A Love So Strong

by Kathryn Shay

  Spots swam before Belle’s eyes as she slammed the cover of the laptop computer down. Oh my God…oh my God…oh my God… Why hadn’t Simon told her? Why didn’t she know this? She threw back the chair and paced. Then she strode to the balcony. It didn’t help. The fresh air couldn’t make her breathe better and the lights of Rome winking up at her didn’t calm her. The pain was so sharp, so acute, she doubled over with it. No, no, please don’t let this be true.

  The stark fact stayed in the forefront: some other woman was pregnant with Logan’s baby.

  Belle straightened. Be sensible, she told herself. What did you think, Isabelle? That he’d mourn the loss of you and your child forever? No, of course not, but it hadn’t been that long. And she hadn’t let another man touch her, ever, since Logan. That he could sleep with someone else, love someone else enough to create a baby with her…oh, God…

  Unable to deal with the slicing pain, she let the anger come. Damn him. Damn him. Well, so be it. She straightened and went back into the room. Tearing off her pajamas, she fished in her drawer for sweatpants and a T–shirt. She put them on, then her sneakers. It was late, and unlikely that anyone was watching the hotel. Tucking her hair into a baseball cap, she decided no one would recognize her even if they were out there. It didn’t matter, anyway. She had to escape from here. She had to burn off this anger, this hurt, or she’d never be able to complete the mission. To that end, she let herself out of the room.

  oOo

  He knew she was gone when he opened the door. He could always sense her presence. The feel of Isabelle in a room was tangible. And she wasn’t here. He checked the balcony and the bathroom to be sure.

  Stay calm, he told himself. She could take care of herself. Had someone discovered who they really were and gotten to her? With a keen eye, he studied every detail of his surroundings. There was no sign of a struggle. And Belle would have struggled.

  Okay, don’t worry. She wouldn’t desert a mission. After all, she’d jeopardized their baby for one. The job was too important to her. Still, he checked the closet, the drawers. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that her clothes were intact. On top of that, he took deeper breaths to quell his anger…and his fear.

  He paced. He went out to the balcony. What to do? Would she have contacted Simon? Coming back inside, he crossed to his computer. He went to boot the machine up, and discovered it was humming. Belle must have used it earlier. Maybe there’d be a message on it for him. Or some clue to where she’d gone. It seemed like forever for the hibernation to end. The screen had just materialized when the hotel room door opened.

  For a minute, she stood in the entryway. He could see she’d been running, as she was sweaty and red–faced. She stared at him, then she slammed the door. Without saying a word, she strode to the bathroom and banged that door shut, too.

  What the hell? He heard the shower go on and bolted off the chair, infuriated that she offered him no explanation. He’d be damned if he’d be kept waiting. She’d left a secured situation to do what? Exercise? He stalked to the bathroom and whipped open its door. Steam had already begun to fill the space but he could see her clearly enough. She was naked, and about to step into the shower.

  His mouth went dry, despite the moisture in the air. For two years, he’d forced himself to forget what she looked like unclothed. Only in his dreams had he touched her silky skin, traced her generous curves, tasted her sweet warmth. Eventually, he’d even quelled those nocturnal memories. Now, faced with the reality of her, he saw how his dreams had paled in comparison to real life. Every inch of her was perfect. Her breasts were firm and high. Her waist and hips voluptuous. Long lean lines everywhere. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.

  Instead of being embarrassed, she threw her shoulders back and her dark hair fanned her like a cape. They’d gone to the Uffizi Museum today, and he’d come across some of Titian’s paintings that reminded him of her. Tonight, she outshone all the masterpieces.

  "See anything you like?" she asked silkily.

  He couldn’t quite decipher her mood. He chose anger to be his. Stalking over to the shower, he yanked the faucet to Off. Then he picked up a towel and tossed it at her. "Cover yourself up."

  "Who the hell do you think you are?"

  He grabbed her naked shoulders, which was a mistake. Her skin was damp from her run and glowed. She was slick with perspiration, reminding him of the times he’d made her sweat during sex. "Your loving husband," he said shaking her, "who right now has good reason to be ticked."

