CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
For the two days Logan’s been gone, I’ve done nothing but sit on the beach looking toward the horizon. He left me. I know why he left, understand what motivated him, and can honestly say if the roles had been reversed, I’d have done the same. In my head, I get it, but in my heart, he left me. With all the pain churning through me, I should at least have the right to hate him. But I can’t, because he didn’t leave me, he just left me to keep me safe.
“You’re not sitting out here for another day. If Logan saw this, he would not be happy, particularly since the only reason he left was to keep you alive. This isn’t living.” Tommy sinks down next to me on the sand.
“Yes, but maybe if I wallow long enough, he’ll drop the chivalrous bullshit and come home to me.”
Tommy takes my hand, shifting my focus to him. “He thought you were dead. Seeing your car mangled, he thought you were dead. How the hell did you think he was going to react? Saffron, you could have died in that accident.”
A shiver works through me as it does every time I think about what-if. “You’re right. My head totally gets it. But he’s gone, Tommy. I have a wedding dress being made I don’t even know if I’ll ever wear. The man I want to marry, the man who wants to marry me, is off trying to find out who tried to kill me. What the fuck? I think, under the circumstances, I can have a few days to be pissed and sad and angry and lonely.”
“A few days and then you’re getting your ass back into your life,” Tommy says with tenderness. “Logan will be back and you’ll be married during the Swordfish Festival, which I think you’re completely insane for even thinking. Your life will go on. Give him this. He feels responsible. He needs to do this.”
Resting my head on his shoulder, my gaze turns back to the horizon. “How did you get so smart? Did you, like, eat smart people’s brains?”
“Well, if I did, you’d certainly be safe from me.”
My laugh feels really good. “Love you, Tommy.”
“Back at you.”
As the days turn into weeks, the female population thins. David is gone and so are the groupies and unwanted cameras. Not that they don’t take a few parting shots, seeming to enjoy the juicy tidbit of our broken engagement. The common thread is that David was slumming but has finally come back to his senses. I sit in my pretty little living room with my dog at my side. I don’t deserve such cruelty from people who don’t know me at all.
A moving van drove past a few days ago; Elise apparently really had been here only for the story and she didn’t even say good-bye.
Hearing my phone, I go into the kitchen to grab it. I’m more than a little disappointed to hear my mom. This is the first time she’s called since I left them the message about my engagement.
“Saffron, is it true you are no longer engaged to David Cambre?”
Way to stick the knife in. “Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you must have done something to make him go. Why can’t you be more accommodating? Why do you have to be so hardheaded? You’ve been like that since you were a small child. Always had to go your own way, never listened, never followed, always charging ahead without thought to consequence.”
“Why is it that every time we talk, you’re finding fault? Why don’t you ever call to say, ‘Hey, Saffron, how are you doing?’ or, ‘Saffron, so sorry to hear about your breakup. Are you okay?’ You only ever find fault with me. Why can’t you just offer love and support without censure?”
“I wasn’t aware you felt that way about my parenting.”
“You don’t see it?”
“No, I hear an ungrateful girl who’s whining because she wasn’t kissed more on the head. Sometimes I wonder if babies weren’t switched at the hospital, because I just simply don’t get you. Being your mother has not been easy, Saffron. You should be thankful for what it was we did give you.”
“What exactly? Love? No. Support? No. Understanding? No. I got all of that from Frank. Hell, Dad can’t even get on the damn phone for the ten minutes you allot me a month. If being my parent is such a burden, I can make that very easy for you. Lose my number, because I intend to lose yours. I’ve spent my life seeking your approval, hoping for just one pat on the head, but I know I will never get that from you and frankly I’m just tired of the whole pretense.”
“If that’s how you feel, fine.”
“Oh, and in my opinion, any bitch in heat can have a kid. Being a mother is an entirely different scenario. You were never my mother.” I don’t wait for a reply and hang up.
“Saffron.”
At the sound of Logan’s voice on the phone, my heart takes off into a gallop. “Logan.”
“Can you talk?”
“Yes.” I turn the heat off on the stove where I had been boiling water for pasta and settle on the stool by the bar. “How are you?” I ask.
“Miserable, and you?”
He sounds like I feel. I chuckle. “The same. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“Just because I can’t be with you, can’t fucking marry you . . .” I hear the inhale, his attempt to calm down. “I needed to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad you called, ecstatic is probably a better word.”
