Книга - Mad Enough to Marry

Mad Enough to Marry
Christie Ridgway


TRULY, MADLY, DEEPLYLong, lean Logan Chase was dangerous to Elena O'Brien. Which was why she had to be mad to consider his offer of shelter. Yes, she needed a temporary home while hers was renovated, but live with Logan, the man she once dreamed of loving forever? That is, until he broke her heart….Okay, so Logan had a lot to make up for. After all, as a restless, brooding young man, he'd left Elena high and dry–and on prom night, of all nights! But opening his home to her now was surely insane. Because suddenly he was sharing cozy meals–and even cozier kisses–with Elena. Once he took this innocent beauty to his bed, would this confirmed bachelor be mad enough to…to marry?









“For the first time in our acquaintance, I’m finding you kind of cute.”


She blinked. “‘Cute’?”

“Really cute,” he murmured.

“You’re up to something, Logan.”

He clucked his tongue. “So suspicious.”

She shrugged. “A woman learns it young.”

He realized that he had her trapped between his body and the kitchen counter. Holding her gaze, he reached out a finger and drew it along the curve of her jaw.

Her eyes narrowed and she held herself still. He could swear that stillness cost her. There was a tremor there, rigidly controlled, beneath her flawless golden skin. A quivering reaction to his presence, his touch. His heart pumped hard in his chest, but he ignored it. This was about what he did to Elena. His gaze dropped to the pulse beat in her throat. It was fluttering fast, he thought.

Very fast.


Dear Reader,

There’s more than one way to enjoy the summer. By picking up this month’s Silhouette Special Edition romances, you will find an emotional escape that is sure to touch your heart and leave you believing in happily-ever-after!

I am pleased to introduce a gripping tale of true love and family from celebrated author Stella Bagwell. In White Dove’s Promise, which launches a six-book spin-off—plus a Christmas story collection—of the popular COLTONS series, a dashing Native American hero has trouble staying in one place, until he finds himself entangled in a soul-searing embrace with a beautiful single mother, who teaches him about roots…and lifelong passion.

No “keeper” shelf is complete without a gem from Joan Elliott Pickart. In The Royal MacAllister, a woman seeks her true identity and falls madly in love with a true royal! In The Best Man’s Plan, bestselling and award-winning author Gina Wilkins delights us with a darling love story between a lovely shop owner and a wealthy businessman, who set up a fake romance to trick the tabloids…and wind up falling in love for real!

Lisa Jackson’s The McCaffertys: Slade features a lady lawyer who comes home and faces a heartbreaker hero, who desperately wants a chance to prove his love to her. In Mad Enough To Marry, Christie Ridgway entertains us with an adorable tale of that maddening love that happens only when two kindred spirits must share the same space. Be sure to pick up Arlene James’s His Private Nurse, where a single father falls for the feisty nurse hired to watch over him after a suspicious accident. You won’t want to miss it!

Each month, Silhouette Special Edition delivers compelling stories of life, love and family. I wish you a relaxing summer and happy reading.

Sincerely,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor




Mad Enough to Marry

Christie Ridgway







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Kim, Lisa, Leila, Suzette, Tori, Wendy and Vicki, aka “The First Grade Moms.” Thanks for all the support and the good times we’ve had together!




CHRISTIE RIDGWAY


thinks she has the greatest job in the world. She loves writing stories, and the only thing she loves more is her family: a supportive husband and two sons who often are forced to remind her that kids are entitled to three meals a day.

A native of California, she now lives in the southern part of the state. A typical writing day can include rescuing the turtle from the pool and finding frogs in the shower. Although she once told the men she loves they could not keep pets that require live food, each week her husband comes home with a plastic bag of pet food that looks suspiciously like crickets (sounds like them, too!) for the reptiles and amphibians that now call her home theirs.

When not writing or chasing down errant pets, she volunteers at her sons’ school. Finally, because there’s really nothing better, Christie always finds time to curl up with a good book.

You may contact her at P.O. Box 3803, La Mesa, CA 91944. Send a SASE for reply or e-mail her at christie@christieridgway.com.










Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen




Chapter One


Scandal.

Staring straight at it, Logan Chase strolled along Strawberry Bay’s crowded main street, barricaded for the annual May Fair. He sighed. Over the past several months, the small California town had suffered through a series of earthquakes followed by a string of armed robberies. Why should it be any surprise that scandal was next?

Strawberry Bay, California, was, in general, a prosperous town and its citizens were always eager to support the multitude of organizations represented at the traditional community event. They lined up at the various booths, cash ready to buy the hot dogs the elementary school PTA was selling, the cinnamon rolls handmade by the Methodist Church’s women’s group and the cold cans of soda the kids from the high school’s Key Club were hawking.

By all appearances, this year’s May Fair was going to break previous fundraising records for the causes on hand, with the sole exception of the cause whose booth was situated at the far end of the street. But Logan knew it was making its own place in infamy. His gaze lingered on the booth, deserted except for the woman sitting alone inside it, even as he told himself it wasn’t any of his business that she was probably already the talk of the town.

An elbow nudged his ribs. “Hey! Long time no see.”

Forcing his gaze away from the mud-in-the-making, Logan looked into the freckled face of the woman who cut his hair. “How you doing, Sue Ellen?”

She wasn’t any older than he was, as a matter of fact they’d sat beside each other in senior French at Strawberry Bay High School eleven years ago, but the frown she gave him was motherly. “I’m fine, but you really could use a trim.”

Logan ignored the suggestion. He didn’t feel like explaining why he was no longer slave to a standing monthly haircut. “How are Chris and the kids?” he asked instead.

“The twins are looking forward to summer already,” Sue Ellen replied. “And my stepdaughter—you know, Chris’s Amber?—she’s all excited about the high school’s senior prom.” Sue Ellen’s gaze slid down the street and she nodded at that last booth, still devoid of customers. “If there’s going to be a senior prom.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t let himself follow Sue Ellen’s gaze. “Of course there’s going to be a senior prom. No matter what.”

The hairdresser lifted a doubtful eyebrow, still looking at the booth that customarily raised all the necessary funds to lavishly decorate the high-school auditorium for the senior class’s prom. Then she looked back at Logan, her expression speculative. “Maybe you could buy the first—”

“No way,” he said hastily.

“C’mon.” Her voice was coaxing. “We need to get some customers down there or everyone will be—”

“Talking about the fact that the money jar is empty, I know,” Logan finished for her. “But why are you looking at me? Chris’s daughter’s the one who’s hoping for a prom this year. Tell him to go over there and get the ball rolling.”

Sue Ellen glanced around as if wary of being overheard, then leaned forward and whispered, “He’s afraid of her.”

Though unsurprised, Logan rolled his eyes. Three-fourths of the male population of Strawberry Bay was afraid of the woman volunteering in the senior prom booth, while the other quarter was afraid of what their wives or girlfriends would say if they approached her. “She’s not that bad,” he lied.

“It’s a kissing booth, Logan!” Sue Ellen exclaimed. “I know she has a younger sister who’s a high-school senior, but someone should have realized that that woman in that particular kind of booth might prove the end of a long-standing custom.”

Logan winced. Strawberry Bay, like any small town, was long on tradition and long on talk. Gossip would go on for decades that Elena O’Brien’s year in the senior prom kissing booth was the first year in twenty that the enterprise flopped.

Still, he was not going over there. Knowing Elena, she was more than likely thrilled by her solitude.

Before he could change his mind, he bid goodbye to Sue Ellen and ducked between the massive angled panels set up for the art show. He didn’t want to think about Elena and her predicament any longer. Out of sight, out of mind, he told himself.

Yet even from here he could feel her disturbing presence. A few months before, thanks to his brother’s romance with Elena’s best friend, Elena had vaulted back into his life. Though he hadn’t seen her since his last days in high school, she’d instantly gone about disturbing his peace of mind, just as before.

