Love at Any Cost (The Heart of San Francisco Book #1): A Novel

by Julie Lessman

  He moved in, and she stepped back, closer to the fire, a scorching reminder this man had burned her once, searing her heart with scars that had yet to heal. Her voice trailed to a whisper. “A very good friend.”

  ———

  Logan inwardly winced, “friendship” no longer enough with a woman he craved more every day. He’d spent a lifetime knowing women—wooing them, winning them, making love to them—certainly enough to know when a woman was drawn to him, cared for him. And there was no doubt in Logan’s mind Cait had feelings far deeper for him than she let on. He drew in an empowering breath and gentled his tone. “I’m asking for your help too,” he whispered. He carefully caressed her arms, her shivering apparent even through the blanket. “Help me make amends to someone dear to my heart as well—” His pulse surged, both at the prospect of kissing her and the fear she’d bolt before he ever got the chance. “What about the touch of a man, Cait?” he said quietly, his voice suddenly gruff with desire. “Do you ever miss that . . . ?”

  “No!” she rasped, pushing him away. The chin lashed up into battle mode, all gentleness burned away by the fire in her eyes. “How dare you ask such a thing! For the love of decency—I’m your sister-in-law and the wife of your brother.”

  “No, Cait—” His whisper was harsh. “You’re the love of my life and my brother’s widow. There’s a difference, you know.” He forced his temper back with a slow exhale of air. “I need you, Cait—more than as a friend.” His jaw tightened. “And I think you need me . . .”

  “What I need,” she said with a thrust of her jaw, “is for you to understand that I have no desire to get involved with you or any man. That part of my life is ended, Logan—done, finished, over—so you may as well let it go, because my mind is made up.”

  A muscle jerked in his temple. “And your body? Has it made up its mind, Cait? There’s a powerful attraction between us, and I defy you to deny it.”

  She heaved a weary sigh and shook her head, her shaky laugh far from convincing. “I’m sorry to break your record, Logan, with the endless hordes of women who fall under your spell, but it’s best you realize here and now that I see you as nothing more than a brother-in-law . . .” She paused to draw in a deep breath and her eyes softened, as if she realized how harsh that sounded. “A brother, really, of whom I am quite fond.”

  “A ‘brother’? Really?” He squinted in amazement, hands on his hips. He was torn between laughing out loud or losing his temper. “I never figured you for a liar, Mrs. McClare, but I guess each of us has our vice.”

  Even in the moonlight, he could see the blush that tainted her cheeks, indicating he had triggered her anger as thoroughly as she’d triggered his. “Yes, we do, Mr. McClare, but I can tell you most emphatically—you will never be one of mine. Good night.”

  “Cait . . .” He stayed her arm, his voice hoarse with regret. “I was out of line, and I apologize. Please . . . don’t leave angry.”

  She turned, and the anger slowly seeped from her face while the breath seeped from his lungs. The edge was gone from her voice, replaced by a gentle tone that matched the kindness in her eyes. “Logan, please know you are very dear to me and an integral part of our family. But you need to understand and accept that my heart, my love, will always belong to my husband.”

  The words sliced through him deeper and sharper than any blade, and he deflected his hurt with an awkward slide of hands into his pockets, heart aching more than when she’d left him the first time. Because now he knew what he’d lost. He cleared his throat, wanting to make amends for angering her, for hurting her years ago, and for pushing so hard when she obviously still harbored feelings for his brother. “I understand,” he whispered, then swallowed hard, his gut clenching at the idea that maybe this time he was wrong, maybe she didn’t have feelings for him like he’d hoped, and maybe the only attraction that truly existed was his. To her. Head bowed, he lifted a shaky hand to his eyes to knead the bridge of his nose, suddenly aware for the first time in his life, his love for Cait was as deep, if not deeper, than his desire. He sucked in a sharp breath, wanting more than anything to show her his love in a tangible way, to give her back a piece of Liam . . . and a piece of himself.