He chuckles. Well, that’s better than him being pissed. “I’m sorry I left the way I did, sneaking off in the middle of the night. If I’d waited until morning, I would have lost my resolve and I really do believe you’re safer with me away. Speaking of which, has there been any more trouble?”
“Not the kind you’re worrying about, but somehow I think you already know that.”
“True, the sheriff is on speed dial. What other kind of trouble is there?”
“I had a falling-out with my mom. I told her to lose my number.”
His concern comes through the line and wraps around me. “Are you okay? As sad as it is to say, I think that outcome has been in the making for a long time.”
“You’re right. It’s just taken me this long to finally reach my limit. In the long run, it’s for the best. I’ll never measure up and now I won’t be setting myself up for the inevitable hit.”
“They don’t deserve you. How they can see anything but the incredible woman you are is totally fucking beyond me.”
“You’re swearing an awful lot,” I tease.
“Pent-up frustration does that to me.”
It’s my turn to chuckle because he sounds so disgruntled, a sound I am not used to hearing from him. “How are you? What’s happening with your investigation?”
He’s silent for a moment and, when he does answer, I don’t get the sense it’s a full answer. “I’m making progress—something from my past, but I’m dealing with it.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
“Do you remember we talked about crazy fans on our way to Salem? Well, I’m pretty sure that’s what we’re dealing with. I’ve got investigators confirming a few things for me.”
“And then?”
“I’m going to confront her.”
“Is that smart? Seems to me if she’s unstable enough to cut my brake lines, then there’s very little she won’t do.”
“I have to try, Saffron.”
“You know who this is. She’s more than just a fan. Is she the one who broke in to your house?”
Silence meets my observation for a few beats. “You really do know me so well. Yeah, I do know her, but it isn’t the woman who broke in to the house.”
“Who?”
“I’d rather not say until I know for sure. If I’m wrong, then I’m defaming someone’s character and that makes me no better than the assholes who have taken shots at us.”
“Fair.”
“If I am correct, though, my decision to leave was right, because this person has a history of mental illness, so there’s no telling what she’ll do. Reasoning with her may not work, so I’m hoping her family can convince her that she needs to seek help but how long that will take, who the fuck knows. I want to be with you, but I suspect the moment I set foot in Harrington, or you come here, it’ll set her off. Maybe even crazier than before because she’s thinking she’s broken us up.”
I want to know who this person is and at the same time I really don’t. Fear traces my spine at his words. “We’re safer apart for now, but she isn’t going to keep us that way.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Agreed.”
The weeks turn into months and before long the Swordfish Festival heralds my wedding day. I stand in my room staring at my wedding gown. It’s beautiful, perfect, and I’m not wearing it.
“You’ll get to wear it. It’s just a matter of when. Besides, if you had worn it today, it would have picked up the smell of the swordfish.” I know Josh is trying to help, but I don’t think there’s enough banter in the world to make me smile today.
Gwen walks into my room with Chastity. Her presence momentarily pulls me from my funk.
“Chin up, Saffron. This is a minor setback, nothing more. I mean, hell, with the time and expense Logan put in to ask you to marry him, the boy loves you. He’ll be back and until then it’s festival time.”
“I’m blackballed, remember.”
“I’m going to lift that considering the circumstances.”
“Great, that’s a real pick-me-up.”
She turns serious, and it’s the look of genuine concern that snaps my mouth shut from any further sarcasm. “Getting out among your friends, this day in particular, is exactly what you need. It may not be the day you had planned, but life does go on. Find happiness in the day despite your disappointment. And to help with that, I’ve officially included the food fight as part of the activities.”
“Really?” Josh is as surprised by that as me. “Why?”
“Because people flooded me with e-mails saying they wanted it in.” She cocks her hip. “So, you think you can get yourself motivated to come fling cakes at your neighbors?”
I can’t believe I’m smiling.
That night I’m in bed when the phone rings and, seeing it’s Logan, I answer on the first ring.
“How was the Swordfish Festival?” There’s humor in his voice.
“Chastity nailed me with five cakes.”
“Payback.”
“And that’s why I let her.” Didn’t really want to ask, but I did want to know. “How’s it going with the woman?”
“I really don’t want to talk about that tonight. We should have been married today and this would have been our wedding night.” Silence, then he says, “I miss you—seeing your smile, hearing your laugh—and I ache for you. Are you in bed?”
