Surprised by Love

  She gave a slow blink. The most important person in his life??

  He tucked a curl behind her ear. “It would mean the world to me, even if we go just as friends for now, so please say yes.”

  “Andrew, I . . . I’m s-sorry, b-but I c-can’t—”

  “Can’t go to the ball or can’t court me?” he whispered.

  “B-both, I’m afraid.”

  Palms suddenly damp, she attempted to pull away, but he halted her with a gentle hold. “Because you don’t care for me?”

  “Of course I care for you,” she said in a rush, her voice a rasp of regret, “but as a friend, Andrew, nothing more.”

  He stilled, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm. “So . . . you’re not attracted to me then, is that it?”

  Eyes wide, she beseeched him with her gaze, unwilling to lie. Because in one defining beat of her heart, the truth struck hard, as swift as the hammer of her pulse. If not for Logan, she suddenly realized, I could fall in love with this man. A man who shared her hopes and dreams for the city . . . and a man who shared a faith as deep as her own.

  His grip tightened. “Please answer me, Cait,” he whispered, the urgency in his tone causing her to shiver. “I need to know if you’re feeling what I am, if there’s any chance at all.”

  “An-drew, I . . . I can’t say—”

  Her gasp was lost in the tenderness of his kiss when he drew her near. She jolted as heat coiled through her so strong that a moan rose within, utterly silenced by the caress of his mouth.

  And then in a whoosh of cold air, he jerked back with a violence that iced her skin more than the absence of his touch, as his body sprawled across the veranda with a harsh grunt.

  “So help me, Turner, I’ll kill you if you ever touch her again.” Logan’s eyes were those of a madman as he stood over Andrew, fists knotted at his sides.

  “You don’t own her, McClare.” Andrew shot up with the same blood lust in his eyes that she saw in Logan’s. “No matter what you think. She’s her own woman and can decide for herself.”

  Logan lunged, two-fisting Andrew’s vest and shirt with so much brute force Caitlyn screamed. “I’ve warned you before, and I’m not going to warn you again—stay away from her!”

  “Logan, stop!” Heat pulsed in Cait’s cheeks, Logan’s violence causing her to tremble.

  Andrew shoved back with equal strength. “Why don’t you let Cait decide, McClare?” A smile hovered on his lips, obviously meant to goad. “Or are you afraid you’ll lose once again?”

  Caitlyn’s cry pierced the night when Logan slammed a fist into Andrew’s jaw. The sickening thud of knuckles to bone curdled her stomach and paralyzed her tongue.

  Dazed, Andrew staggered back and swiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. Glancing at the scarlet stains splattered across his white shirt, he unleashed a harsh growl with a powerful thrust that sent Logan reeling.

  “Nooooo!” Caitlyn blocked Andrew with palms to his chest. “This stops now!”

  Chest heaving, Andrew singed Logan with a glare before his eyes finally met hers, contrition strong in their depths. “Forgive me, Cait, for ruining your evening,” he whispered. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face.

  She nodded mutely and took the cloth from his hand to gently remove the remains of blood that he missed, aware of Logan’s seething presence behind her. Relinquishing a weary sigh, she removed his jacket and handed it to him. “Go change your shirt, Andrew,” she said quietly, “and we’ll try to salvage what has been up till now a most splendid evening.”

  He drew in a deep breath and nodded, pocketing his handkerchief as he crossed the stone veranda. He turned at the door. “But I won’t change just yet, Cait.” His eyes lanced Logan with a venomous stare. “I’ll wait in the hallway just to make sure you’re okay.”

  Logan jerked forward with a hiss, but Cait halted him with a brutal wrench of his shirt, nails digging into a heaving chest that felt like rock. “No!” she screamed, eyes blazing with anger she seldom displayed. “You lay a hand on Andrew Turner ever again, and it will be the last you see of me, is that understood?”

  His silence pounded like the blood in her ears as he stared, gray eyes black with fury.

  With a hard yank of his pristine shirt, she shoved him back. “Answer me! Do-you-understand?”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek as his eyes bore through hers, his temper barely contained. In rigid motion, he retucked his shirt and adjusted the sleeves of coat, his voice little more than a hiss. “Yes.”

