Claire turned her attention to the window again as they moved forward, crossing an intersection unlike any she’d ever seen. Five roads came together from all different angles. “Need I remind you who invited me?”
He shot her an amused look. “Oh believe me, I remember.”
“Having second thoughts, Monroe?” Because God knew she’d been having them all morning, alternately second-guessing herself, then vindicating herself again with various arguments.
“Not a single one.”
Claire returned her attention to the passing scenery and wondered whether he was telling her the truth. He had to harbor at least some slight regret about their night together. Logan Monroe was a man who stood alone, who liked to be in control of every detail in his life. God knew he hadn’t planned to sleep with her, let alone to create a child with her. But here they were, stuck together for the next eighteen years, minimum.
To Claire, that idea’s appeal grew every day, regardless of her frustration with Logan. But to him, she just didn’t know. It often hit her, made her heavy with the weight of dread, to think he might feel trapped by their mutual situation. She was ashamed to admit that, at least initially, she had felt trapped by the baby. But now she had the ability to recognize her marriage with Garrett had already been long dead. And she was prepared to be the best mother to her child she possibly could. She loved him or her more than words could express already.
“This is the hotel,” Logan announced, interrupting her broodings.
“It’s the most charming thing I’ve ever seen,” Claire breathed, instantly taken with the structure. It was tall compared to the town’s other buildings, but would have easily been dwarfed by any of the buildings in downtown Philly. The brick composing its façade was clearly old. A long porch graced the entire length of the hotel, dotted with wooden rocking chairs and hanging plant baskets. A half circle at its top proclaimed it had been built in 1897.
“Do you like it?” Logan asked, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. “I know it’s no Pierpont or Hilton, but I love it here. Derek and I have been meeting up here every summer for years. Of course, we didn’t make it this year.”
“The hotel looks amazing,” she assured him, smiling. “And Derek is lucky to have a friend like you.” She could only assume that Derek’s reason for missing this summer’s annual get-together was related to his recent problems. It was probably also why Derek was currently crashing at Logan’s house and keeping a low profile.
“We were lucky to have each other growing up, all three of us,” Logan murmured as he turned on his right-turn signal and drove into the parking lot situated behind the hotel. “There were only two constants in my life growing up. Derek and Eunice Withers.”
“Eunice Withers?” Claire’s interest was sparked by the unfamiliar name.
Logan nodded, not looking at her as he guided his car into an empty space and slid the gear into park. “She was a widow who took me in when I was fourteen.” He looked at her finally, sadness in his eyes. “She died eight years ago. Heart failure.”
“I’m sorry.” She took his hand in hers instinctively, understanding without needing to hear him say the words how deeply he’d cared for the woman. He must have been heartbroken when she died.
He nodded again, then pulled his hand away, plastering a smile on his face that didn’t quite seem genuine. “Let’s get our things and check in.”
Claire wasn’t surprised by his withdrawal. Logan wasn’t comfortable with sharing emotions with anyone, ever. All the more reason for her to guard her heart against him. She glanced at the dashboard. “What time does check-in start? It’s only twelve.”
Logan muttered a curse. “I’d forgotten all about that. Check-in starts at one. We’ll just have to catch lunch first. Do you mind?”
She shook her head and her stomach rumbled, as if on cue. “No, and neither does baby. In fact, he or she would be very happy to have lunch.”
He met her gaze, his softening. “God, I still can’t believe we’re having a baby together.”
She looked down at her rounded belly, noticeable even in the loose-fitting pink tank top and matching skirt she wore. “Sometimes I can’t either,” she admitted. It seemed strange in the extreme to be carrying the child of Logan Monroe. If anyone had told her a year ago that she’d be pregnant with his baby now, she would have laughed. Even so, it also seemed right, in an odd way.
She cleared her throat, ending the tentative moment between them. “It’s getting a bit stuffy in here.” It was only September, and not unbearably hot like the summer had been, but still warm enough to heat up the car after a few minutes sans AC.
Logan blinked. “Right. Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking suddenly agitated. “There’s a great café down the street. Should we drive there, or do you want to walk?”
She made a face and pulled open the car door. “After three hours of being trapped in here? Are you kidding me?”
About to close the door when she realized she’d forgotten her purse, Claire bent down to retrieve it. She’d tucked the small but chic straw tote down by her feet in case she’d needed any lip gloss or mints during the drive. Pregnancy, in addition to wreaking havoc on numerous other aspects of her life, had also blessed her with chapped lips and the tendency to get carsick. Thankfully, the mints and the pee breaks had been enough to keep her motion sickness largely at bay.
“Logan,” she began, looking up while she was still bent over in the act of retrieving her purse, “how far away is the…” Her words drifted off as she realized he was staring at her hotly, his gaze riveted on her breasts.
She swallowed, feeling an answering spike of heat in her veins, then looked down to realize the neckline of her shirt was gaping. Logan had an excellent view of the tops of her breasts spilling out of her too-small bra. Her breasts were growing faster than she could hit the lingerie store for replacements. Suddenly mortified, she stood so quickly she whacked her head on the roof of the car.