  “I have something to give you,” he said quietly. Hands still in his pockets, his thumb grazed the ring on his finger, knowing full well what he was giving away. Not his heart as he’d hoped, but a piece of his heritage and the only ring he would apparently be able to put on Caitlyn McClare’s hand. He could almost feel the raised gold outline of the lion and Celtic cross against black onyx, the McClare signet ring passed down from centuries past. It had belonged to his ancestors of old . . . on down to his grandfather, his father, and then Liam, who’d never taken it off till Cait gave it to Logan the day Liam was buried. His father’s will delegated ownership to the McClare heir, but it had pained her to part with it, he knew, from the tender way she’d fingered it with such care. Just as I’m doing now. Pulling his hand from his pocket, he removed the ring, thumb gliding against the smooth onyx one last time before he held it out, determined if he couldn’t love her the way he wanted, he’d love her the only way he could. “I want you to have this,” he whispered. “It belongs to you.”

  “No . . .” She shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes. “I can’t take it—it’s yours.”

  Yes, it is. And it claimed a piece of his heart for so many reasons. The connection to his heritage, his father, his brother . . . and to her. For almost twenty-six years it had grazed her skin when Liam had held her hand, touched the warmth of her body every night when they slept, and when she’d given it to Logan, it was as if she’d given him a piece of herself. A piece he realized he no longer had a right to. Not if she didn’t care like he did. Not if she wasn’t drawn as he was.

  “Take it, Cait,” he whispered. “You lived with it for almost twenty-six years—it belongs to you more than me.” He took her hand and placed the ring in her palm, closing his fingers over hers. “And maybe—just maybe—it will give you a touch of Liam, easing your heart like I long to do.”

  Her hand trembled to her mouth as tears trickled down her face. “Oh, Logan . . .”

  She launched into his arms, clutching him so tightly, it paralyzed him to the spot. Moisture stung and he closed his eyes, resting his head against hers, the scent of lavender invading his senses and taunting his soul. Oh, Cait, I’d give anything to have you love me once more, want me again . . .

  She pulled away and swiped at her eyes, her lips quivering into a smile. “You must think I’m crazy, but I’m just so very grateful . . .” Peering up, she gently braced his jaw with her palm, eyes shimmering with gratitude. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than right this moment, Logan McClare. Thank you!”

  His heart seized when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and almost by accident, he turned into her touch, their lips so close he could smell the hint of hot chocolate they’d enjoyed around the fire. They froze in the same split second of time, and his pulse thudded slow and hard as he waited for her to pull away. Only she didn’t, and heat scorched his body. “Cait,” he whispered, barely believing her lips nearly grazed his. He waited, not willing to push for fear she would retreat, but when her eyelids flickered closed, his fate was sealed. “So help me, Cait, I love you,” he rasped, quickly caressing her lips before she could retreat. The moment his mouth took hers, he was a man hopelessly lost, bewitched by her spell. She jolted in his arms as if suddenly realizing her folly, but he refused to relent, his grip at the nape of her neck strong and sure, allowing him a taste of the sweetest lips he’d ever known. A groan trapped in his throat, and he devoured her, delving deeper with a passion stoked by almost twenty-six years of denial and longing. “Cait,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he nuzzled her ear, “I need you in my life.”

  He felt it the moment the winds shifted, pulse skyrocketing when her blanket dropped to the ground and she melded in his arms. His mouth explored with a vengeance, the frenzied beat of her heart th
robbing beneath his lips as he grazed the hollow of her throat. He skimmed up to suckle the lobe of her ear, and his heart swelled with joy when a soft moan escaped her lips. Blood pounding in his veins, he wove fingers into her hair to cradle her face. “Marry me, Cait, please!”

  Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a glaze of desire so strong, his mouth descended again, dominant and possessive until her lips surrendered to his. “Marry me,” he repeated, his kiss gentling to playful nips meant to coax and tease. “I need you, Cait . . . and I want you.”

  In the space of a painful heartbeat, she hurled him away, breasts heaving and eyes wild. “You’re a devil, Logan McClare, always lusting after what you can’t have!”

  Sleet slithered through his veins. “No, Cait, it’s not true—I want you because I love you.”

