Her Sinful Secret--A scandalous story of passion and romance

by Jane Porter

  Logan leaned up and kissed him. “They both sound like nice people,” she whispered, kissing him again. “And I think it’s a lovely idea to take Jax to see your mother.”

  They ended up making love again and it was different than it had been so far, sweeter and calmer but emotionally more intense.

  Logan felt connected to Rowan in a way she hadn’t felt before.

  Maybe it’s because she’d had a glimpse behind the mask. She was grateful he’d shared with her, even though it was clear he didn’t like sharing. She was also touched that he’d tried to keep his mother with him, at Castle Ros, and that it had been a struggle putting her in a care facility.

  Clearly he wasn’t all bad.

  Clearly he was rather good...maybe even very good...

  She held her breath, scared to admit to everything she was feeling. It was confusing and overwhelming. So much was happening but she wasn’t sure if any of this was right. She didn’t want to go through life on her own, a single mother forever, but at the same time, sharing Jax would mean relinquishing control.

  It would mean trusting Rowan to do the right thing.

  It would mean trusting that she would do the right thing.

  It would mean compromising and yielding and sacrificing independence, too.

  Could she do that? Did she even want to do that?

  Which brought her back around to the issue of control. Control was such a huge thing for her because the loss of control always resulted in loss. As soon as she lost control, bad things happened. Without control she wouldn’t be able to protect herself, never mind Jax.

  Panic building, Logan rolled away from Rowan. “Time to get dressed,” she said, rolling off the bed and heading for the bathroom.

  She was quickly gathering her clothes when Rowan followed her in. “I feel like you’re running away,” he said, blocking the doorway. “Why?”

  “Not running away. It’s just getting late, and I need to shower and dress for dinner,” she answered, unable to look at him.

  “Everything was fine and now you’re shutting down again—”

  “I’m not shutting down!” she snapped, shooting him a fierce look. “And I’m certainly not running away, either. How can I run when you’ve brought me to your high-tech castle with bodyguards and security cameras and massive hedges everywhere?” Her voice cracked. “Look at me, Rowan! I’m naked in your bathroom with you blocking the doorway. I’m trapped.”

  “You’re not trapped,” he retorted impatiently, moving toward her.

  She retreated, moving away until she bumped into the thick glass shower enclosure. “No? Then what do you call this...” she gestured wildly at the shrinking space between them because he was coming toward her again, rapidly closing the distance. “You’re everywhere and you’re overwhelming and overpowering, and I can’t breathe or think or feel when you’re with me—” She broke off as he pressed himself against her, his knee between her legs, his hands capturing hers, pinning them to the glass above her head. “See?” she choked as his fingers entwined hers and his head dipped, his mouth on her neck, setting her skin on fire. “You’re doing it again...confusing me...overpowering me...making it impossible to think.”

  “What do you need to think about, mo chroi?” he murmured, kissing higher, just beneath her earlobe. “And why do you need to fight me? We work, you and I. We fit.”

  She shuddered against him, her breasts firming, nipples tightening as heat flooded her. She ached on the inside again, ached for him again. She loved the feel of him, loved it when he was in her, making her body feel so good, but he had the opposite effect on her head and heart.

  He wasn’t good for her. He wasn’t right for her. He wasn’t what she wanted—

  No, not true.

  She wanted him, but that didn’t make it right. She needed a man who allowed her to be calm. She needed a man who made her feel safe—not safe in terms of keeping the bad guys of the world away, but safe emotionally. Safe as in loved.

  He touched her and created energy and passion and excitement, but it was all so wild and dangerous.

  And then he was kissing her, his lips on hers and there was so much heat and hunger that all the wild, chaotic emotion rushing through her slowed, thickened, turning to honey and wine in her veins.

  He made her feel so much...

  He made her want so much...

  He made her want everything...and that included love. The more he touched her, the more pleasure he gave her, the more she wanted love.

  His love.

  Tears burned the back of her eyes, and her chest squeezed tight, her heart turning over. Making love made her want his love, and he was the first to admit he didn’t love. No, he just offered sex. Lots and lots of hot sex, but sex without love was empty, and it would hollow her out, leaving her empty.

  “Your idea of a happy relationship is sex,” she answered, her voice faint. “But my idea of a happy relationship is love. Do you love me? Can you love me? Can you answer that?”

  “When I touch you, do I make you feel good? When I hold you, do you feel desirable?”

  “I want love and you want sex!”

  “I want you, and I feel close to you through sex.” He swore, and he rarely swore. “Hell, I am close to you during sex. I’m in you, love. We’re as close as two people can be.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “Sex can be a lot of things,” he added. “Tender, rough, sweet, aggressive. It changes, just as we change, but sex creates a bond, creating something we only have together.”

  “But that’s the problem. I don’t want to bond through sex. I want love because love is the ultimate bond. It is the thing that keeps people committed when desire fades or someone is ill. If all we have is sex, what happens when sex isn’t available? Does the relationship end? Are we done? What will keep us together?”