Worse now, because the grown-up Elena was a puzzle, one minute an icy fortress, the next a hornet, buzzing loudly and ready to sting. The last time they’d been face-to-face was a couple of weekends ago, when she was maid of honor and he was best man at Griffin and Annie’s wedding. He’d done his best to ignore her and the sexual vibration she started humming inside him too, because in recent weeks simplicity had become Logan’s new watchword.

And nothing about Elena had ever been simple.

Pushing her out of his thoughts once more, Logan hurried around the corner of the first aisle, barrelling into Si Thomas, one of the men who used to work for him at Chase Electronics. They bounced apart and Logan saw that the other man’s glasses were dangling over one ear, the wire stem bent.

“Lord, I’m sorry, Si. What can I do?”

The other man pulled his glasses off to inspect the damage. “No big deal. I’ll just—” He stopped, then squinted up at Logan. “As a matter of fact, there is something you can do.”

“Name it.”

Si smiled. “My wife is on the high school’s senior prom committee. She just begged me to find someone willing to…”

Logan didn’t listen to the rest of the request. Hands over his ears, he desperately backed away, then dashed down the next aisle to lose himself amongst the other browsers. When Si didn’t follow—thank God—Logan slowed his steps and glanced idly at the displayed artwork.

He paused as a painting caught his eye. It was a watercolor, he thought, but not in the bland pastels he usually associated with the medium. Whether its style was abstract or impressionist or something else altogether, he didn’t know, but the painting was obviously of a woman lying in bed. The tousled, raspberry-colored covers only hinted at her form, but the pearly, bare shoulders and the full, rosy mouth were those of a young woman. The rest of her face was obscured by her arm flung over her eyes. Inky hair was spread across the pillow.

The painting intrigued and unsettled him with its juxtaposition of decadent bed and sleeping woman. It was almost as if she was waiting to be awakened by just the right man.

“Hey, Logan,” a voice said.

Logan turned to greet the male half of a high-school-aged couple. “Hey, Tyler.” Tyler Evans lived on the estate that bordered Logan’s parents’. His father owned a produce distribution company—selling most of Strawberry Bay’s strawberries—and his mother served on several charity boards with Logan’s mother.

A petite, very pretty teenager with black hair and blue eyes stood beside the young man.

“This is Gabby,” Tyler said, sliding a proprietary arm around her waist. “We met in art class.”

The pretty young woman, who looked disturbingly familiar to Logan, smiled. He found himself smiling back. “Nice to meet you, Gabby.”

Tyler hugged her closer to his side and kissed her hair in the way that young lovers do, as if he couldn’t help himself. Gabby’s cheeks went pink, but her smile deepened and Logan knew he had to be wrong in his first suspicion—that Gabby was related to his nemesis, Elena. Though their looks were similar, Gabby appeared warm and approachable, and she’d obviously enjoyed Tyler’s affection. Touching Elena, however, was like grabbing a handful of stinging nettles.

“This is Logan Chase,” Tyler told Gabby.

Her smile turned Mona Lisa-like. “I know. My sister has, um, pointed him out before.”

“Ah.” Logan nodded. So he’d been right after all. “Gabby O’Brien. Elena’s sister.”

“Hey! So you know Elena?” Tyler’s voice turned heartily cheerful. “We were just going over to see her. Maybe you’d like to come along.”

Logan blinked. “You think I’d like to what?”

Tyler must really have it bad for little Gabby, because his cheery expression didn’t change. “Go see Elena. In the kissing booth. I’m going over there to—” he swallowed “—buy a kiss.”

Logan knew he must have heard wrong. “You’re going to what?”

Tyler gulped again, his face betraying its first signs of panic. “Buy a kiss,” he said bravely.

Logan laughed. “Not and survive you’re not. She’ll stab a kid like you before she kisses you.”

Gabby giggled and Logan looked at her, slightly ashamed for saying such a thing in front of the Frost Queen’s sister. But hell, Gabby had to know it was true.

“Someone has to go over there and pay for a kiss,” Tyler said stubbornly. “Once one man, uh, survives, more customers will come along. We need that money for the prom decorations.”

“Kid…” Logan ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of how to explain the situation tactfully.

“Someone has to,” Tyler insisted, looking young, noble and not just a little bit stupid. “And I guess that someone has to be me.”

Logan sighed. God. He’d tried, he really had. No one could say he hadn’t. He sighed again.

“Never mind, kid.” Logan inhaled a long, deep breath and wondered if the dread starting to build in his belly was what human sacrifices had felt on their way to execution. “I’ll do it.”



From fifty feet away, Logan gazed at the woman in the senior prom booth. If she wasn’t so staggeringly beautiful, he thought, kissing her wouldn’t be so bad.

Her midnight-black hair was sleek and shiny, hanging straight to her clean jawline and emphasizing her full, bewitching lips. Her skin, fine-pored and unmarked by even a single freckle, was a golden cream color that made her black-lashed blue eyes stand out like sapphires.

If that wasn’t enough to mess with a man’s brain, ever since she was sixteen years old, Elena O’Brien had possessed the kind of curves that made men from 12 to 112 stop, stare then salivate.

The hell of it was, Elena had a beautiful face paired with one hot, bodacious bod. It was the kind of coupling that made a man think only of…well, coupling. But Logan knew from personal experience that it wasn’t wise to let your wits wander southward when you were around Elena. While you were busy dreaming of her scratching your back, she’d be busy finding ways to scratch your eyes out.

The funny thing was, people genuinely liked her as a person. Women included, despite the kind of loveliness that might inspire jealousy. She was reputed to be an indefatigable employee and Logan’s new sister-in-law swore she was a terrific friend. But when a man approached Elena O’Brien as a man, she’d hiss and spit and scare the poor guy off. Sometimes off women altogether.

Rumor had it there was a guy in the next city who, after one date with Elena, had moved back in with his mother and was now raising bunny rabbits.

Inhaling a fortifying breath, Logan began strolling toward the kissing booth. As if sensing his destination, the people in front of him parted, clearing his path just the way the citizens of Dodge City cleared a path for the white-hatted sheriff in a bad Western.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans and ignored the chug of his blood pulsing through his veins. He hoped like hell his face was expressionless. Conventional wisdom said it wasn’t smart to show fear around animals that bite.

The senior prom committee’s booth was situated in the shade of mature trees and had a fanciful, castle-like facade that was painted white and decorated with bright pink and red tissue-paper flowers. The colors framed Elena’s vibrant beauty perfectly, and as Logan approached she raised her black brows in twin arches just as perfect.

He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and curved his lips in what he hoped appeared a relaxed, casual smile. “Hey, there,” he said, bracing for the expected verbal lashing.

An overlarge, empty glass fishbowl sat on the booth’s narrow countertop. It was where the kiss money was supposed to go, and in other years the thing had overflowed with bills. Elena didn’t spare it a glance as she slowly slid from a high stool to land on the soles of her sneakers. “What do you want?” she asked, her tone on the low end of the truculence scale.

Well, good. Apparently she didn’t immediately assume he was after a kiss, which would be sure to set her hackles rising. “I, um, just thought I’d say hi.”

“Yeah?” As usual, she wasn’t much impressed with him. “Hi.” Her gaze fell to the toes of her shoes.

Something about the short response put Logan on alert. The truth was, he’d accidentally and unfortunately stood her up two weeks ago, the night of the wedding rehearsal dinner. Given their past history and the daggers she’d thrown with her eyes all the way down the church aisle, he’d been convinced she’d take this opportunity to launch a full-on verbal assault.

“Is something wrong?” he asked warily.

Instead of answering, she flushed.

Logan’s jaw dropped. With her gaze still on her feet, he could only see the top of her head and the red color crawling up her neck. He didn’t know what to think. She was never subdued, shy or, for that matter, even civil around him. “Are you sick?” he asked.

Her head jerked up. “Is that what they’re saying?”

She sounded hopeful, Logan thought, still trying to comprehend her out-of-character reserve.

“Is that it?” she insisted, that hopeful note intensifying. “Does everyone think I’m contagious or something?”

