Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Her Sinful Secret

Her Sinful Secret
Jane Porter


The secret she never told…Her heart racing, Logan Copeland cannot look away from tycoon Rowan Argyros as he declares that her life is in danger. All she can think is that Rowan took her virginity, heartlessly rejected her after a night of reckless abandon…and is the father of her child. She must reveal the truth before she’s whisked away to Rowan’s castle for safety…Isolated with Rowan, Logan finds herself at the mercy of his unrelenting need to claim her—and their daughter! She has known no touch but his, and yearns to feel it again…but to do so she must agree to meet him at the altar!







The secret she never told...

Heart racing, Logan Copeland cannot look away from tycoon Rowan Argyros as he declares her life is in danger. All she can think is that Rowan took her virginity, heartlessly rejected her after a night of reckless abandon...and is the father of her child. She must reveal the truth before she’s whisked away to Rowan’s castle for safety...

Isolated together, Logan finds herself at the mercy of Rowan’s unrelenting need to claim her—and their daughter! Logan has known no touch but his, and yearns to feel it again...but to do so, she must agree to meet him at the altar!


Logan rounded the hedge and nearly ran straight into Rowan.

Logan scrambled backward. “How—?” she started, before breaking off, her lips pinching closed, because of course he knew his way about the maze. It was his maze.

His castle.

His world.

Her eyes burned. Her throat ached. She’d struggled for so many years—struggled to provide and be a strong mother—and now it was all being taken from her. Her independence. Her control. Her future.

She didn’t want anything to do with him and yet here he was, blocking her path, filling the space between the hedges, tall and broad, so very strong…

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“You’ve trapped me,” she whispered, her eyes bright with tears she wouldn’t let spill because, God help her, she had to have an ounce of pride. “You’ve trapped me and you know it, so don’t taunt me…don’t. It’s not fair.”

With a rough oath, he reached for her, pulling her against him, his body impossibly hard and impossibly warm as he shaped her to him. She shivered in protest. Or at least that was what she told herself when dizzying heat raced through her and the blood hummed in her veins, making her skin prickle and tingle and setting her nerves on fire, every one dancing in anticipation.

Her head tipped back and she stared up into his eyes, searching the green-gold for a hint of weakness, a hint of softness. There was none.


The Disgraced Copelands (#ue2492efa-854f-574b-af30-3adf5073df1a)

A family in the headlines—for all the wrong reasons!

For the Copeland family each day brings another tabloid scandal. Their world was one of unrivalled luxury and glittering social events. Now their privileged life is nothing but a distant memory…

Staring the taunting paparazzi straight in the eye, the Copeland heirs seek to start new lives—with no one to rely on but themselves. At least that’s what they think…!

It seems fame and riches can’t buy happiness but they make it fun trying!

Read Morgan Copeland’s story in:

The Fallen Greek Bride

Read Jemma Copeland’s story in:

His Defiant Desert Queen

Read Logan Copeland’s story in:

Her Sinful Secret


Her Sinful Secret

Jane Porter






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


New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author JANE PORTER has written forty romances and eleven women’s fiction novels since her first sale to Mills & Boon Modern Romance in 2000. A five-time RITA® Award finalist, Jane is known for her passionate, emotional and sensual novels, and loves nothing more than alpha heroes, exotic locations and happy-ever-afters. Today Jane lives in sunny San Clemente, California, with her surfer husband and three sons. Visit janeporter.com (http://janeporter.com/).

Books by Jane Porter

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Bought to Carry His Heir

A Dark Sicilian Secret

At the Greek Boss’s Bidding

Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife

The Disgraced Copelands

The Fallen Greek Bride

His Defiant Desert Queen

A Royal Scandal

Not Fit for a King?

His Majesty’s Mistake

The Desert Kings

The Sheikh’s Chosen Queen

King of the Desert, Captive Bride

Duty, Desire and the Desert King

Desert Brides

The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride

Visit the Author Profile page at

millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


Contents

Cover (#uba9d117e-d745-527c-8c54-3d72f62254f2)

Back Cover Text (#ua908be01-e816-5784-89e7-82e0fc7ff33f)

Introduction (#uf8fa070b-4e42-5936-893f-eccc78009ee1)

The Disgraced Copelands (#u2346c1e6-0f35-5fc1-a3c8-ea8944bea934)

Title Page (#u27975771-f6f7-5615-8ccb-b2aa6f83f6e2)

About the Author (#u24212bc7-25fc-5f22-8ed1-f58235fced27)

CHAPTER ONE (#uab0d0981-66de-58f0-a3b1-4d9c90b0bfd3)

CHAPTER TWO (#ubca1006e-07d4-54f6-aab5-9882bfc7dfa8)

CHAPTER THREE (#u5c2e1109-2aad-5871-a4d6-f6b7df980462)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ue2492efa-854f-574b-af30-3adf5073df1a)

“LOGAN, WE’VE GOT a crowd outside. Logan. Are you listening?”

Frustrated by yet another interruption, Logan Copeland tore her gaze from her script, yanked off her headset and glared up at her usually very capable assistant, Joe Lopez. She’d come to think of him as a genius and a blessing, but he wasn’t much of either at the moment. “Joe.”

“We’ve got a problem.”

“Another one?” she asked incredulously. They were down to less than twenty-four hours now before tomorrow night’s huge gala fund-raiser, the biggest of Logan’s career, and nothing was going right in the tech rehearsal for the fashion show that would happen during the gala, and nothing would go right if Logan continued to be interrupted.

“We honestly don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for this. And if you want to run the show tomorrow on your own, that’s fine—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted, expression grim. “But this is big, and I can’t manage this one without you.”

“Why not? And why does everything have to be a big problem right now?” she retorted, aware that every interruption was costing more time with the crew, which cost more money, which meant less money for the charity. “If this isn’t life or death, you need to deal with it, and let me get one good run-through in before—”

“The media has descended. Full-on, out of control paparazzi stakeout. Here.”

Logan’s expression brightened. “But, Joe, that’s great news. The PR team is succeeding. I heard they were the best. How is that a problem?”

“Logan, they’re not here because of tomorrow’s Hollywood Ball. They’re not interested in the Gala or doing good. They’re here for you.”

Logan suddenly found it hard to breathe. She pressed the clipboard to her chest, headset dangling from her fingers. “For the press conference about the Ball,” she said firmly, but then at the end her voice quavered, and the fear and doubt was there.

“No.” Joe shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He was a smart, young, artistic twentysomething just a couple years out of college, and he’d been invaluable to Logan since coming to work for her two years ago, a little over a year after her whole world had imploded due to the scandal surrounding her father, Daniel Copeland. Lots of people had wanted nothing to do with Logan after news broke that her father was the worst of the worst, a world-class swindler and thief preying on not just the wealthy, but the working class, too, leaving all of his clients nearly bankrupt, or worse.

Joe had grown up in a tough Los Angeles neighborhood marked with gang violence, so the Copeland scandal hadn’t been an issue for him. He wanted a job. Logan needed an assistant. The relationship worked.

He, like everyone, knew what her father had done, but unlike most people, he knew the terrible price Logan had paid. In most business and social circles she was still persona non grata. The only place she could work was in the nonprofit sector. “They are here to see you,” he repeated. “It’s to do with your dad.”