  “Jax,” he said promptly. “She’ll keep us together.”

  She made a rough sound. “And what if something happens to her?” He said nothing and she searched his eyes, and she had the answer there.

  Nothing would keep them together. Their relationship would end and the time they spent together would have meant nothing.

  Logan shook her head. “This is why I keep repeating myself—I’m not settling. I’m not getting married for sex. If I marry, it will be because I’ve made a commitment for life to a man. That’s the only reason to marry. Because I want to be with him. Forever.”

  His hands fell away. He stepped back.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Can I please dress now?”

  He let her dress and go.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEY HAD DINNER with Jax in the castle’s “small” dining room, a room that still featured massive wooden beams and a huge iron chandelier and tapestries on two walls depicting a violent medieval battle, not to mention two suits of armor.

  Jax was fascinated by the armor and the stone fireplace and the tapestry with the violent battles. She was the one to point out that even the intricate carvings worked into the mantel were of “fighting.”

  “Ireland is a very old country,” Rowan explained to her. “It has a long history, and fortunately, or unfortunately, there have been many battles fought here.”

  Jax turned her wide blue eyes on him, studying him now with intense interest. “Fighting is bad.”

  “Fighting isn’t good, no,” he answered, “but sometimes you fight to protect things...your country, your family, your home.”

  She digested this in silence and then just moments later, slid out of her chair again to go study the fireplace once more.

  In the end, there was very little real eating done, and mostly explanations and exploration, but Logan didn’t mind. She’d found it difficult to eat tonight, her emotions still ra
w, her thoughts painfully convoluted.

  And Jax was even doing her a favor, providing a diversion, keeping Rowan occupied with all her questions about war and Ireland and the coats of armor at both sides of the room, keeping Logan and Rowan from speaking to each other very much.

  But finally, after dessert had been served, Orla appeared and offered to give Jax a bath and read her a story, promising Logan and Rowan that she’d let them know when Jax was ready to sleep, so they could come up and kiss her good-night.

  Rowan glanced at Logan as if to let her decide.

  Logan looked at her daughter who was already talking animatedly to Orla and seemed more than happy to leave the dining room and return upstairs.

  Logan nodded consent, unable to argue with the plan, while at the same time aware that once Jax was gone, she and Rowan would be left alone together and they’d have to address the uncomfortable tension that had hummed in the dining room since the beginning of the meal.

  “What do you want?” he asked her, breaking the silence. “What will make this better? What else can I tell you about my family, or my past, to show you who I am and help you believe that I’m committed to you—to us—and that I think we can be happy without all the hearts and fuss and romance.”

  “I’m not asking for hearts and fuss,” she answered. “And you mock me when you imply that my needs are so trivial.”

  “I’m not trying to mock you, or trivialize what you feel. If anything I’m frustrated that you don’t understand that what we do have is good. What we have physically is explosive and intense and deeply satisfying, and it’s not often like this. To be honest, I’ve never known this with any other woman. I’ve only ever found this with you.”

  She froze, not certain what to do with that. She searched his face, scrutinizing his hard, masculine features, wishing she could believe him.

  Would he lie to her?

  Her brow creased, as she struggled to remember if he’d ever lied to her. He’d been harsh...cruel...but she didn’t think he’d ever lied before, which was key. She hated liars. Hated to be played...

  Her father had played them. Her father had turned them all into fools.

  “But maybe I’m wrong,” he added after a moment. “Maybe you’ve found this...connection...with someone else. Maybe there was someone who made you feel better.”

  “I’ve never been with anyone but you, so I wouldn’t know,” she answered flatly.

  She saw the moment her words registered.

  “You’ve only ever been with me?” he asked.

  Her shoulders twisted. She kept her voice cool. “The night in California and then here.”

  He exhaled slowly, his forehead furrowed, expression troubled. “So you really don’t know about... You have nothing to measure this—us—by.”

  She didn’t know what he meant by that or how to answer something like that, and so she didn’t.

  Thank God he didn’t ask why, because that would mean he truly didn’t understand how difficult the past few years had been. That would mean he still believed she was that spoiled, pampered, selfish Copeland girl...

  But he didn’t ask why and she didn’t have to defend herself. She didn’t have to throw in his face that society continued to ostracize her and her siblings, making it almost impossible for them to make a living.

  No, life had not been easy, and especially for her, once pregnant, it became downright brutal. There had been no time for men. There had been no time for herself.

  And even if there had been time to date...she wouldn’t have. She didn’t want another man. She’d wanted him. She’d fallen for him. Which, in many ways, was the greatest shame of all.

  “We can make this work,” Rowan said abruptly, leaving his chair, and walking toward her. “We can give Jax something better than what I knew and better than what I had. I want her to have stability and laughter and fun and adventure, and that can happen, but you and I, we have to get along.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing now? Trying to figure out how we can make this work?”