He couldn’t lie to her. “No,” he answered, stepping forward. “But, uh, Elena…”

“Never mind.” She scuttled back against the stool. “I didn’t really think so.” As if to prove she was in her usual fine fettle, she lifted her chin to half glower at him.

Still puzzled, Logan studied her face. There was definitely a flush on her skin, and he was certain it wasn’t a fever or even a flush of ill temper. Hell. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible, was it? Was Elena truly bothered by her lack of business?

Damn it, that wouldn’t make things any easier. He’d come over here to help out the senior prom fund. To save noble knight Tyler from Elena’s wrath, and possibly a career in the rabbit industry. She’d murder Logan if she somehow leaped to the conclusion he was here to buy a kiss to save her from humiliation.

But Elena humiliated? It just didn’t seem possible.

Not sure what to believe, he decided to postpone immediate action by smiling again, trying once more to appear friendly. “Have you heard from Griffin and Annie?” The two were on their honeymoon, touring Europe.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “A postcard from France.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a sweet, genuine smile.

Uh-oh. At the sight of that enchanting smile, Logan felt his knees go weak. His brain stuttered as whatever amount of blood supposed to keep the top half of his body in working order instantly rushed lower.

Her eyes narrowed and her body stiffened. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded.

He sucked in a quick, desperate breath. “N-nothing.” With another breath, his voice got stronger. “Not a thing.”

She relaxed slightly, though her eyes remained watchful. “Okay.”

Whew. That was a close one. A really close one. Elena hated when a man displayed a reaction to her beauty. Particularly when he did. But it was an impossibly difficult thing to control so instead he just took great pains to hide it.

With a show of nonchalance, he stepped closer and leaned casually against the side of the booth. “I met your sister.”

Her face brightened, that smile threatening to blossom again. God, she was gorgeous.

“You met Gabby? She’s here?”

Logan nodded. “With Tyler Evans, who I’m guessing is her boyfriend.”

Elena shrugged. “I suppose. One of those casual things, though. Gabby’s going to UC Berkeley in the fall.” Her voice filled with pride. “Pre-med.”

Impressed, Logan raised his eyebrows. “Tyler just told me she’s an artist too.”

“Mm. A hobby.” She raised her shoulders in a little shrug. “But it’s her brains that will take her farthest.”

Her dismissal of Gabby’s other talents rankled Logan. “Yes, but—” He bit back the words, thinking better of exposing his personal raw spots. “I’m sure she’ll be a success at whatever she chooses.”

“That’s right,” Elena replied. “Gabby’s going to have everything. Perfect prom, perfect graduation—”

“Perfect pre-med college life,” he finished for her wryly.

She apparently hadn’t caught his tone because for once she smiled as if she really liked him. “Exactly. That’s what we’ve been working for.”

We? That earlier rankle edged into a strange worry. “Elena…”

“Hmm?” she said absently, her gaze drifting over his shoulder.

Logan turned, saw a man walking toward the kissing booth, then saw the man suddenly recognize the woman on the other side of the counter. The man abruptly spun about, and hastily got in line at the booth supporting the local children’s hospital, as if that was his chosen destination all the while.

“Well,” Logan said with a laugh. “It should be interesting to see how they do a Caribbean thread-wrap on that guy’s hair.” The man was completely bald.

When she didn’t answer, he swung around. Her eyes appeared so blue their color hit him like a blow, and he suddenly realized there were tears in them. He swallowed, feeling almost sick. “Elena—”

“Don’t. Don’t say anything.” Her voice was tight. “I’m in this dumb booth for Gabby. I don’t care, do you understand?”

Even though her eyes were watery, she could still pin him painfully with her glare. “And if you try to tell anybody, anybody I was crying over something as stupid as that man not wanting to buy a kiss from me, I’ll…I’ll…”

It was testament to how truly upset she was that she couldn’t complete her threat. “Boil my toes?” he offered helpfully, trying to give her a chance to recover. “Stick ants in my ears?”

That got her. “Ants in your ears?” She flicked one fallen tear away with her thumb. “Oh, just be quiet.”

“Elena—”

“Leave it alone, will you?” She’d blinked away the last of the tears, but her customary prickly armor wasn’t yet quite back in place.

“I’m sorr—”

“I told you. Leave it alone. My mood has nothing to do with the kissing booth. I’m just having a bad day.” She glared at him again. “Can’t I have a bad day?”

Since she generally caused bad days—his—he was unsure how to answer. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

“Everything,” she muttered, looking away. “You name it.”

Logan’s blood chilled. Something was wrong. Could it be man trouble? He hadn’t heard she was seeing anyone, and God knew it would take a special kind of man to knock that boulder-size chip off her shoulder, but…. But it made him damn angry to think someone could have gotten to her heart, then broken it. “Is it a man?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she answered, but still, she didn’t sound like herself and she didn’t meet his eyes.

“Who the hell is he?” Logan demanded.

She shot him a startled, sidelong look, then shook her head. “No, no. It isn’t like that.”

Not good enough. He still didn’t feel relieved. “What exactly is it like then?” he pressed.

That got her bristling again. “Logan—”

“What’s the trouble?” he said through his teeth, his anger unexpectedly jumping to match hers. “Tell me now.”

“Oh, fine!” Her gaze slammed into his. “If you really want to know, I’ll admit it. The trouble is this.” Her hand flew wildly in the direction of the empty fishbowl, and she made contact, sending it rocking. “It’s mortifying, okay?”

Ah. Well. Logan felt his surprising, unfamiliar surge of anger instantly subside into something quite different. Not that her words were anything to get all worked up about. Except that Elena O’Brien, the toughest, prickliest, least-likely-to-surrender woman he knew, had just admitted out loud she actually possessed normal, human feelings.

Suddenly the prospect of kissing her didn’t seem quite so dreadful after all.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, then smiled. It felt like a charming smile. “Hmm. Well. I may not be able to do a lot of things, but I can do something about—” he gestured toward the fishbowl “—that.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, her mouth bunching up. She could have been sucking on a lemon. “Don’t you dare!”

It occurred to him he should possibly be insulted by her apparent distaste. “What’s wrong now?” he said grumpily, hoping like hell she wasn’t going to be thorny about this.

“Logan.” Angry heat flared in her eyes. “Don’t you dare think about kissing me.”

Damn her. She was going to be thorny about this, and here he was, about to do her a favor.

Then her eyes narrowed even more. “Oh, I get it now. You think you’re doing me a favor, don’t you?”

While he tried to look properly wounded by her correct guess, she propped her hands on her hips and stomped closer to the counter. “Listen, Logan. I don’t need your pity.”

She was close enough that he could detect her scent. She wore an exotic fragrance that smelled like flowers heated by the sun. Logan tried thinking of some response to what she’d just said, but his head was suddenly spinning again.

She could tell that too. Her eyes rolled. “Uh!” She spun away.

He reached out, grabbed her wrist.

Elena froze. A tremor ran down her back then her head turned slowly toward him. She looked at his hand on her, then looked at his face. “Let go of me,” she said.

“No,” he answered. Her arm was quivering against his hand and Logan didn’t know if it was outrage or embarrassment or some combination of both. He hauled her closer, so that only the narrow wooden counter separated them.

Her breath was coming so hard and so fast that her astounding breasts were heaving against the cotton of her shirt. Staring at the sight, his brain whirled again and she almost used his distraction to pull away, but then some instinct deeper than lust made his hold tighten possessively.

“I don’t want your pity,” she said again.

“Pity,” he repeated. “You don’t know how much I wish I was going to do this out of pity.” He crowded closer to the counter, getting closer to her.

That flush was running up her neck again, past her mouth, over her cheeks. Her chin lifted. “Why is it then?” she hissed. “Don’t tell me. I can guess. It’s—”

“Don’t.” It was his turn to say the word. “You’re in the kissing booth and I’m buying one kiss. Hell, Elena. Let’s just leave it at that.”

