Logan firmly clasped her arm and tugged her away from the door so he could close it. “What’s going on, Meg?”
Feeling embarrassed for making herself a spectacle, she stepped away from him. “Carmen and Manuel turned down the interview. I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to one. This…this—” she waved to the picture “—was unexpected. That’s all.”
Logan’s gaze probed hers until she looked away. She took a few deep breaths, then pushed her hair behind her ear, staring at her picture in the paper, the picture of her and Ramón Pomada standing at the car on the airport runway after the kidnapper had run to the plane. She involuntarily clutched her shoulder, remembering the way it had hurt. She remembered…
Logan was close again. “Meg,” he said gently, “what are you thinking?”
“I, uh, I guess I shouldn’t have bothered you. I should have realized even old news is still news in Willow Valley.”
Logan rested his hands on her shoulders. “Have you talked to anyone about what you went through?”
She looked over his shoulder, trying to deny the emotions swelling inside her. “Just the debriefer.” Her breaths were coming quicker.
“You weren’t allowed to give interviews, were you?”
Her chest tightened, and the air in the room suddenly got thinner. “The governments involved thought it would be better if I didn’t. They just gave the facts.”
“So why did the rehash of the story bother you now?”
His gentle voice stirred her emotions into chaos, making her feel too vulnerable. “The picture,” she murmured as she felt tears prick at her eyes. Now she really felt foolish. She ducked her head and stared straight into Logan’s chest. She could see each breath he took, could feel the warmth of his hands on her shoulders…and wished she was anyplace else but here.
He tipped her chin up. “It’s okay to let it out. If you haven’t yet, you’re going to have to soon or it will eat at you.”
“But I…” She couldn’t stop the tears.
He pulled her against his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
Logan couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Meg. Her reaction seemed to have surprised her more than him. He suspected she wasn’t used to leaning on anyone. From what she’d said about her childhood, she’d learned at an early age to depend on herself. When he’d invited her to have coffee with him, he’d acted on impulse. He’d found himself thinking about her often, wanting to know more about her, weighing the pros and cons of seeing her again.
Right now she was a woman who needed a shoulder…his shoulder. With his arms around her, her hands pressed against his chest, he wished she could just let go of her ordeal and its effects, but it wasn’t that easy. Nothing ever was. He could feel her quick breaths, feel the tension as she resisted his support.
The scent of roses teased Logan, Meg’s curves against him felt too right and holding her aroused him. The warmth between them became heat. Her top was a thin barrier as his thumb slipped from the material to her bare skin. His desire grew stronger, and he closed his eyes. Bittersweet pleasure. His life was a mess. She’d go back to her job after Thanksgiving. Even if he wanted just a—
Meg abruptly pulled away, avoided his gaze and reached for her purse. She took out a tissue, blew her nose, then faced him. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
She looked at the file cabinet behind him. “I’m not like this. I don’t cry. I don’t overreact.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t even know what to talk about.”
“Maybe how terrifying it is to be held hostage?”
She shook her head. “I just want to forget it.”
“I’ve been in the middle of gang wars and drug deals. I understand, Meg, I really do.”
She took a deep breath, and he wanted to pull her into his arms again. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“Dinner?” She looked surprised he’d asked.
He’d surprised himself. “Yeah. I’ll cook something at my place. And if you want to talk about Costa Rica, you can.”
She gave him a weak smile. “And if I don’t want to talk about it?”
He could think of something else he’d much rather do than talk, starting with kissing and ending with… “If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to talk.”
She moved closer to the door, but it also brought her closer to him again. “Lily might need my help if Carmen and Manuel are still here.”
He thought about stepping away from her, but didn’t. “I think she and Ned can handle one evening by themselves. Don’t you?”
When Meg slowly nodded, her shiny hair barely brushed her shoulders. It was as natural and free as she was. He wanted to touch her hair, to touch her. Leaning forward, he felt led by a force greater than them both.
She gazed into his eyes and he couldn’t help but slip his hand along her neck under her hair and lower his head.
Meg waited for Logan’s kiss, thought about it, was eager for it. He’d felt so strong and sturdy and safe as she’d let him hold her. But now, as she gazed into his eyes, she knew he wasn’t safe. There was passion there, and yearning and needs only a woman could fulfill for a man. If he kissed her, they’d tap the need—in both of them.
But Logan didn’t kiss her. Instead, he removed his hand from under her hair, the touch of his fingers as they slid along her neck leaving a burning heat she wouldn’t soon forget. When he raised his head and dropped his hand, she felt a loss of something she suspected would curl her toes.
A slip of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. With a nod, he gestured to the outer office. Cal stared directly at the two of them through the glass pane.
Logan’s tone was wry. “This isn’t the most private place in Willow Valley.”
She backed away from Logan and picked up her purse on the desk. “Sometimes I wonder if any place is private in Willow Valley.”
He studied her carefully for a moment. “We’ll have privacy tomorrow night.”
Flustered, her emotions swirling, not only from what had almost happened with Logan but from the confusion the picture in the paper had stirred up, she moved toward the door. “All right. Can I bring anything?”
He shook his head. “Just yourself.”
If she was making a mistake, she’d find out tomorrow night.
Chapter 3
Standing at the door to Logan’s house Saturday evening, Meg took a deep breath. The air was getting cooler. September had arrived, and with it the promise of fall. She shifted the bottle of wine to her left arm and rang the doorbell.
A few moments later, Logan opened the door to the brick bi-level. She’d never seen him dressed in anything but his uniform before. He wore a simple white polo shirt, black shorts and Docksides without socks. His thighs were muscled, his legs long, his arms bronzed by the sun. Black hair curled at the V where his two buttons were unfastened. He was sexy and virile, and she was suddenly very nervous.
She handed him the bottle of wine. “I couldn’t come empty-handed.” His green eyes swept over her, from the gold barrette in her hair, over her emerald culotte dress to her white sandals. When his gaze lingered a moment on her lips, she felt shivers slide up her spine.
Taking the bottle from her, he smiled. “This will be just right. I’ve barbecued