  She turned to give Andrew a stiff smile. “Thank you, Andrew—I won’t be a moment.”

  Andrew nodded and left. The door barely clicked behind him when Caitlyn whirled to face Logan. “How dare you!” she breathed, shallow breaths rasping from her throat.

  “How dare I?” He bit the words out, eyes seething. “How dare you profess to love me and agree to court me not nine months ago, then so readily fall into the arms of the one man I despise, letting him paw you like some wanton woman—”

  The air whooshed still in her lungs, paralyzing her for several seconds while tears stung in her eyes. And then in a delayed knee-jerk reaction, she slapped him so hard, his head slammed to the side, the crack of her palm echoing loud in the night. She shook with fury that begged release, angrier than she’d ever been. “A fine remark from the man who forced his way on me in Napa and on heaven knows how many other women over the years.” She hiked her chin in defiance, voice quivering, but shoulders square. “This-conversation-is-over,” she whispered, turning on her heel to bolt for the door.

  “The deuce it is!” He spun her around, gripping her arms so tightly, she couldn’t move. “We’re going to settle this once and for all, Cait.” His chest pumped hard as he slowly released her, stepping back as if to give her some air. His harsh tone lowered to the level of calm she imagined he employed with difficult clients, arms stiff at his sides while his fingers flexed and clenched several times. “I love you more than anything in this world, Cait, and you claim to love me, and yet you deny me the hope of marriage.” A tic flickered in his steeled jaw. “For the love of all that’s decent—how do you expect me to react when I find him kissing you, something you go to great lengths to avoid with me—the man you supposedly love?”

  A weary sigh quivered from her lips, draining all anger. She took a step forward to gently cup his wrist. “Logan, I’m sorry you had to see that, but please believe me—he took me by surprise. It was nothing I asked for nor wanted, I assure you.”

  A flash of fire sparked in his eyes. “You could have assured me far more by pushing him away, Cait, slapping him silly like he deserved.” He distanced himself once again, causing her hand to plummet from his wrist. “But you didn’t,” he whispered, his words edged with ice.

  Her cheeks flushed hot because he was right. She swallowed hard, struggling to respond.

  “Are-you-attracted-to-him?” He bit each syllable out, jaw clamped as tight as his lips.

  “Logan, this is silly—I have no romantic interest in Andrew Turn—”

  He grasped her arms again, giving them a firm shake. “Are-you-attracted-to-him?” he repeated, the hiss of each word hot against her face.

  She felt the heat of her blush to the roots of her hair. “I don’t have to answer that,” she shot back, ashamed to admit the truth to herself, much less to him.

  His voice was deadly quiet when he released her. “You just did.” Turning away, he slashed blunt fingers through his hair, his broad back appearing to sag.

  “Logan . . .” Her heart cramped at the pain she’d caused. Hands shaking, she rubbed his back with a tender touch. “He kissed me, it’s true, but I suspect only to coax me to accompany him to the Barrister Ball. But I turned him down, so you have nothing to worry about . . .”

  He rotated slowly, his face set in mortar and stone like the very veranda beneath their feet. “You’re right, Cait, because after tonight, he’s out of your life.”

  Her body
stilled. “Pardon me?”

  “Other than Vigilance Meetings at Walter’s or elsewhere, I’m asking you to stop seeing him.”

  Her ire rose along with her voice. “Asking? Or telling?”

  A nerve jerked in his cheek. “Demanding.”

  Icy needles prickled her skin. “You c-can’t be serious.”

  He never even blinked. “Dead serious.”

  Arms barricaded to her chest, she shook her head, body quivering. “Well, you can demand all you want, Logan McClare, but as Andrew so aptly put it, you don’t own me.”

  He stepped in close, obviously to intimidate her with his towering height. “I may not own you, Cait, but I am responsible for the well-being of you and your family, per final request of my brother. So rest assured, I fully intend to protect your interests and those of my family.”

  “My ‘interests’?” she shouted. “Or yours?”

