Eclipse of the Heart (27 page)

"Please sit down," Logan said. "We're
attracting an audience."

The two women at the next table were watching avidly.
Staring.
Amanda had no doubt they'd heard every word. With
her luck, they were probably journalists.

"You're right," she said, injecting as much
sweetness into her tone as she could manage. "Anger is an emotion, and we
can't have any emotion on display, can we?" Slowly, she walked toward him.

"I think we're both mature enough to refrain from any
emotional displays."

"Really?"
She touched his
shoulder and walked behind him, trailing her hand over the back of his neck.
She was relieved to feel goose bumps appear. "Lust is also an emotion. You
do know that, right? And it's the emotion that got us into this trouble."
She stopped at his side, facing him, pleased to see wariness enter his eyes.

"What is your point, Amanda?" He didn't try to
dislodge her hand. "As I said a minute ago, we've gotten totally off track
here."

She removed her hand from his shoulder, letting it graze her
breasts on the way down.

His eyes narrowed, but she couldn't miss the leap of desire.

He probably didn't miss the buzzing that stiffened her
nipples either.

But she knew what she had to do.

"I feel emotions," she said. "I am not a
robot. I feel pain when you tell me I've trapped you. I feel anger when you try
to run my life."

His lips tightened. "You—"

She raised one hand to halt him. "Now that we've got
that settled—" She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair.
"I'll be on my way."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"On. My. Way." She threw the words over her
shoulder. "That doesn't sound complicated to me."

"Wait." He pushed back his chair. "I want to
finish this discussion."

"I wanted respect." She forced her lips into a
curve, hoped it would pass for a smile, and stormed out of the restaurant.

Amanda spent several weeks working hard. In the spirit of
"don't ask for permission, ask for forgiveness", she carried on with
her job as if she'd never been fired. With each day that passed, she grew more
comfortable with the idea that Logan did not intend to challenge her on the
issue.

Via email, she received permission to travel to Philadelphia
and meet with the Molloys. They accepted her explanation that another employee
had sent the note to cause trouble and that employee had been terminated. She
left with high hopes that the purchase would take place.

Although, in the back of her mind,
a
niggle
of worry remained. It would be very difficult for her to move to
Philadelphia to run Daily Eats. She was going to need the help of her mother to
raise this baby, which meant staying in the New York area.

If she grieved at night over the absence of Logan, no one
else knew it. She would have a part of him when her baby was born, and that
would have to be enough.

The tenuous peace she'd attained was blown up in the dark
hours before dawn one morning when she began bleeding. After she reached the
hospital, the doctor confirmed her worst fears.

"You need complete bed rest." Her ob/
gyn
, Dr.
Vesser
, spoke gently,
but her words struck fear into Amanda's heart.

"I can't do that," Amanda said, clutching the thin
hospital nightgown. "My job—"

"You're only in your fifth month. The health of your
baby must be your first concern."

"Yes, but I need an income."

"That's what disability is for," the doctor said
crisply. She tapped on her laptop, writing notes to seal Amanda's doom.
"I'd like you to go home and make arrangements to stay there. Is there
anyone who can help you? You'll need someone to take you home from the hospital
today."

"I can work at home, right?"

"Only if you want to risk losing this
pregnancy."

Amanda stared as the news rolled around in her head with
terrible finality. She had to choose between her job and her baby? Of course,
that was no choice. The job would have to go, but as the door started closing,
she railed one more time at the turn her life had taken. She wanted to work!
She needed to work! Was that asking so much of the fates? How had her life
fallen apart so completely?

As she watched the doctor typing away, a great weight
settled on her chest. She was an unmarried, pregnant woman. Whatever independence
she might have achieved without this catastrophe had disappeared like a will of
the wisp. She was so dependent on others now that she couldn't even get home
from the hospital on her own. How had this happened?

"By the way, doctor, how did I get pregnant while on
the pill?" The question had been bothering her right from the beginning.

