Intimate Surrender

by RaeAnne Thayne

  "Nothing to say?" Peter finally asked when her silence dragged on.

  "I've never been called a glamour-gal before. I don't believe it's as gratifying as I would have imagined."

  His sculpted features darkened. "I dislike being made a fool of, Katherine."

  "Kate," she murmured, regretting the glibness she tended to turn to during times of high stress. "Nearly everyone calls me Katie or Kate."

  "Really, Celeste?" He asked in that same biting tone.

  Oh, Katie. What a mess you're in, she thought. Pregnant with this man's baby, this overwhelming, powerful, gorgeous man who despised her and her family. If he hated her now, how would he react if he ever discovered the tiny secret she carried inside her?

  The fragile threads of control seemed to slip a few more notches, but she flailed for them valiantly and faced him with what she hoped was cool aplomb.

  Without waiting for the invitation she wasn't sure she could issue, he yanked off his jacket and tossed it over the rack of entwined elk antlers in the hallway then claimed one of the plump armchairs near the fire. She really had no choice but to follow him and perched on the edge of the sofa, trying not to let him see her nervousness.

  "Okay, let's hear it. What's your game?"

  "Game?"

  "What are you playing at? What were you trying to achieve by your little masquerade?"

  Of course he would want explanations from her, some justification for her deception. How could she possibly find the words for something she didn't even understand herself?

  "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

  "I don't know that I have a good answer to that."

  "Try." His voice was silk-sheathed steel.

  She scrambled for some kind of explanation and finally came up with something she hoped sounded reasonable. It was part of the truth, just not all of it. "Katie Crosby is a fairly boring person," she said after a long moment. "All she ever thinks about is work. I suppose it was exciting being someone else for a few hours. Someone glamorous and adventurous and…and desirable. I got carried away by the magic of the evening. Then, after we…kissed, I was afraid to tell you who I was. I knew you would be angry and it just seemed easier all around not to say anything."

  * * *

  Peter studied her. She chewed her bottom lip after she finished speaking, waiting for him to respond. He wondered how in the hell a woman could appear so sweet and innocent on the outside while inside she was nothing but a deceptive little snake.

  He had never been so furious. It was taking every ounce of willpower he possessed not to rage and yell and throw a table or two through that huge wall of windows.

  His blood should have had time to cool in the twenty-four hours since his assistant had warily shown him that damn newspaper and he'd finally learned the identity of the mystery lover who had obsessed him for months. It had taken him most of that time to use all his connections and finally run her to ground here at this Wyoming ranch in the middle of nowhere, another hour to have his plane readied and two more in the air between here and Portland.

  The whole time he'd been behind the controls of his Gulfstream III, he had waited for his anger to fade, for the familiar cool reserve the world expected of him to take over. But throughout the flight, as now, his skin had been hot and itchy as this fury seethed through him.

  This woman—this slender, delicate-looking woman with her short hair and big eyes, who looked like a teenager in stocking feet and faded jeans—had made a complete fool out of him. Every word out of her lush little lips had been a lie.

  When he thought about how he had obsessed over her in the three months since she blew through his life, the energy he had wasted looking for her, he could barely think past his rage and self-disgust.

  A Crosby.

  Just the name left a sour taste in his mouth. What an idiot he had been to throw away years of family loyalty, of complete dedication to the Logan name and everything it stood for, all for a pretty face.

  All right, more than pretty, he admitted. Even now, when she wore no makeup to set off those sculpted cheekbones and full lips and when she had dark circles under her eyes and her features were pale, his body instinctively reacted to her.

  He wanted her, even knowing who she was, and the discovery infuriated him even more.

  "This is about the super router we're developing, isn't it?" he asked.

  She was a hell of an actress, he'd give her that much. If he didn't know better, he would almost believe that shock on her face was genuine. "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "You went through my desk while I was asleep. Don't try to deny it. Find out anything interesting about the project?"

  Color flared high on those cheekbones. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Right. Now you're going to tell me you don't have any idea Logan is close to revolutionizing computer networking with our nano-peripheral-interface-router. And of course Crosby Systems, which coincidentally just released its own router-controller software, would have absolutely no interest in stealing the technology that would create the fastest networking system in the world. Come on, Crosby. You really think I'm dumb enough to fall for your lies twice?"

  She gaped at him. "You think I was spying on you that night? That I was some kind of—of corporate Mata Hari, out for a little industrial espionage after I screw you into oblivion?"

  "At this point, sweetheart, I wouldn't put anything past you."

  "Because I'm a Crosby, right?"

  That wounded belligerence in her voice grated down his spine like metal on metal. "Not only because you're a Crosby. Because you're also a lying, deceitful little—" He bit off the derogatory word just in time.

  He was such an idiot. He hated to think about how his family would react to his abysmal lapse in judgment when they learned he'd been willing to risk the company's entire future for a roll in the sack. He had a feeling he would be lucky if his name was still on the door of the CEO's office at Logan. Hell, he'd be lucky if they even let him keep the name he'd been given as a six-year-old.

