CHAPTER EIGHT
Nervousness fills me as my float moves down Main Street. To my surprise there are lots of people along the parade route cheering me on, but I can’t help wonder if they’re cheering so boisterously because they won’t be catapulted into the cold and turbulent sea. The weather isn’t looking particularly pleasant.
My dress is a lovely confection of satin and lace. Gwen is the one responsible for my curling tresses laced with flowers and my perfectly applied makeup, but in under ten minutes I’m going to look like a drowned rat.
As I wave and paste a smile on my face, I think back to Logan. After I asked him to shave, he said not one word, but proceeded to swallow me up with the most intense loving I have ever experienced. He blew my mind with passion and then he left. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since and that was two days ago. Our first time making love, he takes off for a week, and now this. Who would have thought the request for him to shave would have elicited that response? Maybe he’s just hiding, but from what or who I don’t know.
My breath freezes in my lungs at the sight of the sky as we reach the harbor. It’s ominous but I’m not the only one to notice. Sheriff Dwight walks over to me as I climb from the float to stand near the bulkhead, his focus on the whitecaps.
“We’re going to cancel. It’s too rough out there.”
My exhale turns into a sigh. “Thank you. I was really getting nervous.”
“I can understand why. I’ll let everyone know.”
He walks away, but I stay where I am, watching as the blackest clouds come rolling in. The temperature has dropped too, and the spray from the sea is bitterly cold.
“Can I interview you for the paper?”
Glancing over, I see Elise. “Paper?”
“The Harrington Times.”
What is there to interview about? The festival is canceled? I want to say this, but I decide it will be faster to just answer her questions.
“So, I imagine you are relieved?” A slight smile edges her face as she asks this.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me how this festival came to be?”
I imagine she already knows this, as does anyone who will read the paper, but I answer her anyway. She follows that question with another and another. Half an hour later she’s wrapping up the interview. As she puts her notebook away, I wonder if maybe I misjudged her. She’s abrasive, but she is not unkind, and she seems very sincere.
“Are you enjoying Harrington, Elise?”
She looks up at me and something is clearly on her mind but her expression puzzles me—expectant, or maybe eager is a better word—“I need to tell you something. I should have from the beginning, but I didn’t want to blow my cover. You seem like a really nice person, though, and it’s not fair to keep you in the dark.”
My confusion must be etched in my forehead as Elise forges on.
“I’m not really moving to Harrington. I’m a reporter for the New York Times and I came here for a story. Do you know David Cambre?”
I remember the women in Tucker’s a few weeks back who were also looking for David. Remember the black-and-white photo of the gorgeous man they showed me.
“I know of him.”
“He’s here in Harrington.”
Another artist in Harrington? Not likely. Apprehension fills me. “And why is that a story?”
“He’s famous, so that automatically makes him a story, but when the same man debuts a collection that leaves the art world in a frenzy to grab up his pieces and then disappears from sight, that’s definitely a story.” She studies me for a moment before she adds, “And when that same man gets engaged to a debutante, that too is a story.”
Elise reaches into her briefcase and retrieves a sheet of paper. It’s a photo, similar to the one the woman showed me in Tucker’s. And though it’s in color, I don’t need it to be to see what I hadn’t before. Logan looking back at me. The gorgeous man in the photo—the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—is Logan without his disguise.
“Logan is David?” Stupid question, but shock is setting in.
She almost looks jubilant at the pain that is no doubt covering my expression. “Yes, and I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but I think you have a right to know.”
“Logan’s engaged to someone?”
“Yes.”
“Even though he’s been living here alone for over half a year?”
She grips my hands almost painfully. “Saffron, they got engaged before he moved here, but she knows he likes his solitude when he’s working, which is why she doesn’t visit. He goes to her in Manhattan.”
His words to me from the other night about his life leading him to me no longer incite joy but a pain that slices through me. My reply is barely audible. “Thank you for telling me.”
