CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN THEY ENTERED her bedroom, Claire quietly shut the door and locked it, then turned to face him with a haunting look of vulnerability and desire in her eyes.
He’d come to protect Claire and the children, not to seduce her, and after all she’d been through tonight, she needed a comforting presence, nothing more. But when her lips parted in silent invitation, he couldn’t turn away.
She melted against him, soft and yielding, and when her sigh feathered against his shoulder, a surge of need rocketed to his very soul. It felt so right. Inevitable. As if some part of him had waited a lifetime for this moment.
A kaleidoscope of sensations spun through him when he lowered his mouth to hers. He felt as if he’d never kissed a woman until now. She tasted of sex and sin and sultry innocence. Of unexplored passion and long, hot nights.
A primitive sense of satisfaction and possession crashed through him on waves of heat.
Settling a hand against the delicate arch of her neck, he felt her pulse hammer beneath his thumb. With infinite care he eased her robe off her shoulders, savoring each new millimeter of access to her—
Flannel?
He’d glimpsed her provocative, lace-edged neckline, but now he could see the rest of her gown—soft white flannel sprinkled with rosebuds and violets, a thousand tiny buttons from waist to neck. The effect couldn’t have been more virginal if it had been a nun’s habit.
Logan bit back a grin. “Just how many buttons are there?”
“I’m sorry—I never expected...”
The embarrassment in her voice made his heart turn over. “Honey, you could be in fatigues and army boots and I wouldn’t want you any less.”
She stared at him, her breath fast and uneven as he lingered with deliberate care over each button before flicking it open and descending to the next. He felt the heat of her body and the thud of her heart beneath the soft material. As the gown opened, he kissed each newly revealed bit of flesh.
Only a few more buttons. He moved slower, as if he might take until next week to finish. And dropped lower, to where his hand brushed the soft inner curve of her breast.
“Logan. ” She drew in a sharp breath, her body arching into his touch.
He’d never realized flannel could be so provocative. It held her heat, molded softly to her body. Gauzy material revealed, but this gown clothed her secrets, making his hunger more acute.
When he reached the last button, he hesitated, letting her anticipate. Imagine. Then he rose and captured her mouth in another kiss.
“You’re so very beautiful.” Her fragrances of citrus shampoo and lemon bath powder teased at his senses, evoking thoughts of sunlight and sweet promise.
A child cried out.
They both froze.
Again, a frightened voice pierced the silence. “Mommy? I need my mommy!”
Her eyes locked on his, Claire blinked and stepped back. “That’s Lissa. I—I’m sorry. The kids still have nightmares, sometimes. About the accident. I have to go—”
“It’s okay.” Logan shook off the disorientation clouding his senses. “I’d better go back downstairs.”
Claire nodded, then disappeared down the darkened hallway without a sound.
Stunned, Logan closed his eyes. In that brief moment she had opened up a part of his heart he’d thought closed forever; a place where caring rivaled passion, and where both could take off like wildfire—unstoppable, overwhelming.
More than anything else on earth, he wanted her back in his arms.
SINCE SLEEP was out of the question, he wandered through the darkened house checking windows, flipping on lights in empty rooms, feeling a pervasive sense of loss every step of the way. Deeper involvement would be a mistake for them both.
If he said it often enough, he might even believe it was true.
Before heading downstairs, he looked in on the children. Both girls were now asleep and snuggled under their covers, their hair pulled back in ponytails that spread across their shoulders like tumbled gold silk. When he stopped at the next room, he edged the door open a few inches and listened. Jason slept soundly. Logan smiled to himself, turned to leave, but something on the far wall caught his eye.
The pale hallway light streamed across a desk, illuminating the bulletin board that hung above it. Neatly arranged on the board were a half-dozen pen-and-ink sketches. Intricate castles and fanciful beasts, robots of impossible complexity in form and function. Logan whistled under his breath as he studied each drawing. The kid was talented. Extremely talented. He certainly hadn’t inherited it from Brooke, so maybe Randall had been the one with an artistic bent.
Logan silently pulled the door closed, then went downstairs and checked the first-floor windows and door locks. He headed for the kitchen. After pouring a cup of decaf, he settled into one of the kitchen chairs, folded his arms over his chest and stretched his legs. At any suspicious noise, he could be on his feet in seconds.
With luck, he’d catch the intruder entering the house. The bastard would be sorry he’d come. And would damn sure explain why he had chosen to hit Pine Cliff.
Still, Logan’s nerves vibrated with tension. Restless anticipation. He forced himself to relax. The sheriff would show up, sooner or later. A crew would arrive in a week or so to install Claire’s security system. She would be fine.
