Logan cupped her face in his hands and studied her. “I want to start over with you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he paused and kissed her again, lingeringly, “that I want us to forget about the past. Let’s start over from this moment, just you, me, and the baby.”
It was her turn to search his gaze. “Why?”
“I want something more than just a forced parental relationship with you.” He lightly caressed the lines of her cheekbones with his thumbs. “I want more.”
“More?”
He sighed. “I can’t define it yet. I want us to explore a relationship.”
Explore a relationship? Claire felt as if the world had shifted, leaving her standing on uneven ground. Where on earth was this coming from, this sudden, gentler Logan?
She opened her mouth to formulate an answer, but he placed a finger over her lips.
“Don’t say anything now. Think about it.” He kissed her again. “Meet me back here at five-thirty and we’ll go to dinner.”
Claire barely managed to acquiesce before Mindy’s voice rang from the intercom, announcing the arrival of Logan’s nine a.m. appointment. Logan straightened her shirt and she re-buttoned his to the collar. It was a peculiar, almost domestic moment that made a lump rise in Claire’s throat.
Feeling acutely uncomfortable with the knowledge of her growing weakness for him, Claire hastily ducked out of his office.
So what did Logan mean when he said he wanted more?
The question tortured Claire for the remainder of the workday. She zoned out in a morning meeting with her creative teams. A trip to the restroom had her mistakenly entering the men’s room around lunchtime. Luckily, no men were actually inside, making use of the glaring white urinals that met her shocked gaze, and she was able to flee to the proper facilities without public humiliation. At lunch, she was turning over Logan’s words in her mind when she accidentally took a sip of Jamie’s Diet Coke. On the return trip, she almost walked into the wrong office. Jamie was convinced Claire had developed a case of pregnancy-induced Alzheimer’s, and told Claire as much when she was packing up to leave for the day.
Claire looked at her assistant’s lacy leopard-print pants, noticing them for the first time as Jamie stood in the doorway to her office. It was vaguely amusing, she decided, to be viewed as if she were a lunatic by someone with such questionable taste in clothing.
“I’m leaving,” her assistant announced. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Wait a second. Tell me your pants aren’t lace and leopard at the same time,” Claire responded, convinced her eyes were deceiving her. Why hadn’t she noticed them earlier? “You can have leopard and you can have lace, but you can’t have them both in one outfit or you run the risk of looking like Peg Bundy in a bridal shop.”
Jamie gave her a trademark roll of the eyes. “That’s all you can think about, my pants? Are you sure you don’t want to walk down to the parking garage with me? You seem like you’re not quite yourself.”
Claire’s attention turned back to her computer and she reread the email Logan had sent her earlier for what could have been the tenth time. Or the sixteenth, but who was counting?
Don’t forget dinner, it said, five-thirty. That was it. Nothing more, not even a signature, the arrogant man. He just assumed she would obey him the same way he assumed that if he decided they were going to be in a relationship, they would.
Arrogant, arrogant, arrogant.
“Claire?”
Jamie’s expectant voice tore Claire’s attention away from the provoking email and back to her assistant. Damn. Jamie had asked her a question, hadn’t she? Claire felt guilty about her absentmindedness, so she tried to answer the question without asking what it had been.
“I’ll have to make a decision about that later,” Claire told her with a forced bright smile. There. Delaying tactics usually tended to subvert all unknown questions.
Jamie looked nonplussed. “But I’m leaving now.”
“Right.” Claire bit her lower lip pensively. Clearly, her answer hadn’t achieved the desired subversive effects.
“You don’t know what I said, do you?” Her assistant’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “What’s going on with you, Claire?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, her voice an octave higher than normal. Jamie couldn’t find out about Logan and the baby. Not yet, anyway.
“Fine.” Jamie looked annoyed that Claire chose not to confide in her. “Last chance for an escort to the parking garage.”
“No thanks.” Claire flashed her a smile. “I’m meeting… I have plans. ’Night, Jamie.”
Jamie studied her, clearly sensing some choice gossip to be had, sizzling beneath the surface. Claire chastised herself for her pathetic attempts at a cover-up. She’d always been a dismal liar.
In the end, Jamie gave up and left Claire to pack up her laptop, a few files, and her purse, and make her way to the tenth floor. Mindy the mousey robot had already vacated her post, leaving Claire free to walk into Logan’s office unannounced.
She blinked twice to make sure her gaze wasn’t deceiving her when she walked through his ode-to-a-diner kitchen door and into the brightly lit confines of his office. Logan was seated, his dark head bowed and resting on his desk, and he appeared to be sleeping. Could it be possible for Logan Monroe to fall asleep at his own desk?
No, she decided, dropping her things to the floor and crossing the room in hasty strides.
“Logan.” She gently touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Worry laced through her, surprising her with its intensity. What was the matter with him?
He whispered something then and she bent close to him to catch it. “Bug green,” she repeated.
No, that couldn’t be right. Unless he was delirious.
She leaned closer, inhaling his familiar, heady scent. “Migraine,” came his hoarse whisper.