My entire body clenches. “Yeah.”
“I want to try something. If this makes you uncomfortable, just say.”
I have a feeling I know what he wants to try and already I’m aching.
“Touch yourself, wet your finger and rub it over your nipple.”
The ache moves to between my legs.
“Are you touching yourself?”
I lick my finger and brush it over my nipple. “Yes.”
“Twist it, pull, and move your other hand down your body, slowly. Imagine it’s my hands on you, running over your ribs and stomach, slipping under your panties. Touch yourself right on the nub that’s aching. Are you touching yourself?”
My moan is involuntary. “Yes.”
“That’s my mouth sucking on your nipple and it’s my fingers moving through that wet heat between your legs. Tilt your hips and push your finger inside, slowly, and imagine it’s me.”
Yanking my panties off, I spread my legs wider and push my finger deep. “I want to touch you. Wrap your hand around your . . .” the word gets stuck in my throat.
“Say it, wrap my hand around what?”
“It’s crude.”
“Say it.”
“Cock, wrap your hand around your cock and imagine it’s my mouth, taking you deep, sucking hard. Are you stroking yourself?”
His pleasurable moan is answer enough. “Push another finger into that sweet, wet heat, and pull them out slowly until your body clenches for me, begging me to bury myself deep inside you. Push them back in. That’s me in you, feeling you tightening around me. You’re wet, so fucking wet.”
“I am wet and aching for you. You’re swelling in my mouth. I know you’re getting close, I can feel you getting harder and thicker, can taste the saltiness leaking from the tip.”
“Fuck, yeah. I’m going to come. Make yourself come, Saffron. I want to hear you come while my seed pumps out of me.”
My hips rock around my own hand; it feels so good and the nub aches as I squeeze and rub. Oh God. My back arches off the bed. My entire being is locked on his voice and my hand between my legs.
“I’m coming, Saffron. It’s your body milking me. Come with me.”
“Oh God, I am.”
And I do, my body spasms around my fingers just as Logan releases a loud, sexy moan over the line.
Tingles linger, my breath labors, and, instead of feeling embarrassed by what we just did, I love it. Loved knowing he touched himself, made himself come while thinking about me.
“That was . . . holy shit, that was fun,” I gasp, nearly breathless, but, holy shit, that really was fun.
“You sure? It wasn’t too much?”
“Hell no.”
“Good. This time when you come, I want to hear you scream.”
The contractor finished up the work on the house in just under a month. My original plan was to hire an interior designer to furnish the empty house until I realized I already have the perfect person for the job: Josh. He has wonderful taste and he’s family. I’d much rather he decorate Frank’s home than someone who doesn’t know the story behind the house.
The plan is to take a week measuring rooms, windows, and the like before we start shopping. When the furniture is delivered, Josh and I, and probably the rest of the gang, if I know them, will spend a weekend setting it all up. It’s exciting how close we are to the finish line.
Broderick and Dante made the trip with us, eager to see the progress on the house, but they left earlier—traveling on to Manhattan to take care of some other business.
I’m in the basement with Josh checking out the work the contractor and his crew had done—the new bathroom, the soon-to-be media room, and the elevator.
“This house is amazing. We are going to have a hell of a good time decorating it,” Josh says, his arm draping over my shoulders.
“I was thinking we could bring the gang for a weekend and put it all together once we’ve got everything purchased.”
“Excellent idea.”
“So where do you want to start?” I ask.
“Down here is good. Let me get my things.”
At the end of the week, I’m feeling really great about the progress we’re making. The board forwarded several potential candidates for fall matriculation. We have two months before classes start, but I’d like to have the kids move in a week prior. We’re getting close but I think we’re going to make it.
I owe much of this to Broderick and Dante, who have tirelessly handled all the legal matters. I’ll need to do something for them as a thank-you.
Josh and I have decided to call it an early night because we’re both so exhausted. Who knew shopping online could be so tiring? Reaching my room at the hotel, all I can think about is dropping on the bed and sleeping for two, maybe three, days. I slip my key card into the slot and the door opens on Logan. I’m convinced I’m daydreaming, so I stare, soaking up the sight of him. But it’s not a dream—Logan pulls me into the room and slams the door shut with his foot. He crushes me against his hard body and fuses his mouth to mine. My hands frantically try to get past the clothes to flesh as we move together toward the bed, trying to disrobe each other without breaking our kiss.