She nods but says nothing else. After dropping that bomb, she just walks away. I stand there numb and sick as I replay her words in my head. I don’t want to believe her, but Logan’s own actions are pretty damning: his refusal to take me to New York City and his odd reaction to my request that he shave. No wonder he keeps his face hidden. With a face like his, he’d constantly be drawing attention to himself. Turning from her retreating form, I see Logan coming down the street toward me. Clearly he sees me too, since he’s moving with determined strides through the crowd to reach my side.
“You dodged that bullet.” He reaches for a lock of my hair, but I take a step away from him. “Where have you been, Logan?”
He pushes his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I had business in Manhattan.”
Manhattan. I feel my heart cracking and that turns my anger into something darker. “Really, why?”
He stands immobile for a minute and the only way I know he’s even heard my question is the subtle clenching of his jaw.
“A sale.”
Hurt turns to rage. “So what exactly is going on between us? Are we dating or are we just fucking?”
His eyes flash with anger before he lowers his head and hisses at me. “What’s gotten into you?”
“How’s the fiancée, David?”
He goes completely still and I can tell by the look on his face that Elise has told me the truth. A numbness spreads over me and my cracked heart shatters. I turn to walk away because I want to hurt him and don’t trust myself not to. His hand wraps around my upper arm.
“Let me explain.”
I refuse to look at him. “Are you David Cambre?” I ask, but my voice comes out no louder than a whisper.
“Yes.”
“Are you engaged?”
“It’s not what you think.”
Despite my anger, I feel the sob burning its way up my throat.
“Give me a chance to explain.”
And that is all it takes to unleash my temper. Spinning to face him, I snarl, “A chance, now, really? Because you had plenty of chances, but had no desire to share anything with me. So now that your secret is out, you’re feeling chatty?”
“It isn’t like that.”
“Go back to Manhattan and to your fiancée because we’re done.” I try to pull from his hold, but he won’t release me.
“Please,” he whispers.
Looking into those green eyes, I know that I’m completely in love with him and, even so, everything between us was a lie. This realization makes me snap and before I know my intention, I’m curling my hand into a fist a second before I plow it right into his jaw. He releases me in shame, but with my balance off from throwing the punch, I pitch over the side of the bulkhead. The water is so cold. I’m struggling to keep my head up; I can hear the muffled voices of people screaming for help, the sound of footsteps pounding down the dock to get to me. My lungs burn and my arms grow tired. The weight of my dress proves too much as the sea pulls me under.
When I come to, I’m in the local clinic and it feels as if there’s a hundred-pound cat on my chest between the pain in my lungs and the heating blankets they’ve piled on me. Recollection takes a moment and with it comes a sharp pain that spears the area near my heart, but I’m no longer in shock; I’m thinking more clearly. And that’s why I doubt Elise’s claim about Logan being engaged. Why she would lie? I have no idea, but I know Logan. I don’t know Elise.
I trust Logan. But I can’t deny that he, like Frank, has kept a big part of himself from me because I already knew there’s a part of his world I’m not welcome in. Having that reality thrown in my face hurts like hell.
Gwen, Tommy, and Josh, seeing me awake, immediately hurry over.
“Oh my God, Saffron, you scared the hell out of us.” Tommy brushes my hair back from my forehead, which gives me a good view of his face—he’s so pale. My throat burns. Though I want to speak, no words come out. Gwen pours me a cup of water before helping me take a sip.
“Logan’s outside and he really wants to see you.”
I shake my head at that request.
“He saved your life. Not only did he jump into that icy water to pull you out, but he also revived you. You weren’t breathing.”
I died and Logan brought me back. I find that almost comical. He saved me, but he’s also the one who broke me.
“He hasn’t left all night and he looks like hell. You two had a fight, didn’t you?” Josh can’t hide his concern—it practically drips from his words.
I try to speak again and this time a sound comes out—soft but clear. “Elise told me he was engaged.”
“What?” Tommy demands.
“And he’s really David Cambre.”
“The playboy?” Gwen asks, but I see the confusion on her face.
I can only nod in reply.
“I don’t understand,” Josh says, and I know it’s what Gwen and Tommy are also thinking.
“When I asked Logan, he didn’t deny it. I punched him and lost my balance and fell into the water.”