She stilled. Her gaze met Joe’s.

His dark brown gaze revealed worry, and sympathy. His voice dropped lower. “Logan, something’s happened.”

The tightness was back in her chest, the weight so heavy she couldn’t think or breathe.

“Have you checked messages on your phone?” he added. “I am sure you’ll have gotten calls and texts. Check your phone.”

But Logan, normally fierce and focused, couldn’t move. She stood rooted to the spot, her body icy cold. “Was he freed?” she whispered. “Did the kidnappers—”

“Check your phone,” a deep, rough, impatient male voice echoed, this one most definitely not Joe’s.

Logan turned swiftly, eyes widening as her gaze locked with Rowan Argyros’s. His green gaze was icy and contemptuous and so very dismissive.

She lifted her chin, her press of lips hiding her anger and rush of panic. If Rowan Argyros—her biggest regret, and worst mistake—was here, it could only mean one thing, because he wouldn’t be here by choice. He’d made it brutally clear three years ago what he thought of her.

But she didn’t want to think about that night, or the day after, or the weeks and months after that...

Better to keep from thinking at all, because Rowan would use it against her. More ammunition. And the last thing a former military commander needs is more ammunition.

He didn’t look military standing before her. Nor had he looked remotely authoritative the night she met him at the bachelor auction fund-raiser to benefit children in war-torn countries in need of prosthetics. He’d been a bachelor. She’d helped organize the event. Women were bidding like mad. He would go for a fortune. She didn’t have a fortune, but when he looked at her where she stood off to the side, watching, she felt everything in her shift and heat. Her face burned. She burned and his light green gaze remained on her, as the bidding went up and up and up.

She bought him. Correction: she bought one night with him.

And it only costs thousands and thousands of dollars.

The remorse had hit her the moment the auctioneer had shouted victoriously, “Sold to Logan Lane!”

The intense remorse made her nauseous. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She’d filled an entire credit card, maxing it out in a flash for one night with a stranger.

She didn’t even know then what Dunamas Maritime was. Insurance for yachts? Ship builder? Cargo exporter?

He knew that, too, from his faint mocking smile. He knew why she’d bought him.

She’d bought him for his intense male energy. She’d bought his confidence and the fact that of all the attractive men being auctioned, he was by far the most primal. The most sexual.

She’d bought him because he was tall and broad shouldered and had a face that rivaled the most beautiful male models in the world.

She’d bought him because she couldn’t resist him. But she hadn’t been the only one. The bidding had been fierce and competitive, and no wonder. He was gorgeous with his deep tan, and long, dark hair—sun-streaked hair—and his light arresting eyes framed by black lashes. There was something so very compelling about him that you couldn’t look away. And so she didn’t. She watched him...and wanted him. Like every other woman at the charity event.

They’d all looked and wanted. And many had bid, but she was the one who’d bid the longest, and bid the highest, and when the heart-pounding bidding frenzy was over, she came out the victor.

The winner.

And so, from across the room that night, he looked at her, his mysterious light hazel eyes holding hers, the corner of his mouth lifting, acknowledging her victory. Looking back she recognized the smile for what it was—mockery.

He’d dared her to bid, and she had, proving how weak she was. Proving to him how easily manipulated.

By morning he would hate her, scorning her weakness. Scorning her name.

But that hadn’t happened yet. That wouldn’t happen until he’d taken her again and again, making her scream his name as she climaxed once, twice and then, after a short sleep, two more times before he walked out the door the next morning.

The sex had been hot, so hot and so intense and so deeply satisfying. With anyone else it might have felt dirty, but it hadn’t been with him. It’d just felt real. And right.

But she did feel dirty, later, once he’d discovered she wasn’t Logan Lane, but Logan Lane Copeland, and the shaming began.

It was bad enough being hated by all of America, but to be branded a slut by your very first lover? A man that wasn’t just any man, but one of the best friends of your twin sister’s new husband?

Of all the people to sleep with...of all the men to fall for...why did it have to be Rowan Argyros with his passionate Irish Greek heritage and ruthless nature? There was a reason he’d risen through the military. He was a risk taker with nerves of steel. A man who seized opportunities and smashed resistance.

She knew, because he’d seized her and smashed her.

Logan exhaled now, blocking the past with its soul-crushing memories. She hated the past. It was only in the last year she’d come to terms with the present and accepted that there could be a future. A good one. If she could forgive herself...and him.

Not Rowan—she’d never forgive Rowan. It was her father she needed to forgive. And she was trying, she was.

“My father,” she said now, her gaze sliding across Rowan—still so tall and intimidating, still so sinfully good-looking—and then away, but not before she realized his long hair was gone. Shorn. He looked even harder now than before. “Is...he...?”

Rowan hesitated for just a fraction of a second, and yet his expression didn’t soften. “Yes.”

She willed herself not to move, or tremble. She firmed her voice so it wouldn’t quaver. “How?”

He hesitated yet again, and she knew that he knew every detail. He was a maritime antipiracy specialist, based out of Naples, with offices in Athens and London as well as a large country estate in Ireland. He hadn’t told her any of that. Her sister Morgan and her husband Drakon Xanthis had, after their wedding.

“Does it matter?” he asked quietly, coolly.

“Of course it matters,” she retorted, hating him even more. Hating him for taking her virginity and mocking her afterward for enjoying his body and touch and for leaving her to deal with the aftermath on her own, as if he hadn’t been the one in that big bed with her...

His silence made her fear the worst. Her heart hammered. Her stomach fell. She wished she was hearing this from Morgan or Jemma, or her older brother, Bronson. They would all have broken the news differently. “Did they...did they...?”

And then she couldn’t wait for the words, the confirmation that her father, kidnapped and held hostage off the coast of Africa, had been killed, possibly executed. It was all too sickening and her legs wobbled and her head spun, her body hot, then cold and then very cold.

She tried to look for Joe, the very best assistant one could ever hope for, but all she saw was Rowan and he was staring her down with those pale hazel-green eyes.

“Don’t,” he growled, his deep, rough voice now sounding far away, as if he was standing at the far end of a tunnel.

Maybe he was.

She couldn’t see him well. Things were cloudy at the edges. He was cloudy, and she blinked, almost amused that Rowan could think he could still dictate to her, once again telling her body what to do...

“You’re not doing this now,” he snapped.

But she did. Her world went dark.

* * *

Swearing, Rowan dove to catch Logan before she crashed to the ballroom floor, but he was too far away and couldn’t break her fall. Her head slammed on the edge on the stage as she went down.

He was there to scoop her up and he swore again, this time at himself, for not reaching her more quickly, and then at useless Joe, for not catching her, either.

She was still out cold as he settled her into his arms, her slender body ridiculously light. He shifted her so that her head fell back against his biceps, and his narrowed gaze raked her pale face, noting the blood pooling at the cut on her temple, and beginning to trickle into her thick honey-colored hair. She was going to have a nasty bruise, and probably one hell of a headache, later.

She was also still impossibly beautiful. High cheekbones, full lips, the elegant brow and nose of a Greek goddess.