  Her eyes sparked. Not so much in anger. But in challenge. In desire. His body went granite hard. Some of their best sex had been after—or during—an argument.

  When she just stood there, he grabbed the towel from her. She arched a brow, and lifted her arms. Roughly, he wrapped the cloth around her torso and secured it in a knot between her breasts. Her eyes flared. He knew his did, too. She met him face–to–face. He was breathing hard. But somehow, he managed to back away.

  And like always, Belle got the last word. Or gesture in this case. Slowly, she raised her hand and undid the knot; the towel dropped to the floor. With a Mona Lisa expression, she closed the distance between them. His back hit the wall just as she hit the lights, plunging them into deep and dangerous darkness.

  oOo

  He moved the King. Then the Queen. He laughed and sipped his expensive brandy. Savoring it, he leaned back, pleased with himself. Apparently, his own little king and queen were having a spat. The report just came in. Trouble in paradise. The husband was working out downstairs like a man on fire; the wife left the hotel room in a huff. She came back even angrier. Bet sparks were flying in that bedroom right about now.

  He smiled into the darkness. God he liked upping the pressure, making people act on tension and nerves. Before he was through, they’d bark like dogs if he wanted them to. Ah, it felt good to be so powerful. And to have so much control over other people’s lives. That was why he kept doing this over and over again.

  oOo

  Belle had no idea what she was doing—in the bathroom of the Hotel Cavalieri, for God’s sake.

  All she knew was that finding out another woman was carrying Logan’s child made her furious and hurt and wanting revenge. Not that this was the way to get it. Who the hell cared? She was on him in seconds.

  "Belle, what the…God, Belle, what are you doing?"

  She didn’t answer. It was pitch dark in here and they couldn’t see each other, but they could feel. His hands at her waist…to push her away? No, he wasn’t resisting, he was participating.

  Roughly, she captured his mouth, took it, devoured it. After only a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her back mercilessly. She dropped one hand to his crotch. "You’re hard for me," she taunted against his mouth.

  "What else is new?" His breath was coming in gulps. His hands were all over her. One grasped her butt, another teased her nipples. When his mouth replaced his fingers, she tried to crawl up him. He reversed their positions, pressed her naked back to the wall. She could feel his sweatshirt, soft knit but abrasive, on her heated skin.

  Once again he suckled her. She moaned, tunneled her fingers through his hair to keep his head there. When his hand went lower she groaned. "Oh, God."

  "Yes," he said gruffly and delved two fingers inside her.

  In only seconds she climaxed, sobbing, calling his name.

  When she came back to reality, she felt his body grow harder, tauter. Reaching inside his shorts, she grasped him. "Logan," she murmured.

  His response was a grunt, a groan, swearing. She slid to the floor and buried her face in his groin. Yanking down the shorts, she massaged him, licked him then took him in her mouth.

  He, too, spiraled in seconds.

  It was all over in just minutes.

  She was still on her knees when he edged back, dragged up his shorts and said, "Well, now that that’s over, mind telling me what brought all this on?"

  oOo

  She was shaking uncontrollably.
Logan couldn’t take her reaction. He grabbed a robe off the hook on the bathroom door and pulled her to stand. Bundling her inside the white terry, he scooped her up and led her out to the room and sat her on the bed. Kneeling in front of her, he took her hands in his. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that."

  She stared at the floor, shivering.

  He rubbed her arms up and down. "What did bring it all on, Belle? You compromising a mission by going out? The anger?"

  Clearing her throat, she glanced over at the computer. Tears sparkled like tiny stars in her eyes. "You got an IM from your…" She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Did I just do that with somebody’s husband?"

  "Husband? What are you talking about?"

  "There was an instant message from M&MSweetie. She said your daughter was doing fine." Now Belle started to cry. "Logan, why didn’t you tell me there was a woman in your life? That someone else was having your ba–by." Her voice broke on the last word.

