Читать книгу On Wings Of Love - Ashley Summers, Ashley Summers - Страница 9

Two

Thomas Logan walked downstairs still smarting from his encounter with the elusive Miss Lawrence. He wasn’t accustomed to having his dinner invitations rejected.

Besides, it made no sense for her to go out to eat when she was obviously exhausted. A nap hadn’t done that much for her, he thought moodily.

A fine rain had begun falling, shortening the dusky evening into twilight. His mood lowered even more. He didn’t mind eating alone, didn’t even think about it, most times. But he would have enjoyed looking across the table at that intriguing face tonight. Enjoyed it tremendously, in fact. And they could have talked, answered the dozens of questions whirling in his mind. He wanted to know everything about her.

“Curious, the feelings she stirs up,” he thought aloud. Sighing, he went to the kitchen and checked the fragrant pot of beans he’d been cooking. There was no better eating than fresh pinto beans, in his opinion. He grinned at himself. This from a man who used to dine in New York’s trendiest restaurants?

Just then, the telephone rang; someone wanted a reservation for the weekend. For a moment he nearly refused. Then common sense asserted itself. He’d hate to have to explain to his mother why he couldn’t provide a room to her best friends, especially when he had rooms to spare. The house was big, four bedrooms and two baths upstairs, the master suite and living areas downstairs.

After jotting down expected arrival times and replacing the receiver, he took the pan of corn bread from the oven and set it on a cooling rack. Bending over sent a dull ache down one hip, a rainy-day reminder of injuries sustained in the car wreck that had nearly killed him.

His thoughts lingered on the subject. Before his near-death experience, he’d been a Wall Street wizard whose main interest in life was what he’d arrogantly termed the easy-money game. Making money was a power-trip that had utterly consumed him, until the day he’d rounded a curve too fast and sent his Porsche and himself over the edge of a deep ravine.

During the ensuing days of pain and confusion, he realized what a joke his life had been up to that point. Motivated by the radical change in his outlook, he’d left New York and returned to the islands to help his adored grandparents run this lovely inn.

Remembering, he shook his head in wry amusement. No one could believe that he’d given up his glamorous, high-profile life-style for the rough urbanity of Orcas Island. They’d believe even less how happy he was here, he thought, uncapping a beer. He had taken up flying immediately upon settling here, got his license, discovered the sheer, rapturous glory of soaring into the sky. He could, and often did, spend hours in his plane, alone or taking people out on chartered flights.

True, since his grandparents had moved to Florida, it was lonely here sometimes, on nights like this, especially. But for the most part he was content. Or would be, if the rest of his needs were met, he conceded with another sigh. He was thirty-five, time to be getting on with the rest of his life. But he hadn’t found anyone he wanted to get on with, he mused as he uncovered the baked ham.

He had many women friends because he was a friendly, caring man. But they just stayed friends. Still, some were eminently qualified to become Mrs. Thomas Miles Logan. But all or nothing was his motto, though sometimes he wondered if such a thing as deep, passionate love really existed. Certainly passion did, and love, too. But together?

And if it did exist, would he ever find it?

A sound from upstairs tightened his stomach. Katy. A pretty name. A pretty lady. Who had no business going out tonight.

He fetched a tray and set it with silverware, dipped beans into a bowl, sliced the savory ham and cut a wedge of golden corn bread. Angel food cake layered with fresh raspberries and whipped cream made a sumptuous dessert, at least in his opinion. Then he spared a thought as to why he was bringing her a tray of food. The gesture probably came from having three sisters, he decided. His mother’s words rolled across his mind: “Watch out for your sisters, Thomas. Take care of your sisters, Thomas.”

Chuckling at the cozy memory, he carried the tray upstairs and tapped on Katy’s door.

She opened it, her damp hair drifting around her shoulders as she stared up at him. She was wrapped in a long white terry-cloth robe that clung to every gorgeous inch of her. Any brotherly thoughts instantly vanished from Thomas’s mind.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening. Oh!” Katy’s eyes flew wide as she noticed the tray.