But beauty had never been her issue. If she’d just been a pretty face, he could forgive himself for their night together, but she wasn’t just a beautiful girl, she was Logan Copeland, one of the scandalous Copelands, and as amoral as they came.

It was bad enough being bought at a charity auction but to be paid for with embezzled funds?

“Grab her things,” he told the man hovering at Logan’s side. He wouldn’t be surprised if Joe was Logan’s lover. A boy toy—

He broke off, unable to continue the thought. He didn’t like the thought. But then, he didn’t like anything about being here today.

He didn’t have to be the one doing this. He could have sent one of his men. Every one of his special ops team at Dunamas Intelligence had come from an elite military background: US Navy SEALs, British Special Forces, Russia’s Alpha Group, France’s National Gendarmerie Intervention Group, Spain’s Naval Special Warfare Force. Rowan hadn’t just interviewed and hired each, he’d then trained them personally for intelligence work and rescue operations.

Any one of his men could do what he was doing. He should have sent anyone but himself.

But Rowan wasn’t about to let anyone else near her. He told himself it was to protect them—she was a siren after all—but with her in his arms, he knew it was far more personal and far more primal than that.

He didn’t want any man near her because even three years later, her body belonged to him.

* * *

Logan struggled to open her eyes. Her head hurt. Her thoughts kept scattering. She was being carried up and up. They were moving, climbing, but climbing what? She could hear breathing as well as the sound of heavy, even thudding close to her ear. She was warm. The arms holding her were warm. She battled to open her eyes, needing to focus, wanting to remember.

She stared hard at the face above her, noting the jaw, a very strong, angular jaw with a hint of dark beard. He had a slash of cheekbone and a firm mouth. And then he looked down at her, and the sardonic hazel-green depths sent a shiver through her.

Rowan.

And then it started to come back. Joe saying there was a problem. Something with her father and then Rowan appearing...

She stiffened. “Put me down.”

He ignored her, and just kept climbing stairs.

Panic shot through her. “What’s happening? Why are you carrying me?”

She wiggled to free herself.

His grip grew tighter. “Because you fainted, and you’re bleeding.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. You smacked your head on the edge of the stage when you fainted, probably have a concussion.”

“I’m fine now,” she said, struggling once again. “You can put me down. Now. Thank you.”

“You won’t be able to make it up the stairs, and we’ve got to get out of here, so don’t fight me, because I’m not putting you down,” he said shortly, kicking the door to the roof open. “And if you don’t like being carried, then next time don’t be clumsy. Faint somewhere soft.”

“Where’s Joe? I need Joe!”

“I’m sure you do,” Rowan gritted as they stepped into the dazzling California sunshine. “Don’t worry, he’s following with your things.”

“My things? But why?”

“I’ll fill you in once we’re in the air. But enough chatter for now.” His cool gaze dropped and swept from her face down her neck to the swell of her breasts. “You’re not as light as you like to think you are.”

But before she could react, they were at the helicopter and the pilot was jumping out and opening the door. Rowan was putting her in the helicopter in one of the passenger seats but she turned in his arms, leaning past to find Joe.

“Logan,” Joe said, trying to reach her.

Rowan kept his arm up, blocking Joe from getting too close. “Put her things down,” Rowan directed, “and step back.”

But Logan grabbed Joe’s sleeve. “Handle things at home, Joe. Please?”

Joe’s dark eyes met hers and held. “Where are you going? When will you be back?”

“She’ll call you,” Rowan said drily. “Now say goodbye.”

“Tomorrow’s event,” Logan said.

Joe nodded. “We’ll make it work. I’ll make it work. Don’t worry.”

And then Rowan was climbing into the helicopter and the pilot began lifting off, forcing Joe to run backward to escape the intense wind from the churning blades.

“Nice boy,” Rowan said, shutting the door as Joe scrambled to safety. “Definitely on the young side, but so much more trainable before twenty-five.”

Logan shot him a furious glance. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Your lover, whatever.” He shrugged. “It’s not for me to judge what you do with your father’s money—”

“I don’t have a penny of my father’s money.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t his money. His embezzled billions.”

She ground her jaw tight and looked away, chest aching, eyes burning, mouth tasting like acid. She hated him...she hated him so much...

And then he leaned over and checked her seat belt, giving it a tug, making the harness shoulder straps pull tight on her chest.

She inhaled sharply, and his fingers slid beneath the wide harness strap, knuckles against the swell of her breasts.

“Too tight?” he asked, his gaze meeting hers, even as her nipples tightened.

“With your fingers in there, yes,” she choked, flushing, her body now hot all over. The linen and cotton fabric of her cream dress thin enough to let her feel everything.

He eased his hand out, but not before he managed to rub up against a pebbled peak.

And just like that memory exploded within her—his mouth on her breast, alternately sucking and tonguing the taut tip until he made her come just from working her nipple.

Her response had whetted his appetite. Not content with just the one orgasm, he devoted himself to exploring her body and teaching her all the different ways she could climax. It had been shocking but exciting. She’d been overwhelmed by the pleasure but also just by being with him. He’d felt so good to her. She’d felt so safe with him. Nothing he did seemed wrong because she’d trusted him—

Logan bit into her bottom lip hard to stop the train of thought. Couldn’t go there, wouldn’t go there, not now, not when her head ached and the helicopter soared straight up, leaving the top of the old Park Plaza Hotel building so quickly that her stomach fell, a nauseating reminder that she still wasn’t feeling 100 percent.

She put a hand up to her temple and felt a sticky patch of blood. She glanced down at the damp crimson streaking her fingers, rubbed them, trying not to throw up. “I know you specialize in rescue and intelligence, but isn’t the helicopter getaway a bit much?”

Rowan thrust a white handkerchief into her hands.

She took it, wiping the blood from her fingers, hoping she hadn’t gotten any on her dress. This was a new dress, a rare splurge for her these days. As she rubbed her knuckles clean she could feel him watching her. He wasn’t amused. She wasn’t surprised. He didn’t have a sense of humor three years ago. Why should he have one now?

“I just meant, it’s a little Hollywood even for you,” she added, continuing to scrub at her skin, feeling a perverse pleasure in poking at him, knowing he’d hate anything to do with Hollywood. Rowan Argyros might look like a high-fashion model, but she’d come to learn after their—encounter—that he was hardcore military, with the unique distinction of having served once in both the US Navy and the Royal Navy before retiring to form his own private maritime protection agency, a company her brother-in-law had invested heavily in, wanting the very best protection for his Greek shipping company, Xanthis Shipping.

Even more bruising was the knowledge that Morgan and Drakon were such good friends with Rowan. They both spoke of him in such glowing terms. It didn’t seem fair that Rowan could forgive Morgan for being a Copeland, but not her.

“Look down,” Rowan said tersely, gesturing to the streets below. The huge hotel, built in 1925 in a neo-Gothic style, filled the corners of Wilshire, Park View, and West Sixth Street. “That mob scene is for you.”

Still gripping the handkerchief, she leaned toward the window which made her head throb. A large crowd pressed up against the entrance to the building, swarming the front steps, completely surrounding the front, with more bodies covering the back.

It was a mob scene. They were lying in wait for her. “Why didn’t they go in?” she asked.

“I chained the front door. Hopefully your Joe will find the key, or he’ll be in there a while.”

