Eclipse of the Heart (18 page)

"Mandy."

She opened her eyes and he saw she was dazed with lust.

"Are you ready?" He was poised over her entrance,
rigid with restraint. Her comment about being dizzy whispered in the back of
his mind. Damn, there were times he hated having a conscience.

"I can't stop you," she whispered.

Logan repressed a groan of frustration. "Of course you
can." His voice was gruff. But at least he'd managed the words.

He dropped his head and kissed her, thrusting with his
tongue, feathering her breasts, trying to transmit to her his sense of urgency.
All the neurons of his brain narrowed down to one focal point—arousing her
until she succumbed. He used his lips, his tongue and his hands, traveling all
over her body until she writhed on the bed.

The next time he caged her, her hips were reaching for him.

He teased her opening with his cock, though he had to grit his
teeth to prevent himself from entering her. Her hips reached for him, and he
pulled back, just a little. He had to be sure.

"Logan!" she cried.
"Now!"

He slammed into her.

***

Logan slid away from Amanda on the king-sized bed. The
movement was automatic, a habit of necessity. Women liked to cling, and he
couldn't bear it.

In a few minutes, he would try to take her again. But for
now, he needed his own space.

"Is something wrong?" Her clear voice pierced the
dark silence of his bedroom.

"No." He closed his eyes, knowing he was shutting
her out completely, but helpless to change his behavior. "Give me a few
minutes."

She moved. He heard the whisper of her body on the sheet.

"I need to go," she said, her voice low.

He would never ask a woman to stay. But—"I want you
again," he said. He almost reached out a hand.

But, no.
He couldn't do it.
Emotions were poisonous.

She sat up. "I can't stay."

He heard the uncertainty in her voice, and understood it.
She needed reassurance. Hugs and kisses would be best, but that wasn't his
style.

He turned on his side and propped himself up on an elbow.
"We still haven't done slow and easy," he said.

She gave a muffled giggle. "I bet you've never done
slow and easy."

He smiled, though he knew she couldn't see it in the dark.
"Now that's a challenge.
Just what I like."

Suddenly, his need for her was greater than his need for
separateness. He reached across the gulf between them.

"Let me show you," he said.

***

When Amanda awoke in the morning, Logan was gone. She knew
immediately that she was alone in his king-sized bed. A bed that was too big
for one person. A fact she knew well because, although she'd slept and dozed in
between the bouts of heated sex, she was always alone unless they were touching
for sex.

He'd never cuddled her. Not once. Now, although her body
felt immensely sated, and her memories were x-rated, her heart was battered.

She'd learned one thing after a night of hot sex with Logan
Winter. It didn't take money to make one feel like a whore.

Rather, it was being used for sex and then denied any
emotional closeness that made one feel like a blow-up doll. He had proved
beyond a doubt that he knew everything there was to know about sexual pleasure,
much like a sex worker might, but he was a cold man.

She pulled up the sheet, and just that movement of
silky-smooth cotton over her skin brought back the memory of his hands and
mouth and other parts playing with her body, arousing her to the point where
she didn't care about anything other than what he was doing to her.

The truth was that she hadn't known herself. She hadn't
known that the self-discipline on which she'd prided herself was merely a lack
of temptation. As soon as a man came along who pushed all the right buttons for
her, she'd succumbed faster than a teenaged girl on prom night. Yes, she'd been
a little bit drunk. But that hadn't been the cause of her downfall. No, she had
to face the truth.

Logan had seduced her in the good, old-fashioned way – by
giving her a pleasure in her body that she couldn't resist.

Since she didn't seem to have any self-discipline where he
was concerned, she had to be sure that she wasn't alone with him in private
again.
Anywhere.

She couldn't eliminate his appeal. She had to eliminate his
opportunity.

Which meant, it was time to leave.
She swung her legs out of bed. Ouch. He'd reached places she didn't know she
had. Allowing herself one wince, she made her way into the bathroom. A new tube
of toothpaste and a toothbrush still in the packaging sat on the marble
counter. He was polite, if not loving.