  He never forgot how much he owed Terrence and Leslie Logan, how very blessed he had been to be adopted into their family two years after their own son had been kidnapped. If they hadn't rescued him from the Children's Connection orphanage, he hated thinking where he might have ended up. On the streets like his mother, probably, or in prison.

  He owed them everything. His heart, his blood, his soul. When they read that damn tabloid article, he could just picture the disappointment in Terrence's eyes, the hurt in Leslie's. The knot in his stomach kinked a little tighter.

  No. He had worked too hard for too long proving to his parents he was capable of running the Fortune 500 company they had built from the ground up. He refused to let a Crosby ruin everything, especially not this particular Crosby.

  "Don't you think you're being a little paranoid, Peter?" she said now. "I never touched your desk."

  Against his will, he had a vivid memory of her naked and flushed the second or third time they made love, her luscious skin glowing with perspiration and the soft little noises of arousal she made as he took her against the nearest surface, which at the time just happened to be the top of his antique walnut desk.

  Throughout that incredible night of passion, there had scarcely been a corner of his loft they'd missed in their hunger for each other.

  He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He knew the instant her own memory clicked in. A rosy blush spilled over her cheeks and she dropped her gaze.

  "Well, besides that time," she mumbled, looking so charmingly disconcerted he wondered how she could possibly be so deceitful.

  "I've tried to think about what I might have had lying around about our NPIR project but I'm coming up empty. Why don't you refresh my memory? What did you find?"

  "Nothing! I wasn't thinking about NPIRs or anything else computer related. I didn't go anywhere near your stupid desk, except that time with…you."

  "Yet the note you left was written on
my own personal stationery, which I just happen to keep in the top drawer of that stupid desk."

  She stared at him for a long moment, then she drew a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice sounded weary. "What do you want, Peter? Why follow me out here to the middle of nowhere? You could have yelled at me over the phone."

  He refused to let himself be sidetracked by how fragile she suddenly looked. "I want some answers. What did you learn about our project?"

  "I didn't learn anything! I told you that. I never even gave work a thought that night. If you'll remember, you didn't give me time to think about much of anything but you."

  They stared at each other for a moment and he remembered again the wild passion they had shared. Or at least he thought they'd shared it. Had it all been feigned on her part? All those long kisses, her sighs and moans, the way she acted as if she couldn't seem to get enough of him?

  That was the part that he was finding most difficult to accept, he finally admitted to himself. He had been enthralled with her, completely entranced. He had wanted her with a fierce hunger unlike anything he'd ever known before.

  While she had been as cold-blooded and calculating as an asp.

  "Did your brother tell you to sleep with me?" he asked.

  With a swift intake of breath, she stared at him, her brown eyes huge in her pale face. In any other woman, he might have almost believed she looked hurt. But he obviously couldn't trust anything his instincts told him about Katherine Crosby.

  "That's insulting to Trent and to me. I shouldn't even justify it with a response but I will tell you that he knows nothing about this, about the two of us and that night. If he did, he would be livid."

  Peter slapped the folded tabloid at her. "Hate to be the one to break it to you, sweetheart, but there's not a person in Portland who doesn't know by now."

  She gazed at the paper for a moment, nibbling her lip again. "Okay so everyone might know we kissed. As for the rest of it, no one else has to know anything about that. We were both carried away by the champagne and the night and the whole thing. Matters never should have gone so far. We should both just forget it ever happened."

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  "Oh, you have no idea," she murmured.

  At her words, another wave of anger washed over him. The intensity of it had him jumping to his feet and stalking to the fireplace. He hated that she could just dismiss the night they had spent together. Forget it ever happened. Right. As if he could just forget the most erotic night of his life.

  He turned back to her. "A smart man never forgets his mistakes. And, sweetheart, this was one hell of a mistake."

  "For both of us."

  "The difference is, you knew exactly what you were doing—and who you were doing it with."

  "That's right. I set out to seduce you from the moment I walked into that ballroom. It was a brilliant strategy, wouldn't you say? All I had to do was convince you to take me home with you, make love all night until you fell asleep, then comb through your office on the chance—slim to none though it was—that I might find some tiny snippet of information in your loft about your super-router that we could use at Crosby Systems. Right. You caught me. That's me, Katie Crosby, corporate spy. Trent sends his little sister out to sleep with all his business rivals."

  "I wouldn't put anything past the Crosbys."

  Something flashed in her dark eyes, something that looked like anger and hurt and maybe even a little sorrow. "Okay, that's enough," she snapped. "I would like you to leave now. I'm sure you don't want to spend another moment in the belly of the beast."

  She rose as if to show him out but as soon as she stood, what little color remaining on her face drained out like wine spilling from a tipped glass and she swayed. Peter reached out instinctively to keep her from toppling over, then helped her back onto the couch.

  "What's wrong? Are you ill?"

  Her chin lifted. "What do you care?"

  "I don't," he snapped. "Maybe I just happen to be fond of these particular boots and don't want you yakking all over them."

