Eclipse of the Heart (21 page)

***

By Wednesday, Amanda was feeling much better. Mrs. MacDonald
was a gifted nurse, who knew just when to leave Amanda to rest, and just when a
bowl of chicken soup would be welcome. Amanda's fever had broken on Wednesday
morning and she was able to eat a couple small meals during the day.

Wednesday evening, Mrs. MacDonald sat down at the kitchen
table with her to share a cup of tea.

"Did Logan tell you I'm going to be away tomorrow and
Friday?"

Amanda stilled. No, he hadn't mentioned it.

"Funny," she said, although there was no humor in
her voice. "I knew he was manipulating me, but I still fell for it."

Mrs. McDonald set down her tea cup. "Logan is not
manipulative." There was more than a trace of outraged mama bear in her
tone.

"He knows how to get his own way. You can't deny
that."

"His way is usually the right way."

"See?" Amanda threw her napkin on the table and
surged to her feet. "Even you've been entranced by him."

The housekeeper smiled. "He is a good-looking man. But
I remember him as a grubby schoolboy with frogs in his pockets and stinky socks
hiding under the bed. It's hard to be entranced after that."

"Aw…"Amanda dropped back into the chair, misty
eyed over the thought of Logan as a grubby little boy. Man, she had it bad.
"He sure has changed."

"He grew up," Mrs. MacDonald said sharply.
"And not quite as happily as you might be imagining."

"What do you mean?" She leaned forward eagerly.
Mrs. M. had to know why Logan lived in an emotional freezer, cool and calm and
removed from everyone.

"It's not my story to tell." Mrs. M. pushed
herself to her feet, slowly, as if she carried an unseen burden on her
shoulders.

Amanda pressed her lips together. Logan's problems weren't
any of her business and she had to remember that. She stood up. "I should
return home. Thank you for your help."

"There's no need for you to go," the housekeeper
said. "I've left a roasted chicken, broth, a fruit salad and a green
salad. You might as well eat it to build up your strength. In the freezer are
single size portions of many meals. Whatever might strike your fancy, we probably
have it."

She didn't say it, but Amanda knew the food in the freezer
had been prepared for Logan.
Single size portions.
It
sounded lonely.

***
          

Of course, she was the lonely one when she woke up on Thursday,
and the apartment was empty. She decided she would work from here, rather than
go into the office since she wasn't completely better. On Friday, she would
definitely go to work and then return home from there. She couldn't afford to
be here when Logan returned.

By the late afternoon, loneliness and cabin fever set in.
Dressing warmly, Amanda went out for a walk, grabbing the keys Mrs. MacDonald
had left for her in the foyer.

The setting sun shone onto the open spaces of Central Park
South. Although she'd only intended to walk around the block, Amanda found
herself venturing into the park. It was fun to see people strolling about,
children running and screaming, the horses clopping by with their carriages
full of tourists.

She walked slowly down the path toward the zoo. It was
darker inside the park, under the tree cover. Before reaching the zoo, she
turned back, chilled and a bit tired.

She was glad to re-enter the apartment, which was warm
and—was that music she heard? She froze on the doorstep. Had Mrs. MacDonald
returned early? She'd said she wouldn't be back until late on Friday.

Amanda tiptoed in. She wasn't afraid,
exactly,
because that was opera she heard pouring from a room at the back of the
apartment. No thief would break in just to listen to opera. She followed the
sound down the hallway, the volume building as she ventured closer.

The music throbbed with passion, rising and climbing toward
a raw, explosive climax. Amanda halted in the doorway as she was caught up in
the swelling frenzy of desire bordering on madness.

Yes, she understood that feeling.

Just one look at the man sitting in a tall leather chair
facing the windows, and her body was softening, her mind reaching, her hands
twitching with eagerness.

Logan's head was tipped back, his black hair resting on the
top of the chair. He was little more than a dark profile outlined by the golden
light of the setting sun. The music soared around the room, rising and falling
in swells of beauty that contrasted sharply with the silent, unmoving man. An
unknown emotion clutched Amanda's heart and sudden tears pricked her eyes. He
was so alone.