“I saw no sense in your going out tonight just to get something to eat,” he said gruffly. “So I fixed you a tray.”

“Well!” She looked at the tray and then up at him again. “My goodness, you shouldn’t have done that. I mean, it’s really very kind of you, but totally unnecessary. Oh, Lord, that does smell good!” She sighed, inhaling the savory aromas.

Thomas gave her a smug smile. He was a damn fine cook, if he did say so himself. “Tastes as good as it smells. Now you can stay in and get a good night’s sleep, instead of wandering around the island in the dark.”

Her eyes narrowed, instantly challenging his sensible suggestion. All right, command, but still sensible, Thomas insisted, holding out the tray

“I’m sure the food is delicious,” she said, taking the tray. “I may still go out, however.”

“It’s raining and the roads are narrow two-lanes, with few street signs,” he said, frowning.

“I think I can find my way around. After all, I do live in a large city,” she returned with a hint of coolness that irked the devil out of him.

“Well, whatever you choose to do, enjoy the meal,” Thomas said. He turned on his heel and strode back downstairs.

“Mr. Logan?” Her soft voice stopped him on the landing.

“Yes?”

thank you.”

He heard her door close. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled, feeling pushed and pulled by the change in that silken voice.

The telephone was ringing again. No more guests, he thought irritably. But it was the airport. He had an eleven o’clock charter in the morning.

Thomas jotted down the client’s name, then just stood there, staring, unseeing, out the kitchen window. His mind had already winged back to the woman upstairs. He’d seen those violet eyes flash, seen the twist of mouth that bespoke fire and temper. She looked as cool as a glass of ice water, but that mouth would never kiss a man coolly. She’d put her entire self into every hot, passionate kiss, scatter a man’s senses to the wind, wrap his heart around those slender fingers...

With a snort of self-disgust, Thomas hauled himself back to reality. What the hell was he thinking? This morning he didn’t even know she existed, and here he stood dithering about kisses and passion and wrapped-up, hearts.

“It’s been too long, Logan,” he muttered. Maybe he ought to clean the kitchen. At least put the food away. But he didn’t feel like cleaning kitchens. What he felt like was...

Making another sound of disgust, he decided to sit on the porch a while and let the cool evening air chill the many little fevers inside him.

Katy jerked awake with a soft cry. She had been dreaming, that recurring nightmare that tormented her sleep. She exhaled a long, tremulous breath. Thank goodness it wasn’t one of her really bad dreams. Sometimes she awoke screaming.

Sitting up, she drew the drapes and peered out at the new day. It was only four-thirty, but daylight, soft and misty, streamed in through the windows. The air had a tang to it that was almost a taste on her tongue.

She stretched, yawning, and touched her eyelids. They didn’t feel red or swollen, or even gritty. She hadn’t cried anymore last night. She hadn’t gone out, either, just enjoyed her delicious meal and went to bed to read a paperback romance. They were her weakness, tales of beautiful love and dreams and happy-ever-afters. She wasn’t sure any of it was true, but some secret part of herself wanted to believe it was possible.

Unbidden, her thoughts leaped to the memory of Thomas’s blue eyes glinting at her when she had opposed his will. Preposterous, of course. Who was Thomas Logan to decide if she should or should not go out?

Thomas. She liked his name, the soft, clipped sound of it. He was certainly full of himself, she reflected, swinging her feet to the floor. And so good to look at that just picturing his face pleased every part of her lissome body.

Reminding herself that California was full of good-looking men, Katy tumbled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

To her annoyance, she brought a nagging sense of guilt with her. Bossy or not, Thomas had been nice to her last night and she’d been a bit, well, ungracious.

“Not too smart, Katy,” she muttered, slathering cleanser on her face. “After all, you’re spending several weeks with the man as host, you can at least be friendly.”

Friendly, yes, but that’s all, she warned herself, rinsing off the cream. If you can’t think of him as just your host, consider the man an intriguing new acquaintance.

Satisfied with her pragmatic solution, she dried her face and patted on an oatmeal mask. Then she walked back to her room, snuggled under the comforter once more and finished her book.