  He reached for her, and she thrust back, fury welling in her eyes. “You want me because you can’t have me. And once you had me, you would just throw me away again, returning to your old habits of carousing with women all hours of the night.”

  “You’re wrong—let me prove it, please. Marry me.”

  She shook her head, an auburn curl quivering against her neck. Her tone trembled with a violence that stunned. “I-don’t-want-you, and I-don’t-need-you, do you hear?”

  His anger surged, but he tamped it down with a clamp of his jaw, his words as hard as hers. “Really, Cait? Why don’t you tell that to the woman whose body just responded to mine?”

  The lightning force of her slap shifted his jaw clean to the right, the sound of it like a crack of thunder. “How dare you?” she whispered, tears streaming her cheeks. “You forced yourself on me in your usual callous way, and if you ever do so again, it will be the last time you step foot in my house, is that clear?” He didn’t answer, and she took a step forward, her jaw engaged once again. “I said, is-that-clear?”

  Gritting his teeth, he turned away. He sucked in a harsh breath and released it again, fighting to keep his temper under control, the only control he apparently possessed with the woman before him. Well, she might hold all the cards and he might lose this hand, but he would not lose the game. With a heavy blast of air, he turned—and stopped—all anger fading at what he’d reduced her to. A quivering mass of tears. God, forgive me . . . He studied her with sorrow in his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, all of his emotion finally spent, “it’s clear.” She started for the door and he stopped her with a gentle hand. “Forgive me, Cait—I never meant to hurt you. Not then, not now.”

  She nodded stiffly and started to leave.

  “Cait?” She turned at the door. He plunged his hands in his pockets, no longer a man of the world, but a little boy whose heart was on the line. “I love you, and deep down inside, I think you know that, know I would never cheat on you again.” He stared, his eyes naked with the truth for the very first time. “That said, I need to know why? What else are you afraid of?”

  She must have sensed his honesty because the hard plain of her face ebbed into a look of such sorrow, it plucked at his heart. Her voice was gentle and low once again, the Caitlyn he was privileged to love. “I love you as family, Logan, but I can never be ‘in love’ with you again.”

  The words stabbed. “Why?” he whispered, his voice no more than a croak.

  Her bodice quivered with a burdensome sigh. “Because I don’t trust you.”

  “Why? I swear to you, Cait—I will be faithful.”

  “No, Logan, you can’t. A man of your habit and ilk can’t be faithful without God.”

  “Let me prove it. I can do this.”

  “Maybe. But I can’t. I refuse to fall in love with a man who doesn’t share my faith.”

  He took a step forward, his eyes intense. “I believe in God, Cait.”

  “No, Logan, you believe in yourself first, God after. There’s a difference.”

  His jaw sagged in disbelief. “You’re attracted to me and love me, yet you turn me away because my faith isn’t up to snuff?” Fury boiled in his veins, trumping his passion. He chilled her with a look so cold, he saw her shiver. “Even if it means your precious Vigilance Committee?”

  The blood leeched from her face. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, her words laced with shock. “Y-you agreed, and it’s the decent thing to do.”

  He moved in, fists clenched and a nerve twitching in his cheek. “No, Cait, the decent thing to do is to forgive the past and admit you’re in love with me.”

  Her legs faltered before steel appeared to fuse in her spine. “That’s your price, then?”

  He stared, his jaw as rigid as his pride. She loved him, she wanted him, but she wouldn’t have him because of God? Outrage like he’d never known singed his very soul. “It is.”

  She winced as if she’d been struck, pain contorting her face while she listed against the wrought-iron chaise. Firelight flickered across her beautiful features, illuminating myriad feelings that tore at his heart. Shock, fear, fury, resolve . . . and sorrow. The same sorrow he saw in himself, a man of missed opportunities. The flames spit and popped behind him, as if portending a fiery future that would ravage both him and the woman he loved.

  He watched as the anger slowly siphoned from her body, softening her features, welling in her eyes, and he was reminded once again what a rare woman she was. Prone to gentleness rather than anger, giving rather than taking, others rather than self. Despite the fact he would rob her of something so dear, her eyes bore no retribution or blame, only a sadness that seemed to personify Caitlyn McClare where he was concerned.