Ah. That made much more sense, but it still left Claire feeling quite helpless, staring down at an unmoving, debilitated Logan. She searched her mind for ways to ease the pain that had him in its grip. Crossing the office again, she flicked off the harsh overhead lights before returning to his desk once more. Thin shafts of light streamed through the partially closed blinds at his big window, bathing Logan’s back in a soft, golden glow.
Acting on instinct, she laid her hands on the skin exposed at the back of his neck. He flinched and tensed initially, but relaxed as she began massaging the taut muscles beneath her fingertips. His skin felt hot and smooth against her hands and sent a wave of longing crashing over her body. She’d been wanting to touch Logan, to initiate contact with him for so long now that doing so felt good, right. But it still left her wanting that elusive more Logan had alluded to earlier. She realized that massaging him hadn’t been an entirely altruistic act, much to her dismay.
She continued kneading the stress and tension from his neck and shoulders for an indeterminable length of time. Her fingers were beginning to get tired when Logan finally raised his head from the desk.
“Thank you.” He kept his tone low, cocking his head to look at her. His face looked haggard, depleted of some of its usual vitality. “It’s starting to fade.”
She pulled her hands back immediately, awkwardness descending. “I’m glad.”
His gaze scorched hers. “You don’t have to stop.”
“Yes I do.” For her sanity’s sake. She moved away from him, circling his desk to the opposite side, needing suddenly to put a physical distance between them. “How often do you have migraines?”
“Here and there,” he said lightly, wincing and pressing a hand to his temple.
“Have you seen a doctor?” Claire couldn’t keep the concern from her voice, no matter how much she wanted to. She told herself she cared for him only as the father of her child. But secretly, that oft-repeated mantra was beginning to lose its efficacy.
Logan noticed it too, the wicked man. “Worried about
me, Claire?”
“A little,” she admitted. Okay, a lot, but she didn’t have to tell that to Mr. Pomposity.
“I’ve seen someone,” he told her, still rubbing his temple. “Everything’s fine. I just have occasional migraines.”
She frowned at him. “Are they always this bad?”
A crooked grin curved his lips. “Usually they’re worse.”
“Does anyone know?” Claire didn’t really have to ask. She already knew the answer.
His expression became more serious. “Only you.”
Naturally, being Logan, he would want to keep any weakness shielded from the rest of the world. She wished he had willingly entrusted her with the knowledge. But there was the problem. Logan didn’t trust anyone. Not really.
“You don’t have to worry about—” she began to reassure him, but he cut her off abruptly.
“I know. I trust you.”
His words took her aback and she searched his gaze, trying to gauge the depth of his sincerity. He stared, bemused, rubbing his temples. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Honestly, yes it is,” she replied, turning to retrieve the purse and laptop case she’d discarded earlier. Something about the dim lighting, their proximity and Logan’s candor lent the moment a sense of intimacy that disturbed her. She looked at him, keeping her expression carefully blank. “I guess dinner’s out for tonight. You’ll want to rest.”
“No.” Logan stood, but he swayed slightly, belying his denial. He leaned against the desk and pressed both hands to his head.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” She crossed the room and found herself at his side again, concern once more dominating any voices that told her she should just leave.
Logan’s eyes were closed. “Fine,” he gritted out. “Sometimes it just takes a little longer to recover.”
“I’m not going to dinner with you like this,” Claire informed him, using the I-have-better-judgment-than-you-do voice she often used with Sophie. Only now that tone was merely a pretense. Sophie never would have gotten herself into Claire’s current straits.
“I’ll be fine.” Logan opened his eyes, wincing.
“I don’t even think it’s safe for you to drive like this.” Claire bit her lip as she considered her options. Logan needed rest and relaxation, not a dinner date. But she didn’t think he could drive himself home safely in his current condition.
“Then how will I get home?” He closed his eyes.
“I’ll take you,” she blurted before she could question the wisdom of such a decision.
“I’m not a child.”
“No arguing.” She linked her arm through his. “I’ll drive you home.”
Surprisingly, Logan didn’t offer further protestations. He even remained quiet for the duration of the ride, troubling Claire more. Fortunately for her, she already knew how to get to Logan’s home, since it was in the same neighborhood as the house she’d once shared with Garrett. In fact, she had to pass her old home before reaching Logan’s. It was the first time she’d seen it in several weeks, and she saw it now as a stranger from the street. It was odd, looking from the outside in.
“Do you miss your old life?”
The question startled Claire, her hands clenching on the steering wheel as she glanced at Logan. She’d assumed he had dozed off on the drive. “I don’t know,” she responded after a moment.
“I don’t think I like the sound of that.” His voice sounded tired, pained.
Claire flicked another glance at him, his reply not what she had expected. But Logan never seemed to do or say what she expected these days. “I miss having someone to talk to. Living alone can be, well, lonely.”
She wondered if she had revealed too much. Logan remained silent, not bothering to comment. Claire couldn’t determine whether it was because of her candor or because of his headache.
The road curved to the right and Logan’s house slid into view.