At six o’clock she stepped into the hallway again and listened for a moment. Noises from the kitchen, and then the aroma of hot coffee wafted up the stairs, a siren song she couldn’t resist.

After a quick shower, she dressed in jeans and a yellow linen shirt, and swirled her hair atop her head. Contrarily, the open window drew her and she scampered onto the window seat. The sunlight was stronger now, and shadows pooled under tall fir trees. A streak of blue caught her eye as a tiny bird landed on the lawn and began a diligent search for insects.

Splendor in the grass, Katy thought with humor. Suddenly eager, for the first time in months, to experience whatever the day would bring, she ran downstairs to the kitchen.

Except for the calico cat sleeping on the windowsill, the house appeared to be empty. She glanced at the table, set with a pink cloth and white china. Coffee steamed in a pot. Pecan muffins rested on the sideboard. The fragrance of bacon made her mouth water. Where was he?

Outside, she bet, enjoying the glorious morning. And here he came, strolling through the yard carrying a basket of freshly picked strawberries. A fragile sense of well-being stole over her. Katy let out her breath, unaware that she’d been holding it, as he walked in and let the screen door slam behind him.

Seeing her, he stopped, eyes crinkling, a smile tugging at his fine mouth as he looked over her formfitting attire.

Their greetings collided. Deciding she had some fence-mending to do, Katy laughed and said, “Those strawberries look wonderful. I don’t know when I’ve last had them right from the patch. Mr. Logan—”

“Thomas, please.”

“Thomas. I want to thank you again for the tray last night. It truly was a godsend, I didn’t really feel like going out,” she confessed. “I realize I may have been a little ungracious about that.” She paused, shifting under his keen gaze.

“Why was that?” He motioned her to sit down at the table.

Obliging him, she replied, “I suppose it’s because I don’t enjoy being ordered around. You were just a trifle bossy, Mr.... Thomas.” Why was it so hard to say his name? Because it implied an intimacy she didn’t want? And did want?

“Sorry about that,” he said, looking not in the least sorry about that. “Force of habit, I suppose.”

“Oh? Your women like to be bossed around, do they?” she asked, then could have bitten her tongue.

“Sometimes.” He grinned at the berries he began rinsing. “When it’s by me.”

She nibbled back a smile—he was impossible!

Unfolding her napkin, she inquired, “Am I your only guest?”

“Thus far. An older couple are coming in this weekend. Friends of my folks, so I couldn’t say no.”

“Oh.” Intrigued, she asked, “Did you want to say no?”

Apparently her question caught him by surprise; Thomas glanced at her, then slowly shook his head as if perplexed.

“I suppose guests can be a bother at times,” she mused.

“At times.” His quick glance was accompanied by a grin this time. “Present company excepted. Help yourself.” Dumping the berries into a ceramic colander, he set it on a plate then on the table. “I’ll just reheat these muffins and we can eat. Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you. That goose-down comforter is marvelous. And I love that old-fashioned fan. In fact, I love your house. Ah.” She sighed as he took the muffins from the microwave and emptied them into a cloth-lined basket. Everything he did was done with an expert’s ease. Glancing at the tall figure in navy blue slacks and shirt, she commented, “You seem to be an old hand at this.”

“Oh, I’ve cooked for myself for years. Even before I took up the bachelor’s life in the Big Apple, in fact.” Bringing the coffeepot with him, he sat down beside her.

“You lived in New York?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you so surprised at that?”

“Oh! Well, from Baltimore to a rustic little island is a big stretch, not to mention New York City.” Katy fought a brief and unsuccessful battle with her curiosity. “Were you a pilot before you moved here? I noticed the hallway pictures,” she hurriedly explained. “T. L. Airlines. Yours?”

Thomas nodded. “Mine. And yes, I flew planes before, but just for pleasure. When I decided to make this my permanent home, I needed something to keep me busy. There was already a small charter service on the island, so I bought it, added two more planes and voila! T. L. Airlines: offering commuter service between San Juan Islands and SEA-TAC as well as private charters.”