After a last scan of the room, he willed himself to drift back into memories of the past.
But all he saw were images of Claire.
 
MORNING CAME on dog’s feet—with toenails clicking across the vinyl flooring, scratching at the back door. Logan sat up with a jerk and glanced around. Lacy curtains lifted on a light breeze and sent pale coins of sunlight dancing across the room. Gilbert stood pressed against the back door, giving him a desperate look.
Logan crossed the room and let the dog out. “You don’t earn your keep,” he muttered, watching Gilbert amble sedately across the lawn.
The upstairs rooms were still quiet, though it was nearly a quarter of six and everyone would be awake soon. Logan tried to envision the confusion of children, clothes, breakfasts, backpacks and the arrival of the Wolf River school bus. It would be best to get out of the way before they awoke. Less awkward.
A few hours of counting sheep and regrets hadn’t made things much more clear than they’d been last night. He’d wanted her—still did. Not just her body, though the glow of her skin in the moonlight and her luminous gray eyes would have tempted a saint.
It was more than that. An increasingly familiar warning flashed through his thoughts. It would be all too easy to fall victim to her wit, the touch of those gentle hands, the way she smiled at the kids with such total devotion. Or the way she could nail him with a sharp observation and a quick grin.
Luckily, he’d remembered why it was so important to stay clear.
Searching blindly through his jeans pockets for his truck keys, Logan’s gaze strayed to the royal blue Twins jacket lying across the rolltop desk next to the door. Jason’s, he guessed, reaching out to touch the smooth satin of one sleeve.
Peeking from beneath the edge of the jacket were the bright eyes of a worn pink panda. Annie’s. Around the room, there was other evidence of the children who lived here—a stray purple sock, a refrigerator door camouflaged by crayoned pictures and memos from school. A tennis ball crammed under the overhang of a cupboard.
The place was clean. But there was evidence of life, activity. The business of living with kids. Even with its occupants asleep, the house seemed to hum with life.
In a few minutes, Logan would be back at his own house, where the only thing that hummed was the refrigerator paneled in white to blend in with the kitchen walls. Hell. That house was no more welcoming now than it had been with exposed studs and skeletal rafters. It was a damn lonely place.
Logan looked out the window at Gilbert, who now sat placidly at the edge of the lawn. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? A dog would add life and energy to his house. He needed company. Someone—something to talk to. A dog would be ideal.
Logan stepped outside and closed the door quietly behind him, then strolled down the sidewalk. The Explorer was still parked haphazardly at the edge of the lawn. Jingling the keys in one hand, he reached for the door. It swung open at his touch. The interior lights didn’t flicker.
With a frustrated growl, Logan remembered lunging out of the vehicle the night before and leaving the door ajar.
He’d have to come back later, when people were up and about, and ask for a jump start. The morning was too beautiful to waste. A brisk walk home would be a pleasure.
After several strides, he stopped. Claire and the kids might wonder why the truck was still in the yard. Spinning on his heel, he went back to the house. He left a brief note on the kitchen table.
The telephone jangled as he turned to leave, its shrill tone rivaled that of a fire alarm. He hesitated, but there was no sound of activity upstairs. He picked up the receiver.
“Pine Cliff.”
“Who is this?” The male voice dripped with suspicion.
Logan swore under his breath. If he lived a thousand years he would never forget the sound of that voice. Charles Worth. Answering the phone had been a major mistake, and now Claire would pay for it.
He forced his words through clenched teeth. “The manager isn’t available. Can I help you?”
After a stunned pause, Worth drew in a sharp breath. “My God.”
“Can I take a message?”
“What the hell are you doing there?”
“Would you rather call back?” Logan asked quietly.
“One daughter wasn’t enough?” Worth’s tone dripped venom. “Last time was nothing, Matthews. I want you out of that house.”
Still the charmer he’d always been, apparently.
“I’m sorry, you must be thinking of someone else.” Logan quietly hung up the phone.
Continuing this conversation would do more harm than good. The years had not dimmed the old man’s hatred. In fact, there had been an odd note of fresh anger—perhaps even fear—in his voice.
Logan didn’t feel all that friendly himself, but he was no longer an inexperienced college kid confronting powerful lawyers and a vindictive, hate-filled man. If he faced off against Claire’s father now, Claire would be the one to suffer most.
Logan turned to retrieve the note he’d left on the table. She deserved some warning before hellfire and brimstone descended.
After brief consideration, he wrote, Your father called, but didn’t leave a message. Knowing that Logan had taken the call would be all Claire needed to know.