A slight grin curves Josh’s mouth. “So that’s how you fell in.”
I don’t want to see Logan. I don’t want to look into the eyes of the man I love, the same man who’s been giving me only a piece of himself when I’ve given it all to him, but he saved my life so I don’t really have a choice. “I’ll see him.”
“Are you sure?” Gwen asks.
“I owe him that.”
A few minutes later Logan walks into the room. He’s wearing sweats; clearly someone gave him something dry to wear, but there are purple smudges under his eyes and his complexion is pale. But it’s his bereft look that softens my hardened heart.
“Saffron, how are you feeling?”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you for saving me.”
“I need to talk to you, but I know now is not the time.”
“What is there to say, Logan, I mean, David?”
He reaches for my hand and lowers himself into the chair at my bedside.
“My name is Logan David MacGowan. I used David Cambre because I wanted some anonymity.”
“And your fiancée?”
“That’s a long story.”
I don’t realize a tear has escaped my full eyes until Logan brushes it from my cheek.
“I know you’re upset and I have a lot I need to explain to you, but I hope you’ll let me, because what I feel for you is something I have never felt before.”
I want it all to just go away. It’s too damn painful, but I give him more of a glimpse into me than he has ever given me of him. “In my heart I know you can’t be engaged to someone else. In my heart I know there’s no way you could have given all that you’ve given me and be committed to someone else. It isn’t who you are. I know that. But it’s my head that I’m having a problem with. You’re an artist but you’ve never shown me that world, you’ve never brought me into the part of your life that makes you you. I’m sure you have your reasons, and maybe in time I’d have come to understand why you kept me at arm’s length, but I want and need more. My parents keep me away. Even Frank, who loved me like a daughter, kept things from me. Maybe there’s something about me that keeps people at a distance, but I think I deserve to find someone who draws me close instead of pushing me away.”
“Saffron.”
“I can’t do this right now. Please, I need some time, and so do you. If you’re not willing or able to be that person for me, then there’s no point in continuing whatever it is that’s between us.”
Pain clouds his expression and I want to reach for him, but I don’t. Because if it’s going to end, it’s better that we do it now. If I fall any deeper for him, I’ll be wishing he hadn’t saved me. He stands and when I see the one tear roll down his cheek, I close my eyes. It’s just all too much. When I open them again, I’m all alone.
I’ve been home for three days and I’ve spent much of that time thinking, and the more I do the more I know Logan is worth taking a chance on. We work, Logan and I. He gets my quirkiness and I understand his need to be quiet and in the background. We’ve not just found common ground, we’re better together than apart: he grounds me and I make him a little less serious. I’m not willing to toss that away. Yes, he has some explaining to do, but I think he’s worth it. What I don’t know is if he thinks the same about me or, more to the point, sees what we have as something lasting. Doubt wiggles into my resolve despite my effort against it. I hadn’t felt insecure about us before, but that was before I knew that Logan is David Cambre. He’s not just a famous artist, he’s just plain famous. His face appearing often in magazines and on those entertainment news shows. He lives the jet-set life. How does a bartender from Harrington possibly compete with that? Sure, he’s feeling overwhelmed now and wants a change, but will he always want this quiet lifestyle or will he eventually grow restless? There’s a part of me that can’t believe I didn’t realize who he was, though his disguise was pretty damn good. But in fairness, what famous person hermits himself away in a lighthouse in a small fishing town?
I stand on my back patio and look out at the bay. It’s so calm, the water particularly green today. Seagulls fly overhead, the sound of a child screaming in glee floats over the water. A breeze kicks up, flying my hair into my face. As I tuck it behind my ear, a movement to my right catches my attention. Logan is walking down the beach toward me. His face is turned to the water, his focus on some point on the horizon. My heart hiccups at the sight of him.
Stopping just in front of me, he doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t even offer a greeting. He’s hurting; I know this because I see that same expression in the mirror every morning. “I’d like to tell you about Darla.”
“Your fiancée.”
“Ex-fiancée.”
“Okay.”