She smiled, touched by the pride in his voice. “How many planes do you have?”

“Five in all.”

“And you run this B&B, too? My, you are a busy man!” She tasted her coffee. “Umm, good coffee. You said your grandparents owned the house. Have they passed on?” she asked with exquisite delicacy.

“Heck, no! They just moved on. To Florida, where it’s s warm and sunny all year round. I was fed up with New York and they were tired of rain and cold, so I bought this place from them, and they flew off like two lovebirds escaped from their cage!”

Katy laughed delightedly, her spirits lifting as her laughter ignited his. Something warm and sparkling had entered the atmosphere. Her heart, her body, even her soul responded to its effervescent magic.

“You really like this house, hmm?” he said.

Her eyes veiled. “Yes.”

“Me, too.” Sensing her unease, Thomas swallowed his probing questions and cast about for something that would bring them close again. “You ever lived on a farm?”

She laughed. “Certainly I have. A whole summer, in fact. I loved it”

“You’re kidding!” He squinted at her. “A working farm?”

“Yes. I milked cows, baled hay, fed pigs, drove a tractor, you name it.” She took a bite of buttered muffin. “Mmm, this is good. The butter, too.”

“The butter is made by the nuns on the next island. They have the smallest dairy in the world, three cows. They also make cheese.”

Somewhat bemused, he stared at her. Unbelievable that those elegant hands had ever milked a cow. And baled hay? She must not be as fragile as she looked.

He ate a handful of strawberries while he examined her heart-shaped face. Her wide, generous mouth was a delicious contrast to the aristocratic little nose. Her hair was tamed today, firmly caught in a knot that was already spilling curls down her neck. Silver earrings graced her ears, and a wide, matching bracelet clamped one thin wrist.

Why was she so thin? Because that was the style now, all skin and bones and sharp angles. Although she didn’t look to have too many sharp angles. None at all, in fact.

He put another muffin and two strips of bacon on her plate. “You a vegetarian?” he asked.

“Not entirely. Not with bacon this good. Organic?”

“Yeah, friend-grown pork. No chemicals, no growth hormones. I sure wouldn’t have figured you for the farm life. What are you doing in California?”

“I’m a writer and photographer-travel books, scenic tours, that sort of thing, for magazines.”

Without thinking, she poured him a cup of coffee and took pleasure in the small service.

It pleased him, too, inordinately. He shook his dark head. “Fascinating. But I’d have guessed you for an actress.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Hardly.”

“How’d you get started in photography?”

“Just came naturally, I guess. I loved taking pictures even as a girl. I had one of those cheap little cameras that took fuzzy pictures, but I thought they were great.” Katy stirred her coffee round and round as the past crowded in with surprising force. “You’re lucky to have such a close relationship. with your grandparents,” she said softly.

“You don’t?” Thomas watched her spoon make another lap around the cup before she answered.

“No. Dad married Mother against his parents’ wishes. So there was very little communication between them. It’s ironic, really,” she said musingly. “That they inherited us, I mean. After our parents died, we lived with Grammy Rose, Mom’s mother, for three years. A lovely, loving woman... Then she died, and we were passed on to our paternal grandparents in Boston. None of us were very happy about the situation.”

Katy halted, chagrined at her loose tongue. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to get so personal.”

“No! Don’t be sorry,” Thomas protested. He was aware of her discomfort, but his need to know the forces that had molded and shaped this beguiling woman had become incredibly strong. “Why weren’t you happy?” he asked urgently. “How old were you?”

“Seven.” Her voice thinned. “Our grandparents were...well, they were old. Even though they were only in their sixties, they were old, quite incapable of reorganizing their life-style around two little girls.”

“I see.” Suddenly, nebulously angry, Thomas hunched over his coffee mug. “What was their solution?”

“Boarding schools. The very best, of course. But we did spend the holidays at home.”

“That must have been tough,” he said, and for an instant she thought he had touched her, so warm and soft was his voice.

