Love at Any Cost (23 page)

“You want my vote,” he said simply, effectively releasing the breath she'd been holding.

The blanket slid to her shoulders. “Oh, Logan, I realize this is highly improper, with you being an influential member of the board, but . . .” She stared at him openly, honestly, without the least bit of guile. “Cleaning up the Coast means everything to me, outside of my family, and I was just hoping . . . well, praying, really . . . that you might . . .” He was watching her with such affection that she caught her breath, suddenly aware that in his own way, this man loved her and would do anything for her and her family. The thought stunned and energized her all at the same time, and with the barest hint of a smile, she stated her plea. “Present my plan to the Board.” The air left her lungs in a whoosh of relief.

“You're aware I have vested interests in the Coast?” he said slowly, eyes never straying.

She nodded, arming herself with another deep intake of air. “Yes, but phase one of this initiative primarily targets the brothels and opium dens, Logan, not the gambling halls or bars.”

“Yet.”

She gave a little gulp, not to be deterred by his businesslike tone. “Yes, later phases will focus on the dance and gambling halls, some of which, I'm well aware, you hold controlling interests in.” She bent forward, her words as earnest as the plea in her eyes. “But the restrictions I propose will only improve your bottom line, Logan, I assure you, promoting a safer, more upstanding environment that will actually draw the upper class.”

“Might I remind you it already draws the upper class, Cait?” Logan said in a matter-of-fact tone, his statement taking a turn toward dry. “At least the male component.”

The insensitivity of his statement stunned. She sat straight up, fire singeing her cheeks. “I assure you no reminding is necessary, Logan—you proved that long ago.”

It was Logan's turn to blush, blood crawling up his neck when he realized his mistake too late. He closed his eyes, scouring his forehead with the ball of his hand. “Sorry, Cait, that was a stupid thing to say.” Heavy lids edged up, revealing both sorrow and regret. “And do.”

She released a wavering breath. “My concern is for the future, not the past, which is why I need to know—will you help me?” Dropping her gaze to the fire, she awaited his answer for what seemed like eons, heart pounding.
Please, Lord, let him see the good he can do.

“Yes.”

She froze, not fully comprehending until her head lurched up in shock. “You'll do it? You'll present my proposal to the Board?”

He smiled. “It's a sound business decision, Cait, one that bodes well for our city.” He paused, gaze tender. “Of course, it doesn't hurt you hold my heart in the palm of your hand.”

His words barely registered, such was the excitement whirling in her brain. She rushed on, almost giddy. “And you'll help me garner votes from other members of the Board?”

The smile slid into a grin. “You're a beautiful woman—how can I say no?”

“Oh, Logan!” She lunged to give him a tight hug before pulling away with a squeeze of his hand. “I don't know how to thank you! Honestly, you're the best friend I could ever have.”

“Friends, yes,” he whispered, eyes dimming. “But we both know we were meant to be more.”

Her mouth opened and closed. Biting the edge of her lip, she tried to ease her hand from his, but he held on tight. “Logan, I—”

“Cait, please—I don't mean right away. I understand you need more time, but I have to know . . .” His thumb feathered the palm of her hand. “I
need
to know. Do you think . . . is it possible . . . ,” the chiseled jaw flickered when a knot ducked in his throat, “you could ever love me again? Because I love you, Cait, and the fact is, I always have.”

She jerked her hand free and shot to her feet, taking several steps back. “Logan, I'm sorry, but I'm . . . happy with my life the way that it is . . .”

He rose slowly, his heated gaze welded to hers. “Don't you ever get lonely, Cait? Miss the touch of human affection?”

“No, of course not,” she said too quickly, hands locked to her body like an emotional straitjacket. “I have my children, my niece, my friends . . .” She attempted a weak smile. “And, of course, I have you . . . a friend who just offered his help for something so dear to my heart.”

He moved in, and she stepped back, closer to the fire, a scorching reminder this man had burned her once, searing her heart with scars that had yet to heal. Her voice trailed to a whisper. “A very good friend.”