When he steps back to discard my blouse, his intake of breath makes my toes curl. “God, you’re beautiful.”
And then we fall onto the bed and our clothes are being tossed here and there. When we’re finally skin to skin, we don’t waste time as Logan moves between my legs and pushes into me in one hard motion. My hips move up, my legs spread wider, and I just close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of being connected to him again. Logan lifts my hips higher and starts to move with deep thrusts in and out. The exquisite movement pushes me over the edge, my body pulsing with my release, seconds before Logan tenses as his orgasm burns through him. He gives me a minute to catch my breath and then he flips me onto my stomach, lifts my hips, and sinks into me again. His mouth is near my ear when he whispers, “I want to hear you scream this time.”
Déjà vu washes over me at the words from our phone sex. This time it’s so much better.
I wake to the feel of Logan brushing his fingers over my bare back.
“If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me.”
“Not dreaming.”
Lifting my head, I ask, “Why did you come?”
“Having you so close, I couldn’t stay away.”
“Let’s stay here for two, maybe three years.”
“I’d like that. Broderick stopped by to see me. Dupree House is really coming together.”
Sitting up, I wrap the sheet around my breasts. Logan doesn’t like this, pulling the sheet from my hand so it settles around my waist. “It’s been too long. Please don’t cover yourself.”
It’s not so much his words, but his tone is full of longing, and something darker I can’t pinpoint.
“Tell me about the house?” he asks.
I want to ask him what he’s thinking, but somehow I know he won’t share. “The contractor’s finished, so the house is now handicap accessible and the basement is finished. We should be ready to open in a month. The students are scheduled to arrive in seven weeks.”
“You’ve done an amazing job. Frank would be so proud.”
Those words choke me up a bit. “Thanks.”
Wrapping my arms around him, my gaze locks on his. “I miss you.”
“I’m coming home.”
“Wait. It’s done?”
“Yes. She’s being institutionalized.”
“Who is it?”
“I can’t say. It’s part of the agreement I made. She’s mentally ill, but on her meds, she’s a productive member of society. She needs a chance, once she gets back on track, to have a real shot at a life. I have taken steps though to ensure you’re safe.”
This person has put us through so much, and yet he can show that kind of compassion. “You’re a good man.”
“When I come home, I want to marry you in front of everyone, and soon. I’ll tolerate hours, even days, but no longer.”
“I have my dress and I’ll bribe the pastor with a lifetime supply of Mitch’s lasagna.”
“Good. I never want to be more than the distance of Harrington from you.”
“I can get behind that plan.”
And then he kisses me as he moves his body in the cradle of mine. “My wife.”
“My husband.”
“I’ve lived with you and I’ve lived without you. Never going to live without you again.”
“Thank God, ’cause these months have sucked.”
“Agreed. Now kiss me and mean it, woman.”
Logan left earlier, after a weekend of laughing, talking, and loving; he had a pressing meeting that he unfortunately couldn’t miss. Josh had been so surprised to see him when he knocked the morning after our reunion he almost dropped the coffee he was carrying. And then he immediately pulled the door closed and left us alone for the weekend. I felt bad since we purposely chose a flight home on Monday so we could take in some sights in Manhattan over the weekend. Josh didn’t mind at all. He actually insisted we not leave the room. Logan is going to juggle some things so he can pack up and come home. He promised to call later so we can discuss timing for the wedding. Ten minutes after he arrives home is his preference.
Our flight isn’t for another few hours, so Josh and I head to Dupree House to do one more walk-through. Josh drops me off and takes the rental car to get us coffee because the hotel stuff just isn’t cutting it for him.
Standing on the front stoop, pride washes over me. The carrier bus Broderick arranged, the one that will drive the students to the various colleges in and around the city, is parked in the driveway I had extended to the side of the house. With the trees and bushes, the bus won’t stand out when it’s parked there.
Keying into the house, the smell of freshly cut wood greets me. Some of the molding needed to be replaced. The fireplaces have been cleaned and inspected. I replaced all the appliances in the kitchen and put a new washer and dryer in the mudroom.
Each of the four bedrooms will have bunk beds, two students per room. The other two rooms will be for the den mothers, the women who’ll be staying to cook meals, help with homework, etc. The responses to the job were impressive, especially with a job that requires so much of someone.