Tensing, she sipped her coffee and welcomed its scalding heat on her tongue. To her astonishment, she was battling an urge to pour out her entire life story.

She shrugged. “Not so tough. We had everything we needed.”

Except love, Thomas thought grimly. But instinct warned him against displaying his compassion. She might mistake it for pity. “You said two little girls,” he remembered. “Who was the other one?”

“Karin. My twin sister.”

“Good heavens, you mean there are two of you?” he asked with mock horror.

“No, not anymore.”

Thomas sobered. Her lashes swept down, but not before he caught a glimpse of the sadness sheening those darkened eyes. His voice roughened. “What happened?”

“She died last year.”

The starkness of her reply unsettled Katy as much as Thomas. Why on earth had she told him about Karin? It was too personal, too intimate! She shot to her feet with a glance at her watch.

“Gosh, look at the time! I’ve got to go—I’m meeting Patsy in a few minutes. She’s showing me some of the sights. Breakfast was wonderful, Thomas. Thank you.”

Thomas gave a courteous but absentminded response. He was thinking how much he’d like to show her the island. “Will you be home late?”

Her eyes narrowed.

Back off, Logan, Thomas castigated himself. She’s a paying guest. It’s none of your business when she comes in!

But he damn well wanted to make it his business.

“Well, that really doesn’t matter,” he went on briskly. “You have a key, so... Enjoy your day, Katy.”

“You, too,” she said, and then she was gone, leaving behind a strange new emptiness.

Katy found her way back to the harbor, and soon located her friend’s house and store. Patsy rushed out shrieking with delight at seeing her again. Although they kept in touch, it had been four years since Patsy left California. The women were college friends. A friendship that had lasted through thick and thin, Katy thought, hugging Patsy with the same wild fervor.

“How do you like the B&B I recommended?” Patsy asked as they started toward the house.

“It’s lovely, of course.”

“Oh, good.” Patsy gave her a sly glance. “And the host?”

“He’s lovely, too,” Katy said dryly. “It’s really odd that you forgot to mention him.”

“Um, well, you know. What do you think of him?”

“He seems nice enough,” Katy allowed. “Bossy, though.”

“Yeah, he is that. Comes from all those women chasing him around the islands,” Patsy said, nodding agreement with herself.

“Does that include you?”

“No. For some obscure reason, there’s never been any chemistry between that gorgeous thing and me. My hormones must be getting thin.” An eyebrow arched. “How are yours doing?”

“The last time I checked, my hormones were doing just fine. Are we going to stand here on the steps or can we go inside?”

Laughing, Patsy ushered her through the door. The house was small, just two rooms and a bath. One room to sleep, eat and cook in, the other to display her pottery wares and store supplies.

“This is why I didn’t invite you to stay with me,” she said. “I wanted to, believe me, but as you can see, we just don’t have any room.”

“We?”

“Yeah, we. Right now I’ve got a roommate. His name is Ken. That’s his picture on the mantel.”

Sighing, Patsy pushed at the lock of red hair falling across her face. She was freckled all over, and beautiful, Katy thought.

“He’s quite a hunk, Patsy,” she said as she studied the picture. “Is it serious?”

“Not yet. This is sort of a tryout period.” Patsy’s little nose wrinkled. “I mean, hey, you road test a new car, don’t you? Why not a new relationship? Might keep a person from making another mistake. Which, in my case, would make me a three-time loser,” she said with acerbic humor. Eyes bright, she cocked her head. “You, though, hold the record for short-lived marital harmony. I mean, really, Katy, nine months? What kind of a marriage was it, for heaven’s sake?”

“A bad one. He was a womanizer and control freak.” Katy’s mouth twisted wryly. “Sort of like that soap-opera role he’s playing now.” Using her bitter drollery as armor against remembered pain, she sketched a picture of the marriage she had ended five years ago. “Everyone seemed to know what kind of guy he was but me. Well, me and Karin, I should say. Even she was fooled by his charm. But he was an actor, and so handsome, so boyishly sweet—I was nuts about the man, even thought he was just being masterful when he insisted on supervising my every move.”