———

Logan inwardly winced, “friendship” no longer enough with a woman he craved more every day. He'd spent a lifetime knowing women—wooing them, winning them, making love to them—certainly enough to know when a woman was drawn to him, cared for him. And there was no doubt in Logan's mind Cait had feelings far deeper for him than she let on. He drew in an empowering breath and gentled his tone. “I'm asking for your help too,” he whispered. He carefully caressed her arms, her shivering apparent even through the blanket. “Help me make amends to someone dear to my heart as well—” His pulse surged, both at the prospect of kissing her and the fear she'd bolt before he ever got the chance. “What about the touch of a man, Cait?” he said quietly, his voice suddenly gruff with desire. “Do you ever miss that . . . ?”

“No!” she rasped, pushing him away. The chin lashed up into battle mode, all gentleness burned away by the fire in her eyes. “How dare you ask such a thing! For the love of decency—I'm your sister-in-law and the wife of your brother.”

“No, Cait—” His whisper was harsh. “You're the love of my life and my brother's widow. There's a difference, you know.” He forced his temper back with a slow exhale of air. “I need you, Cait—more than as a friend.” His jaw tightened. “And I think you need me . . .”

“What I
need
,” she said with a thrust of her jaw, “is for you to understand that I have no desire to get involved with you or any man. That part of my life is ended, Logan—done, finished, over—so you may as well let it go, because my mind is made up.”

A muscle jerked in his temple. “And your body? Has it made up its mind, Cait? There's a powerful attraction between us, and I defy you to deny it.”

She heaved a weary sigh and shook her head, her shaky laugh far from convincing. “I'm sorry to break your record, Logan, with the endless hordes of women who fall under your spell, but it's best you realize here and now that I see you as nothing more than a brother-in-law . . .” She paused to draw in a deep breath and her eyes softened, as if she realized how harsh that sounded. “A brother, really, of whom I am quite fond.”

“A ‘brother'? Really?” He squinted in amazement, hands on his hips. He was torn between laughing out loud or losing his temper. “I never figured you for a liar, Mrs. McClare, but I guess each of us has our vice.”

Even in the moonlight, he could see the blush that tainted her cheeks, indicating he had triggered her anger as thoroughly as she'd triggered his. “Yes, we do, Mr. McClare, but I can tell you most emphatically—you will never be one of mine. Good night.”

“Cait . . .” He stayed her arm, his voice hoarse with regret. “I was out of line, and I apologize. Please . . . don't leave angry.”

She turned, and the anger slowly seeped from her face while the breath seeped from his lungs. The edge was gone from her voice, replaced by a gentle tone that matched the kindness in her eyes. “Logan, please know you are very dear to me and an integral part of our family. But you need to understand and accept that my heart, my love, will always belong to my husband.”

The words sliced through him deeper and sharper than any blade, and he deflected his hurt with an awkward slide of hands into his pockets, heart aching more than when she'd left him the first time. Because now he knew what he'd lost. He cleared his throat, wanting to make amends for angering her, for hurting
her years ago, and for pushing so hard when she obviously still harbored feelings for his brother. “I understand,” he whispered, then swallowed hard, his gut clenching at the idea that maybe this time he was wrong, maybe she didn't have feelings for him like he'd hoped, and maybe the only attraction that truly existed was his. To her. Head bowed, he lifted a shaky hand to his eyes to knead the bridge of his nose, suddenly aware for the first time in his life, his love for Cait was as deep, if not deeper, than his desire. He sucked in a sharp breath, wanting more than anything to show her his love in a tangible way, to give her back a piece of Liam . . . and a piece of himself.

“I have something to give you,” he said quietly. Hands still in his pockets, his thumb grazed the ring on his finger, knowing full well what he was giving away. Not his heart as he'd hoped, but a piece of his heritage and the only ring he would apparently be able to put on Caitlyn McClare's hand. He could almost feel the raised gold outline of the lion and Celtic cross against black onyx, the McClare signet ring passed down from centuries past. It had belonged to his ancestors of old . . . on down to his grandfather, his father, and then Liam, who'd never taken it off till Cait gave it to Logan the day Liam was buried. His father's will delegated ownership to the McClare heir, but it had pained her to part with it, he knew, from the tender way she'd fingered it with such care.
Just as I'm doing now.
Pulling his hand from his pocket, he removed the ring, thumb gliding against the smooth onyx one last time before he held it out, determined if he couldn't love her the way he wanted, he'd love her the only way he could. “I want you to have this,” he whispered. “It belongs to you.”

