After a moment he said quietly, “I never meant to do that. God knows I never wanted to hurt you, Zara.”
There it was. Pity. He was leaving her with nothing, not even the shreds of her pride. “What do you want me to say?” she asked wearily. “Is your conscience bothering you, is that it? All right, then. It was a simple misunderstanding and not your fault at all. You never meant to lead me on, but silly Zara, starved for love, took the whole thing much too seriously.”
“Zara—”
“As a casual sexual partner, you were a paragon of consideration. You didn’t pressure me, you saw to my gratification. Why, you even used a condom without being asked!”
“Zara, stop this.”
“Is that what you wanted to hear? Can I go now?”
He braced one palm on a graffiti-covered wall and dropped his head a moment, as if seeking divine guidance. “I tried to make you understand, back when we…” He sighed, and when he looked up, she saw all her own heartache reflected in his eyes. He said softly, “I can’t give you what you need…what you deserve. I don’t have it in me. I’ll only cause you more pain.”
“I don’t believe that,” she whispered.
He smiled sadly. “You don’t know me that well.”
“Famous last words. Isn’t that what I once told you? That you didn’t know me like Tony did? I was wrong. You saw right through my insecurities, my hurts. You made me open up to you, made me look at myself in a way I never had before. You made me believe in myself—and in you.”
He said nothing.
“You made me need you, dammit!” After a strained silence she said, “I just want one thing and you’ll never hear from me again. I want to hear you say you don’t feel anything for me.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“What else is there! That’s the only thing it’s about, Logan. It’s why you paid that little visit to Tony last week.”
He frowned. “How did you find out about that?”
“Mutual acquaintances.”
“It was just something that had to be done, that’s all,” he said gruffly. “The bastard needed an attitude adjustment.”
Along with nose, tooth and rib adjustments, if her sources were correct. “Well, I may be oldfashioned,” she said, “but I always thought fighting for a woman’s honor indicated a certain level of commitment.”
“I care, Zara, I’m not going to deny it. But it’s not enough by itself. This commitment you’re talking about is built on more than just feelings. The last few years have changed me. I’m not the man I used to be.”
“But maybe you’re a better man now. Did you think of that? Painful experiences harden us, but they also bring forth strengths and inner resources we didn’t know we had. Just ask John Sutcliffe,” she added wryly. “I don’t think he expected his aggressive child-rearing techniques to stir up all that mutinous self-reliance. Maybe your sensitivity is the result of whatever horrible things you’ve had to deal with.”
“Sensitivity!” He couldn’t have looked more astonished if she’d accused him of cross-dressing.
“You don’t think you’re sensitive? What about when you asked me if Tony ever gave me encouragement, a shoulder to cry on? If he supported me emotionally? Logan, you opened my eyes to what a relationship is supposed to be. You seem to have a better handle on it all than I do.”
“Hell, that stuffs just common sense.”
She smiled. “Believe it or not, that sort of sense isn’t as common as you might believe. Face it, big guy. You’re sensitive.”
He didn’t look amused.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“This isn’t going to work,” he muttered, but the words lacked conviction. “I’ve told you before, Zara. There’s a piece of me that’s just not there.”
She closed the short distance to take his hand in hers. “That’s because you’ve already given it to me. Straight from your heart to mine.” She placed his palm between her breasts. “Before you, I wasn’t whole. That’s the way you put it, and you were right. I’ve changed, healed—you’ve done that for me. You’ve given me that piece of yourself and completed me.”
Logan shook his head with a little smile of admiration. “Must be hell trying to negotiate a deal with you. I’ll bet those publishers and movie people scatter when they see you coming.”
“They run like cheap panty hose.”
He ran his hands over her hips, pulling her closer. “Now, how would you know about panty hose, cheap or otherwise?”
His fingers slipped under her short hem and traced the edges of her sheer black stockings. A delicious shiver raced through her. He lowered his head and kissed her the way she’d imagined being kissed these last two and a half weeks. Through the voluptuous haze she felt him reach behind her with both hands. After a few seconds of fumbling, one garter hook popped open.