She gave a dry laugh. “But then, everyone loved Rhys! And Rhys loved everyone. At least he tried to. When I had the effrontery to object to his infidelities, be walked out.

“Anyway,” she concluded crisply, “I’m not keen to try it again, with tor without a road test.”

Dismissing the subject, Katy picked up one of the pottery pieces strewn around the room, a tall jug done in cream, rust, gold and brown, with an uneven band of blue. The colors formed a pattern that resembled an otherworldly landscape. “This is lovely, Patsy. You’ve really improved since you left California.”

“It’s island living. The serenity just sort of seeps into my hands when they’re on the wheel, and voilà!, I get a piece like that.” Patsy hesitated, then asked softly, “Katy? You still having problems? I mean, well, are you still scared of planes and flying?”

“Petrified,” Katy said simply. “Every time I remember that plane crash, I—I just can’t get past it, Patsy. Seeing it was so close to living it! I felt everything, everything!” She stopped and drew a shuddery breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so emotional. Look, I know we haven’t discussed Karin yet and I know she’s heavy on your mind. But I didn’t come here to cry on your shoulder, honey. I’m here to laugh and have fun. To forget, for a little while, anyway. Let’s just enjoy being together again. So, are you ready to show me the town?”

“That won’t take long,” Patsy said. “Eastsound is ten by fifteen. Blocks, that is. But there are lots of little shops, and the town itself is picturesque, especially this time of year with flowers blooming all over the place. Do you still like yellow roses? There are some gorgeous ones at Putte’s Café.”

“I adore yellow roses,” Katy declared. The two women shared another hug, then went out to Patsy’s Jeep for their sight-seeing tour.

On the way to town, they stopped at an overlook, and Katy got out with her camera in hand. “Step into the picture, Pat,” she wheeled. Patsy, red hair blowing in the wind, knee-deep in wildflowers and lush green grass, was a gorgeous advertisement for the island.

A short while later, as they wandered through the small town, Katy snapped pictures in seemingly haphazard sequence. This was the first assignment she had accepted since her sister’s death and she was grateful that she still possessed a keen eye for detail. Although she wasn’t an artist, she did enjoy creating the pictorial equivalent of a painting. She and Karin had planned to open a gallery that would feature mainly photographic art...

“It’s nearly noon.” Patsy shattered her pensive reverie. “Let’s go have lunch and I’ll tell you all about my sweetie.”

“Super!” Katy said, shoving back the painful memory. “I’m starving!”

Dusk had long since fallen when the car pulled into his driveway. Thomas had been listening for it and his immense relief irritated him. He hadn’t been able to get Katy out of his mind all day. He knew it was crazy to be so preoccupied with a woman he’d just met, crazy to be listening for her footsteps on the porch.

Nevertheless, anticipation danced in his blood. And just what are you anticipating, Logan? he mocked. He checked his watch again. Almost ten o’clock. She’d had another long day.

He stepped forward as she came into the house. They both stopped abruptly. An awkwardness hung between them that neither fully understood. All Thomas knew was that he was very glad to see her and the gladness tightened his throat unmercifully.

“Hello,” she said, putting a hand on the newel post as if to show him she meant to go right upstairs.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Fine. And you?”

“Fine. I’m fine. Never better,” he said.

He began laughing, leaving her torn between annoyance and amusement. “You weren’t waiting up for me, were you?” she asked, tilting her head to look up at him.

“No, I was just reading. I heard you come in so I thought I’d check and make sure you were okay. I mean, it is late.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed coolly.

“Very late.” Thomas scowled, his self-irritation growing. Why was he acting like this? He’d never bothered worrying about any of his other guests. His sisters again, no doubt. Reining in his sudden wild urge to hug her, he went on with exaggerated dignity, “I’m overstepping again, so sue me. I was simply concerned that you might have difficulty finding your way here after dark. The roads are rather badly marked.”

Katy was trying to be gracious, but his concern acted like a lash on sensitive skin. Damned if she would account for her time away from this house! She’d had enough of that from her husband. He had needed to control her every action...