  She glared at him. "Your precious boots are safe. I'm not going to yak, as you so charmingly put it. I stood up a little too soon but I'm perfectly fine now."

  He only had to take one look at her to know she was lying, but then why should that surprise him? The woman wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit her in the behind. With hollow eyes, her skin three shades past white and her mouth pinched like a shriveled apple left in the bottom of the bushel, she sat there and expected him to believe everything was fine.

  "I didn't see signs of anybody else when I arrived. Who else is out here with you?"

  She paused as if she didn't want to answer him, then she finally shrugged. "Usually the ranch foreman and his wife live in quarters at the rear of the house, but they're away for a few days."

  "You're alone?"

  "Not if you count two dogs, six barn cats, a dozen horses and two hundred head of cattle."

  He studied her pale features again, suddenly chagrined at himself for bursting in on her, guns blazing. She might be a lying Crosby but she didn't look well at all.

  Crosby or not, he didn't like the idea of her being out here alone. A thousand things could happen to an ill woman on her own at an isolated Wyoming ranch, especially with the storm percolating out there.

  "If you're done yelling at me, I really would like you to leave now." Somehow she managed to inject regal condescension into her words, even with her pale features.

  "I really think I should stay," he found himself saying.

  Her eyes widened and he didn't miss the way her hand clenched over her stomach, as if just the idea of spending another moment with him was enough to make her insides churn.

  "No. No, you shouldn't. The weather report said a nasty storm is heading this way. You'll want to fly back to Portland before it hits."

  "It's already here. Can't you hear that wind? The reports I heard before I landed said this area was due for at least two feet of snow. I won't be flying anywhere tonight."

  "If you heard the storm reports before you left, why fly out here in such a rush? Acting on a whim like that hardly seems like typical behavior for the cold, ruthless CEO of Logan Corporation."

  Nothing he had done since he'd seen her in that hotel ballroom had been typical behavior for him. He had seen the reports of an approaching storm in this area before he left Portland, but not even flying into the eye of a hurricane would have kept him grounded.

  He had known he was foolish to leave but he had been so angry he hadn't cared about anything but running her to ground, after three long months of searching.

  "It doesn't matter why I left," he answered. "I'm not going anywhere."

  "I'm not in the mood for your macho posturing, Peter. I don't want or need you here."

  "Fickle little thing, aren't you? Three months ago, you certainly wanted me around. If my memory serves—and believe me, it does—you couldn't get enough."

  She glared at him, though he saw yet another blush heat those cheeks. "Which am I? Ruthless corporate spy or sex-crazed nymphomaniac?"

  "Good question. One I would certainly like to know the answer to myself."

  Before she could give voice to the heated response he could see brewing, a powerful gust of wind rattled the windowpanes and moaned under the eaves of the log ranch house.

  The two lamps burning in the room flickered in unison then went out, pitching the room into darkness lit only by the fire's glow.

  Two

  "That settles it. I'm not going anywhere."

  Even though the only light in the room came from the snapping flames in the fireplace, Katie could see the determination in Peter's eyes and she wanted to weep. Just when she thought she had hit absolute rock bottom in her life, somehow she managed to cartwheel down another few feet.

  She suddenly wanted nothing in the world more than to curl up on that couch in front of the fireplace, wrap herself in her grandmother's wedding-ring quilt an
d sob.

  What had she done to deserve this? Okay, maybe she hadn't been exactly forthcoming to Peter Logan three months earlier. In retrospect, she knew she should have told him her real name the moment he struck up a conversation with her, at the first sign of flirtation.

  She wasn't sure why she had kept that important little detail to herself—maybe because she had been so shocked that the gorgeous and sought-after Peter Logan could actually be flirting with someone like her—boring, quiet Katie Crosby.

  Who could blame any woman for being caught up in the magic of the evening? With a glamorous makeover, a new hairstyle, the designer clothes, she had felt like someone else. A stranger alluring enough to catch the interest of one of Portland's most wanted bachelors.

  The champagne she had overindulged in hadn't helped any. She hadn't been thinking with a clear head but she did know she hadn't wanted the night to end. She also knew that the moment Peter found out her last name that flattering desire in his eyes would have changed to contempt and coldness faster than she could blink.

  Okay, so she had perpetuated a tiny deception on the man by keeping her identity concealed. Was that really such a hideous crime that someone felt the need to take her calm, organized world and shake the dickens out of it as if she was stuck in some nightmarish live snow globe?

  She thought things were bleak before when she was just pregnant and alone. Now she had the delightful added bonus of facing the reality that she was pregnant and alone and heartily despised by her baby's father.

  The real hell of it was, seeing him again like this only served to remind her vividly of the heat and astonishing wonder of that night. Of kissing his hard mouth and touching those muscles underneath his clothes and burning only for him.

  He hated her, she knew he did, but still she couldn't control the way her insides trembled and sighed just seeing the firelight wash across those gorgeous, masculine features.

  "Looks like we're in for a long night," he said abruptly and rose to his feet. "While you round up a flashlight and some candles, I'll go bring in some extra firewood."