He bent his head. He hadn’t kissed her in eleven years, since she was sixteen and he was eighteen. He hesitated now, because the memory of those kisses wasn’t something he was quite ready to relinquish. The reality of kissing Elena couldn’t be as good as he remembered.

Her body was trembling again and her eyes were snapping blue fire, but she wasn’t trying to get away and he knew he couldn’t get away with retreating from this kiss. Hell, it had been leading to this for the past few months, ever since they had met again. It was probably plain good sense to get it over with.

He covered her lips with his.

She inhaled sharply at the contact and he froze. Her body shook, and he dropped her wrist to cup her shoulders with his palms. He slid his tongue between her lips. Not into her mouth, just between her soft, full, how-could-he-have-forgotten-their-decadent-taste? lips.

She inhaled sharply again, unwittingly drawing in his tongue, and Logan’s senses, instead of whirling like the dervishes he expected, heightened. Focused.

From her throat came the tiniest of moans, the sound vibrating against his tongue. Her flower-scent bloomed around them and he tasted her desire in the heat of her mouth and in the way her tongue slid against his, as if she had to know its texture, too.

All his muscles tensed, every one, everywhere, going rock-solid. He pressed her mouth harder, took the kiss deeper, and even though he felt his blood rush through his body and his heartbeat jump to unprecedented speed, his mind remained crystal-clear, as if to sear this new kiss in his memory.

His eyes opened, and he saw hers as languid slits of blue, like pieces of hot summer sky. He saw it all in them: the attraction, the arousal and then he saw something else.

Vulnerability.

Oh, hell.

Blood pounding and every nerve howling in protest, Logan broke the kiss, slowly but surely easing Elena away. He knew she was staring at him, but he refused to meet her eyes. Instead, he concentrated on getting his breathing back to normal, while one hand slid into his pocket.

Just that morning he’d met a friend and traded his Beemer for a well-worn pickup and some big-billed cash. He pulled the wad of bills out now and looked at them, the numbers on the corners making as little sense to him as the advanced calculus formulas had in college. Blinking, he focused harder, found the one he wanted, pulled it free.

Still without looking at her, he dropped it in the fishbowl. Grover Cleveland’s face fluttered to the bottom.

He turned to go.

“Wait.”

Reluctantly he swung back and looked at Elena. She was completely recovered, he was relieved to see, except for the slightly swollen appearance of her lips. Her blue eyes were back to their usual cool and the one brow she raised was just as confident and saucy as always.

“The senior prom committee thanks you,” she said.

Logan released a silent sigh, immediately understanding the remark’s significance. It wasn’t Elena who thanked him, but the prom committee. Whew. He nodded, and found he was recovered enough himself to touch his forehead in a casual, two-fingered salute.

He turned and ambled away, feeling as if he’d just dodged a deadly bullet. Some sixth sense had warned him against letting that kiss go any further. He knew that if he’d made Elena helpless in his arms, she would never have forgiven him. And he knew he would never have been able to forget Elena.




Chapter Two


Her shift in the kissing booth over, Elena O’Brien pushed through the crowd in the direction she’d seen Logan take after he’d left her. Her fingers touched the folded bill stuffed in her pocket. It was the only thing that kept her going after him.

She’d rather be running in the opposite direction.

There was only one man who could make her feel adolescent-awkward. Only one man who could make her feel a half-shy, half-wild sixteen again, her shoes sliding off her heels because her abuela—grandmother—always bought them big for a growing girl. At sixteen she remembered her lips throbbing too, scrubbed clean at Nana’s insistence of the scarlet lipstick Elena wanted so badly to wear.

Only girls that were payo—trashy—painted their mouths. Girls who did such a thing—and in such a color!—got the wrong kind of attention from boys.

Her abuela, God rest her soul, had been right about that.

Now, all these years later, Elena didn’t have time for men and any kind of attention they might give her. Not when there was Gabby to think of and all the money that it would require to put her through college and then medical school. Elena was working two jobs already and, she thought with a sigh, she might have to pick up a third to pay for the damage the recent earthquake had done to the home she and Gabby had inherited from their grandmother.

Anyway, the truth was that Elena had lousy luck when it came to men. It wasn’t much hardship to sacrifice them so that her sister could achieve their dream.

Catching sight of broad shoulders and a dark golden head amongst those gathering around a small stage on her right, Elena’s feet paused of their own accord, her heart twitching in that stupid, childish way again. Despite the fact that Logan Chase was her best friend’s brother-in-law, she gave serious second thoughts to letting him live with his own mistake. She didn’t want another confrontation with him.

But she steeled her spine and headed his way, because she refused to be ruled by her ridiculous reactions to him. Pride demanded it. Anyway, he was never going to know how he affected her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She excused herself through the knot of people until she stood directly behind him. “Logan.” When he didn’t immediately turn, she touched his back.

Something jolted through her fingers, shooting up her arm. Logan jerked around.

“You,” he said, his brown eyes wide.

Elena stared. The word had briefly formed his mouth into a kiss and her lips started throbbing again. Not because he made her recall those lipstick scrubbings as she’d tried to tell herself before, but because not twenty minutes ago he’d pressed that mouth against hers. The kiss had spun her away from the kissing booth, from Strawberry Bay, even—unbelievably—from her worries and responsibilities.

Biting down on her betraying bottom lip, she shoved her hands in her pockets. The bill crackled against her fingers, reminding her she’d had a purpose beyond reliving that kiss to seek him out.

“You made a mistake,” she said, drawing out the thousand-dollar bill.

He glanced at the money, then back at her face. “Who’s in the kissing booth?”

Willing herself not to flush, she pretended she hadn’t admitted to him that her failure in the booth bothered her. “I took the first shift because everyone else had a conflict. This is the Homecoming Queen’s hour.”

“Ah.” His very white smile broke across his face, carving lines into his lean, tanned cheeks. “Good.”

Elena stiffened. “Yes, well, I’m sure she’ll have much better success.”

“Damn it, Elena.” Logan’s smile died and he pushed his dark gold hair behind his ears. It was longer than she’d ever seen it, almost messy, and it fell forward again immediately. He pushed at it once more, an awkward movement, as if he didn’t know how to manage the new length. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds.”

“How did you mean it then?” Oh, she was proud of herself for how cool she sounded. Almost uncaring.

He muttered something under his breath. “I—”

The rest of his words were cut off by a trumpet fanfare from the speakers set up nearby. Almost immediately a line of teeny tiny girls in pink tights, leotards, and tap shoes shuffle-stepped onto the stage. The line leader carried a sign proclaiming them to be Miss Bunny’s Tapping Tots. Applause erupted from the crowd around them.

Logan said something to her, but it was lost in the first notes of “The Good Ship Lollipop.” Elena shook her head and pointed at her ears to indicate she couldn’t hear, bringing her attention back to the bill in her hand.

She held it mutely up to him.

He shook his head.

She shook it in his face. “A mistake,” she mouthed.

When he didn’t respond, she gritted her teeth and grabbed his arm to tow him somewhere quiet. She was due at her second job in less than an hour.

The art show was set up a little ways from the stage, and the panels on which the paintings were hung muffled most of the music. Elena halted in the first aisle and faced Logan. “This is your money,” she said, holding out the bill. When he’d dropped it in the bowl, she hadn’t immediately noticed its denomination because she’d been distracted—okay, fine, dazzled—by their kiss.

A small smile playing over his wide mouth, he pushed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking down on her. He was a rangy six-one or six-two, much taller than her five-feet-and-almost-five-inches. Maybe that was why he always managed to make her feel like she was on her first date.

Or maybe that was because he had been her first date.

“That’s the kissing booth’s money,” Logan said.

She frowned at him. “Do you need glasses or something? This is a thousand-dollar bill!”

He shrugged. “You don’t think you’re worth it?”