But this was Thomas, Katy thought, jerking herself back to the present. And he did have a point. “I’m sorry, Thomas, I do appreciate your concern.” She sighed. Why did she feel she had just yielded something with her soft apology? “Actually, I did take a couple of wrong turns. But I’m here now. I wonder, would you have any of those raspberries left? The ones you were bringing in yesterday when I arrived.”

Was it only yesterday? she thought with a small shock. It seemed much longer. “I didn’t have dessert tonight and I’d like some to nibble on in my room.”

“There are a few left.” Turning, he led the way to the kitchen.

Katy stopped beside him as he opened the refrigerator and suddenly found herself caught between him and the counter. Her nerves jumped as their eyes met. She felt too warm. Warmth quickly turned to heat. His gaze fell to her lips. He shifted, closer somehow and her heart was pounding.

He didn’t touch her, but he might as well have. The sensation was there, on her skin, in the palms of his hands.

He didn’t kiss her, but he could taste the kiss, imagine mouth meeting mouth, body meeting body.

Hard to soft, masculinity to femininity. Desire licked at his skin like little tongues of flame.

His eyes deepened, intense and hot.

She wondered if hers were dark with the smoke of her own desire. If they were, she couldn’t help it.

She was angry. Angry at him for being so attractive. Angry at herself for being so drawn to him. She refused to shrink back against the counter. Instead, she stood her ground, meeting his gaze steadily, defiantly.

It was the defiance that got to Thomas. She looked as crushable as an eggshell, yet that pointed chin was stuck firmly in the air. A sneaky little worm of shame curled in his gut. Logan, you ass, you must have the worst case of lust in the whole damn world.

Expelling a long breath, he shifted his gaze, took out the berries and shut the refrigerator door. At least he’d put a name to what ailed him. That always made a man feel better. He stepped away from her and reached for a smaller bowl.

“I nearly kissed you,” he said matter-of-factly.

She cleared her throat. “I know.”

“What would you have done if I had?”

“Stopped you.”

His eyes challenged. “Would you?”

“Yes.” Katy leaned against the counter and regarded him with quick, sparkling mischief. “Going a few rounds with the island’s resident Lothario isn’t on my agenda tonight.”

Amusement tugged at his mouth. “Now who have you been talking to?” he chided, eyes twinkling. “Patsy? I swear, that woman’s convinced I have a regular harem stashed on the island.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”

“No, I believe in quality not quantity,” Thomas retorted with an easy shrug. “Your raspberries, ma’am.” He swept a hand toward the table. “Here, sit down here and eat them,” he invited like the gentleman he was most of the time.

Becoming aware of the warm, easy intimacy that had crept between them, Katy felt a stab of alarm. “Thank you, but I’m about all talked out after spending the day with Patsy,” she confided. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to eat them in my room.”

“Sure.” He handed her the small bowl of berries.

She took them, her smile suddenly shy. “Thanks again, Thomas, for the berries, and for caring. I really am grateful, even if—” her nose wrinkled “—I don’t act like it sometimes. I just don’t like answering to anyone, I guess. Well, good night.”

“Good night, Katy,” he said huskily.

Controlling her urge to flee from those discerning blue eyes, Katy strolled to the staircase, and ascended the carpeted risers with slightly more speed.

She wanted to shrug it off. All of it, him, the kiss she’d craved despite her denial, the excitement still rocketing through her bloodstream.

The tender yearning in her heart.

“Impossible!” she whispered.

She wondered if he had flown today. Just imagining him up there, his beautiful body encrusted to the fragile fabric of a plane, his very life at risk... She shuddered, her mind caught and held in memory’s harsh grasp.

Gradually, the evening’s drowsy silence stole around her like a soft cashmere cloak. Katy sat down on the window seat and closed her eyes, marveling at the complexity of her feelings. Before coming here—or before meeting Thomas Logan, she amended—she could pinpoint her emotions with deadly accuracy.

Right now they were as wildly tangled as a cat’s ball of yarn.