Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic (15 page)

Something flickered in his eyes, but Scottie could only guess at the fleeting emotion she saw. Loss. Loneliness. Perhaps a combination of the two. Grief.

He suddenly became all too human to her; made vulnerable and threatened by past events he had no control over. She’d seen him like this one other time. When he was dreaming about Sarah. She now understood there was grief in that history too. She wanted to ask, wanted to help. He gave her the chance to do neither.

“My dad cut it in half when they split up. It was a couple months later. He gave the other half to her. A memento, I guess. I don’t know if she even kept it.”

She looked from the photo up to Logan. He towered over her, but suddenly she wasn’t so afraid of him.
“But you’re hoping Lucas has it. As some kind of proof?”

“I think just looking at him would be proof enough, don’t you?”

She ignored his sarcasm. “Proof of family then. Proof of where you came from.”

His dark expression shuttered further, but he said nothing.

“Do you know why they split up? Why they never told you about your brother? Or him about you?”

He held her gaze for what felt like an hour. She didn’t think he would answer. Then he said flatly, “As a kid I was told she died. I don’t know what really happened. My father didn’t tell me until he was so far gone he could barely talk. He used what energy he had left trying to convince me to look for Lucas. Maybe he knows the truth.”

“Did you really need convincing?”

“I was stunned. I was angry at him for lying to me all these years.” He fell silent for a moment, his gaze unfocused, as if he were looking inward. She didn’t break the silence.

“Later,” he continued, his tone more subdued, “after he died, none of that mattered to me, all that mattered was finding my brother, which I would have done whether or not Blackie had begged me to.”

Scottie could tell that it did still matter to him. He had a lot of unresolved feelings about what his father had done, and how he’d gone about trying to rectify it. It told her volumes that wouldn’t be found in any report about how deeply Logan felt about his father.

Her own thoughts turned inward. “You were fortunate to have a parent who loved you that way and allowed
you to love him back,” she said quietly, not realizing she had given voice to her thoughts until the words were out.

Instead of inviting questions or further confidences, her comment seemed to jerk him out of his reverie. His expression hardened once again. “Find anything else interesting in there?” He nodded toward the hidden stash under her hands.

He made no move to bend down or interfere with her in any way, but she instinctively slid her fingers a little farther onto the gun handle. For those few moments she’d forgotten how they’d come to discuss the subject of his family.

It was clear he hadn’t.

“Just your pretty basic wallet stuff. I didn’t take any money,” she added with what she hoped passed for a dry smile. “You can count it if you like.”

He didn’t respond to her attempt at levity. Instead he crouched down. She could feel the chill emanating from his clothes. It was the one emanating from his eyes that truly froze her in place.

“You got any other questions you want to ask me, Detective Commander?” His voice was black-silk slick and just as cold.

She worked hard to maintain even a semirelaxed posture. “I thought we’d already established that there are some things I’d like to know.”

His gaze dropped directly to the passport, then cut back to her. The light that came into his eyes was faintly mocking. “Yeah, I just bet you do.”

“Let me clean up here and we can talk in the living room.” She didn’t phrase it as an offer. Without waiting for a reply, she slipped the photo and papers back in the
envelope. He had to have been spying on her long enough to know she hadn’t seen what was on the papers. It was unlikely he’d show her now. She put the wallet and the envelope back in the hole on top of the gun and passport.

She pushed the mattress off her legs and moved to stand up, only to find herself unceremoniously hauled to her feet by a hand latched around her upper arm. She came up flush against him, tilting her head back in order to see his face, a face which presently appeared to be carved from granite. She found herself looking at his mouth and remembering his wide, easy grins. At the moment, it seemed almost impossible to believe he was capable of producing those grins, just as it seemed impossible to believe those lips had been intimately involved with her own.

“Keep looking at my mouth like that and I might get the wrong idea about why you want to talk to me.”

His voice was a low vibration that made her shudder … and not with fear or revulsion. “I—” She tugged at her arm. It might as well have been trapped in a vise. “I … let me straighten the room up. Thanks for helping me get off the floor.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “You know, talking is highly overrated. There are other, more effective ways to communicate.”

