tonight was different. Tonight they were stranded together. She didn’t have any way to reach out to friends or family to fix whatever shook her world. Couldn’t watch TV or read to distract herself, either. All Brooke could do was wallow in misery. And that was unacceptable.

  Logan didn’t spend a lot of time looking backward. Or forward, for that matter. He was a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. Only way to be, in his line of work. Focus on what was right in front of you. Focus on what you could fix and ignore the rest.

  Right now? He was the only person on-site who could even try to fix her. Which settled it. Because Logan never gave up. And he never walked away when even one person could make a difference.

  So that was his mission. No matter how hard. Or sucky.

  Decision made, he pulled on shorts. Loaded up his pockets with his passport and the phone he’d gotten at the airport in Rome—just in case the airline texted him—and walked to the door. Stood with his hand on the doorknob, realizing he didn’t want to wake up the whole hallway by banging over the noise of the storm. Logan retraced his steps and went out the balcony door instead.

  Instantly, the wet wind slapped at him. Spun him around to thunk him right back on the doorframe. Okay. Dumb mistake. Bracing himself, pitching all his weight forward and bending almost in half against it, Logan tried again.

  This time he got the door shut behind him. He also got the wrought-iron chair slammed into his shin. But Logan had learned time and time again that easy rarely got the job done. No point bitching or stopping halfway. So he threw himself belly first onto the low railing separating his balcony from Brooke’s.

  Good thing it was too dark for anyone to see. Rolling over it went faster than planned, thanks to the wind gusting. Logan landed on what felt like every damn joint he had—knees, ankles, elbows, shoulders all connected with something hard. Looked like her furniture had blown into one spot. Lucky he hadn’t cracked his head on any of it. That water pouring on him sideways should wash off the blood. More or less. He let the howling wind swallow a string of curses.

  He wrestled with her door. Wondered way too late if she had locked it against the storm. Luckily, the handle turned and he got inside without any more injuries. Logan said her name as he entered, slamming the door behind him, so she wouldn’t panic about the crazy guy breaking into her room in total darkness.

  “Brooke? It’s me. Logan,” he added as an afterthought.

  Her shaky voice rushed at him from across the room. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Checking on you.”

  “By giving me a heart attack?”

  Maybe this hadn’t been his best plan ever. Not really thought through all the way. But Logan hadn’t slept in, like, the last sixteen countries and time zones. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake anyone else up.”

  “I doubt anyone is sleeping through this.”

  Her tone was frostier than rock-hard ice cream at the back of the freezer. “Look, I’m sorry I scared you. Any chance you can wait to get to that and give me a towel? Your deck furniture attacked me. I’m wet and probably bleeding.”

  “Which means that karma rewarded you for scaring me into my first white hair.” But a towel pressed against his bare chest. Brooke used a smaller one to vigorously rub at his hair while he wiped off, blotting the places that made him hiss in pain.

  On the plus side, Brooke wasn’t crying anymore. Too bad Logan couldn’t tell if that meant she’d cried it all out, or was just taking a break between rounds. Cautiously, he asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Not at all. I was counting on not getting my first white hair until at least thirty. It’s going to cost me a fortune to find someone who can match this shade of red in a salon.”

  “Very funny.” Logan dropped both towels in a heap by the balcony doors, hoping they’d sop up the worst of the rain he’d let in.

  “Not to me it isn’t.”

  Yeah, she wasn’t thawing one bit. Didn’t mean Logan would give up. And not just because he wasn’t ready to make the return trip to his room through the hurricane. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Oh, sure. Tell me, how’s the weather out there?”

  “What was your major in college—sarcasm?”

  “I only minored in it. Some specialties don’t require lots of book learning. They come naturally.”

  Now he couldn’t tell if she was genuinely back to normal and sassy, or just angry and snarky. Damn it. The room was pitch black. The hurricane clouds obscured any sliver of moonlight that might be out there. Logan had no visuals to clue him in to her status. “Did you eat?”

  “No. But thank you for having it sent up.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his wet hair. “Brooke. You need to eat.”