We move inside to the living room. Logan takes the chair opposite me on the sofa. “I met her family when I was touring. They were new money and were eager to make a reputation for themselves. I was just beginning my career, but even at an early stage, my agent knew I was going to be a huge success. Darla’s family was interested in backing me, and so we entered into a business agreement. They helped fund my art tours and in exchange they were given a percentage of works sold until such a time as I could pay them off. After about two years, I was making so much money that I was able to pay off their initial investment and then some. Our business together ended at that point.
“I hadn’t realized that part of their willingness to help me was because they hoped that I would marry their daughter, but at the time Darla was only nineteen—five years younger than me. Almost a decade later we met up again and she seemed to have matured into a beautiful, smart woman. So we started to see each other. It wasn’t long into the relationship that her parents started to apply pressure for a wedding. Looking back on it, I realize that Darla was also pushing, but she was much more subtle in her campaign. A few months into our dating, I relented and asked her to marry me.”
Logan leans up in the chair so his elbows rest on his knees. “I have always been very private, but I was beginning to become a recluse: reacting to the politics of the art world by trying to avoid it and everyone associated with it. It was because of this I asked Darla to marry me. She’s a very spirited woman and I thought that maybe being with her would help me to acclimate to that world. We were engaged for all of five weeks when I knew I couldn’t possibly marry her. Underneath the spirited woman was a vain, selfish, and spoiled child who was only interested in what people could do for her. I didn’t love her, but I thought I could like her, but even that was impossible. I broke off the engagement and she refused to accept it.
“Not only was my personal life circling the toilet, but professionally I was being pulled in a direction I didn’t want to go. I am extremely humbled to have become as successful as I have with my sculpting work, but with that success I found myself pigeonholed. Any attempt I made to move into a different medium was thwarted by my so-called patrons. I was being smothered, so I moved here and became Logan MacGowan again. Here I can create what I want and not what the public wants.”
“And Darla?”
“The last I heard she was working the media circuit drumming up sympathy for herself.”
I can’t lie, having heard his story, I’m giddy knowing I wasn’t wrong to trust him. Which brings up the question of why Elise twisted the facts, especially as someone who works with presenting facts for a living. What was her end game? I move on from that. “David Cambre has had more than his fair share of media coverage with the fashion magazines and tabloids.”
He looks uncomfortable, but he answers, “I was rather wild in my youth.”
“What made you get into modeling?”
“Thought I had to.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Took too much time away from my art.”
“I taped one of your spreads to my wall. Sexy.” He looks embarrassed so I graciously change the subject. “Your secret is out—there have been women coming here in search of you. Did you know that?” I ask.
“No, but then, my attention has been on you.”
“So what was with the silent treatment?”
“Being able to stay in the shadows has been very appealing. When you took my silence as a challenge and started in with your attempts to get me to speak, I really enjoyed being able to just sit and observe.”
“So what did you get?” I ask.
“When you’re telling a lie, you pull on your ear.”
“I do not.”
“You do. And when you’re frustrated, you have a habit of chewing on the inside of your mouth.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What else?”
“You tap your foot when you are uncomfortable, and when you’re aroused, your eyes turn a deep, sapphire blue.”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough.” I try to keep a straight face, but I can’t help my chuckle. “You’ve observed quite a bit about me.”
“I am guilty of that. I enjoy watching you; you’re more than what you seem, but at the same time, what you see is what you get. There’s no ulterior agenda with you. I can be myself.”
“When I mentioned the shaving, you knew people would know who you were if you did.”
“Yes, I needed to tell you about the drama I left behind before we opened that can of worms.”
“Did you really go to New York for a sale?”
“No, I gave a phone interview to the New York Times that they’ve been pestering me about.”
“To Elise?”
“No, she’s friends with Darla.”
“She failed to mention that.” So she lied because she was looking out for her friend. Misguided but understandable.
“I also paid a visit to my lawyers and filed a defamation of character suit against Darla, her family, and the papers she’s pulled into her game. Once the papers hear about the suit, they’ll write retractions.”