Logan reached for her purse and slipped the handkerchief inside and then removed her phone. “Where did you put the key? Joe can’t stay in there—”

“That’s right. You’ve left him with instructions to manage things at home.” He watched her from beneath heavy lids. “What a good boy.”

She ignored him to shoot a quick text to Joe.

Rowan swiped the phone from her hands before she could hit Send.

She nearly kicked him. “Why are you so hateful?”

“Come on, babe, a little late now to play the victim.”

Logan turned her head away to stare out the window, emotions so chaotic and hot she could barely see straight. “So where are you taking me?”

“To a safe spot. Away from the media.”

“Good. If it’s a safe spot, you won’t be there.” She swallowed hard, and crossed her arms over her chest. “And my father. He’s really dead?”

“Yes.”

She turned her head to look at him. Rowan’s cool green gaze locked with hers, expression mocking. “If it makes you feel better,” he added, lip curling, “it was natural causes.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks and her face burned. Good God, he was even worse than she remembered. How could that be possible? “Of course it makes me feel better.”

“Because you are such a dutiful daughter.”

“Don’t pretend you cared for him,” she snapped.

“I didn’t. He deserved everything he got, and more.”

She hated Rowan. Hated, hated, hated him. Almost as much as she wanted to hate her father, who’d betrayed them all—and she didn’t just mean the Copeland family, but his hundreds of clients. They’d trusted him and he’d robbed them blind. And then instead of facing prosecution, instead of accepting responsibility for his crimes, he’d fled the country, setting sail in a private yacht, a yacht which was later stormed off the coast of Africa—he was taken prisoner. Her father was held captive for months, and as time dragged on, the kidnappers’ demands increased, the ransom increased. Only Morgan was willing to come up with money for the ransom...but that was another story.

And yet, even as much as she struggled with her father’s crimes and how he’d shamed them and broken their hearts, she still didn’t want him suffering. She didn’t want him in pain. Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as she thought she did. “So he wasn’t murdered. There was no torture,” she said, her mouth dry.

“Not at the end.”

“But he was tortured.”

His eyes met hers. “Shall we just say it wasn’t a picnic?”

For a long moment she held her breath, heart thumping hard as she looked into his eyes and saw far more than she wanted to see.

And then she closed her eyes because she could see something else.

The future.

Her father was now dead and so he would never be prosecuted for his crimes, but the world still seethed. They demanded blood. With Daniel Copeland gone, they’d go after his five children. And while she could handle the scrutiny and hate—it was all she’d been dealing with since his Ponzi scheme had been exposed—her daughter was little more than a baby. Just two and a quarter years old, she had no defenses against the cruelty of strangers.

“I need to go home,” she choked. “I need to go home now.”

* * *

Rowan had been watching the emotions flit across her face—it was a stunning face, too. He’d never met any woman as beautiful. But it wasn’t just her bone structure that made her so attractive, it was the whole package. The long, thick honey hair, the wide-set blue eyes, the sweep of her brows, the dark pink lips above a resolute chin.

And then the body...

She had such a body.

He’d worshipped those curves and planes, and had imagined, that night three years ago, that maybe, just maybe, he’d found the one.

It’s why he became so angry later, when he discovered who she was, because he’d felt things he’d never felt. He’d felt a tenderness and a connection that was so far out of his normal realm of emotions. What had started out as sex had become personal. Emotional. By morning he wasn’t doing things to her, he was making love with her.

And then it all changed when he discovered the pile of mail on her kitchen counter. The bills. The magazine subscriptions.

Logan Copeland.

Logan Copeland.

Logan Lane Copeland.

It had blindsided him. That rarely happened. Stunned and then furious, he turned on her.

Many times he’d regretted the way he’d handled the discovery of her true identity. He regretted virtually everything about that night and the next morning, from the intense lovemaking to the harsh words he’d spoken. But over the years the thing he found himself regretting the most was the intimacy.

She’d been more than tits and ass.

She’d meant something to him. He’d wanted more with her. He imagined—albeit briefly—that there could be more, and it had been a tantalizing glimpse at a future he hadn’t thought he would ever have. But then he saw it and realized that he wanted it. He wanted a home and a wife and children. He wanted the normalcy he’d never had.

And then it was morning and he was trying to figure out the coffee situation, and instead he was dealing with a liar-deceiver situation.

He wasn’t in love. He wasn’t falling in love. He’d been played.

And he’d gone ballistic. No, he didn’t touch her—he’d never touch a woman in anger—but he’d said things to her that were vile and hurtful, things about how she was no better than her lying, crooked, greedy father and how it disgusted him that she’d bought him with money that her father had embezzled.

He didn’t like remembering that morning, and he didn’t like being responsible for her now, but he could protect her during the media frenzy, and he’d promised his friend and her brother-in-law, Drakon, that he would.

“There’s no going home,” he said tersely. “Your place must be a zoo. You’ll be staying with me until the funeral.”

Her blue eyes flashed as they met his. “I’m not staying with you.”

“Things should calm down after the funeral. There will be another big story, another world crisis, people will tire of the Copelands,” he said as if she’d never spoken.

“I have a job. I have clients. I have commitments—”

“Joe can handle them. Right?”

“Those clients hired me, not a twenty-four-year-old.”

“I did think he looked young.”

She lifted her chin, and her long hair tumbled over her shoulder, and her jaw firmed. “He’s my assistant, Rowan. Not my lover.”

“You don’t live together?”

“No.”

“Then why would you tell him to manage things at home?”

Her mouth opened, closed. “I work from home. I don’t have an outside office.”

“Yet he was genuinely worried about you.”

She gave him a pitying look before turning to look out the window. “Most people are good people, Rowan. Most people have hearts.”

Implying he didn’t have one.

She wasn’t far off.

His lips curved faintly, somewhat amused. Maybe if he was a teacher or a minister his lack of emotions would be a problem. But in his line of work, emotions just got in the way.

“The tin woodsman was always my favorite character,” he said, referencing L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

“Of course he was,” she retorted, keeping her gaze averted. “Except he had the decency and wisdom to want one.”


CHAPTER TWO (#ue2492efa-854f-574b-af30-3adf5073df1a)

“SO WHERE ARE WE GOING?” she asked as the minutes slid by and they continued east over the city. Los Angeles was an enormous sprawl, but she recognized key landmarks and saw that they were approaching the Ontario airport.

He was slouching in his seat, legs outstretched, looking at her from beneath his lashes, not at all interested in the scenery. “One of my places.”

He acted as if he was so casual. There was nothing careless or casual about Rowan Argyros. The man was lethal. She’d heard some of the stories from Morgan after her night with Rowan, and he was considered one of the most dangerous men on the planet.

And she had to pick him to be her first lover.

Genius move on her part.

Although to be fair, he’d never touched her with anything but sensitivity and expertise. His hands had made her feel more beautiful than she’d ever felt in her entire life. His caress had stirred her to the core. It would have been easy to imagine that he cared for her when he’d loved her so completely...

But he hadn’t loved her. He’d pleasured her because she’d paid him to, giving her a twenty-thousand-dollar lay.