The doctor glanced up. "No birth control is one hundred
percent effective."

"I thought that was because people were careless, lied,
or didn't use it properly."

Dr.
Vesser
shrugged. "Those
things are true. But there are also unexplained pregnancies. Were you on any
antibiotics prior to becoming pregnant?"

Amanda gasped.
The strep throat.
Had that doomed her? She hesitated, suddenly unsure if she really wanted to
know. But it had never been her way to hide her head in the sand.

"What if I was?"

"There's a possibility that antibiotics interfere with
the pill," the doctor answered. "It's never been proven
definitively."

Amanda closed her eyes as the news sank in. Could such a simple
twist of fate have been her downfall?

The doctor patted the foot of the bed. "It's only for
four months," she said. "The time will pass."

Easy for her to say.
Amanda watched
her go and then heaved a sigh. At this point, it didn't matter how she'd gotten
pregnant,
nor
how helpless she was. She needed to call
Rosie and get herself home and situated.

Rosie was the only one who knew yet.
Besides
Logan, of course.
But she'd do anything short of a miscarriage to avoid
calling him.

However, the very next day, when she was on the phone to HR,
learning about short-term disability, her doorbell rang.

Instinct told her exactly who it was. He hadn't given up.
He'd only retreated to wait for his opportunity to pounce.

"I'll call you back," she said to the clerk at HR.

She made her way to the door, hoping it wasn't some kind of
official legal summons waiting for her. A custody lawsuit always loomed in the
back of her mind.

The peephole showed her Logan standing outside, tall and
handsome, looking crisp in a charcoal gray suit, blue and white striped shirt,
and yellow tie. Her heart stuttered.

"Good morning," he said when she cracked the door.
"May I come in?"

Silently, she removed the chain and opened the door. Why had
she gotten pregnant with such a persistent man?

"How are you feeling," he asked, herding her
subtly toward the sofa.

"Good," she said, a hint of defiance in her tone.
He couldn't prove otherwise.

As always, she'd underestimated him.

He didn't sit next to her on the sofa, choosing instead the upholstered
chair.

"You should put your legs up." He set his
briefcase on the coffee table.

The first twinge of alarm zinged through her. "Why are
you here?"

"I heard you won't be able to work." He met her
gaze. "Of course, the company will approve short-term disability for you.
That's not why I'm here."

"Why, then?"
She swung
her legs up, feeling ungainly and unlovely. The apartment was cold and she'd
dressed in worn out sweats. Not the kind of outfit any woman would voluntarily
wear in the presence of a man like Logan Winter.

He leaned forward. "I have a proposal for you." He
pulled a set of keys out of his briefcase and dangled them in his long fingers.
"A place for you to stay."

"I have a place to stay."

"You told me this was a six-month sublet." He glanced
around the apartment. "When your mom and sister returned, you were
planning to figure out new living arrangements."

"I still plan to do that."

"While on bed rest?" He raised his eyebrows.

"How did you hear about—" She waved her hand, but
the question was pointless. He always knew everything.

"I did, and that's all that matters." He leaned
forward, the keys clanking a bit with a sound like a cell door closing.

"Thanks for the offer." The words hurt as she
pushed them through her tight lips. "I'm all set, though." She could
never forgive him for the words he'd spoken when she told him about her
pregnancy. If it was the last thing she ever did, she'd prove she didn't need
him and hadn't tried to trap him.

"I know you're stubborn to a fault." He sighed.
"So here's my deal." He flipped open his laptop.

"I'm not interested." She grabbed a pillow and
held it over her stomach, like a shield. She didn't even want him to see the
evidence of the baby. God forbid he should start talking about custody again.

"These are the documents my lawyer has drawn up,"
he said, pointing to the computer screen, "requesting joint custody for
the child."

Amanda gasped. "You wouldn't!"

He glanced at her curiously. "I said I would. You
didn't believe me?"

"I'll deny everything."