She swallowed a sound of annoyance. This is what he did to her. He either made her feel clumsy, cross or a lethal combination of the two that played havoc with her self-control. “Logan.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s no big deal.” Her voice was even, reasonable. Very mature. “You accidentally put the wrong bill into the jar. Give me five bucks, I’ll give you this back, and we’ll be fine.”

He laughed. “We haven’t been fine since—”

“Since my best friend started going out with your brother.” Her path and Logan’s hadn’t crossed for years, but then Annie and Griffin had fallen in love.

“I was going to say we haven’t been fine since the night we met.”

In an instant, Elena’s mouth dried. She’d been newly sixteen, newly orphaned, new to town. He’d been eighteen, golden, a man in her eyes. Her heart jumped around in her chest just as it had done then and she felt the flush of sexual arousal bloom over her skin, just as it had done then too. He’d awakened her that night.

Then a week later humiliated her.

Her fingers tightened on the crisp paper and she looked down at it, then back up to his face. “What game are you playing?” she said slowly.

Now it was his turn to look annoyed. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you put this much money in the fishbowl?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. His hand lifted. Fell to his side in a fist. “You are too much work,” he finally ground out. “Can’t you just accept it as a donation?”

A thousand dollars for a kiss? A thousand-dollar donation for prom decorations? Her face felt stiff and she remembered all over again that Logan’s family owned Chase Electronics, the biggest employer in town. He’d grown up within the walls of an estate that was on California’s historic register.

“Pardon me for not understanding how little this is to the privileged set,” she said. “On my side of town a thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

“Elena, I didn’t mean it like that.” He shook his head, sighing. It sounded like frustration. “Would you believe me if I told you I wish it wasn’t always like this between us?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he wished it was between them. But that was dangerous, much too much like truly wishing, and though Logan had once upon a time awakened her with a kiss—kisses—she’d given up on princes and happy-ever-afters long ago.

Over his shoulder she spotted her sister with Tyler Evans, turning the corner to the next aisle. Elena frowned, her constant niggle of worry over Gabby growing as she caught sight of the teenagers’ entwined hands.

“Fine then,” she told Logan, shoving the thousand-dollar bill back into her pocket. “I’ll make sure your money gets to the committee.” Without waiting for his response, she trailed behind Gabby and Tyler.

Logan trailed her.

She turned her head to look at him. “Why are you following me?”

“Because, damn it, I’m never satisfied with the way things end between us.”

There was something hot in his eyes. She hated when he did that. At will, it seemed, he could put a sexual burn into his gaze. She was sure he did it to fluster her, so of course she’d die before she’d let him know that look made her knees quiver and her stomach flutter.

“Stop doing that.” She made sure she sounded irritated.

He shook his head, then put his hand on her arm, halting her movement. “Elena…”

Her body was trembling, it was horribly embarrassing, but it was. She tensed her muscles, hoping he wouldn’t detect her helpless reaction to his touch. What an unsophisticate he’d consider her if he knew.

“Elena.” His voice softened, hoarsened. That heat in his brown eyes was melting the strength she counted on for survival. “You are so madden—”

“Elena! Someone bought my painting!”

At the sound of her sister’s voice, Elena found the will to pull away from the spell of Logan’s gaze and touch. She turned to face the approaching Gabby, Tyler a bit behind her. “What, Gabriellita?”

Gabby’s face was flushed and her eyes sparkled. “I sold my very first painting!”

Elena tried to catch up to her sister’s excitement. “You brought your art to the show.” She vaguely remembered Gabby telling her that she and Tyler were each submitting a painting, but the details had gotten lost in all the other details of their busy life.

Gabby nodded. “Mr. Barger—he’s the one in charge of the art show—said it sold about ten minutes ago. And Mrs. Eddleston from the bank is writing a check for Tyler’s painting right now.”

Her little sister looked as though she was about to pop, and it made Elena grin.

“Congratulations, Gabby.” It was Logan.

Gabby’s head jerked up and she blinked, as if noticing him for the first time. Hot color rushed across her face. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”

Confused, Elena looked between Gabby and Logan. “What’s going on?”

“I bought the painting,” Logan said, his gaze on Gabby. “You can verify it with Mr. Barger, by the way, that I didn’t realize who the artist was until after the sale.”

Elena turned to look at him, still bewildered. “You bought a painting?”

There was a funny expression on Logan’s face. “I’ve just moved and I could use something for my walls. The painting…” He cleared his throat, shrugged, looked away. “Called to me.”

There was a buzzing in Elena’s ears. “Wh—” She had to stop, start again. “Which painting, exactly, did you show today, Gabby?”

Her sister gulped. Audibly.

“No,” Elena protested, her voice swallowed up by horror.

Gabby nodded, an expression somewhere between mischief and apology in her eyes. “Elena in Bed.”

Elena’s gaze flew to Logan, even as a flush moved just as quickly from her toes to her forehead. Forget worrying about looking sixteen. Because now the man had bought the right to look at her—all day and all night if he wanted.

And though she appeared decent enough in the painting, it didn’t help her state of mind to know—and Logan likely suspected—that beneath those covers she’d been stark naked.



Late Sunday afternoon, Logan blasted U2 through his stereo speakers as inspiration while he stripped the fourteen coats of paint covering the banister of the stairway in his three-story Victorian. His fingers ached from his grip on the scraper, his back would never be the same after spending the day half-bent, and he was stooping because his knees were already bruised to hell and back. But he’d never been happier in his life, he thought, singing along with Bono. Yeah, man. It was a beautiful day.

It took a while for a muffled banging to distinguish itself from the drumline of the song. Someone was knocking on his front door.

Logan descended the steps at a jog, then paused to turn down the stereo before approaching the foyer. With his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated. Maybe he should—

No, even if it was good ol’ Jonathon Chase, his father, intent on another turn of the guilt screws, it was too late to pretend he wasn’t home. Bracing himself, he pulled open the door.

Elena stood on the other side, looking as surprised to see him as he was to see her. They stared at each other for a moment, then she blinked, her gaze traveling down, then back up to meet his.

“You’re, um, dirty,” she pointed out, her voice as surprised as her expression.

He nodded, his own gaze involuntarily zeroing in on her full mouth. Dirty in his mind too, he could have added, because he’d been dwelling on that kiss they’d shared. Not to mention all the time he’d spent studying his new art acquisition, Elena in Bed.

Uh-oh. He suddenly had a very good idea about why the beautiful bane of his life was standing on his doorstep. She’d made some vague threats before hurrying off the day before about getting the painting back.

No, he resolved instantly. No way. It was his! It felt damn good to have something she wanted for once. What other man could say that?

“May I come in?” she asked.

Oh, she wanted the painting bad, Logan decided, because she was actually managing to sound sort of friendly.

Which immediately edged up the dial on his Trouble Meter. It was best not to let her inside. Call it a premonition, call it learning from past mistakes, but he and Elena did not do well in close proximity. Consider that kiss. No, better not. Not when she was so near.

He stepped out onto the porch, trying to invent a polite refusal. Hustle her toward home. Out of his life, good. Without his painting. Very good.

But now, a few steps closer to her and with his initial surprise out of the way, his eyes widened again. Elena appeared exhausted. Strangely defenseless too, with her sumptuous curves swallowed up by a white T-shirt and a baggy pair of denim overalls.

With a pale face and tired shadows beneath her baby blues, she was also so gut-wrenchingly gorgeous it made a man want to slay her dragons as much as he wanted to seduce her. Cursing his own weakness, he found himself turning right around to usher her inside.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, directing her toward the front room. Layers of wallpaper were peeled back from the plaster in long curls. Pink stripes over yellow flowers over a design that might once have been green but was now grayish.

She paused in the middle of the room, taking in the bay window, the wallpaper curls, the two old recliners—one with duct tape on the seat—that faced a big-screen TV sitting on a platform of cinder block and plywood. He watched TV sometimes while he worked. The recliners had been left behind by the previous homeowner.

She looked over at him, her expression amazed. “You do actually live here. Your mother gave me this address when I called but I wasn’t sure I understood her correctly.”