  He could lie. It would distance her. And hurt her like she hurt him. But the sobs coming from the woman in front of him, whom he’d once loved to distraction, tore at his heart. He tried to take her in his arms.

  She flung him off. "Not if you’re married. Don’t touch me if you’re married."

  "I’m not."

  Bleak, red–rimmed eyes stared at him. "But you’re having a baby."

  "No, I’m not."

  "I don’t understand."

  He explained the situation to her. "Molly must have been updating me on her and Jase’s child."

  Belle’s whole body slumped. He caught her in his arms, sat on the bed against the headboard and pulled her close to his chest. "I don’t understand something," he said after he felt her calm.

  "What?"

  "Why this reaction?"

  He was glad to see the color return to her face when she drew away. "You’re kidding, right?"

  "I never felt less like kidding in my life."

  She grabbed his arms. "I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else. Having a child with another woman. I wanted to be your wife. I wanted your baby!"

  By God, if he wasn’t tempted to believe her. Could she be faking this? Why would she? Did it even matter? "Belle, we can’t go there. We’re over. What was between us died two years ago in a cold warehouse with our baby."

  She seemed to take that in. "Then tell me you believe me. You don’t have to forgive my mistake, but tell me you believe I wanted that child."

  His mother had taught him to examine his heart. When he did, tonight in the dim hotel room, he realized he could believe what Belle was saying. She’d simply made an irrevocable, awful decision. Though it made no difference with what had happened, she was telling the truth.

  "I believe you. But it doesn’t change anything between us now."

  Finally, she said, "I can live with that." She put her head on his shoulder.

  And despite the fact that he knew damn well no one was watching, he held her close and kissed her hair.

  oOo

  "Oh, babe, look at that." Logan had reverted to old habits and didn’t even realize he’d done.

  Don’t you dare call me babe. It’s sexist and insulting.

  I think it’s sexy and intimate.

  She’d come to love the endearment.

  He was also holding her hand like he used to, fingers linked, binding them together. He gestured to their surroundings, the Sistine Chapel. She’d been here before, but he hadn’t.

  "That’s my favorite part of the ceiling." And everyone else’s, too, evidenced by the T–shirts and ads that focused in on God creating Adam, their arms outstretched, their fingers almost but not quite touching.

  "You like seeing man created?"

  She leaned into him. "No, look under God’s arm. That’s Eve. Art historians say the panel shows that God always had Eve in mind as Adam’s mate."

  Glancing down at her, he smiled. "And? I know this has a punch line."

  "I think it means God created Eve first. This view confirms the creation of Adam second."

  His laugh was hearty, though soft. Every ten minutes a guard asked for quiet in the long, high room. "Well," he said glancing back up, "the result’s the same. Man and woman were made for each other, like it or not."

  "I like it," she whispered.

  If he heard her, he didn’t respond. They took seats on one of the benches that lined the perimeter, except for the front altar. A tour guide happened to be standing in front of them, and as Logan listened to him talk about "The Last Judgment," which covered the entire front wall, Belle leaned back against the padded cushion and closed her eyes.

  She was tired today. After the emotional wrenching of last night, she hadn’t slept well. Logan had finally turned toward her, dragged her to him, and held her the rest of the night. Only then did she catch a few hours.

  They’d made a truce after the debacle with the instant message, Belle’s run and then, of course, having sex in the bathroom. Though her body tightened at the memory of them together again, she was also sad about it.

  Hers and Logan’s sex life had been the stuff of dreams—hot, wet and sweaty. But there had always been an underlying tenderness in what they’d done together. They’d cherished each other’s bodies. What had happened in the bathroom had been missing that quality. Belle felt bad about that.

  She opened her eyes and peered over at him. Today he wore a black and gray shirt with gray slacks. His hair was a little long; she remembered cutting it for him, then he’d return the favor and trim her halfway–down–the–back locks. They’d insisted each other be naked, and it invariably turned into fun.

  "You okay?" he asked. Gone was the angry man, but his resigned tone hurt almost as much.