I do a quick walk-through before I head for the front door, and that’s when I smell the smoke. Running through the house, I see nothing until I look out back to the small shed I had built to store the grill, sports equipment, and bikes. Without another thought, I run out back to the shed. Yanking the door open, I just stare at the fire burning in the middle of the concrete floor. What the hell? And then I’m pushed, hard, in the back, just as a laugh sends a chill down my body. I throw my weight against the now-closed door, but it’s solid oak—I asked for only the best. There’s nothing with which to put out the fire, so I stomp on it. The flame licks up my legs, yet I manage to beat it down to a smolder, but the now-smoldering fire clouds the space with that deadly smoke. Hunching down, hoping for clean air, my lungs burn with each inhale.
My purse is in the living room and my cell is in my purse. There are no windows, only the door that won’t budge. Josh went in search of coffee in an area he is unfamiliar with so he could be awhile and at the rate the smoke is filling the shed, there is a very real possibility of me asphyxiating.
I can’t believe this is it, that just when my life seems perfect, it ends so horribly, so tragically. Thinking about Logan and what this will do to him gives me a surge of strength. Rolling to my back, I slam my feet into the door over and over again. My chest is on fire, my legs are burning, and the damn door is too solid. I don’t want to die, so I don’t stop slamming my feet into it.
“Saffron!” Josh’s hysterical call is the sweetest sound I have ever heard.
“In the shed . . .” Uncontrollable coughing keeps me from finishing.
In the next second, the door is nearly ripped from its hinges and I’m being yanked into the cool, sweet air.
“What the hell happened?” Josh is on his knees at my side, his phone in his hand dialing 911 at the same time. “What the fuck happened?”
“Someone started a fire in the shed and locked me in there.”
Immediately he looks around. “Did you see who did it?”
“No, I only heard her laugh.” But I know exactly who did this. Logan and I thought it was over, but it’s definitely not over. His fear of her escalating if she knew we were still together proves rather intuitive.
“You could have died.”
“I think that was the plan.”
Logan charges into my room at the hospital like a raging bull. Fear, anguish, and fury pulse off him. He yanks me into his arms, almost dislodging all the tubes and monitors I’m hooked up to, holding me tightly against his chest, his heart pounding so hard.
“Are you okay?”
And then he releases me and looks me over, running his hands over me to make sure I’m really here and okay. Menacing is the word to describe the expression that floods his face at the sight of my bandaged legs. Moving his gaze up to mine, he kisses me, a deep, desperate kiss, before he pulls away.
“I’ll be right back.”
He steps out of my room and I hear bits and pieces of his conversation with Josh.
“Too fucking close . . . second degree . . . definitely intentional . . . a two-by-four jammed against the door.”
Stepping back into my room Logan displays a look deadlier than any I’ve ever seen before. He settles next to my bed and takes my hand. When he does finally speak, I don’t recognize his voice with the emotion choking him.
“She almost killed you. She tried to fucking kill you.”
“Who, who is she?”
He stands up so fast, his hands fisting. “She won’t stop. She won’t ever fucking stop. If Josh hadn’t arrived at the moment he did, if he had gotten stuck at just one light . . . fucking Christ. This shit is done. She isn’t going to get another shot at you. No fucking way.”
“Logan, you’re scaring me. What the hell are you going to do?”
“Whatever the fuck I have to do to make sure you’re safe.”
He’s across the room and his mouth is on mine in a heartbeat. Warm hands on my cheeks, tongues warring, but it isn’t just a kiss—it’s a pledge, a vow. His eyes turn almost black when he pulls from me, his fingertips pressing into my neck. “Love you. I’ll see you soon.”
“Logan, what are you going to do?”
He starts from the room and I try to pull the damn cords off me so I can stop him. At the door, he turns to me, and I see the tears in his eyes. “Mine, only you, always you.” He kisses his two fingers and then he’s gone.
“Logan! Josh, damn it, stop him.” I finally manage to free myself. Nurses come running in, but I push past them and stumble out of my room, but the corridor is empty. Limping down the hall, I don’t even know I’m crying until I can’t see.
“Saffron, what’s wrong?” Josh runs after me. “Why are you out of bed?”
“Where’s Logan? We have to find him.”
Josh grabs my arms. “Calm down, Saffron. You’re going to hyperventilate.”
“He’s going to do something stupid.” My body starts to shake uncontrollably. Logan being Logan, there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop him.