She thought of the mattress lying literally at their feet. She remembered lying beneath him with broken shafts of wood poking her back and his chains digging into her stomach. Even then he’d “communicated” just fine.

“Communicating like—” She broke off and cleared
her suddenly tight throat. “Communicating like that would effectively end my career.”

“Is your career in that much jeopardy?”

“Do you always seduce and interrogate at the same time?”

He surprised her with a soft laugh. “It worked for James Bond.”

She pulled her head back and looked him in the eye. “Is that what you are, Logan? Or should I call you Grant?”

His smile remained, but the teasing light that had just returned to his eyes winked out. She shouldn’t have regretted it.

“Cleanup time is over,” he announced abruptly. Without warning he stepped over the pile of sheets, out the door, and yanked her along behind him. She barely kept herself from tripping over the corner of the mattress and had to hop over the linens.

By the time she regained her balance and could make a move designed to free herself, she found herself flung onto the couch. He hadn’t done it harshly, but it earned him the expected result.

She rubbed her newly released arm and aimed a pointed look at him, but stayed where she was, watching him as he paced in front of the couch. “A simple, ‘have a seat’ would have been sufficient. If you recall, I was the one who suggested we talk. You were the one who suggested that we—”

He spun around, nailing her with a heated look the instant she stopped herself from finishing. “That we what, Scottie? Say it.”

“Listen, we’re two people, stuck in a cabin, there’s a lot of tension and some of it’s sexual. Okay, I admit it.
That’s normal. It doesn’t mean we have to do something about it.”

He stopped and planted his hands on his hips. “I think it would beat the hell out of what we’ve been doing so far.”

“Well, you’ll have to pardon me if I don’t strip naked and jump on you because it’s more fun than doing my job.”

The anger and frustration left his expression. All that remained was the heat. “As far as I can tell, your job is to make my life miserable for the next few days. So yes, I can damn well guarantee that it would be a whole lot more fun doing it my way.” He stalked toward the couch. Scottie pushed back against the sagging cushions. What exactly was he planning to do? And did she want to stop him from doing it?

Her thoughts came to a halt when he stopped in front of her and bent over, placing his hands on the back of the couch, on either side of her shoulders. His face was now inches from hers. She’d spent a lot of time being close to him. For some reason this time was different from any of the others. Then she realized what it was.

This time he wasn’t chained up.

“What is it you’re really afraid of, Scottie? Losing your job? I don’t think so.” He dropped his gaze to her lips, then back to her eyes. “You know, there’s more than one way to chain a man to a bed.”

She swallowed, a difficult task on a suddenly dry throat.

“Hell, a few days might not even be enough. Mission would be accomplished, job saved. And we all know
how important it is to you to get the job done, don’t we, Scottie?”

Scottie scrambled to keep her thoughts focused. He’d asked what she was afraid of. It was a question she did not want to answer, not even to herself. Because it had nothing whatsoever to do with her career.

No, her fear centered on giving in to the thoughts, needs, and wants that had been plaguing her lately. Somehow they had all come together and were embodied by the man standing in front of her, offering her something she shouldn’t take. She couldn’t take. She wanted it too suddenly, too badly, too much. After half a lifetime spent never wanting at all, these feelings were confusing the hell out of her.

Whatever her reasons were for feeling this way about him and what he offered, they were certainly not the same reasons he had. Oddly, it was that conclusion that gave her the strength she needed.

“My mission will be accomplished anyway,” she told him flatly. “My job and the eventual continuation of it are not your concern, or even mine at the moment. Right now I’m more interested in making sure that a dozen or so kids make it through next week with their lives. I’m interested in making sure your brother makes it out alive so he can be reunited with his twin. So back off and put your hormones away. There are things we have to talk about and none of them have to do with sex.”

She held his level gaze, jaw locked, mouth firm. She had no idea how he would react, but the slow smile that eased across his face was not even on her list.