A note was taped to the bathroom mirror.

Had an early breakfast meeting.
See
you at the office.

Terse, to the point.
Just what she
might have expected, although not what she might have hoped for.

Suppressing a sigh, Amanda returned to the bedroom. She
didn’t feel comfortable making use of his shower so she got dressed. It wasn’t
until she was leaving that she heard sounds from the kitchen—a clink of dishes,
water running. She hesitated, but finally decided she’d better make herself
known to whoever was in there.

Following the faint sounds she made her way down the hallway
until she saw the bright lights of the kitchen. Drawing a deep breath for
courage, she stepped through the doorway. A white-haired woman was standing at
the sink, humming softly to herself. Amanda cleared her throat awkwardly.

The woman jumped a mile and dropped the coffee mug she had
been rinsing. Her half-stifled shriek was audible even over the sound of
breaking crockery as she turned and gaped at Amanda.

"Mercy!" she exclaimed, holding her hand over her
heart. "What a start you gave me."

"I’m sorry." Amanda felt a flush creeping over her
cheekbones. It couldn’t be more obvious that she was a stranger here, nor that
there was no polite explanation for why she would be here in the morning
wearing last night’s clothes.

"I was just on my way out," she said, "but I
heard you in here and didn’t want you to wonder who had gone out the front
door." She gestured awkwardly with her hand. "I didn’t expect you to
be so surprised to—to find a woman here in the morning."

"Well, that’s where you’re wrong." The woman wiped
her hands on the dishtowel tucked into her apron. "I’ve never known him to
keep a woman here overnight."

Before Amanda could digest that statement, the woman
continued.
"How tactless of me.
I’m sorry. Let me
introduce myself. I’m Mrs. MacDonald, the housekeeper."

"Amanda Thompson." They shook hands. "I
umm…work for him…" Her voice trailed off as she realized the hopelessness
of any explanation. Mrs. MacDonald wouldn't be stupid because Logan didn't hire
dummies. She knew exactly what Amanda was doing here, and nothing more needed
to be said.

"Don’t you worry about anything, child," Mrs.
MacDonald said comfortably. "Let me get you a cup of coffee." She
bustled around and soon had a steaming mug set on the table. Amanda sipped
gratefully while Mrs. MacDonald cleaned up the mess in the sink.

"The man could have dropped a hint in my ear," the
housekeeper said cheerfully as she emptied the dustpan of broken china into the
trash. "Sat there reading his Wall Street Journal, and never breathed a
word."

"Probably forgot I was here." Amanda sipped at the
fragrant coffee.

"Not him." Mrs. MacDonald laughed. "He
doesn't miss a trick, that one."

"Have you known him a long time?" Amanda almost
clapped a hand over her mouth. She shouldn't be prying.

But Mrs. MacDonald didn't seem to notice anything amiss.
"All his life," she said with a big smile.

"You worked for his family?" Amanda said
tentatively. She couldn't resist the opportunity to learn something more about
him, but it seemed like family was a delicate subject for him.

Mrs. MacDonald's cheery face seemed to sag. "He’s a
very private man," she said. "Sometimes he takes it too far, but it’s
not a bad vice as far as vices go."

"Right."
Amanda stood up.
"I'd better get to work."

"Oh, no.
You must eat some
breakfast first." Mrs. MacDonald lifted her hands. "It would be my
pleasure."

Amanda hesitated. She needed to leave, but the woman
seemed—maybe anxious for company? Logan probably wasn't home much, and there
didn't appear to be any other staff.

"I suppose I could eat a bagel, or something simple. I
don't have much time." She didn't have any, if the truth were told. She
still had to go home and change her clothes before she headed into the office.

"Excellent." Mrs. MacDonald beamed. "I'm glad
you didn't ask for a pastry, because we don't stock that sort of thing."

She bustled over to a bread bin, took out a bagel and popped
it into the toaster oven.
"Butter, cream cheese?"

"Butter is fine."