  “Ours, Cait.” He sucked in a breath and stepped back, softening his stance, but not the steely look in his eyes. “I want your word, Cait, that Turner will be out of your life.”

  Resolve hardened in her bones. She was well aware this was a battle she could not afford to lose. Logan already held far too much sway in her life—and in her heart. She could not allow him to gain any ground. “And if I won’t?”

  He pierced her with a look so menacing, she fought the twinge of a buckle at the back of her knees. His voice was low, but the threat was loud and clear. “Then you’ve made your choice, and I’ll make mine.”

  She stiffened her shoulders. “Meaning?”

  His jaw began to grind, chilling evidence of an iron will. “It’s me or him, Cait—take your pick.”

  Her stomach seized, and somewhere deep down inside she felt it—the faint rumble of outrage stirring, rising from the same dark tomb in which she’d buried the husband she loved. A soul-quaking fury that had begun after Logan’s betrayal years ago and deepened with the death of her best friend and father of her children. Too painful and foreign to entertain, she’d embedded it deep in the recesses of her mind, never to see the light of day.

  Until now.

  Yes, she loved Logan McClare, but she also knew she couldn’t allow him to dominate her again, not like before when she’d been a starry-eyed debutante who opened her heart so completely. So very trusting, so vulnerable. A shiver scurried up her spine. And so very wounded.

  But never again.

  His breathing was shallow and harsh. “I’ll not stand by and lose the woman I love to the man I hate,” he said quietly, a pulsing in his temple telling her he would not back down. “So the choice is yours.”

  She challenged his hard gaze with an unflinching one of her own. “No, Logan, the choice is yours,” she said quietly, calling his bluff. “Rest assured that I love you and my family loves you, and you are a critical part of our lives. But do not attempt to control me ever again. Please understand I will do anything or see anyone I choose, including Andrew, is that clear?” She spun on her heel, desperate to escape before her limbs gave way.

  “Don’t do it, Cait,” he called, his voice a hoarse command. “Don’t fight for a man who will only hurt you and the family I love—I won’t allow it.”

  She halted at the door, his words a flare to the flame of her anger. “You won’t allow it?” she whispered, pivoting slowly, barely able to comprehend the audacity of his demand. She stared, jaw sagging and anger seething, as close to losing control as she had ever been. “You won’t allow it?” She seared him with a look before whirling around and lashing the door open. Her eyes scanned the mezzanine lobby until she saw Andrew chatting with several men by the elevator. Scorching Logan with a glare over her shoulder, she opted for rash behavior for the first time in her life, her voice deadly calm. “No, Logan—you just guaranteed it.”

  “Cait—wait!”

  But she refused, determined that Logan would never threaten or badger her again. “Andrew,” she called, and he glanced up, taking a step forward. Satin skirt clenched in her hands, she literally ran to where he stood, well aware that Logan stalked behind.

  “Cait!” Logan’s voice echoed, out of breath and a hint of regret for the very first time.

  She gripped Andrew’s hand. “Is your offer for the Barrister Ball still good?”

  Eyes on Logan as he stormed across the lobby, Andrew nodded, smile hesitant. “You know it is, Cait, always.”

  “Then it’s a date,” she said with a thrust of her chin. She turned to challenge Logan with a streak of rebellion that felt far better than it should. “And you can thank Logan, Andrew, because he’s the one who convinced me to accept.”

  Logan halted, not five feet away, his look of utter disbelief far less satisfying than she’d expected, not when the pain in his eyes deprived her of all anger.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but it was too late. He’d already bolted for the stairwell, slamming the door so hard, it rattled both her bones and her heart. Tears pricked, and she blinked hard to deflect them, hand to her eyes. Oh Lord—what have I done? She bowed her head in grief, drawing no comfort from Andrew’s gentle touch to her back.

  She swallowed hard, regret searing the very walls of her throat. A woman who prided herself on grace and decorum, but tonight she’d lost her temper, her calm, her God-given peace of mind, sacrificing a friendship on the pyre of pride.

  The tongue is a fire . . .

  She shivered in Andrew’s arms, the Scripture she’d read in her prayer book that very morning wrenching a sob from her soul.