“No . . .” She shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes. “I can't take it—it's yours.”

Yes, it is.
And it claimed a piece of his heart for so many reasons.
The connection to his heritage, his father, his brother . . . and to her. For almost twenty-six years it had grazed her skin when Liam had held her hand, touched the warmth of her body every night when they slept, and when she'd given it to Logan, it was as if she'd given him a piece of herself. A piece he realized he no longer had a right to. Not if she didn't care like he did. Not if she wasn't drawn as he was.

“Take it, Cait,” he whispered. “You lived with it for almost twenty-six years—it belongs to you more than me.” He took her hand and placed the ring in her palm, closing his fingers over hers. “And maybe—just maybe—it will give you a touch of Liam, easing your heart like I long to do.”

Her hand trembled to her mouth as tears trickled down her face. “Oh, Logan . . .”

She launched into his arms, clutching him so tightly, it paralyzed him to the spot. Moisture stung and he closed his eyes, resting his head against hers, the scent of lavender invading his senses and taunting his soul.
Oh, Cait, I'd give anything to have you love me once more, want me again . . .

She pulled away and swiped at her eyes, her lips quivering into a smile. “You must think I'm crazy, but I'm just so very grateful . . .” Peering up, she gently braced his jaw with her palm, eyes shimmering with gratitude. “I don't think I've ever loved you more than right this moment, Logan McClare. Thank you!”

His heart seized when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and almost by accident, he turned into her touch, their lips so close he could smell the hint of hot chocolate they'd enjoyed around the fire. They froze in the same split second of time, and his pulse thudded slow and hard as he waited for her to pull away. Only she didn't, and heat scorched his body. “Cait,” he whispered, barely believing her lips nearly grazed his. He waited, not willing to push
for fear she would retreat, but when her eyelids flickered closed, his fate was sealed. “So help me, Cait, I love you,” he rasped, quickly caressing her lips before she could retreat. The moment his mouth took hers, he was a man hopelessly lost, bewitched by her spell. She jolted in his arms as if suddenly realizing her folly, but he refused to relent, his grip at the nape of her neck strong and sure, allowing him a taste of the sweetest lips he'd ever known. A groan trapped in his throat, and he devoured her, delving deeper with a passion stoked by almost twenty-six years of denial and longing. “Cait,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he nuzzled her ear, “I need you in my life.”

He felt it the moment the winds shifted, pulse skyrocketing when her blanket dropped to the ground and she melded in his arms. His mouth explored with a vengeance, the frenzied beat of her heart throbbing beneath his lips as he grazed the hollow of her throat. He skimmed up to suckle the lobe of her ear, and his heart swelled with joy when a soft moan escaped her lips. Blood pounding in his veins, he wove fingers into her hair to cradle her face. “Marry me, Cait, please!”

Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a glaze of desire so strong, his mouth descended again, dominant and possessive until her lips surrendered to his. “Marry me,” he repeated, his kiss gentling to playful nips meant to coax and tease. “I need you, Cait . . . and I
want
you.”

In the space of a painful heartbeat, she hurled him away, breasts heaving and eyes wild. “You're a devil, Logan McClare, always lusting after what you can't have!”

Sleet slithered through his veins. “No, Cait, it's not true—I want you because I love you.”

He reached for her, and she thrust back, fury welling in her eyes. “You want me because you can't have me. And once you had
me, you would just throw me away again, returning to your old habits of carousing with women all hours of the night.”

“You're wrong—let me prove it, please. Marry me.”

She shook her head, an auburn curl quivering against her neck. Her tone trembled with a violence that stunned. “I-don't-want-you, and I-don't-need-you, do you hear?”