Amanda cast about for a neutral subject of conversation.
"How did you start the rooster collection?" She pointed toward the
window.

"I've always liked roosters," the older woman
answered. "They seem like cheerful creatures." She took a cantaloupe
from the refrigerator and began slicing.

"Did you grow up on a farm?"

"Oh no, I'm a city girl, oddly enough.
Or was."
She paused in her slicing to remove the bagel
from the toaster oven. "Of course, I'm still a city girl, I guess.
Living in Manhattan."
She laughed.
"Never
expected to end up here.
Still not used to it."

"Funny. I think of Logan as having always lived
here."

"Oh, no.
New York City is
something different for him." She finished buttering the bagel and set the
plate down in front of Amanda. "Of course, different can be good."
She arched a brow. "I'm talking about you, dear. ‘Cause Lord knows what
we’ve had up until now hasn’t been good. So I’m all for change. That man
deserves some happiness."

 Amanda pushed her plate away. "Mrs.
MacDonald," she whispered. "He’s not looking for happiness with me. I
don’t know what you’re hoping for, but please don’t expect anything like that
from—from me."

"Don't be put off by his formal manner,
dearie
." Mrs. MacDonald set the cantaloupe on the
table. "His heart is as warm as a newborn babe's."

"He's anything but helpless and dependent."

"He was a happy child, and a successful young man. That
person is still somewhere inside him."

"Guarded well."
Amanda
stood up and brought the cup over to the sink. "It was nice meeting you,
but I’d better be on my way."

"See you soon,
dearie
."

She had a lot more confidence in that than Amanda did.

Amanda dreaded going in to work. How would she be able to
act in front of Logan as though nothing had happened? How would he treat her?
She didn't know if it would be better if he showed some acknowledgement of the
change in their relationship, or if he behaved as if nothing whatsoever had
happened.

On the whole, she thought he'd carry on as if nothing had
changed. If she'd experienced some feelings of tenderness toward him, that was
her unlucky lot as a female. In fact, if attachment hormones flowed from women
during orgasm, well, she must have been awash in them all night long.

But
he
certainly hadn't felt
any emotional attachment.

In hindsight, she'd made a terrible mistake. She never
should have had that second glass of wine, even a half-glass, because she had
no tolerance for liquor. Although she hadn't been flat-out drunk, she'd
certainly been tipsy.
Too tipsy to maintain her self-control
when Logan had finally made his move.

It would have taken the willpower of a hundred sober women
to resist his hot kisses, his expert hands,
his
hard
body.

But there was only one woman who'd reap the heartache.

Her.

She could already feel that heartache reaching out
exploratory tendrils, looking for an opening. When Logan ignored her at the
office, those tendrils would take root.

Fool, they would whisper.
Sap.
You
knew he'd never have emotional feelings for a lover. He told you that right
from the beginning. What made you think you could change a man like him?

Sighing, she grabbed the small white card resting in front
of a vase of flowers that had been waiting on her desk when she arrived at the
office. She wasn't surprised he'd send flowers, even as she knew the gesture
was meaningless.

She exited her office as she slid the card out of the
envelope.

"
Enjoyed my dessert last night
,"
she read. Her eyes widened even as she looked up and saw Logan striding down the
hallway toward her. Her breath escaped her as he filled her vision with his
clean, white-shirted presence.

He looked fresh and polished, not at all like the hard,
heaving,
mass
of muscles who'd turned her world inside
out last night.

"Don't send me flowers," she said. The message may
have surprised her, but the gesture made her feel cheap. It was the kind of
thing he'd do with a mistress.

His lips twitched. "Good morning to you. Feeling a bit
tired?"

"If I'm tired, I know exactly who to blame."

"I can take it." A full smile emerged.
"And more."

"I—I—" She didn't know what to say to that.

Logan stopped in front of her. "I thought all women
liked flowers."

"I’m not all women," she snapped
.
I’m me, she wanted to shout. Me. Look at me for myself, not as
one in a long parade of generic women.
She bit down hard on the side
of her mouth. There was no point in going there.