Logan gestured toward the recliner sans duct tape, and then frowned as he watched her drop to the seat with a little sigh. She seemed glad to have something beneath her.

“Oh, Mom has the story straight,” he replied, scrutinizing Elena even more closely. “Can I get you something to eat? A beer? Soda?”

She waved a weary hand. “Whatever.”

When he came back in with two bottles of beer in one hand and a plate of cold pizza in the other, Elena was collapsed against the back cushion of her chair. He handed her a bottle and put the pizza on the scarred end table between the two recliners, nudging over the remote control to make room.

She took a long swallow of beer then cast him a look. “You really quit Chase Electronics?”

He took a chug from his own bottle. “Yep.”

“You moved out of your condo and bought this Victorian. On my side of town.”

“Yep. Though the condo is actually Griffin’s. He and Annie will live in it when they get back from the honeymoon. Until they find their own house, anyway.”

“You quit Chase Electronics,” Elena repeated as if still not quite believing it, then took a longer swallow from her bottle.

“And I bought my buddy Reuben’s rehab business—which doesn’t mean much more than his tools and this house which he was only half finished converting into apartments. But he wanted to move to Oregon with his girlfriend and I wanted to break the chains tying me to my desk at Chase Electronics. A match made in heaven.”

“You know how to do all this?” She gestured with her beer toward the wallpaper and then the bay windows. Half the trimwork around them was missing, the other half was shedding paint coat number fifteen.

He shrugged. “We’ll find out.”

Her jaw dropped.

He laughed. “It’s not as reckless as it sounds. Though I got my MBA at Stanford, I have an undergraduate degree in Industrial Arts. I’ve always wanted to work with my hands.”

It had been his brother almost passing up on love and his parents celebrating forty years of a merger instead of a marriage, to wake Logan up to that fact. He’d opened his eyes to find himself tied to a dreary job in the family company and also tied to an almost-fiancé. Both fulfilled other people’s expectations—but didn’t do a thing for him.

Elena drank from her beer again. “Your father…”

“Is predicting disaster. Me on my knees begging for my old position back at Chase Electronics.”

“You look determined to prove him wrong.”

“Yeah.” Logan had overcomplicated his life for years by going along with dear old dad, but it was simple now. He’d focus solely on building his business—a business that would satisfy him. “People are interested in restoring the Victorians and California bungalows around town—even more so since last summer’s earthquake damaged several of them.”

At the mention of the earthquake, she frowned and then quickly drained her beer and carefully set the bottle on the floor. “Well, I’m sure both of us have better things to do. I came to pick up my painting.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You mean my painting?”

Her lips compressed in annoyance. “I’m paying you for it,” she said, patting the pants pocket of her overalls.

“I never said I’d sell it.”

“Logan. I didn’t have time for this yesterday, I had to get to work. But there’s no point in arguing. I have the money.” Her hand went to her pocket again as she jumped to her feet. Then she swayed, looking dizzy.

Logan rose in concern as she put an unsteady hand on the back of her chair. “Elena?”

She blinked at him. “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I just stood up too fast.”

He took a step toward her anyway.

Thank God. It gave him enough time to catch her as she fell.

He figured she was fainting. Or maybe she was passing out from a combination of no food and that one beer. Either way, he expected she’d keep her mouth shut.

But cradled in his arms as he climbed the stairs toward his second-floor apartment, Elena gave him grief.

“Put me down. I’m fine. Just a little tired or something. Put me down. Let go. I stood up too fast. I’m fine. Put me down.”

He let her drone on, which she did, of course, until he dropped her onto the mattress in his bedroom. Then he told her to shut up.

Unnecessary, though. Because her mouth had snapped closed, mid complaint, when she saw what he’d hung on the wall opposite his bed.

Damn.

Her gaze moved to him accusingly and she struggled to her elbows. “You told me yesterday that you wouldn’t hang it! You promised.”

He shook his head. “I promised I wouldn’t let anyone see it. But enough about that. You need to lie back and rest.”

“I need to get my painting back!”

Double damn.

He sighed. “It’s my painting, darling. And you’re not going anywhere until we figure out why you went down for the count. Should I call a doctor?”

“Of course not.” She sat up.

His hand on her shoulder, he forced her back to the pillows. “Did you eat today?”

She looked ready to take a bite out of him. “I assisted at the cooking school this morning. We made seven-grain waffles with strawberry syrup. I’m sure I took a taste.”

A taste. “And then what?” he asked.

“And then I spent a few hours wading through the summer admission applications stacking up in my office, if that’s any of your business.”

Though officially an “administrative assistant,” Logan had heard she virtually ran the admissions office at the local community college single-handedly. He shook his head. “Elena, it’s Sunday. You worked two jobs today and you went to work yesterday as well. No wonder you’re dead on your feet.”

She glared at him. “Some of us can’t afford to sneer at overtime.” One hand slid into her pocket and the other grabbed his. Paper slapped against his palm. “There. Your money.”

Instead of green bills, he looked down at a section of the newspaper folded into a small rectangle. “What’s this?”

She made a little huff of irritation and fished through her other pocket. “A mistake.” She drew out a wad of cash. “Here.”

He avoided accepting it by unfolding the newspaper to glance at the circled ads. “You’re moving?”

“Temporarily. If I can find something we can afford for a month or two.”

“Why?” He looked at her over the top of the newspaper.

She sighed. “They did another round of earthquake inspections in my area and guess what? They found serious damage to our foundation. Gabby and I have to be out while it’s being repaired.”

“No earthquake insurance?”

Her blue eyes tried to wither him. “I don’t own any diamond mines either,” she said, then swung her legs over the bed to sit up.

She had to flatten her free hand to the mattress to steady herself and her face seemed to go paler.

That sign of vulnerability made him feel a little sick. “Are you having any luck finding someplace to live?”

She took a fortifying breath. “On my budget? Not yet. But I have a few other places to check out today.”

“Today? Hell, Elena, you don’t even have the strength to stand up.”

She didn’t protest, but she didn’t agree either. Instead, she mutely held out the wad of cash.

He hesitated, mulling something over in his mind. If he made the offer, certainly she’d refuse. But hey, that was smart, he thought, because just the offer alone would earn him Good Guy points. In the game of Elena vs. Logan, nobody knew better than he that he needed all he could get.

She flopped the cash at him, both the bills and the gesture tired-looking. That did it. Witnessing yet another crack in that tough shell of hers made his stomach roll over and his last shred of self-preservation play dead.

“I’ll give you the painting back on one condition,” he said. “That you and Gabby move in here with me.”

Her eyes widened. Oh yeah, Logan thought with great relief, she was gonna say no. And he was gonna get to keep Elena in Bed where she belonged.




Chapter Three


“I really had no choice, Gabby,” Elena said a week later, avoiding her sister’s eyes as she shoved another duffel bag into the already stuffed trunk of her car.

“I didn’t say anything,” Gabby answered, her voice threaded with a hint of laughter.

“No, but I can hear what you’re thinking,” Elena replied grumpily, then slammed the lid of the trunk with more ferocity than necessary. “Believe me, if there was another option we wouldn’t be moving in with Logan.”

Gabby didn’t answer. Elena turned to watch her sister slide more boxes into the back seat of their old four-door sedan. Her graceful movements and the sweet expression on Gabby’s face distracted Elena from her bad mood.

Her younger sister was precious to her, she thought in a sudden rush. Gabby summed up all the best qualities of the women in their family. She was beautiful, like their mother, but also full of Nana’s good sense. And, like Elena, she didn’t shrink from hard work.

Her sister had managed to avoid their flaws though, thank God. Their mother, Luisa, had carried an air of resigned sadness from the moment her husband had left her until the day she died. Nana hadn’t wanted much from life, but that meant she expected too little too—both for herself and the two granddaughters she’d taken into her home after their mother’s death. Marriage, babies, a man to provide, that was what their grandmother had told them to want, over and over again. She’d never considered that her granddaughters might desire something different for themselves.

