by JoAnn Ross
“He’s staying at Maisy’s Place with his parents,” Riley reminded. “I told you that before.”
She had.
Annie pinched the pain hovering beneath the bridge of her nose. She had to stop equating Riley with herself. The girl was nothing like her; she wasn’t a magnet for trouble the way Annie had been. “All right. Fine. If they have a place for you to sleep tonight, then you can stay.”
Riley immediately turned, leaving Annie to follow. They worked their way through the room, stepping around cots that were shoved together in some haphazard manner that probably made sense to someone, and found the school principal who—according to one of Sam’s announcements at dinner—had been appointed to keep order at the center. Assured that Riley was indeed welcome to stay—they could always use another pair of hands when it came to snuggling with the little ones who were having a hard time adjusting to the odd circumstances—Riley barely looked at Annie before heading away into the fray.
She sighed faintly, watching her niece get swallowed among the throng. She was no closer to understanding what was driving Riley than she had been when the girl had appeared on her doorstep days earlier. And Annie was getting entirely too accustomed to having her there on Turnabout, despite the circumstances.
Annie finally turned away, only to stop short at the sight of Logan standing behind her.
“Oh. Hi.” Her heart danced a nervous jig and it annoyed her no end. Despite his assurance earlier that he’d see her at dinner, he’d been noticeably absent. And she’d be darned if she’d ask what had kept him. “Sara’s on the island, you know.” Her friend had thoroughly grilled Annie over the kiss she’d seen. Annie dearly loved her partner—considered her to be the sister she’d never had—but she’d never told her about Logan, about the intense dream that had been her companion for way too many years. Trying to explain what Logan was doing on the island, what he was doing with Annie, had about exhausted her. Following up that event with finding Riley and Kenny in a clinch had just added another dimension of discomfiture.
“Yeah,” he said. “I heard about the way she finagled her way across. She’d have been smarter to stay on the mainland.”
Obviously, there was no surprising him. “Well, Sara knew what the situation was and wanted to come home anyway. Some people actually like being in their homes.”
“And some people are lucky enough to have homes.” He closed his hand over her arm, keeping her from slipping away among the dancing bodies when she tried to leave. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She pulled at her arm. “Since you know she’s on the island, why don’t you go see her? She’s thrilled that you deigned to visit, or do you plan to avoid her the same way you do your father?”
When it rains, it pours, Logan thought. “If that’s what’s got you upset, don’t bother. I’ve already seen my sister. And my father.” His voice was even.
“I am not upset.”
Her eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed. She was either upset or drunk, and the latter was unlikely. According to the grapevine, Annie was a teetotaler. “Is it Riley?” He could see the teen from where they stood. She actually had a smile on her face as she twirled in circles holding hands with April. “She looks like she’s having a good time, for once.”
“She is. That’s why she’s staying here for the night again.”
Logan’s gaze slanted back to Annie. She looked stiff. Completely uncomfortable among the boisterous revelry. He knew it wasn’t because she felt out of place among the islanders. He’d seen her interact with them too many times over the past few days to believe that.
Which meant it was a reaction to him, or to Riley. Or both.
He slid his hand down her arm, latching his fingers around hers. “Come on.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going home.”
“Fine. I’ll scare up a golf cart and drive you.”
“I don’t need a ride. I’ve been walking all over this island for five years now. And I’ll still be doing it when you’re gone.”
“I’m not gone yet.”
“More’s the pity. If you’d taken Riley back right away, then—”
“She could well have run away again.” He kept his voice low as he hustled her toward the door, knowing she’d be unlikely to resist and draw more attention to herself. “Which you know better than anyone.” He didn’t let go of her until they were outside. “Now what’s the real reason you’ve got your knickers in a twist?”
She yanked at the sleeves of her blue jacket, neatening them around her slender wrists. “You said you’d be there for dinner.” She looked shocked, as if the words were unwelcome.
“I had something I needed to do.”
“Fine.” Her shoulder lifted. “Whatever. It’s no business of mine. Sara—”
“Sara already gave me her opinion.” The sister that he remembered as a schoolgirl—bookish and quiet—had grown into a leggy, raven-haired woman who was no more quiet when it came to voicing what she thought than Hugo was.
And what Sara thought was that he’d better not plan on doing anything more than kiss her best friend unless he intended to stick around awhile.
He could have told Sara that he’d sooner turn monk than hurt Annie more than she’d already been hurt, but he hadn’t.
The fact was, he wanted Annie. He wanted her bad. And only some whisper-thin sense of decency he was surprised to find still living inside him kept him from taking exactly what he wanted.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“I don’t need you to.”
“Maybe I do.”
Annie went still as his words sank into her. She looked up at him. There were shadows under his eyes. A muscle flexed in his jaw. She didn’t know this man. And yet, even as she reminded herself of that inescapable fact, she did.
As much as she wanted—needed—to maintain her distance from anyone who shook the secure little world she’d created for herself, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse him.