A moan of embarrassment and pain escaped her as stars swam before her for a dazed moment. “Oh damn.” She pressed a hand to the knot already forming on the back of her head and carefully extracted herself from the car without further incident.
Logan was at her side, wearing a worried expression. “Are you okay, Claire?” He reached around her to probe the swelling lump she’d so stupidly caused. “You don’t have a concussion, do you, sweetheart?”
“No.” She smiled, then winced when he pressed a little harder than she would have liked. “Just a bruised ego and a goose egg.” Stepping away from him, she closed the car door and clutched her purse with both hands. “How about lunch before I do any more damage?”
He frowned, concern still written all over his handsome face. “Are you sure?”
God, the man was so protective of her and the baby it got a bit tiresome at times. You’d think she’d fallen out of a moving car rather than simply bumping her head on a parked one. “It’s a little bump,” she assured him. “Nothing more.”
“All right.” Logan dropped his hand and stepped away from her. “Let’s go get lunch then.”
As she fell into step beside him, it hit Claire harder than the bump she’d taken to the head. Logan Monroe had just called her sweetheart.
The café was every bit as charming and cozy as the rest of the town, Claire decided after she and Logan were seated. Their small round table was tucked into a corner and covered with a checked tablecloth. The floral arrangement nestled in the vase at the table’s center was fresh and beautiful, with delphinium, coneflowers, and lavender. The lavender’s scent teased her nostrils and she inhaled deeply.
“The flowers smell like heaven,” she couldn’t help commenting.
Logan stared at her, his gaze dipping to her lips. “I’ve always thought vanilla smelled like heaven.”
Claire swallowed heavily and looked away from him. French vanilla was her favorite scent. He had noticed. She forced her attention to the walls of the café, anyth
ing to take her mind off him. Besides, it wasn’t as though the walls were boring. They were dotted with old black-and-white photographs of the town in its heyday. There was a picture of the hotel, the main street lined with carriages, another of the buildings with a handful of distinguished-looking men posing before it. Yet another captured the townspeople going through their daily lives, women walking along the street in dresses, baskets in hand, men carrying wooden crates.
“I love the photographs,” she murmured, feeling the need to fill in the silence between them. “It’s amazing that the town looks almost exactly the same as it did then.”
“It’s been used as a filming location for a few movies,” Logan offered, dragging her gaze back to him. “Derek was in one, in fact, which was how we happened to find the town in the first place. It’s beautiful, and it still has that small-town atmosphere. Since the locals are accustomed to having actors in their midst, it’s not a big deal for Derek to be here.”
“What movie?” she asked, her interest piqued.
“Stealing Annabelle.” A grin curved Logan’s lips. “One of his sappy love roles.”
“I remember that movie.” Snapshots of it filtered through her mind. It had been about an actor who returned to his sleepy hometown and fell in love with his best friend’s ex-wife. “I liked it, and I didn’t think it was sappy.” Naturally, Logan, Mr. Devoid of Emotion, would think it sappy.
Logan tilted his head to the side and gave her an oh-come-on look. “That’s because you’re a woman.”
She tapped the tabletop with her fingers. “As I recall, it was a box office hit. You can’t tell me every single person who went to see it was a woman.”
“You’re right.” The smile he sent her was one hundred percent pure smug. “Half the people who went to see it were men dragged there by their wives or girlfriends.”
“Ah.” She tapped her fingers harder, her annoyance growing as she considered his words. “So your girlfriend of the moment dragged you to it?” The idea of it rankled, she had to admit, if only to herself.
His high cheekbones suddenly darkened. “Er, not exactly.”
Was he actually blushing? Claire blinked, unable to believe it.
“You went by yourself, didn’t you?” He didn’t bother answering her, didn’t need to since she’d already figured it out herself. Claire laughed. She couldn’t help it. It was so cute, picturing Logan by himself in the movie theater, watching a romantic film.
“Stop laughing, damn it,” Logan growled. “He makes me see all his movies and tell him what I think. But I refuse to watch the ones with nudity. I draw the line at seeing my best friend’s bare ass.”
Claire’s laughter subsided long enough for her to catch her breath and formulate a response. “His bare ass, huh? Which movies are those? I’ll have to rent them.”
He scowled at her, clearly unappreciative of her humor. “Like hell you will.”
“Why not?” she asked innocently, enjoying the knowledge that it bothered him.
“He’s my best friend, for Christ’s sake,” Logan spit out, looking ready to throttle her. “His ass is off-limits to you.”
“Hi, I’m Leslie. Can I take your order?”
Claire bit back a grin as she turned her attention to the young waitress who’d just appeared at their table. She wondered how long Leslie had been standing there and how much she’d overheard.
Logan’s cheekbones darkened further, and Claire had to actually swallow her laughter. Apparently, he was wondering the same thing. She decided to spare him from more squirming.
“I’m not sure what I want to order yet, so I’ll start with a drink. I’d like water for now,” she told Leslie with a smile. “Do you have bottled or tap?”