  “I’m not sure anymore. I worry that you’ve already decided that it won’t work, and you’re just placating me until you can leave.” He stopped in front of her, expression brooding. “But if you leave, it means Jax won’t ever have one home. She’ll end up like me, bouncing back and forth between homes and countries...different cultures, different customs, different schools. It’s a lonely life for a child—”

  “As well as a lonely life for me. Do you think I want my daughter living halfway around the world without me? Do you think I want to miss Christmas with her or a birthday celebration?” She was on her feet, too, her dinner chair between them, because God help her, he couldn’t touch her again. She couldn’t let him close because every time he reached for her, she melted, but giving in to him only made things worse. It made her hate him despite herself. “I don’t want to live without my daughter. But I won’t be forced into living with you, either!”

  “I’m not forcing you. I want you to want to be here—”

  “But I don’t want to be here. I didn’t choose to be here. And I didn’t choose you.”

  “You did once.”

  She flushed, remembering the auction and how she’d put herself into a terrible financial situation just to be with him.

  Even then, she was weak.

  Even then, she was a fool.

  “Yes, you’re right,” she whispered, heartsick all over again. “I did choose you and then you crushed me. Like a bug under the heel of your shoe.” She gulped air, arms folding tightly across her chest to keep from throwing up. “And I’m just supposed to forget about what you did, right? I’m just supposed to act like it didn’t happen. Well, it did happen! And it hurt. You almost broke me, Rowan. You made me question my own sanity and I’m not interested in ever feeling that way again.”

  She drew deep rough breaths as she backed away from him. “For one night I was yours, Rowan. All yours. And then I discovered what it means to be yours. And I have no desire, ever, to be yours again.”

  She started for the door, walking quickly to escape the room as fast as possible, but his voice stopped her midway.

  “Forgive me, Logan,” he said quietly. “Please.”

  For a long moment there was just silence. She couldn’t bring herself to answer, and she wouldn’t let herself look at him, either.

  Finally when the silence had become suffocating and her body quivered with tension, she shook her head, and without a glance back, walked out.

  But once at the stairs, Logan choked on a smothered cry, and dashed up the steep steps, taking them two at a time, trying to escape the hot, livid pain streaking through her heart.

  Jax was asleep when Logan reached the room, and after saying good-night to Orla, Logan changed into her pajamas, but she couldn’t get into bed—she was too wound up.

  She paced until she couldn’t take another step, and then she finally sank onto the plush rose-and-ruby carpet in front of the fireplace, and closed her eyes, trying to clear her head and get some much needed calm and perspective.

  But every time she drew a deep breath, she felt a sharp ache in her chest and it hurt so much that she couldn’t focus.

  He’d asked her to forgive him, and she’d refused. Refused.

  That was horrible. She felt horrible, but if she forgave him, truly forgave him, then she’d have no way to resist him, because she already cared too much for him. She was already far too invested.

  Her anger was all she had left to try to protect herself. Without her anger she’d have no armor, and without armor, he could break her all over again.

  But hanging on to the anger would destroy her, too. Anger was so toxic. It was poison for the soul.

  She didn’t want to be angry with him, but she also didn’t want to stay here and give up the
last of her dreams. She wanted a family for Jax, but she also wanted love for herself and it wasn’t enough to be Rowan’s sex kitten.

  As much as she enjoyed being in his bed, she wanted his heart more than his body.

  It was time to leave.

  She’d pack tonight and leave tomorrow. Rowan would have to let her go. She rose and went to pull her suitcase out from beneath her large canopy bed but was stopped by a knock on her bedroom door.

  It was Rowan, she was sure of it. She could feel his very real, very physical energy on the other side of the door and her pulse quickened in response, her heart beating faster.

  She retrieved the suitcase, placing it at the foot of the bed, and then went to open the door.

  * * *

  Rowan was not a masochist, and he was not looking forward to another conversation with Logan tonight. The last one had been more than sufficient for a single evening. But he’d promised to let her know if there was news regarding her brother, and there was news. And it wasn’t good.

  Logan opened the door. She was wearing red and pink plaid pajama pants and a pink knit top that hugged her breasts, making it clear she wasn’t wearing a bra. But there was no smile as she looked at him, her jaw set, her eyes shadowed.

  “Hope you weren’t asleep,” he said gruffly.

  “No.” Her lips compressed and her chin lifted. “I don’t want to do this with you, Rowan. I don’t want to keep fighting—”

  “Bronson’s not doing well,” he interrupted quietly. He gave her a moment to let his words sink in. “His body seems to be shutting down.”

  She blinked, and looked at him, clearly confused.

  He hated this next part and drew a swift breath. “They suggested it might soon be time to think about saying goodbye.”

  “What?”

  “Are you comfortable leaving Jax with Orla? We could fly to London first thing tomorrow and be at the hospital by nine.”

  “No. No. He’s only in his midthirties. How can his body be shutting down?”

  “He wasn’t strong before he was shot and he’s not responding well to treatment.”