She swallowed around the lump filling her throat. Her eyes felt hot and gritty as she focused on the distant flight tower. She didn’t want to remember. She hated remembering, and she might have been able to forget if it hadn’t been for the one complication...

Not a small complication, either.

So she regretted the sex but not the mistake. Jax wasn’t a mistake. Jax was her world and her heart and the reason Logan could battle through the constant public scrutiny and shame. Twice she’d had to close her Twitter account due to Twitter trolls. She’d refused to shut down her Instagram, forcing herself to ignore the daily onslaught of scorn and hate.

She’d get through this. Eventually. The haters of the world didn’t matter. Jax mattered, and only Jax.

“So which home are we going to?” she asked, trying to match his careless, casual tone, trying to hide her concern and growing panic. Jax’s sitter left between five and six every day. Even if Joe went to the house to relieve the sitter, he was merely buying Logan a couple of hours. Joe had never babysat Jax for more than an hour or two before. Joe was a good guy, but he couldn’t care for the two-year-old overnight. Knowing Joe, he’d try, too, but Logan was a mama bear. No one came between her and her little girl.

“Does it matter?” he asked, pulling sunglasses from the pocket of his jacket.

So very James Bond. Her lip curled. He noticed.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked.

She glanced away from him and crossed her legs, aware that she could feel the weight of his inspection even from behind his sunglasses. “Morgan told me how much you love your little games.” She looked back at him, eyebrow arching. “You must be feeling very powerful now, what with the daring helicopter rescue and clandestine moves.”

“I do like your sister,” he answered. “She’s good for Drakon. And he for her.”

Logan couldn’t argue with that. Her sister had nearly lost her mind when separated from her husband. Thank God they’d worked it out.

“Hard to believe you and Morgan are twins,” he added. “You’re nothing alike.”

“Morgan chose to live with Dad. I didn’t.”

“And your baby sister, Jemma, she just chose to move out, even though she was still a teenager.”

Logan swung her leg, the gold buckle on her strappy wedge sandal catching the light. “You’re not a fan of my family, so I’m not entirely sure why we’re having this conversation.”

“Fine. Let’s not talk about your family.” His voice dropped, deepening, going almost velvet soft. “Let’s talk about us.”

Let’s talk about us.

Her entire body went weak. She stopped swinging her leg, her limbs suddenly weighted even as her pulse did a crazy double beat.

Us. Right.

She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could tell from the lift of his lips that he was enjoying himself. He was having fun, the same way a cat played with its prey before killing it.

She could be nervous, show fear, try to resist him—it was what he wanted. Or, she could just play along and not give him the satisfaction he craved.

Which, to her way of thinking, was infinitely better.

She smiled at him. He had no idea who he was dealing with. She wasn’t the Logan Lane he’d bedded three years ago. He’d made sure of that. “Oh, that would be fun. I love talking about old times.” She stared boldly into the dark sunglasses, letting him get a taste of who she’d become. “Good times. Right, babe?”

For a moment he gave her no response and then the corners of his mouth lifted even higher. A real smile. Maybe even a laugh, with the easy smile showing off very white, very straight teeth. The smile changed his face, making him younger and freer and sexy. Unforgivably sexy. Unforgivably since everything inside her was responding.

Not fair.

She hated him.

And yet she’d never met anyone with his control and heat and ability to own a room...and not just any room, but a massive ballroom...as if he were the only man in the entire place. As if he were the only man on the face of the earth. As if he’d been made just to light her up and turn her inside out.

Her heart raced and her pulse felt like sin in her veins. She was growing hot, flushing, needing...and she pressed her thighs tighter.

No, no, no.

“We were good,” he said, still smiling at her, and yet his lazy drawl hinted at something so much more dangerous than anger.

Lethal man.

She’d wanted him that night and the fascination was back, slamming into her with the same force of a two-ton truck.

Something in her just wanted him.

Something in her recognized something in him and it shouldn’t happen. There was no reason for someone like Rowan to be her type...

“It was you,” she said, feeling generous. And what harm could there be in the truth? Because he was good—very, very good—and he was making her feel the same hot bright need that she’d felt during the bachelor auction. And it’d been forever since she’d felt anything sexual, her hunger smashed beneath layers of motherhood and maternal devotion. “You have quite the skill set.”

“Years of practice, love.”

“I commend your dedication to your craft.”

His dark head inclined. “I tried to give you value for your twenty grand.”

She didn’t like that jab. But she could keep up. He and the rest of the haters had taught her how to wrap herself in a Teflon armor and just deflect, deflect, deflect. “Rest assured, you did. Now, if I knew then what I know now, I might have given you a few pointers, but I was so green. Talk about inexperienced. Talk about embarrassing. A twenty-four-year-old virgin.” She shuddered and gently pushed back a long tendril of hair that had fallen forward. “Thankfully you handled the old hymen like the champ you are.”

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

Everything felt different. The very air was charged, seething...pulsing...

She gave him an innocent look. “Did I say something wrong?”

Rowan drew off his sunglasses and leaned toward her. “Say that again.”

“The part about the hymen? Or the part where I wished I’d given you a few pointers?”

His green eyes were no longer cool. They burned and they were fixed intently on her, laser beams of loathing.

She’d finally gotten a rise out of him. She had to work very hard to hide her victorious smile. “But surely you knew I was a virgin,” she added gently. “The blood on white sheets...?”

“It wasn’t blood. It was spotting.”

She shrugged carelessly. “You probably assumed it was just from...vigorous...thrusting.”

His eyes glowed and his square jaw turned to granite. “You weren’t a virgin.”

“I was. And don’t you feel honored that I picked you to be my first?” She glanced down at her hands, checking her nails. She must have chipped one earlier, when she fainted and fell. She rubbed a finger across the jagged edge and continued conversationally. “You set the bar very high, you know. Not just for what happened in the bedroom, but after.”

He said nothing and so she looked up from her nails and stared into his eyes. “I can’t help but wonder, if I hadn’t climaxed during each of the...sessions...would you still have called me a whore?” She let the question float between them for a moment before adding, “Was it the fact that I enjoyed myself...that I took pleasure...that made me a whore? Because it was a very fast transition from virgin to whore—”

“Virgins don’t spend twenty grand to get laid,” he said curtly, cutting her short.

“No? Not even if they want to get laid by the best?”

* * *

He’d stopped smiling a long time ago. He had a reputation for being able to handle any situation but Logan was giving him a run for his money.

If it were any woman but Logan Copeland, he’d be impressed and maybe amused. Hell, he’d been amused at the start, intrigued by the way she’d thrown it down, and given it right back at him, but then it had all taken a rapid shift, right around the time she’d mentioned her virginity, and he didn’t know how to fight back.

She’d been a virgin?

He didn’t do virgins. He didn’t take a woman’s virginity. And yet he’d done her...quite thoroughly.

Dammit.

“You’re taking my words out of context,” he said tightly, trying to contain his frustration. “I didn’t call you a whore—”

“Oh, you did. You called me a Copeland whore.”

He winced inwardly, still able to hear the words ringing too loud in the kitchen of her Santa Monica bungalow. He could still see how she’d gone white and the way her blue eyes had revealed shock and then anguish.

She’d turned away and walked out, but he’d followed, hurling more insults, each a deliberate hit.