“We have both,” the girl replied helpfully.
“I’ll take bottled then,” Claire decided. She hated water that tasted like chemicals had been pumped into it.
Leslie scribbled on her pad, then turned to Logan. “And you?”
“The same,” he said curtly, still obviously embarrassed.
When Leslie had disappeared, Claire flipped open her menu and began perusing its contents. A giggle escaped her lips and she pressed them together to quell the others rising in her throat. Another made its way to the surface.
Logan growled. “What’s so damn funny now?”
Claire looked up at him through her lashes. It was unfair that he was so gorgeous and sexy and yet so wrong for her. Sophie’s words popped inexplicably into her mind. It was true, Claire would never know for certain whether Logan was wrong for her. Unless she gave a relationship with him a try.
Which she really shouldn’t. But the idea was so damn tempting.
“Well?” Logan demanded, still sounding quite surly.
It was too easy to provoke him, she thought, and she really shouldn’t. But it was also entertaining.
“I was just wondering what other bare asses are off limits to me,” she said with a grin. “Maybe you could make a list.”
Logan grumbled something beneath his breath and glowered at her above his menu. “Just shut it.”
She blinked at him with feigned innocence. “It was a simple question.”
“There’s nothing simple with you. Believe me.”
Claire studied him, trying to determine whether there was a hidden meaning in his words. Was it possible that he too was beginning to feel a complicated mix of emotions? She decided to throw him a lifeline and change the subject.
“Why don’t you tell me about Eunice Withers,” she tried.
Logan expelled a sigh, his gaze searching hers. “You’re determined to go for the jugular today, aren’t you?”
“Teasing you was fun,” she admitted, “but this is serious. I want to know more about you. We’re having a baby together, and in so many ways, we’re still complete strangers.”
“Not in any ways that count,” he returned, his voice low, sexy. It stirred up vivid images of the two of them in her hotel room at the Pierpont.
She swallowed and forced herself to picture a sweet-faced elderly woman instead. “Stop trying to avoid the subject, Monroe. Tell me about Eunice Withers.”
He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. The man was terrible at opening up emotionally. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How did you meet her? Where did she live? How did she help you?”
Logan’s face shuttered. “I’d rather not go into this right now.”
Or ever, she thought. But she wasn’t about to allow him such an easy route of escape.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Fine,” Logan gritted. His eyes glinted with suppressed anger. His expression was cold and impassive. “Damn you. I was rooting in the dumpster in the alley behind her house for food. That’s how I met her. I was fourteen and I had run away from one of the foster homes I was shuffled to. The husband, my foster father, was a real bastard. He used to beat me regularly. I finally had enough and I ran away and lived on the streets for about a week before Eunice found me. You’d be amazed what you can eat when you’re starving.” He paused then and shot her a hard look. “There. Are you satisfied? Not what you wanted to hear, I’m sure, but there it is. I was a runaway alley rat who ate moldy pizza out of dumpsters.”
Claire’s heart ached for him, for the child he’d been, and for the angry man he still was because of it. She shuddered to think of what would have happened to him had Eunice Withers not found him that day. How had the system failed a little boy so horribly?
“It doesn’t make me think any less of you, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” she told him. “If anything, it makes me admire you even more.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he snapped. “I did what I had to. There’s nothing to admire in that.”
“Logan, you’re a good man. You should be proud of yourself for your accomplishments, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of your past.” She knew he wouldn’t accept her words easily, but they needed to be said. For all Logan�
��s success, he still thought of himself as the runaway who ate suppers from a trash bin. As a foster kid no one wanted. It was why he used the side door to his house rather than the front entrance. He was the feared, arrogant CEO of LM, and yet inside him was still the boy who thought himself worthless.
“Don’t play psychiatrist with me.” His words were cool, his eyes still hard and intense on hers.
Her heart ached for him, and in that moment, she decided she was going to use the week to get him to open up to her. She wanted to heal his scars, to help him realize there was no shame in his past. And by the end of the week, come hell or high water, she would do it. Regardless of what did or didn’t happen between them, she wanted to give him that much, simply because he deserved it.
Their waitress returned before Claire could form a reply. The girl plunked down glasses of ice and bottles of water before them, then pulled out her pad and paper. “Have you decided what you’ll be having yet, or do you need more time?”
“We’ll order,” Claire said in the exact same moment as Logan said, “We need more time.”
“We need more time,” Claire revised.
“We’ll order,” Logan said.
Leslie looked at both of them, nonplussed.
“I guess we’ll order,” Claire said quickly, laughing. “I’ll have the chicken taco. Is it spicy?”
“It is a little spicy,” Leslie told her, “but I can have them prepare it non-spicy for you if you’d like.”
“Oh no.” Claire smiled. “I’d like it spicy.”
Leslie jotted that down and turned to Logan.
“I’ll have a hamburger, medium well, and fries,” he said, closing his menu and handing it to Leslie. Claire did the same.
When Leslie was gone again, Logan looked at Claire, a brow raised. “Spicy? I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who likes spicy food.”
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