Breathless, she broke the kiss. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t have my knife on me.” He released the other back hook and started working on the front ones.
She looked around at the huge, grimy freight elevator. “Here?”
“Unless you’d prefer that lovely mattress upstairs.”
“No! Here is just fine.”
He pulled her royal blue silk panties down her hips and eased them over her high heels. He looped them on one of the steel buttons studding the wall near the ceiling, usually used to support heavy protective padding.
“See?” he said. “All the conveniences.”
She couldn’t have cared less about conveniences. She’d make love with this man anywhere, anytime. All he had to do was touch her—Lord, just look at her in that certain way—and a lifetime of propriety took wing.
He said, “My knife’s not the only thing I don’t have on me. Good thing you came prepared.”
He rummaged in the gaping purse still hanging on her shoulder and produced the box of condoms. He plucked out one square packet, pocketed it and dropped the rest. The purse slid to the embossed metal floor, disgorging its contents for the second time that morning. Her compact crashed in a spray of powder. Her lipstick rolled into the corner.
She barely noticed, enthralled by Logan’s voracious kisses, his impatient hands, the leashed power in his hard, half-naked body. Her own hands and mouth roamed restlessly, frantic for the touch of him, the taste of him. She feasted her senses like a woman starved. A thumping hunger settled between her legs and she felt herself unfurl like a dew-drenched rose.
She tugged at his belt, yanking it from the buckle with a snap of leather. She struggled with the brass button of his jeans, until his hand slid under her dress. Then all she could do was grab him for support.
“Logan…please…” she whimpered in a frenzy of need. “Now!”
“Open it.” He indicated his fly.
She forced her fingers to move, forced herself to concentrate on working his zipper. She tugged the jeans and briefs down, freeing him. And all the while he stroked her, probed her, touched her right there, until she was half out of her mind.
He handed her the packet. “You do it.”
He might as well have asked her to pilot a 747; her wits had long since deserted her. He continued to caress ress her as she tore at the thing with shaking hands, finally ripping it open with her teeth. She knew he was tormenting her on purpose, enjoying her loss of control.
She chuckled. “I’ll pay you back for this.”
“I can hardly wait.”
She tossed the torn packet and applied herself to the task of sheathing him, a new experience for her. He watched the process avidly, groaning as she smoothed the thin latex down his rigid penis. His own control was near the breaking point, too, she could tell, as he unceremoniously hiked up her snug dress.
“Hold on now.” He lifted her by the hips, opening her legs and wrapping them around his waist. He never took his eyes from hers as he drove into her in one powerful thrust. They cried out in unison, a triumphant sound. Sh
e knew at that moment they were one not only in flesh but in spirit, as well. He throbbed deep inside her, and her body answered with involuntary little spasms.
He groaned, “I don’t want it to end. I wish we could stay like this forever.”
“Someone may need the elevator someday.”
“Let ‘em use the stairs.” The muscles in his arms bunched as he lifted her, holding her empty and aching for a long heartbeat before lowering her on his length once more. He smiled at her shuddering gasp of fulfillment. His powerful arms moved her in a timeless rhythm, bringing her closer and closer to the searing brink of orgasm.
She clung tightly to his flexing shoulders, wondering how long a person could endure this degree of pleasure and stay sane. She was a wild thing, panting, riding him, blindly seeking his mouth with her own. Needing to be connected to him in every possible way.
And then her climax was nearly upon her, just out of reach but moving in swiftly, like a gathering storm. Sweet, sharp anticipation spiked ever higher with each hammering stroke, until it hit like a typhoon.
Logan succumbed to his release in the same charged instant. Together they rode it out, holding fast to each other, moving as one.
Afterward they remained wrapped around each other, all sweat-slick arms and legs, not a hairbreadth of space between them. Their hearts played bumper cars. Zara roused herself, lifted her head from his shoulder. His eyes were heavy-lidded, deliciously slumberous.