He should have looked content, a successful man relaxing at
the end of the day. Instead, he looked solitary, apart, a man cut off from
normal interaction with other people.

Why? What had happened to cause this accomplished,
successful, and dynamic man to withdraw and move away from emotional
connections with other people? It wasn't just her he held at arm's length, but
everyone he interacted with in his daily life. He was courteous, and pleasant,
but emotionally distant. The conviction tore at her – whether he knew it or
not, he was suffering in his solitude.

The music reached a crescendo and died away. In the sudden
silence, Logan swiveled his chair around and opened his eyes, focusing directly
on her. His lips curved in that almost-smile he used when he knew a smile was
called for, but he didn't have one handy. Her heart squeezed in pain.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"I didn’t know you enjoyed opera," she said.

"An occasional indulgence."
He flicked his hand as if it were a negligible pastime. "Are you feeling
better?"

Subject closed. She tightened her lips. She didn’t have any
right to pry, so how would she ever know what haunted him?

He was an adult. He had a right to his secrets. But he could
never have a healthy relationship with anyone as long as his emotional energy
was being used to contain whatever trauma was in his past.

"Yes." She answered his question automatically.
"I'm better. I worked here today. Mrs. MacDonald isn't back yet."

Logan nodded. "She had further to go."

Further to go? That was an odd thing to say.

Amanda removed her gloves, dropping them on a side table.
"Where did she go?"

He paused, and then said, "To Illinois. To visit her
husband's grave."

Amanda jumped, and gave a soft cry. She hadn't expected
that. And she knew beyond a doubt there was more to the story. His eyes were so
bleak, and his face strained.

Taking off her coat, she said, "You knew her
husband?"

"Yes." Logan hunched over, placing his forearms on
his thighs, almost as if he were in pain.

"You didn't go with her, did you?" Amanda knew she
was prying, violating both common sense and good manners. At the same time, she
sensed an opening. Logan seemed—different tonight, wounded almost, in a way
she'd never seen before.

She should leave him alone, to endure whatever grief he was
suffering. But something prodded her to get him to open up.  A little
voice whispered in her ear that she might never get another chance like this to
find out what demon plagued him.

He closed his eyes as if wrestling with something, and then
opened them and looked directly at her.

"No," he said. "I didn't go with her."

The words sat there starkly. No, he hadn't gone with Mrs.
MacDonald. Amanda knew he wouldn't offer further explanation.

But she couldn't stop.

"Have you just returned from Paris?" she asked.

He hesitated, and then said, "I returned last
night."

His
sorrow, the tension surrounding him,
his unexplained trip, were
all related to Mrs. MacDonald and the death
of her husband. Amanda knew it. "Then where did you go today, Logan?"
she whispered.

Silence stretched between them while he stared at her, his
eyes grim. "To hell," he said, in a low, almost inaudible voice.

A cord of emotion pulled her forward, an invisible tether
that she could almost see. She crossed the threshhold. "What do you
mean?"

His hands clenched on the smooth arms of his chair, as he
straightened up and
pressed  against
the seat
back. "Nothing, Amanda. It was nothing."

She moved toward him, breaching the barrier of his personal
space until she could smell him, hot and wintry and clean. "Tell me,
Logan," she whispered. "Tell me why you look so haunted."

He shook his head. "It's nothing." His jaw
tightened with stubbornness.

Amanda sank to her knees in front of him. She placed a hand
on his knees, and they spread further apart. She wasn't sure which one of them
had made that happen.

Logan's eyes widened as he looked down at her. "What
are you doing?"

"I don't know." She gazed into his shadowed gray
eyes. This man, who sat by himself, listening to beautiful music, when he could
be with almost anyone in the entire city – this man was an enigma to her. But
she knew one thing. She had to comfort him.

This was why he'd hired her.

This was why he'd invited her here, even though he didn't
know it.

This was why she'd stayed in his home for four days.