Claire had driven past the imposing edifice hundreds of times before realizing it belonged to Logan. As she paused by the electronic gate at the foot of his drive, Claire found herself pondering whether Logan ever got lonely, living in his big, cold, stone mansion. It was the ultimate throne, befitting the arrogant King Monroe, but Claire had begun seeing him as simply Logan the man, and wondered if it wasn’t a hollow victory. He had his palace, but no one in it.
She looked over at him, reclining in her passenger seat with his eyes closed. He looked like Logan the man now, with his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat to reveal a hint of golden chest, the tails wrinkled in his lap.
“The code is one-three-one,” he said without opening his eyes.
She punched the numbers into the keypad that rested on a pillar, car height. The gate opened and she drove inside, curious if there was any significance to the code.
“My birthday,” he said, startling her again by reading her thoughts. “One-thirty-one, January thirty-first.”
“Oh.” It struck her then that there were so many things they didn’t know about one another. Birthdays, likes, dislikes, habits, the list went on. They were having a child together and yet were almost complete strangers in the truest sense of the word.
That thought made her very uneasy as she parked her car. She hit the ignition button and glanced at him again, wondering how in the world they were ever going to make this work. For the first time, her life was no longer predictable and compartmentalized. She didn’t know what to expect from one moment to the next.
Logan opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. “Come inside with me?”
“Okay,” she said against her better judgment, the same judgment she’d ignored five months ago when she had a fling with him.
They both got out of the car, Claire heading for the front walk and Logan toward the side entrance. She stopped and turned back to follow him. Logan gave her a wry half-grin. “I always use this door. The front door makes me feel like I don’t belong.”
Claire didn’t know which touched her more, Logan’s feeling that way or his admission to her. But she didn’t have long to ponder it, because the door opened in the next instant to reveal a familiar-looking man.
“Hey, Loge,” the man said, flashing a beautiful smile that extended to Claire when he noticed her. He stepped back, allowing them entrance, and Claire found herself staring at him. He was tall, with blond hair and perfect features that would have looked pretty on any other man. There was something about him. He was straight off the cover of a magazine.
“Hi,” Claire said with a smile, feeling slightly awkward at Logan’s lack of introduction. She hadn’t known he had a roommate. “I’m Claire. Logan was having a migraine, so I drove him home from work.” It hit her as she paused, why he looked so oddly familiar. “Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like Derek Shaw?”
He grinned at her. “All the time. I am Derek Shaw. It’s nice to meet you, Claire.” He offered her a hand to shake and she took it, shocked.
Derek Shaw was a famous Hollywood actor, had been for years. What in the world was he doing at Logan’s house? She looked back at Logan and he gave her a smile that was really more of a grimace. “I’d love to explain. Some other time.”
“Oh. Of course.” Claire had been so caught up in the initial shock of seeing Derek Shaw that she’d forgotten Logan’s migraine for a moment. “You should lie down.”
“Yes.” He looked down at her, his face unnaturally pale. “Thank you.”
Claire heard the gratitude in his voice and it warmed her. “It was nothing,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, trying to dispel the disturbing feelings she was beginning to have for the man. “I should go. Do you need anything before I leave?”
“No.” He gave her a pained smile. “I’ll be fine after I lie down for a while.”
Logan leaned over, pressed a kiss to her cheek and left Claire and Derek alone. Awkward silence reigned for a few moments.
“It was good of you to bring him home,” Derek said finally, looking do
wn at her with unabashed curiosity.
“I was worried about him.” She had the distinct impression that he knew more about her than she did about him. “Does he have these spells often?”
Derek ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest with you, I didn’t know he had them at all.”
Claire’s own curiosity prompted her then. “How do you know Logan?”
“That’s a long story.” He paused and shoved his hands in his pockets, not looking at all like the confident Hollywood hunk he appeared to be onscreen. “We ended up at the same foster home for a while. We’ve stayed close over the years and the miles.”
“He never told me.” Of course, there were lots of things Logan had never told her.
“I’m hardly anything to brag about. Hell, he was probably intentionally keeping the fact that we’re friends a secret. I can’t blame him.”
Claire searched Derek’s gaze for signs of mirth, but found none. He was utterly serious about himself, she realized, wondering how a famous, gorgeous Hollywood actor could think so little of himself. She racked her mind for snippets of gossip she’d read about him over the years in hair salon gossip magazines and recalled a mentioning of drug and alcohol. It was a shame that a man so successful could still be so vulnerable to downfall.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she reassured him. “Logan just doesn’t typically volunteer personal information.” And that was really beginning to bother her. If he wanted a relationship with her, which she was still seriously doubting, he’d have to open up to her first.
“He’s a private man,” Derek agreed. “More so than even I am, I think. Speaking of which, I’d really like to keep my whereabouts a secret for right now.”
Claire raised a brow. “You ruined my plan to go home and call the tabloids.”
Derek grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Logan trusts you, so I trust you. I just didn’t want you to mention it to a friend who—”
“Who would call up the tabloids without conscience,” she finished. “Clearly I look like someone with questionable taste in friends.”
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