She mumbled, “Mmm…thirsty.”
“All that panting and screaming will do that.”
“Oh!” She tried to pummel his rump with her heel, but with little success. He tightened his hold, and his laughing eyes turned solemn.
“Zara, I do love you. I don’t think I told you that.”
Her heart swelled till she thought it would burst. “No.” She laughed at the sudden tears that clogged her throat. “I don’t think you did. I love you, too, Logan. I’ve never been in love before.”
“That makes two of us. We’ll just have to muddle through together.”
“Hey, we make a hell of a team, remember? We’ll get it figured out.”
He gently set her down on her own wobbly legs and bent to retrieve the pack of tissues that had fallen out of her purse. A few moments later they were both decent, if rumpled. Logan squatted to help gather the contents of her purse.
“Oh, my God!” She touched the bite wound on his shoulder, ran her fingers over the claw marks. “Did I do this?”
He craned his head to look. “The price of being a world-class lover. There’s always the risk of permanent bodily injury.”
She smirked. “Remind me never to become a world-class lover.”
“Too late. Didn’t you notice those finger marks on your fanny?”
She rubbed her sore bottom through her dress. “No, but now that you mention it.”
“What can I say? You make me forget myself.”
She picked up the box of condoms and tried to squeeze it into the overstressed bag. “Guess I should’ve brought a bigger purse.”
“Oh, you won’t be taking those home.” He plucked the box from her fingers:
“I won’t?”
His slow, suggestive grin said, Trust me on this. He punched the button for the fifth floor. The elevator jerked and started its grinding ascent.
She wrinkled her nose. “Logan, that mattress.”
“There’s the desk, the chair, the coffee table. Have you ever done it on a windowsill?”
His words drew intriguing images in her mind. She asked, “Have you ever done it in an elevator before?”
“Nope.”
“So what do you think?”
“It has its—” She slapped a hand over his mouth, but he still managed a garbled, “Ups and downs.” The elevator stopped and he raised the slatted gate.
She said, “I’m surprised at you, Logan. A sorry old gag like that from a world-class lover?”
“With enough inspiration, I’m sure I can come up with something more original.” He held open the door to the warehouse and gestured grandly. “Inspire me.”
Epilogue
Candy had never heard the wedding march played with quite this much enthusiasm—or improvisation. Trust Zara to choose a Dixieland band. Emma had held out for a sedate string quartet, but after Zara took her to hear some New Orleans-style jazz, she changed her mind. “Feel-good music,” Emma had dubbed it. The decision was made.
About three hundred guests occupied the rows of chairs that had been set up on the enormous lawn of Zara and Logan’s new home on Long Island—a wedding present from Billy. It was a perfect early autumn afternoon, mild and sunny.
The instant they heard the familiar tune, everyone turned toward the rear of the flower-bedecked aisle. Tears welled in Candy’s eyes as she spotted her husband standing between their daughters, his arms linked with theirs. Billy Sharke still took her breath away every time she looked at him. He was more handsome than he’d been thirty years earlier when she’d first fallen in love with him.
He’d invited her to share in the honor of walking the twin brides down the aisle, but she’d declined. For once in her life, tradition had won out. She wanted to enjoy the picture-perfect symmetry of her beautiful daughters sharing this momentous walk with their father.
Her family.
Emma was wearing her grandma Sarro’s wedding dress, a high-necked column of ivory satin, seed pearls and delicate handmade lace. She looked sixteen with her long, dark hair worn straight and simple, her crown ringed by a circlet of ivory rosebuds from which fell an exquisite floor-length veil. Candy was happy her mother was there to see it. Beside her, she heard Mama’s soft, awe-filled gasp.