"Amanda, what is wrong with you? Paternity is easy to
prove."

"Are you planning to talk in court about how I
caught
you? Will you favor the judge with one of your
speeches about how you never wanted to have children?"

His lips tightened. "At least when I make a mistake, I
acknowledge it, apologize, and move on. I guess you can't do the same."

"No. I can't. I'm the one who's trapped, not you. I
didn't make vile accusations against you. If I ever do, then we'll see how well
you move on." She picked at a smudge of dirt on the sofa, but she knew it
wouldn't disappear any more than Logan and his demands would.

His face softened. "I know you feel trapped. I'm
proposing to make your sentence lighter by offering you my home on Cape Cod for
the duration. Mrs. MacDonald would go with you to handle chores so that you can
have complete rest."

"Mrs. MacDonald? What are you talking about?" The
twinge of alarm had become a full-blown case of panic. The only way to get over
Logan was to cut him out of her life completely. Every time she saw him, the
knife in her heart twisted a bit more. Even now, his scent was tantalizing her,
his lips enticing her, and his shoulders teasing her with their promise of a
safe haven. One way or another, she had to yank that knife out of her heart.
Which meant, she couldn't have any connection to the man.

"Did you know Mrs. MacDonald is sixty-seven years
old?" he asked.

"No." But she wasn't dumb enough to think this was
a random change of topic. "Why don't you pension her off?"

"I've offered her the pension my p—" He stopped
abruptly.

"Your parents?"
The words
burst out of her. "You have parents?"

He rose suddenly and stalked over to the window, his back to
her. "Mrs. MacDonald," he said, "has a pension, but she prefers
to keep busy. It would be easier on her to take care of you on the Cape than to
manage my household here in Manhattan."

"Oh, no."
Amanda glared
at his back. "You've used that maneuver on me before, where I should do
Mrs. MacDonald a favor. It's not working this time."

He wheeled around, thrust his hands in his pockets and
rocked back a little on his heels.
"Fine.
Here's
the deal straight up. If you accept my offer to move to the Cape, I'll suspend
the battle for custody. If not—" He nodded at his computer. "I'll
tell my lawyer to proceed."

Amanda wanted to jump to her feet and confront him from a
more equal position. But, once again, the baby's needs trumped hers. Instead,
she took a couple of deep breaths, reaching for the calmness that his mere
presence stole from her.

"I don't understand your obsession with this
baby."

His gaze rested on her thoughtfully. "I would have gone
my whole life without having children. But now, when a child of mine is going
to be born, with or without my wishes, I intend to deal with it. Unlike you, I
always deal with reality."

"Fine words," she jeered. "I say you're
totally afraid to face reality. I think something happened in your past that
affected you terribly. And, guess what, you're not dealing with it."

He cast her one baleful glance, stalked back over to the
coffee table and, with swift, jerky movements, packed up his computer.

"Here are the keys." They clattered on the table.
"Be on the Cape in one week or get yourself a lawyer."

The door closed behind him. He didn't even give her the
satisfaction of slamming it.

He knew his threat was potent enough to work.

Cape Cod wasn't actually a cape, Amanda learned as Mrs.
MacDonald drove her over the Bourne Bridge. It had been at one time, but the
Army Corps of Engineers had dug a canal to provide shorter transit for ships,
and now the Cape was a long, narrow island off the coast of Massachusetts.

Traffic on the bridge was light on a Monday morning in early
June, but Amanda could imagine it would be hellish on a Friday afternoon in
July.

She hadn't asked Mrs. MacDonald any questions about Logan's
home, but, clearly, the older woman was familiar with the route. They drove
past miles of scrub pines and then along winding lanes lined by neat homes. A
half hour after they'd crossed the
bridge,
they
reached a charming New England village, with gray shingled shops trimmed in
nautical white.

"I'll go out later and buy food and supplies,"
Mrs. MacDonald said. "We're almost at the house."