  "Yes, I was somewhere else." She kissed his cheek, not for show, not to taunt him. "Logan, do you think after…"

  His hand came to her lips. "You know what you’re about to ask for isn’t going to happen. But at least we aren’t sniping at each other. Be grateful for that." Again he laced her fingers with his and led them into the crowd.

  oOo

  Logan was trying hard to keep them busy. Keep their minds off each other. This new, emotional tangle wasn’t good for the operation, which was why their truce last night had been a good thing. Now, if only he could forget the mind–blowing sex in the bathroom, and how it felt to hold her during the night.

  "Let’s get some gelato," she said as they left San Pietro’s Basilica where seeing Michelangelo’s Pietà made her teary–eyed. Though it was behind glass, on an altar twenty feet away, the muscles and veins had almost pulsed with life to any viewer.

  "You’re on."

  There were numerous small ice–cream stores lining the streets of Rome, though ice cream was a poor description of the creamy, custard confection. Since the closest had a long line, Logan led her to one down a side street that appeared less crowded. When they got their treat, they began walking back to the church’s square, which was really a circle, enclosed by pillars. It was almost deserted this time of day. A few monks milled about. One approached them as they went to look at the center monolith from which radiated several markings on the cement pavement. "We need to talk," the monk said.

  Logan recognized him right away. He didn’t ask what was wrong. Something had to be a big deal for Simon to fly down to a mission. He never came into the field anymore.

  "There’s a problem." Simon drew them off to the side, but far enough away from the Swedish guards who stood at attention near the Pope’s quarters. He gestured toward the Basilica as he spoke to Logan. Periodically, he’d throw in a tidbit about the church’s history more loudly in case anyone was watching. "We’ve got a line on the King Pin, or rather the Chess King, as he’s called."

  "The guy running this?" Belle asked.

  "Hmm. His name is Diego Martini. He’s wealthy, bored and ruthless. Seems he likes playing with his prey. Mr. and Mrs. Logan Kane are his latest." Simon pulled out pictures from his pockets. "You need to look at these.
This is what he does to anybody who crosses him."

  Belle gasped as she took in the mangled bodies. "Oh, dear Lord."

  Logan swore vilely.

  Simon said, "I’m aborting the mission."

  "Just because he’s ruthless?" Logan asked.

  Shooting a glance at Belle, Simon faced Logan. "No, because one of his henchmen had a brush with Belle in Russia. He could recognize her."

  Logan nodded. "Well, that’s it then. We’re done here."

  Belle grabbed his arm. "Not so fast," she said.

  oOo

  Belle undressed slowly in the half light of the hotel room. Her mind was still whirling from the news they received from Simon earlier this evening—the identity of the kidnapper and the possibility of her being recognized. She’d won her argument to finish the mission, but both Simon and Logan were unhappy.

  "In Russia I wore a short red wig," she’d said calmly. "Remember, Logan?" He’d thought she looked sexy as hell. "Not once did I take it off in public."

  "I don’t care, it’s too dangerous."

  "Simon?"

  "I know about the wig. My opinion? It’s not worth the risk."

  "Tell that to the Grangers, who won’t get their baby back."

  The men had both cursed, but eventually had agreed.

  Logan came out of the bathroom, dressed only in black boxers. He took in her hot pink tap pants and camisole and his eyes flared. He was such a guy. She crossed to the mini bar and took out a bottle of wine. "Want some?"

  "Yeah, sure. Out here," he said and headed for the balcony, where he braced his arms on the railing and stared at the scenery.

  Belle poured two glasses of merlot and followed him outside. The sultry night air caressed her bare arms, raising gooseflesh, and the soft breeze ruffled Logan’s hair.

  He faced her when she held out a glass and he took it. "I don’t like the turn this has taken."

  "You agreed."

  "I did. But you could be in danger." He brushed his knuckles down her cheek. "I hate when you’re in danger."

  He didn’t always. The first year they were together, they’d gone undercover in Paris at an opera house that was supposedly a front for the Parisian mob. The operation was dangerous, as Belle was to be the bait for the young mob boss’s son…