She’d never considered that Elena had learned, in a few painful lessons, that it was foolish to depend on a man for anything.

As Gabby turned to take another box from her boyfriend Tyler, the sweet smile she gave him made clear she was much more trusting than Elena. It was one of two of Gabby’s traits that made Elena uneasy.

“You’re sure my art supplies are in your car?” Gabby asked Tyler.

That was the other.

Elena worried that her sister’s preoccupation with her hobby of sketching and painting might affect their long-term goal—Gabby’s medical degree. “You don’t need to worry about your college information either,” she told Gabby. “It’s in the bright-blue accordion file, right there between the front seats. We won’t lose sight of that.”

“No,” her sister replied, sending Tyler a pained look.

A look Elena decided to ignore. “I guess that’s all we can fit for our first trip. When we come back we’ll figure out some way to strap the futons and the table on the roof.” Making a mental note to find some rope, she circled the car and pulled open the driver’s side door.

“I’ll ride with Tyler,” Gabby said.

Elena frowned, worry niggling at her again. It wasn’t that she begrudged her sister time with her boyfriend, but shouldn’t they be weaning themselves from all this companionship? They would be heading off to separate colleges in a few months, after all— Gabby hours away at Berkeley and Tyler at the prestigious art school thirty minutes south of Strawberry Bay.

“All right,” she finally agreed, with a little sigh. “But listen, both of you, no bothering Logan when we get to the house, okay?”

Gabby looked as if she was holding back a smile. “I don’t think Tyler and I are the ones who bother him.”

Elena made a face at her. “Ha ha. What I mean is…I don’t want him, um, involved with us, you understand?”

Gabby shook her head. “Elena, we’re going to be living at the man’s house for goodness sake. How are we going to manage to keep ourselves uninvolved?”

“We’re staying in a separate apartment in his house. There are two on the second floor. One is his, one is ours.” She looked down at the keys in her hand, trying to make clear—if just in her own mind—how she wanted this co-habitation to proceed. “We’re there not as family of course, not even as friends, but purely on a business basis.”

“I thought we were getting the apartment for free.”

Tyler spoke up for the first time. “Sounds pretty friendly to me.”

Elena glared at them both. “We have a bargain. You’re right, no money is changing hands, but it’s still strictly business.”

Gabby giggled and then stage-whispered to Tyler, “She’s letting him keep Elena in Bed.”

An embarrassed heat crawled up Elena’s neck. “It seemed sensible, Gabby. We need every penny we can save.”

Gabby shared a laughing look with Tyler. “Oh yeah, big sister. Very sensible. Very uninvolving.”

Instead of defending herself, Elena jumped in the car and drove off. Brats. But she found herself smiling as she glimpsed the two of them in her rearview mirror, following in Tyler’s fancy SUV. Despite their smart mouths, they did make an adorable couple, Gabby’s exotic looks a foil for Tyler’s blond all-American handsomeness.

And he did adore her sister. Though their breakup was inevitable, she didn’t think he would hurt Gabby in the same way that Elena herself had been hurt by boys like him. The way their mother had been hurt by their father.

It took less than five minutes to reach Logan’s large but run-down Victorian. It still surprised her, even though a week had gone by since her first visit, that he’d quit his job as a vice president of the Chase family company. And it surprised her even more that he’d left the posh side of town to live in this blue-collar neighborhood.

The homes here were a mix of old Victorians and bungalows, along with newer, modest dwellings and apartment buildings. It wasn’t that the area was seedy, or even particularly neglected, but the people in this part of Strawberry Bay worked long hours at demanding, often labor-intensive jobs. The kind of jobs that left little money, time or energy for the kind of niceties found on the pages of Martha Stewart’s Living or Better Homes & Gardens.

Elena climbed the chipped cement steps to Logan’s house and knocked briskly on the front door. When there was no answer, she let out a relieved breath and searched her pockets for the house keys he had given her.

By the time she’d found them, Tyler and Gabby had joined her on the porch. Inserting the key in the lock, she hesitated before opening the door. “It doesn’t look like he’s home right now, but just remember we don’t want him—”

“Involved,” Gabby and Tyler said together.

Elena thought they were laughing at her again, so she gave them a quelling look then pushed on the door. When the first floor appeared Logan-less too, Elena left the door standing wide open. “We might as well bring some things in before going upstairs.”

They returned to the cars parked at the curb and helped each other load up. With an overstuffed duffel slung over each shoulder, a toiletries bag hanging on each elbow and two large cardboard boxes balanced in her arms, Elena led the way up the two flights of steps to the second floor. Similarly burdened, Gabby and Tyler followed her. The door to their apartment was at the top of the stairs, while Logan’s was farther down the hall. Elena paused, then groaned.

“What is it?” Gabby’s voice came out muffled, her face half-hidden by the boxes she carried.

“The keys are in the back pocket of my pants.” Elena tried shifting the weight of her burdens to one arm. One of the duffels slid down her upper arm, nearly unbalancing her as it smacked into the smaller bag at her elbow. “I’ll have to put some of this down,” she muttered, trying to figure exactly how to do that in the narrow hallway.

A voice spoke in the vicinity of the top of her head. “Need help?”

Elena froze, then carefully swung toward the sound. Logan.

“I thought I heard someone at the front door but I was in my apartment on the phone.”

He looked at perfect ease and perfectly decked out in a pair of heavy cotton khakis and a silky black T-shirt. His dark gold hair gleamed in the shadowy hall and Elena suddenly pictured herself as he would see her—her hair in two messy braids and her oldest jeans grubby.

“Making a hot date for martinis at the country club?” she asked, hoping she sounded more sneering than self-conscious.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, looking so cool and so amused that she wanted to kick him. “Jealous?” he asked softly.

“You wish,” she retorted.

“True.” His white smile deepened at the joke and she wanted to kick him again. Or kiss him. Again. He looked over her head. “Hi there, Gabby. Tyler. You two need some help? It appears Elena is her usual capable self and doesn’t have a single use for me.”

“We need into the apartment,” Gabby answered.

“The keys are in Elena’s back pocket and she can’t reach them,” Tyler added.

Before she could step away, threaten or even scream, Logan reached around her. Three long fingers slid inside her left rear pocket, the movement caressing her backside. “Here?” he asked innocently.

Elena stiffened. Less than ten minutes after her last vow not to involve him in her life, and he was already involved in her pants. Before she could betray herself and shiver, she did what she must.

She dropped everything she was carrying.

On Logan’s feet.

He yelped and jumped back. She smiled sweetly and slowly retrieved her keys from her other pocket. “You’re right,” she said, opening the door to her apartment with a flourish. “I don’t have a single use for you.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes again as he watched her shove the boxes and bags forward with her foot. “With the exception of my available—and rent-free—apartment,” he said.

“You have the painting.” She slid him a warning look. “For now.”

Gabby and Tyler trooped inside with their burdens. Before she could follow, Logan’s voice stopped her.

“What do you mean ‘for now’?” he asked. “We have a deal. You get the apartment and I get the painting.”

Her back to him, she took a breath, almost swooning when she caught the scent of his delicious, expensive-smelling aftershave. It reminded her of the kiss he’d given her last week. He’d smelled delicious then too. His face had been freshly shaven and she’d wanted to rub her cheek under his jaw. She’d wanted to run her tongue across his lips.

“Elena?” He said her name softly, as if he sensed her desire.

Snapping to attention, she spun to face him. She shoved her hands in her front pockets, her pose aggressive, her face scowling. She was supposed to stay uninvolved and here she was thinking things that made her knees weak. “What?” she bit out.

He couldn’t ever know he made her weak.

One of his eyebrows made a long trek up his forehead, and he stepped closer to her. “Forgotten already, darling? I was reminding you of our deal. You get the apartment for as long as you and Gabby need it. I get the painting. Forever.”