She swallowed. Nodded.
Tension seemed to leave his face.
Logan commandeered Leo’s golf cart again. But this time, Annie didn’t insist on driving.
The moonlight was a thin wash across the uneven road. She kept a firm hold of the metal bar next to the seat cushion, maintaining as much distance between them as she could as they left behind the noise of the community center and headed straight into the quiet night.
Maybe I do. Logan’s quiet statement circled in Annie’s mind.
She’d spent a long time, years, molding her life into something she could manage. Something she could respect. She’d put nearly all her efforts into Island Botanica. She’d made friends, she’d walked the straight and narrow path of responsibility. She’d been so diligent, so focused, as if she could completely eradicate the person she’d once been.
She could manage a business; she could cultivate plants where others had failed; she could finally make her own way in life without fear of harming what she’d loved most.
Yet in the span of three days, she felt as if all of that was unraveling.
She didn’t know if it was the storm. Or Riley. Or Logan.
Perhaps, it was all three.
Logan turned off the road and headed down her steep little path. The motor hummed softly as he pulled to a stop right in front of her house.
She could hear her pulse beating in her ears.
There was no practical reason anymore for him to stay at her place. He wouldn’t sleep under his father’s roof, but he’d have no such reservations where his sister was concerned.
Yet Annie knew, if she looked at him, she would beg him to stay.
So she kept her eyes on her front door as she slid from her seat. She’d barely closed herself in the house when she heard the distinctive whine of the
golf cart heading up the road.
He’d seen no reason to stay.
It was so dark inside that she could barely tell whether her burning eyes were opened or closed. Despite the flashlight tucked in her pocket, she carefully crossed through the living room, and went into Riley’s bedroom.
She slid off the crinkling jacket, dropping it on the mattress, and knelt to reach beneath the bed. Her fingers easily closed over the hard plastic box stored there. Drawing it out, she carried it to the living room. She started to set it on the breakfast counter, but the silence of the house pressed in on her. Instead, she slid open the sliding glass door, and went out onto the deck.
She dragged the chaise to the edge of the deck because the moonlight was brighter there, and flipped back the lid of the plastic box. She lifted out the three albums inside and dropped the box on the deck. Her hands shook as she arranged the thick books on her lap, the most recent on top.
A young girl’s lifetime, captured on film.
She flipped open the cover.
She made it halfway through the first album before the tears completely blinded her.
“Annie?” Logan was there, crouched down beside her. His hand cupped her cheek. “I knocked.”
She could only stare at him, her chest aching. Without volition, she pressed her cheek against the warmth of his hard hand, closing her eyes. “I heard you leave.”
“I came back.” He moved the heavy albums from her lap and tucked them beneath the chair. “Let’s get you inside.”
“It’s too quiet. Too empty.” She pressed her fist against her mouth, stifling a hiccupping sob.
He exhaled roughly. “Ah, Annie.” He sat on the edge of the chaise, lifting her, as if she were a child, right onto his lap. “Don’t.” His hands stroked through her hair. “It’ll be all right.”
She shook back her head, looking into his face. She’d left tears and childhood long behind. “No,” she whispered. He didn’t know what had happened; he didn’t know what she’d done. If he did, he’d hate her as much as she’d hated herself. “No,” she said again, and leaning into him, she pressed her mouth against his.
His lips felt cool, like the night. She felt the way his hands tightened in her hair, then deliberately loosened and fell away. “Annie—”
“Kiss me.”
He made a low sound.
Her lips skimmed over his. Her heart raced. Her stomach felt tight. Ever since the last time, she’d wanted to taste him again. To feel him again.
She wanted his hands on her. Then, maybe, she could forget.
“Logan, kiss me.” She twisted in his arms, sliding her hands up his soft jacket, over his shoulders.
He caught them, stilling, as they reached his neck. “I want more than a kiss, Annie. You’re not—”
She moved her lips over his again. Nibbling. Tasting. He wouldn’t let go of her hands so she curled her fingers down over his, holding him in return. “I want more,” she whispered. Her lips tingled against the soft scrape as she drew them along his jaw. She reached his throat, right beneath his ear. “Everything.”
He suddenly let go of her hands and grasped her head between his two hands, forcing her back so he could look into her face. His eyes were dark shadows in the night, no less intense because of it. “Are you sure?”
He’d sheltered her from a storm.
If only he could shelter her from herself.
“Yes.”
He inhaled sharply. She waited, her breath stalled in her throat, for his kiss. For him to devour her, the way his eyes said he wanted to do. Instead, his touch was slow. Achingly gentle, as he brushed his thumb over her lips.
No. She didn’t want gentle. She wanted a raging flood that would block out all thought. She twisted her head, restless. “Logan—”
“Sshh.” His hand crept behind her head, cradling it while his other thumb continued gliding back and forth against her lip. Then up her cheek, drying the trail of tears.
Pinpricks burned behind her eyes.