He despised the Copelands even before the father’s Ponzi scheme was exposed. The Copelands were one of the most entitled families in America. The daughters were fixtures on the social scene, ridiculously famous simply because they were wealthy and beautiful.

Rowan grew up poor and everything he had, he personally had worked for.

He had no time for spoiled rich girls.

How could shallow, entitled women like that respect themselves?

Worse, how could America adore them? How could America reward them by filling their tabloids with their pictures and antics? Who cared where they shopped or which designer they wore?

Who cared where they vacationed?

Who cared who they screwed?

He didn’t. Not until he’d realized he’d screwed one of them senseless.

But it hadn’t been a screw. That was the thing. It had been so much more.

Rowan’s jaw worked. His fingers curled into fists. “I regret those words,” he said stiffly. “I would take them back, if I could.”

“Is that your version of an apology?”

It had been, yes, but her mocking tone made it clear it wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t good enough.

Rowan wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused.

And then he questioned why he’d even be offended. He’d never cared before what a woman thought of him.

He’d be a fool to care what a Copeland thought of him.

“It is what it is,” he said, the helicopter dipping, dropping. They’d reached the Ontario airport. His private jet waited at the terminal.

Her head turned. She was looking down at the airport, too. “Why here? Do you have a place in Palm Springs?”

“If I did, we’d be flying into Palm Springs.”

“I find it hard to believe you have a place in Ontario.”

“I don’t.” He left it at that, and then they were touching down, lowering onto the tarmac.

Rowan popped the door open and stepped out. He reached for Logan but she drew back and climbed out without his assistance.

She started for the terminal but he caught her elbow and steered her in the other direction, away from the building and toward the sleek white-and-green pin-striped jet.

She froze when she realized what was happening. “No.”

He couldn’t do this again, not now. “We don’t have time. I refuse to refile the flight plan.”

“I’m not leaving Los Angeles. I can’t.”

“Don’t make me carry you.”

She broke free and ran back a step. “I’ll scream.”

He gestured to the empty tarmac. “And what good will that do you? Who will hear you? This is the executive terminal. The only people around are my people.”

She reached up to capture her hair in one hand, keeping it from blowing in her face. “You don’t understand. I can’t go. I can’t leave her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jax.” Her voice broke. “I’ve never been away from her before, not overnight. I can’t leave her now.”

“Jax?” he repeated impatiently. “What is that? Your cat?”

“No. My baby. My daughter.”

“Your daughter?” he ground out.

She nodded, heart hammering. She felt sick to her stomach and so very scared. She’d forced herself to reach out to Rowan when she’d discovered she was pregnant, but he’d been even more hateful when she called him.

“How did you get my number?” he demanded.

“Drakon.”

“He shouldn’t have given it to you.”

“I told him it was important.”

He laughed—a cold, scornful sound that cut all the way to her soul.

“Babe, in case you didn’t get the message, it’s over. I’ve nothing more for you. Now, pull yourself together and get on with your life.”

And so she had.

She didn’t tell him about the baby. She didn’t tell him he was having a daughter, and whatever qualms she had about keeping the information to herself were eventually erased by the memory of his coldness and hatefulness.

Her father had broken her heart, shaming her with his greed and selfishness, but Rowan was a close second. He was despicable. Like her father, the worst of the worst.

Thank goodness he wasn’t in Jax’s life. Logan couldn’t even imagine the kind of father he’d be. Far better to raise Jax on her own than have Jax growing up with a father who couldn’t, wouldn’t, love her.

And now, facing Rowan on the tarmac, Logan knew she’d made the right decision. Rowan might be a military hero—deadly in battle, formidable in a combat zone—but he was insensitive to the point of abusive and she’d never allow him near her daughter.

“You’re a mother?” he said.

She heard the bewildered note in his voice and liked it. She’d shocked him. Good. “Yes.”

His brow furrowed. “Where is she now?”

“At home.” Logan glanced at her watch. “Her sitter will leave at five. I need to be back by then.”

“You won’t be. You’re not going back.”

“And what about Jax? We’ll just leave her in a crib until you decide you’ll return me?”

His jaw worked, the small muscle near his ear pulling tight. “Drakon never mentioned a baby.”

Her heart did a double beat and her stomach heaved. “They don’t know.”

“What?”

“No one knows.”

“How can that be?”

“It might surprise you, but we don’t do big family reunions anymore.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Who is her father?”

She laughed coolly. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, do you?”

He sighed. “What I meant is, can’t her father take her while you’re gone?”

“No.”

“I think you need to ask—”

“No.”

“Not a good relationship?”

She felt her lip curl. This would be funny if one enjoyed dark comedy. “An understatement if I ever heard one.”

“Can her sitter keep her?”

“No.” The very idea of anyone keeping Jax made Logan’s heart constrict. “I’ve never been away from her for a night. She’s a toddler...a baby...” Her voice faded and she dug her nails into her palms, waiting for Rowan to say something.

He didn’t. He stared at her hard.

She couldn’t read what he was thinking, but there was definitely something going on in that head, she could see it in his eyes, feel it in his tension. “I need to get home to her.” Her voice sounded rough. She battled to maintain control. “Especially if there are paparazzi at the house. I don’t want them doing anything—trying anything. I don’t want her scared.”

“Logan, I can’t let you anywhere near the house. I’m sorry.” He held up his hand when she started to protest. “I’ll get her. But you must promise to stay here. No taking off. No running away. No frantic phone calls to anyone. Stay put on my plane and wait.”

She glanced toward the white jet and spotted his staff waiting by the base of the stairs.

He followed her gaze. “My staff will make sure you’re comfortable. As long as you stay here with them you won’t be in any danger.”

Stiffening, Logan turned back to face him. “Why would I be in danger? It’s just the paparazzi.”

“Bronson was shot late last night in London.” Rowan’s voice was clipped. “He’s in ICU now, but the specialists believe he should make a full recovery—”

“Wait. What? Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Bronson was the oldest of the five Copelands and the only son. “What happened?”

“Authorities are investigating now, but the prevailing theory is that Bronson was targeted because of your father. The deputy chief constable recommended that all members of your family be provided with additional security. My team has already located Victoria and is taking her to a safe location. Your mother is with Jemma already. And now we have you.”

Logan felt the blood drain from her head. Fear made her legs shake. “Please go get Jax. Hurry.”

“Give me your phone.”

“I won’t call anyone—”

“That’s not why I want your phone. I’m taking it so I can be you and make sure Joe understands what I need him to do.”

“You’re involving Joe?” she asked, handing him the phone.

“You trust him, don’t you?”

She nodded. “The password is zero, three, three, one.”

Rowan started for the helicopter and then turned around. “Didn’t we meet March 31?”

She went hot all over. “That’s not why it’s my password.” She heard her defensive tone and hated it.

“Never said it was. But it does make it easy for me to remember your code.” And then he signaled the pilot to start up the chopper and the blades began whirling and he was climbing in and the helicopter was lifting off even before Rowan had shut the door.


CHAPTER THREE (#ue2492efa-854f-574b-af30-3adf5073df1a)

ROWAN WAS GONE for two hours and twenty-odd minutes, and during those long two plus hours, Logan couldn’t let herself think about anything...