She could smell him again. Her heartbeat kicked up and she had to force her gaze off his mouth. “I’ve reconsidered,” she said, tilting her chin. “My side of the bargain is too generous. For six weeks I get the apartment and for those same six weeks, only six weeks, you get the painting.” She pointedly turned her back on him and went into the apartment, pretending not to notice he was right behind her.



As his new housemates bustled about their apartment’s small living room, Logan shook his head. Elena was up to her usual tricks.

She’d reneged in their original deal to irritate him. As always, she was working hard to push him away. But now he found himself with a hankering to know exactly why she wanted him to keep his distance. He had suspicions about that. Intriguing suspicions that had entered his mind just as he’d teasingly slid his hand over her luscious, rounded backside in “search” of the keys.

What he’d seen on her face in response to his touch wasn’t that unsettling vulnerability in the kissing booth, it wasn’t that purely physical weakness of the following day, it wasn’t her customary prickliness.

Yet what had waved off her could very well be the cause of all that prickliness. If he was right, if what he’d briefly glimpsed was Elena responding to him as a woman…well, that was just too interesting a possibility to leave alone.

He’d spent the last few months—since the beginning of Griffin and Annie’s courtship—at the mercy of Elena’s beauty and her sharp tongue. Now she was living with him, and even when she moved back to her own place, her best friend’s marriage to his brother would mean they’d be together often. It would be a hell of a lot easier for him if their relationship was on a more equal footing. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found the key to that equality.

So, sorry Elena. He wasn’t backing off. There was no time like the present to determine whether she felt at least some of the pull of attraction that he did.

Gabby and Tyler acted as his unspoken but willing accomplices. Throwing him an assessing look, Elena’s sister “innocently” remarked they could use a truck to retrieve a final few items. With a grin, Tyler one-handedly caught the pickup’s keys when Logan immediately fished them from his pocket and tossed them over. They both emphatically declared the errand required only two pairs of hands.

Elena was frowning as the apartment door closed behind them. Then she turned on him like a cat about to sharpen her claws on her favorite scratching post. “What did you do that for?”

A tower of white bath towels was stacked in her arms. Ignoring the question, Logan approached her and she stepped back, until the heels of her sneakers bumped a cardboard box. “What’s got you so jumpy?” he asked, his voice mild. “It couldn’t be because we’re alone, could it?”

She shook her head, her face stony. “I don’t like Gabby and Tyler alone. That’s what I worry about.”

Logan slid his arms under Elena’s and cupped her elbows in his palms. He watched her swallow.

“What are you doing?” Her question sounded more uncertain than annoyed.

He slid his hands across her skin then lifted the towels. “Helping out. Do you want these in the bathroom?”

She hugged herself. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.” He didn’t think she was aware she was making little circles on her skin with her palms, right where he’d touched her. It was as if she was trying to erase the sensation—or perhaps her reaction?

He hid his satisfaction by turning in the direction of the bathroom. Once inside, he flipped on the light with his elbow, then piled the neatly folded towels on the open shelves above the commode. Turning back toward the door, he met his own eyes in the mirror.

He looked pleased. And eager.

Too pleased. Too eager.

Damn. That gave him pause…and second thoughts. A short while ago he’d broken up with his long-time girlfriend because he’d realized their relationship was nothing more than a habit. That wasn’t the problem with Elena, of course, but he was supposed to be simplifying his life right now—focusing on working on the house and building his business. Nothing else.

Heading out of the bathroom, he decided then and there against any more Elena-exploration. Because who was he kidding? Toying with her would only lead to him being ice-burned or hornet-stung or worse. This particular female regularly armed herself with foot-long, razor-sharp thorns. He’d be much better off—safer—heading back to his own apartment.

As he reentered her living room though, Elena’s voice caused his feet to stumble. The sound was breathy, soft.

She was singing in Spanish.

A lullaby.

At the other end of the room, she sat cross-legged on a folded comforter, her back to him. He couldn’t see what she was crooning to, but her body was curved over an object in her arms as she rocked back and forth.

Her hair was parted down the center and a braid fell over the front of each shoulder. The style left the nape of her neck bare and with his eyes he traced the fragile-looking bumps of her vertebrae. They pushed against her thin T-shirt until it disappeared in the waistband of her jeans.

A hot, heavy river coursed down his own spine. He walked toward her quietly, drawn forward almost against his will by her siren’s song.

“What are you doing?” He touched her shoulder.

She jerked. A swathe of goose bumps rose on the exposed skin between her hairline and the neck of her T-shirt. Her head whipped toward him, a blush rushing across her cheeks. Her mouth opened, then closed. “I thought you’d left,” she finally said helplessly. “How embarrassing.”

Puzzled, he hunkered down and peered over her shoulder. “Why? What’s going on?”

She hunched over whatever was in her arms. “You’re going to laugh.”

“No, I’m not.”

She narrowed her eyes and sent him another look over her shoulder. “If the tables were turned, I’d laugh at you.”

Now he was really curious. “Yeah? But I’m nicer than you are.”

“Nicer?” She appeared to consider that for a moment. “This from the man who eleven years ago—”

“Cut it out, Elena.” It was so clear to him now that her needling was a form of self-preservation. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

She sighed. “I’m taking a college course.”

“On top of two jobs and the volunteer work you’re doing for the senior prom?”

“I’m working on my bachelor’s degree one class at a time.” She uncurled her body. “This semester it’s Twenty-First Century Womanhood.”

Logan leaned nearer to see what she’d been holding so protectively.

Against her full breasts. That was the first thing he noticed. So sue him, but this close and from this angle, they were truly eye-catching—throat-drying—the plump curves outlined faithfully in clingy T-shirt fabric. Nestled between them, Elena pressed a small blanket-wrapped bundle of twin—

“Eggs?” he asked, suddenly bewildered.

The faint beep of a wristwatch sounded and Elena stood up, her shoulder nearly clipping his nose. She walked away from him and he rose to follow her into the kitchen. He watched as she carefully placed her blanket bundle in a shoebox lined with cotton batting that sat on the counter.

He blinked. “What are they?”

“Who are they,” she corrected. “Fred and Ethel. Fred and Wilma. Freddie and Krueger. Take your pick. I can’t seem to decide.”

He stared at Elena, then down at the ordinary-looking chicken eggs she was caring for as if they were…babies. “Ah. This is some kind of motherhood experiment?”

“Motherhood experience. We’ve been assigned to keep a journal describing what it’s like to be a single parent in the era of sperm donors and multiple births.” She turned her attention to her watch, resetting the alarm. “It’s similar to what kids do in high schools. I’m required to spend a certain amount of time each day caring for the babies.”

He thought of her singing that lullaby, her voice gentle, her pose maternal and almost…serene. It was the most relaxed he’d ever seen her. “You looked—now don’t take this the wrong way—sweet.”

You would have thought he’d insulted her. “I’m not sweet!”

“Well, no, not usually. At least not to me.”

She tried shrinking him again with the laser beam of her blue eyes. “Not to anyone.”

He smiled, because he liked the sound of that. Then he settled back on his heels. Even with all her thorns firmly in place, he didn’t feel like leaving now. Not when he could still hear her voice in his head, not when he remembered those goose bumps that had gathered in response to his hand on her shoulder.

Just an inch, that was all he was asking. If he could prove to both of them that he could get beneath her skin just a scant inch, then he could go back to his new life a happy man, secure in the knowledge that the next time he encountered her he would be better insulated. The thought made his smile widen.

“What are you grinning about?” she asked.

He angled his head, considering what had prompted his change of heart. A few minutes ago in the bathroom he’d decided she was too dangerous to take any further risks with. But now that he’d caught her singing to yolks, well…

“For the first time in our acquaintance, I’m finding you kind of cute.”

She blinked. “Cute?”

He wanted to laugh. Poor Elena. With her looks, men had probably been a constant source of flattery—wanted or not. But no one would ever have labeled her devastating package of femininity cute. She looked as if she didn’t know whether to approve or be appalled.

“Really cute,” he murmured.

She blinked again. “Next you’re going to tell me I have a great personality.”





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