  “Logan. I’m not a victim you’re rescuing from being buried under a house for a week. I’m a well-fed, overprivileged American. I can skip a meal now and then when I don’t feel hungry.”

  He’d apologized twice for scaring her. This ongoing attitude couldn’t be because of that. So whatever set her off at dinner must still be rubbing her wrong. “Fine. Skip dinner. Skip breakfast, too, for all I care. Just tell me what I can do.”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s obvious that you’re upset.”

  “Gee, maybe you should switch careers. Become a psychiatrist. Or one of those detectives who solves a case just by reading body language.”

  Ah. Now he got it. Brooke was trying to push him away. Which might work on someone less stubborn. But he saw through her forced anger. “Knock it off. You left dinner a complete mess. Something’s wrong. Very wrong. You need a friend. I can’t promise I’ll say the right thing—or even something halfway smart—to fix it. But I’ll listen. I’ll hold your hand while you let it all out. You’re bound to feel better afterward.”

  “No, thanks. Talking won’t help.”

  Logan had to respect her mule-headedness. Seeing as how he was built exactly the same way. But it still wouldn’t make him give up on her. “You want to pound on me instead? Go ahead.” He grabbed for her arm. Got her wrist and planted her hand on his sternum. “Wale away on me. A couple more bruises won’t make any difference. The exertion will let out your stress.” Whenever he and the guys were pissed, they headed to the gym, the soccer field, even just to Constitution Avenue for a long run. A lot of pounding and sweat always cleared their heads.

  “You know what? I am upset. I came down here to get out of my head. To stop thinking about my problem. So talking about it will only make me feel worse. But if you truly want to help…” Her voice trailed off.

  Finally. Now they were getting somewhere. “I do. Name it. Anything that doesn’t require electricity, anyway.”

  “Distract me.”

  “Huh?”

  “I told you, I don’t want to think anymore. Meeting up with you in the airport helped with that. A lot. Until I got reminded at dinner…It doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re a good distraction. If you want to make me feel better, then distract me.”

  “How?”

  The most purely feminine laugh he’d ever heard filled the room. It was as seductive as perfume. As targeted as a flirtatious hair toss. And as unmistakable as the intent of a push-up bra on the third date. “Oh, Logan. You’re a smart man. How about you turn off your brain, too? Let some other body part take the lead. You’ll figure it out.”

  Holy shit.

  She meant sex.

  Sure, after that epic kiss at the waterfall, he’d hoped they might end up in her room. Just not after she fell to pieces. He and his friends had a code. A very basic one, since almost nothing stood in the way of sex, but it did
exist.

  ♣ No sex with any of their moms. Nobody saw it as a real possibility, but after a marathon of the American Pie movies, they all instantly voted to put it in the code.

  ♣ No sex after the dentist. There’d been one embarrassing incident with Josh, involving Novocain and drooling, that had scared them all into a six-hour post-dentist sex hiatus.

  ♣ No sex after tears you didn’t cause (which excused make-up sex and avoided the dreaded post-funeral sex).

  Logan touched his forehead to hers. The advantage to that position was that it kept him from accidentally kissing her lips. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, Brooke.”

  “Oh, quit being so damn noble.”

  “Trust me, I’m not noble.” A noble guy wouldn’t be sporting a hard-on that could jack up an SUV. “If I get out of this room without being a total douche bag, that’ll be a win.”

  Brooke’s fingers danced up his chest. “I want to have sex with you.”

  This was torture. How was he stuck trying to talk the hot woman out of having sex with him? “I think you wanted to, when dinner started. But then something bad happened. Now you want to forget whatever it was. Sex is just a convenient way to make that happen. The last thing I want to do is end up making you feel worse.”

  This time it was a bitter laugh that came from her lips. “I hit rock bottom on that three months ago. I guarantee that nothing can make me feel worse. Being with you, tonight, will only make me feel better. If you do it right, anyway.”

  There was her familiar sass. “Are you seriously trying to taunt me into sex?”

  “If it works. If it doesn’t, I’ll try begging. Bribery. For goodness’ sake, Logan, quit trying to do the right thing and just do me.”