So that she could be here when he needed
her.

She leaned forward, pressing herself between his spread
legs.

"Why are you always alone?" she asked. Although
the words came out without conscious thought, the impact was immediate. As if a
door had closed, quietly, but firmly, she saw the tenderness leave his eyes, to
be replaced with a calm wariness.

"I like to be alone, Amanda." His tone was gruff,
but he didn't make a move to pull away. "Don't romanticize me."

"Oh, no," she said. "No romance for the aloof
and emotionally unavailable Logan Winter. I do understand that. But I'll bet
you'd accept another kind of closeness." She pushed her hands up both of
his thighs, slowly, feeling the the hard muscle, the warmth.

He sucked in a deep breath.

He was already erect, enticing her visually. Her own breath
came more quickly. "You're very sexy, Logan," she murmured.

"
Ahhh
,
Mandy."
He spread his legs further apart. "I don't understand
you. But don't stop now."

Logan pushed his hands up under Amanda's long-sleeved
t-shirt, and clutched her when he discovered she wasn't wearing a bra.
"Jesus, woman," he breathed. His thumbs feathered over her nipples,
expertly. She had to bite back a cry. He might not do emotions, but he sure as
heck did sex well.

She reached for his belt, pushed the end of it backwards
through the loop, and yanked open the catch. With a whispering sound, the leather
escaped the buckle. Logan's thighs tightened. His lips parted and his breath
hissed through them.

The wool of his trousers was soft beneath her fingers, the
button hard,
an
impediment. She fumbled.

Logan brushed aside her hands. "I'd better do that."

He moved quickly, unbuttoning, unzipping,
pulling
himself forth.

She stared. "Logan—"

His hands flexed on his thighs, as if he wanted to grab her
and force her down.

"You don't have to do this, Mandy," he said, his
voice deep and raw, his eyes still haunted.

She sighed. He could never be hers. She knew it. But he was
irresistible. She bent her head and took him in.

He groaned immediately, and stretched out his legs around
her. His hands clasped the back of her head, holding her hair back and she knew
he wanted to watch.

Her body was flooded with arousal as he filled her mouth,
hot and hard and stretching her until everything within her tensed up in
anticipation. She clutched his base with one hand and delved for his balls with
the other.

He continued groaning, pulsing strongly within her. She
tasted his essence.

Within seconds, his balls were pulled up, close to her
mouth. His hands were tight on her head, in her hair. He wasn't forcing her,
but she felt the sting, and it excited her.

She looked up to make eye contact, and then sucked all the
way up his length, letting him watch her mouth on him. He cursed under his
breath as his knees tightened around her shoulders, holding her in an
unbreakable grip.

"Christ, Mandy," he muttered. "You're killing
me."

She pressed down and down. He was more than she could
handle, but she'd die of bliss trying.  She would never admit to anyone
how much it aroused her to hear and see the signs of his pleasure— the sounds
he made, the way he flexed his hands in her hair, the tensing of his thighs.

She refused to think about her motivation. Why was she so
determined to alleviate his pain? Why had she forsworn her own rule not to
become sexually involved with him?

It didn't matter.

He was alone, and she would do what she could to ease his
loneliness.

She sucked and savored, slow sometimes, faster at others.
Until he urged her, "Just fast now, Mandy.
Fast."
His harsh breaths turned to panting.

Would he finish in her mouth? She tensed, waiting for the
deluge. Suddenly, he yanked himself out and stood up, his cock bobbing. She
experienced a moment of complete disorientation. "Logan?"

"I want you," he said harshly. "Come."
He pulled up his pants, grabbed her hand and headed down the hallway. When they
reached his bedroom, he kicked off his shoes and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Get undressed," he said.

Amanda hesitated, put off by his abruptness. She felt cheap,
undressing like this casually, as if she were the paid escort she had sworn not
to be.  There was no romance in this practical disrobing.  It was
merely business that had to be performed before the business they intended to
get down to.  Of course, what they had between them wasn’t romance, so how
could she expect him to behave in a romantic manner?