  And her heart bore the scars to prove it.

  19

  Megan released a sigh of relief as Bram ushered her to the table, the knots in her stomach unraveling when Devin Caldwell was nowhere in sight. Working with Devin day after day for the last week in a professional environment was one thing, but dancing in his arms on a crowded dance floor in front of family and friends was something else altogether. When Andrew had mentioned a family gathering to celebrate her homecoming, she hadn’t realized he’d meant the staff “family” as well—a surprise she hadn’t expected. Her heart had stuttered when she’d spotted Devin’s easy smile, his mention of saving him a dance conjuring memories that slickened her palms.

  “I’d rather dance with a hog—more personality and smells better too.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if there would ever be a time when the barbs from her past would wane. She thought they had since Paris, but that was before Devin Caldwell had reentered her life. Now it took everything in her to remain professional and aloof in the workplace, distancing herself—and her heart—from both the man’s prior ridicule and notorious charm. She could not—would not—let her guard down.

  Meg offered Bram a tremulous smile when he seated her next to Alli and Nick, then promptly reached for her water goblet while her eyes scanned the room. She spotted Devin dancing center floor with Linda Marie, who appeared to hang on to his every word while he chatted with George and Bonnie, who danced alongside. Chugging the rest of her water, she set the glass down with shaky fingers, desperately wishing the evening were done.

  “Oh!” Hand to her throat, she jumped at Bram’s touch.

  He nudged his full water goblet next to her empty one with a somber smile, his tone gentle. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it may be best to just go ahead and dance with him, Bug. You know, confront your fears and put them to rest?” He slipped an arm around her shoulder to give her a hug, eyes tender. “Not that I don’t enjoy dancing almost every dance with you,” he said with a crooked grin. His voice veered low. “But you danced with Conor, Teddy, and George, so common courtesy dictates you’re going to have to say yes to Devin too. And as much as I enjoy being your excuse each time he asks . . .” His smile was edged with sympathy. “I think you may have to just bite the bullet.”

  “Or shoot it from a gun,” Blake said with a wink, clinking his water glass to Alli’s.

  Bram chuckled and tugged Meg to face him, settling her nerves with his calm an
d steady manner. The humor in his eyes faded as he gently brushed a stray curl from her face. “I think you need to—face the past head-on and then put it behind, for your own good and his. Besides . . .” He glanced at the dance floor where the song was just coming to an end. “I’m not fond of him for how he hurt you in the past, but I had a chance to talk with him over dinner and he seems decent enough now, so who knows? Maybe a leopard can change his spots.” He tugged on the curl before slipping it behind her ear. “After all, there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

  Smiling despite herself, Meg inhaled deeply, her smile wobbly at best. “I hate skinning cats,” she whispered.

  He grinned. “Think of it more as taming a tiger—less bloody that way.” His manner sobered. “I want to see you leave the hurt behind, Bug, and that can’t happen until you confront it—and him.” He rubbed her arms, as if doing so could infuse her with the courage she needed. When he tipped her chin up, the love in his eyes helped to calm her. “Ask him why he did it. Who knows—you might just find an answer that sets you free—and him.”

  Expelling a quivering sigh, she felt the old insecurities whirling in her mind like the couples on the floor. She picked at her nails, gaze focused on her fingers. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Afraid to get too close, afraid he’ll charm me like he does everyone else, afraid to be honest.” She looked up, voice wavering as her glossy eyes met his. “And terribly afraid to be that vulnerable again.” She shook her head, palms sliding her arms like he’d just done. “No, I think I need time, time for the fear to subside before I can let him into my world.”

  “That’s just it, Bug—the fear won’t subside. It will never leave until you confront it head-on. The truth is, the things that fear prevents us from doing are the very weapons to dismantle that fear.” His lips tipped in the barest of smiles. “Do it afraid, Meg—walk out on that dance floor with Devin Caldwell, knees knocking and heart racing, and just spit in the devil’s eye.” The lazy smile she loved skimmed across his face while a gleam lit up the blue of his eyes. “But don’t make a mistake and spit in Devin’s instead.”