Not Bronson, who’d been hurt. Or her family who were all being guarded zealously to protect them from a nut job.

She couldn’t think about her daughter or how frightened she must be.

She couldn’t think about her huge event taking place tomorrow and how she now wouldn’t be there to see it through.

She couldn’t think about anything because once she started thinking, her imagination went wild and every scenario made her heartsick.

Every fear pummeled her, making her increasingly nauseous.

But of all her fears, Jax was the most consuming. She loved her brother and sisters but they were adults, and it sounded as if they now had a security team protecting them. But Jax...her baby...?

Logan exhaled slowly, struggling to keep it together. Rowan had to be successful. And there was no reason he wouldn’t be. He was the world’s leading expert in hostage and crisis situations and removing a toddler from a Santa Monica bungalow was not a crisis situation. But that didn’t mean her heart didn’t race and her stomach didn’t heave and she didn’t feel frantic, aware that all kinds of things could go wrong.

But Rowan being successful meant that he would be with Jax, and this terrified her. The haters and shamers had hardened her to the nonstop barbs and insults, but Jax was her weakness. Jax made her vulnerable. And maybe that’s because Jax herself was so vulnerable.

A light from the cockpit drew her attention and she glanced up, noting the three men up front—two pilots and the male flight attendant.

They were an interesting-looking flight crew bearing very little resemblance to the pleasant, professional, middle-aged crew you’d find on a commercial plane. These three were lean, muscular and weathered. They looked so fit and so tan that it made her think they’d only recently retired from active duty with the military. As they spoke to each other in low voices, she tried to listen in, but it was impossible to eavesdrop from where she sat.

Abruptly the three men turned and looked at her and then the male flight attendant was heading her way.

“Did you need something, Miss Copeland?” he asked crisply. He didn’t look American, but he didn’t have an accent. He was an enigma, like the rest of the crew.

“Is there any water?”

“I’ll bring you a bottle. Would you like a meal? Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I could eat. Just water.”

But once she had the bottle of water, she just held it between her hands, too nervous to drink more than a mouthful.

The minutes dragged by, slowly turning into hours. She wished someone would give her an update. She wished she knew something.

But just when she didn’t think she could handle another minute of silence and worry, the distinctive sound of a helicopter could be heard.

She prayed it was Rowan returning—

The thought stopped her short. Just hours ago such a prayer would have struck her as ludicrous. But he’d gone after her baby and she was grateful for that.

Who would have ever thought she’d pray to see him again?

As the helicopter touched down the flight crew stood at the entrance of the jet as if prepared for battle.

Logan arched her brows. Rowan was serious about personal safety, wasn’t he?

But then the helicopter was down and the door was opening. Rowan was the first to step out and he was holding Jax, and as he crossed the tarmac, Joe Lopez was close behind carrying two suitcases.

What was Joe doing? Had he insisted on accompanying Jax to be sure she was safe? Or had Rowan wanted Joe along in case Jax got scared?

Either way Logan was delighted when the men stepped onto the plane with the baby.

Jax squealed when she saw Logan. “Momma!”

Logan opened her arms and Rowan handed the child over. “Hello, sweet girl,” Logan whispered, kissing her daughter’s soft cheek again and again. “How’s my baby girl?”

Jax turned her head to kiss Logan back. “I love Momma.”

“And Momma loves you. What did you think of the helicopter?” Logan asked her, giving her a little squeeze. “Was it noisy?”

Jax nodded and clapped her hands to her head. “Don’t like ear things. Bad.”

Rowan met Logan’s gaze over Jax’s head. “Not a fan of the headset.”

“Not surprised. She has a mind of her own,” Logan said.

“She does like Joe, though. She insisted on sitting on his lap during the flight. He’s good with her, too,” Rowan said.

Logan glanced back toward the galley where the flight attendant was taking the two suitcases from her assistant. “It was nice of him to come. Or did you make him?”

“I didn’t make Joe do anything. He is apparently very devoted to you—”

“Don’t start again.”

“Just saying, he’s here because he insisted.”

“I appreciate it. He’s been awesome with her since the beginning.” Logan frowned at the size of the two suitcases. “How long are we going to be gone?”

“Your buddy Joe did the packing. Apparently you girls need a lot when you travel.”

Logan’s eyes met Rowan’s. She gave her head a slight shake, her expression mocking. “You sound a little jealous of him, you know.”

“Me, jealous, of that...kid? Right.” Rowan made a scornful sound and turned away as Joe approached Logan.

“You all right?” Joe asked Logan even as he handed Jax a sippy cup with water.

Logan nodded and shot Rowan’s retreating back a disapproving look. “I hope he wasn’t rude to you,” she said to Joe. “If he was, don’t take it personally. He’s that way with everyone.”

Joe smiled and shrugged. “I’ve met worse.”

Logan gave him a look.

His smile broadened. “He doesn’t bother me. And he was actually pretty sweet with Jax—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t want to hear it.” Logan cut him short. “So is he going to send you back in the helicopter or are you having to grab a cab back? If you need a cab, just put it on my account. I won’t have you paying for something like that. It’ll be ridiculously expensive.”

“I’ll grab a rental car and drop it off at LAX.” Joe hesitated a moment. “Are you going to be okay?”

Logan kissed the top of Jax’s head and nodded. “Need tomorrow’s event to go off without a hitch—”

“It will. The fund-raiser will be huge, and the fashion show will be wonderful. But you’re the one I’m worried about.”

“Don’t. I’m fine. And my company...it’s everything. It’s my reputation. My livelihood. It’s how I provide for Jax—” She broke off, overwhelmed by stress and the weight of her reality. Her reality was harsh. People didn’t give her the same benefit of the doubt they gave others. She didn’t get second chances or opportunities...no, she had to fight tooth and nail for every job, forced to prove herself over and over again.

“I’ll handle it,” Joe said quietly, his deep voice firm.

“Thank you.”

And then he kissed Jax on the top of her head and he left.

Rowan didn’t seem to even notice that Joe had gone and it burned Logan up, how arrogant and callous Rowan was. Joe had been a huge help and Rowan didn’t thank him or care.

Why couldn’t Logan fall for someone like Joe...someone smart and kind and caring? Someone with emotions?

And then as if able to read Logan’s mind, Rowan was returning. “We need to go.” He nodded at the toddler. “Are you going to hold her for takeoff, or do you want me to buckle her car seat into a chair next to you?”

“Which is safer?” Logan asked.

“Car seat,” he answered promptly.

“Then let’s do that.”

“Has she ever been on a plane before?”

Logan shook her head. “We don’t...go out...much.” And seeing his expression she added, “We don’t need the attention.”

“Have things been that difficult?”

“You’ve no idea.” And then she laughed because it was all she could do. The haters and shamers would not win. They wouldn’t. She’d make sure of that, just as she’d make sure her daughter would grow up with a spine and become a woman with courage and strength.

* * *

Rowan glanced at his watch. They’d been flying four hours but still had a good four to five hours to go. He was glad that the toddler finally slept, though. Earlier she’d cried for nearly an hour when she couldn’t have her blanket. Joe had brought the blanket when they met up at the Santa Monica airport. The blanket was either in a seat or on the floor of the helicopter or perhaps it got dropped on the tarmac during the transfer to the plane. Either way, the baby was inconsolable and Logan walked with Jax, up and down the short aisle, patting her little girl’s back until Jax had finally cried herself to sleep on Logan’s shoulder.