Liar
, his eyes said. “I love it when you get superior, Commander.”

Before she could pull away—she would have pulled away … wouldn’t she?—he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “Stop all this running, Scottie, and kiss me.”

“But—”

“Using kids as a shield.” He gently tsked-tsked her and dropped another featherlight kiss on her lips. “Tugging heartstrings with visions of tearful reunions. You’re getting desperate, Scottie. Running scared.”

“Logan, we—”

“Nothing is going to happen to those kids or my brother for at least the next five minutes. Now, shut up and kiss me.” He didn’t let her argue. He sealed his mouth to hers instead. His kiss was gentle, coaxing, but, like the man himself, determined. He tasted warm, all aftereffects of his trip outside gone. Slowly, her own lips softened. She tuned out the cacophony of voices arguing in her head and for once, for blessedly once, just let herself feel. And enjoy.

He lifted his mouth the tiniest fraction. “Now sigh deeply and say ‘Oh, James.’ ”

She stopped for an instant, knowing she should be affronted. But the teasing twinkle she’d missed was back in those dark eyes, encouraging her to relax and join the joke instead of making her the butt of one. She had to stifle the urge to laugh.

Instead, she did what he made her want to do, she joined him. She let her head loll back. Her eyes half closed, a lazy smile curving her lips, she exhaled long and deeply and in the breathiest, sex-kitten voice she could manage, she said, “Ohhhh, James.” She drew the two words out, half-moaning at the end.

His eyes widened briefly. She’d surprised him with
that. Good. The curl of warmth that had formed deep inside her flared like a match to a candlewick. Playing with Logan was like playing with fire. The flames dazzled and beckoned. Once started, she found it too irresistible to stop. Another debate stormed into her head. Logan smiled. She tuned everything else out and danced a little closer to the fire.

“Latent Bond girl tendencies? I wouldn’t have guessed.” He dropped several small kisses along her bottom lip. “I think of you more like …” he drifted off, pondering while he plundered several more kisses from her now-pliant lips. She moaned, deep in her throat. He lifted his mouth and smiled. “Catwoman.”

Secretly pleased with that analogy, Scottie smiled dryly and said, “Just another man with a latex fixation.”

“Oh, it’s not the catsuit that gets me.” He nibbled along her neck. “It’s that feline grace.” He ran the tip of his tongue slowly along the outer shell of her ear. “The way she always lands on her feet.” He nuzzled the hair behind her ear. “Nine lives can make a woman fearless.”

Scottie was having a very hard time keeping track of the conversation. Most all of her attention was exclusively focused on keeping track of his lips on her skin. They were the tiniest of touches, bare tastes and caresses, yet he was wreaking the most delectable havoc with her central nervous system.

She tried to turn her head, to capture his mouth with hers. Her body was tight and achy. She needed more. His hand spanned her throat, long fingers curved over the edge of her jaw, keeping her neck bared to his mouth.

“How many lives do you have left, Scottie?”

She shuddered as his teeth pressed gently against her
skin. She felt him lower his weight to the couch, shifting her sideways, down, down. She raised her hand to find his, wanting, needing, to feel more than just his mouth on hers. She wanted him to touch her. Put his hands on her, run them over every aching inch of her. The need was beyond desperation, bordering on obsession.

“Touch me.” The plea was little more than a ragged whisper. She didn’t waste any time wondering how he’d brought her to this so quickly. Maybe she’d known this was what she wanted from that first moment she’d laid eyes on him, standing transfixed by the erotic sight he made, writhing in white linen sheets in the growing light of dawn.

Calling out another woman’s name.

Scottie stilled, her hand stopped its seeking mission in midgrope. An instant later Logan stilled as well. All she could feel was his heart pounding against hers and his breath against her neck.

“What is it, Scottie?”

There was sincere concern in the gentle question. After their extended verbal parrying and thrusting, it wasn’t what she would have expected from him. It was almost enough to make her shut out this final, more important argument and simply give in to her body’s greater demands. Almost.