Zara had chosen satin, too: the futuristic wedding dress from Atomic Bride, the costume that had been on display in her living room the last few months. The white satin concoction was very short, nipped in at the waist and flared at the hips. It boasted an enormous winglike collar that framed her face and accented the down-to-there neckline. A perky matching cap sat askew on her short hair. Thigh-high white satin boots with four-inch heels completed the look. Say what you will, it was a memorable outfit. Judy Jetson meets Madonna.
Billy’s limp was barely noticeable during the leisurely processional. He glowed with pride, and the girls looked happier than she’d ever seen them. Logan’s friend Louise gave Zara a thousand-watt smile as they passed. Her daughter, Holly, offered a thumbs-up to the outrageous outfit.
Billy escorted his daughters to their bridegrooms, flanking the minister. He kissed them, shook the men’s hands, then joined Candy in the front row, but not before giving his mother-in-law’s furrowed cheek a warm kiss.
He squeezed Candy’s hand, and she fought to hold back tears of joy. If she started bawling now, she wasn’t likely to stop. All the wedding photos would show her with red eyes and smeared mascara.
She still couldn’t get over the fact that these two hunks were about to become her sons-in-law. Gage Foster was six feet plus of robust Dixie charm. Blue eyes. Thick light brown hair. He reminded her of Harrison Ford, ruggedly elegant in a charcoal suit and blue shirt, complete with string tie and cowboy boots.,
And then there was Logan Byrne. Even though he was physically identical to the man who’d kidnapped and terrorized her, Candy never confused the two in her mind. Logan was the antithesis of his demented brother.
He looked painfully handsome in a navy blue double-breasted suit, white shirt and an exquisite silk tie in shades of red. His dark hair was pulled off his face in a ponytail, and he was smiling at his bride in a way that told Candy their wedding night would be one for the record books.
The minister began, “Friends, we’re doubly blessed today, to witness and rejoice as not one, but two couples declare their love and commitment before God…”
Mama started sniffling at that point, as did Candy’s seven sisters and sisters-in-law sitting behind her, and it was all she could do not to join them. She gave up the fight at the end of the moving
service when her new sons-in-law kissed their brides with such fervor that the guests erupted in cheers and applause. The band struck up “Sweet Georgia Brown” as the beaming brides retraced their steps down the aisle on their husbands’ arms.
The couples and their parents greeted each guest in turn in a reception line, after which waiters distributed flutes of champagne. Billy’s deep, mellifluous voice got the crowd’s attention.
“Four months ago, I thought I was the luckiest man alive to find myself the father of these two bright, talented, lovely young women. Today my joy is complete. Zara and Emma have found themselves men who can make them as happy as they deserve to be.” He raised his glass. “After sixty-three years, I have a passel of in-laws, and it feels damn good!”
Everyone laughed and joined him in drinking to the newlyweds. Hors d’oeuvres and cocktails flowed as the hired help set out a sumptuous dinner buffet. The band was doing amazing things with “When the Saints Come Marching In.” Guests mingled in clusters and around white-draped tables dotting the grounds. The photographer posed the couples for a few shots, then Candy and Billy with the brides, before setting off to corral the grooms’ parents.
Candy noticed that Zara’s and Emma’s arms remained around each other’s waists even after the photographer left. Over the past four months, she’d watched their relationship blossom. Crises had a way of straightening out one’s priorities. She knew both of her daughters had vowed to put their strained past behind them and renew the close bond that should never have been allowed to lapse.
This double wedding was an auspicious beginning. Never would she have imagined these two opinion- ated young women capable of compromising on such profound issues as what brand of champagne to buy—Emma’s Veuve Clicquot had won out—or whether the cake should be filled with raspberry preserves or ganache. Both found their way between the layers.
Billy said, “Gage, how’s that new wing coming along?”
His wedding gift to Emma and Gage had been an extensive addition to Gage’s sprawling log home tucked into the woods of rural Arkansas. Candy had visited them there and experienced the rustic opulence firsthand. Even a city girl like her had to admit it was a beautiful place to live, and to raise children.
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