He tilted her head and kissed the corner of her lips. The corner of her eyes. His gentleness was like some exquisite pain squeezing her soul.
She exhaled, truly shaken.
Then he stood, drawing her up with him.
Her legs shook. Her breath stumbled.
“I won’t hurt you.”
She would have laughed had she possessed the strength. She could only seem to stand there, quivering as his fingertips slowly explored the shape of her face, the curve of her neck. He slipped those tantalizing fingertips beneath the neckline of her T-shirt, grazing the hollow of her throat, then back up again, sliding along her jaw, slipping into her hair.
“You are so beautiful.” His voice seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him. “More now than ever.”
An image of that long-ago incident at the wedding reception sidled into her mind. He’d called her beautiful then, too. A beautiful child too foolish and selfish for her own good.
“Not the past,” she was barely aware of speaking the words. “Don’t think of the past.”
“Sshh. It’s okay.” His lips touched hers. “It’s gone. It’s over.”
Her eyes felt heavy. Her body ached from an eon of loneliness. “Make love with me, Logan.” She slid her hand around his neck, tugging his head closer. The more boneless she felt, the more tensely he held himself. She could feel it in his corded neck, in his tight jaw when she kissed it. “Now.”
She pulled at the wide strap of her jumper until it came off her shoulder. Then the other side. The dress was so loose, it fell straight down her hips, piling in folds of khaki around her feet.
He muttered a soft oath and sat down again on the edge of the chaise. His arm was like an iron brace around her back, yet she didn’t feel trapped, only treasured as he pressed his mouth against her abdomen, his warm breath stealing through the tight weave of her T-shirt.
Her hands twisted in the shirt he wore, pressing against the unyielding breadth of his shoulders. Her knees would have buckled if not for his hold on her when his mouth ran up the center of her shirt, kissed the valley between her breasts, then closed, openmouthed over one tight crest, then the other. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted—needed—his mouth on her skin. She wanted his skin on her skin.
She scrabbled at his shirt, tugging and pulling until she managed to break his hold on her long enough to drag the shirt over his head. She tossed it to the deck, and reached for her own, but his hands beat her to it. With agonizing slowness, he drew it upward, letting her pull her arms free, then tugged it completely away.
Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and for a painfully exposed moment she wished for the days when her hair had been able to blanket her to the waist.
Her skin pebbled in the chill night air, yet beneath the surface, she felt hot. As if her skin had shrunk a size beneath the heat of his hooded gaze.
Then his hands covered her. Shaped her, plumped her to his lips.
And her knees did give way.
He caught her easily and rose, lifting her right off her feet. She had a fleeting thought that she must look silly in only her panties and short white socks and canvas shoes, but there was nothing in his gaze that told her so.
If anything, he looked...he looked...fierce.
Male to her female.
His mouth covered hers as he carried her inside. She toed off her shoes and gave them no further thought as liquid heat stole through her. He carried her unerringly through to her bedroom, despite the pitch dark. Slowly lowered her legs until she stood in front of him. His jeans felt coarse against her, and she was hazily grateful for that pitch dark for it hid the way her mouth opened in a soundless gasp when she felt his hands slide down her hips. Her thighs.
He lifted her ankle and drew off one little sock.
He kissed her knee.
Drew off the other sock.
Kissed her thigh.
And he kissed the heart of her, right through the utterly conventional, thoroughly unimaginative white cotton panties she wore.
Her hands tangled in his hair and her gasp found voice. “Logan, I don’t, I can’t—”
His lips moved to her belly. Her hips. “Shh,” he soothed. “We’ll go as slow as you want, Annie. Whatever you need.”
What she’d needed was an end to the pain of the past. What she’d gotten was a writhing ache inside her that only he could quench. “I need you.” She slid down to her knees on the sisal rug, hissing as her breasts grazed the hair whirling over his chest. Without conscious thought, she arched into him, swaying against the delicious friction.
He made a sound, a growl, that sent shivers skittering along her spine, and he kissed her again.
Hard.
Her head fell back, pushing against the side of the mattress that she hadn’t even realized was so near. His tongue swept inside, taunting her. Tempting her.
“Come out, come out, come out to play.”
The tune dangled in her mind and she found herself smiling against him, her heart leaping in some foolishly hopeful dance that she couldn’t even put a name to.
She felt his lips curve, too, and the sensation was alternately unique and seductive. And when he finally lifted his head, their harsh breaths were audible in the utter silence, a song that she knew would remain with her the rest of her days.
She went still, caught in a web of need so deep she wasn’t sure she’d ever emerge. Or if she wanted to.
“We can still stop.”
His voice was husky.
She frowned. Stop? The darkness made her bold. She ran her hands down his chest until she found the waistband of his jeans. She brushed her knuckles over the rigid length of him that no amount of stonewashed denim could disguise. “Can we?”
He grunted and grabbed her hand, pressing it back against the mattress beside her head. “Yes.” But his voice sounded strained. “If you’re not ready for this, I can stop.”