  “Then it’s too high,” she whispered, the trace of a tear glazing her cheek as she placed his ring on the chaise. She turned away, her voice a broken whisper that prophesied their doom. “Even for my precious Vigilance Committee.”

  20

  So . . . do we have a courtship?” Legs dangling over the side of the swim platform that was anchored in the middle of Logan’s cattail lake, Blake chuckled and scooped water into Jamie’s face. “I’m assuming since Cass didn’t boot you out of her hiding place last night, you made some headway on that score?”

  Soaking up Napa sun on the dock, Jamie lay flat on his stomach, head on his arms. Nothing moved but his eyelids and the curve of his lips as he peered up at Blake. “And then some.” He batted at a fly that landed on the bare shoulder of his sleeveless swimsuit, then jerked his leg when it flitted to the back of his knee-length swim shorts.

  Blake scooped a handful of mossy water into Jamie’s face with an edge to his tone. “What’s that supposed to mean, MacKenna? Did you make advances to my cousin?”

  Jamie swiped at his eye with a chuckle. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Blake, my intentions are completely honorable where Cassie’s concerned.” He closed his eyes, the memory of the kiss last night heating his body more than the sun. “But you know Cass—I had to do a little nudging to get her to see things my way.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. I’ve seen your ‘nudges,’ Mac, and I’m not sure I want you ‘nudging’ my cousin.”

  Jamie hiked one lid. “Even into marriage?”

  The fly could have landed in Blake’s mouth. “No joke? You’re that serious already?”

  “He’s been serious since he laid eyes on the woman, Blake, where’ve you been?” Bram said with a faint smile, flat on his back with elbows splayed behind his head while he sunned in a black and white striped swim shirt Jamie swore he stole from an ex-convict.

  Blake scratched his head. “I suppose doing some ‘nudging’ of my own, too busy to notice.” His low chuckle rumbled over the water. “Only not the respectable kind.”

  “Yeah, well my days of nudging other women are over—Cassie’s the one I want, and I plan to propose, the sooner the better.”

  “Well, what d’ya know?” Blake said. “The Three Musketeers will be the Three Cousins.”

  Bram slid Jamie a sideways glance. “Yeah, one big happy family, but educate me first.” The edge of his lip sloped up. “Does this mean you’ve actually cha
nged and seen the light and not just going through the motions?”

  The question caught Jamie by surprise, clearing his mind of all banter when he realized something that slowed the blood in his veins. Holy thunder, he had changed. Somehow between church with both Cassie and his family and debating theology with Cassie and Bram over the last month, the hard callus around his heart—the one that kept God at bay—had slowly eroded. Stripped away every time he saw the light in Cassie’s eyes when her prayers were answered or the glow in her face when she sang a hymn at church. All those times she was patient and kind to Patricia when he could tell she simply wanted to hamstring her. His lips crooked. Well, she’d certainly hamstrung him, crippling him of the notion that any other woman could even come close. And when she’d insisted on praying together for his sister every week—out loud, no less, like some crazy person—she’d rendered him completely powerless at doing anything but falling deeper in love. Had he seen the light? His smile softened. Oh yeah, and it shone bright and strong from the pale-green depths of the eyes of Cassidy McClare.

  “Please say something, Mac,” Blake said with a grin. “You’re starting to scare me.”

  Jamie squinted in the sunlight, first at Bram and then up at Blake, giving in to a sheepish smile. “Well, let’s just say for the first time in a long while, I’m on speaking terms with God.”

  “It’s about time,” Bram said, sitting up with a grunt. He finger-shot a dead dragonfly at Blake. “I thought you were as hopeless as this joker here.”

  Blake ducked, shooting back a cocky grin. “I’m not hopeless, I’m smart. A man gets religion and the next thing he knows, some woman ties him down with a rope around his neck.” He flicked Jamie’s head. “Like Mac here.”

  Jamie slapped him away. “Hey, McClare, it’s not ‘tied down’ if it’s where I want to be.”