Now Logan herself was asleep in one of the leather chairs in a reclined position, the little girl still on her chest, the child’s two miniature ponytails brushing Logan’s chin.

Seeing Logan with the child made him uncomfortable.

He didn’t like the ambivalence, either. He didn’t like any ambivalence, preferring life tidy, organized, categorized into boxes that could be graded and stacked.

He’d put Logan into a box. He’d graded the box and labeled it, stacking it in the corner of his mind with other bad and difficult memories. After he’d left her, after their night together, he’d been troubled for weeks...months. It had angered him that he couldn’t forget her, angered him that he didn’t have more control over his emotions. He shouldn’t care about her. He shouldn’t worry about her. And yet he did.

He worried constantly.

He worried that someone, somewhere would hurt her.

He worried about her physical safety. He worried about her emotional well-being. He’d been so hard on her. He’d been ruthless, just the way he was with his men, and in his world. But she wasn’t a man, and she wasn’t conditioned to handle what he’d dished out.

He’d come so close, so many times to apologizing.

He’d come so close to saying he was wrong.

But he didn’t. He feared opening a door that couldn’t be shut. There was no point bonding with a woman who wasn’t to be trusted. Trust was everything in his world, and she’d lied to him once—Logan Lane, indeed—so why wouldn’t she lie again?

Maybe the trust issue would be less crucial if he had a different job. Maybe if his work wasn’t so sensitive he could be less vigilant...but his work was sensitive, and countless people depended on him to keep them safe, and alive.

Just as Jax depended on her mother to keep her safe.

He wanted to hate Logan. Wanted to despise her. But watching her sleep with Jax stirred his protective instinct.

At two years old, Jax was still more baby than girl, her wispy blond hair a shade lighter than her mother’s. They both had long dark eyelashes and the same mouth, full and pink with a rosebud for an upper lip.

Sleeping, Jax was a vision of innocence.

Sleeping, Logan was a picture of maternal devotion.

Together they made his chest ache.

Rowan didn’t want his chest to ache. He didn’t want to care in any way, but it was difficult to separate himself when he kept running numbers in his head.

March 31 plus forty weeks meant a December birthday. Jax had a December birthday. December 22 to be precise. He knew because Joe had located Jax’s birth certificate at the house and put it in a file for Rowan. You couldn’t just whisk a baby out of a country without any legal documentation. If they were flying on a commercial plane, he’d have to go through government channels, which would have required a passport.

But since they weren’t flying on a private plane, his pilot had submitted a manifest—which had included Logan Copeland. The manifest had not included the baby as he hadn’t known there was a baby until just hours ago.

The baby could potentially be an issue, but as Rowan had diplomatic immunity, he wasn’t too worried for himself.

Logan was another matter. She could definitely find herself in hot water should various governments discover she’d smuggled a baby out of one country and into another.

Fortunately they would be landing on Rowan’s private airstrip on his private property, so there shouldn’t be guards or officers inspecting his jet, or interrogating his guests.

But if they did...what would he say about Jax?

The child born exactly forty weeks after March 31.

* * *

Aware that she was being studied, Logan opened her eyes. Rowan sat watching her in a leather chair opposite hers.

He wasn’t smiling.

She just held his cool green gaze, her heart sinking. She didn’t want to panic and yet there was something very quiet, and very thoughtful, in his expression and it made her imagine that he could see things he couldn’t see and know things he couldn’t possibly know.

He couldn’t possibly know that Jax was his.

He couldn’t possibly imagine that she would have slept only with him. Her one and only lover in twenty-seven years. That didn’t happen anymore. Women didn’t wait for true love...

And so she arched a brow, matching his cool expression, doing what she did best—deflect, deflect, deflect. “Was I snoring?”

“No.”

“Was my mouth open, catching flies?”

“I want a DNA test.”

The words were so quietly spoken that it took Logan a moment to process them. He wanted a DNA test. He did suspect...

Deflect, deflect, deflect. “That’s awfully presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“You said you were a virgin. You made a big fuss earlier about how I manhandled your hymen—”

“I did not say that.”

“—which makes me doubt you were out getting laid by someone else in the following five to seven days.”

“Your math is excellent. I commend you. Not just a skilled lover, but also a true statistician, except for the fact that Jax wasn’t due for another month. She arrived early.”

“Your sweet girl was almost nine pounds, my love. She wasn’t early.”

Logan’s stomach heaved. He knew how much Jax weighed. He knew her birth date. What else did he know? “She’s not yours,” she repeated stubbornly.

“No, she hasn’t been, but she should be, shouldn’t she?”

Logan held her breath.

“We’ll test tomorrow, after we land.”

“You’re not going to poke her with a needle—”

“We’ll do a saliva swab. Painless.”

“Rowan.”

“Yes, Logan?”

Logan’s heart was beating so fast she was afraid it’d wake Jax. “You don’t even like children. You don’t want them. And you despise girls—”

“Is this what you’ve been telling yourself the past three years? Is this your justification for keeping Jax from me?”

You called me a whore. You said the worst, most despicable things to me.

And yes, those words hurt, but that wasn’t why she didn’t tell him. “I tried,” she said, her voice quiet but thankfully steady.

“And when was that?”

“When I called you. Remember that? I phoned to tell you, and instead of a ‘How are you? Everything okay?’ you demanded to know how I got your number.” She stared Rowan down, her gaze unwavering. “Even when I told you that Drakon had given it to me because it was important, you were hateful. You mocked me, saying you’d given me all you could.”

Her voice was no longer quiet and calm. It vibrated with emotion, coloring the air between them. “After you hung up, I cried myself sick, and then eventually I pulled myself together and was glad. Glad you wanted nothing to do with me, glad you wanted nothing to do with us, glad that my daughter wouldn’t have to grow up as I did, with a selfish, uncaring father.”

For a long moment Rowan said nothing. He just studied her from his seat, his big, lean, powerful body relaxed, his expression thoughtful. He seemed as if he didn’t have a care in the world, which put her on high alert. This was Rowan at his most dangerous, and she suspected what made him so dangerous was that he cared.

He cared a great deal.

Finally he shifted and sighed. “There are so many things I could say.”

Logan’s heart raced and her stomach rolled and heaved. “Why don’t you say them?”

“Because we are still hours away from Galway—”

“Galway?” she interrupted.

“—and I don’t feel like arguing all the way to Ireland.”

She blinked at him, taken aback. “We can’t leave the US. I don’t have a passport with me, and Jax doesn’t even have one yet.”

Rowan shrugged, unconcerned. “We’re landing on a private airstrip. There won’t be any customs or immigration officers on our arrival.”

“And what about when we return? Don’t you think it will be problematic then?”

“Could be. But Joe packed your passport when he packed for you, and he sent along Jax’s birth certificate, so we do have that.”

That’s how Rowan knew Jax’s birth date. That’s how he knew what he knew. But how did Joe know where to find her legal documents? She’d never told him...




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jane-porter/her-sinful-secret/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.