“Why, Logan?”
“Because I want to show you New York City, so I need to clear up the drama I left behind.”
He walks over and hunches down in front of me. “I wanted to take you to my showings, but it would have been like leading a lamb to slaughter. I couldn’t do that to you.”
I was feeling overwhelmed with his honesty and found myself sharing some of my own secrets, though I hadn’t meant to blurt it out as I did. “Frank left me six million dollars.”
Logan’s only reaction is a slight arching of his eyebrow.
“What the hell am I going to do with six million dollars? And a house in the Hudson River Valley?”
“Something will come to you.”
“That’s what Frank told Dean.”
“Dean, the lawyer?”
“Yes.”
Logan traces the curve of my cheek. “I was jealous when I saw you talking with Dean that night in Bar Harbor.”
It’s my turn to attempt to raise my eyebrow. He alluded to that then, but now he’s actually stating it out loud. “Seriously?”
“Big time,” he adds.
I’m elated when I see the dark expression that crosses Logan’s face, but then I sober. Reaching for his hand, I press it to my heart. “You were already going to tell me this before Elise interfered?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“I think it was more Elise who hurt me, but with her being a friend of Darla’s, I guess I get it. She gets points for having her friend’s back, even though I don’t like how she went about it.”
“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“I suppose you could find ways to persuade me to forgive you.” I’m totally teasing, mostly teasing, sort of teasing, partially teasing.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Gladly.”
Waking slowly, I feel something warm and solid pressing against my back. Logan. I turn to face him. His long, black lashes fan out on his cheeks and in rest, his face looks almost boyish. What was he like as a kid? There’s so much I know about him and yet I find I’m thirsty to know more.
He obviously knows I’m staring, since his lips curve into the sweetest of smiles. I’ve only just brushed my mouth across his when his arm comes around me, drawing me up against him as he takes over the kiss: kissing me so deeply that my body goes boneless. He rolls and pins me under him while his mouth moves to my neck, nibbling his way down to my collarbone. I’m brain-dead by the time his gaze comes back on me.
“Good morning.” The words are barely past his lips before they’re working their magic again, sliding over my skin, causing chills to run down my arms. My legs spread to cradle him and then I move, rubbing myself shamelessly against him, but he is a man on a mission as that mouth moves from my neck to my shoulders before settling on my breasts, where he spends a good long time until I’m practically begging him to make me come. He slides lower down my body, but he’s had long enough to feast; it’s my turn. Rolling over, I straddle him, pressing my lips to his before trailing kisses over his pecs and abs. His skin is so smooth but hard, as his muscles flex in response to my touch. Looking at him through my lashes, I reach the part of him that’s standing at attention. He shuts his eyes on a moan when my mouth closes over him. His hips jerk up, pushing him deeper, and everything below my waist throbs. I’m just finding a rhythm, my tongue running under his shaft while my hands fondle the heavy sac between his legs, when he flips me onto my back. I’m so turned on, aching to be claimed. He kneels between my legs, his eyes watching his finger moving through the curls between my thighs. Slowly, he moves over that aching bud, teasing it, making it throb more. My hips jerk, wanting him inside me, but his focus stays on that nub. He pinches and pulls, squeezing it until I moan, my body desperate for him. One finger moves through my folds, tracing and pressing but not entering. I want to weep from the exquisite torture. He’s so hard, so fucking hard, and I want that in me. Spreading my legs wider, I touch myself. Logan’s hands fall away. His gaze locks on my fingers stroking my aching flesh. Pushing one finger in, my back arches, my breathing turns shallow and all the while my eyes are on the part of him I want where my fingers are. Shifting, he settles himself over me, the hard length of him running over my swollen, wet flesh, lubing himself. Sliding his hands under me, he squeezes my ass and spreads me even wider, then lifts my hips and drives into me.
I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me. It feels incredible to be taken, and taking me is exactly what’s he’s doing, and I love every freaking second of it. He continues to move in and out so hard and so fast that my overly aroused body can’t help but come apart again and when I do this time, Logan comes too as my name rips from his throat with his climax.
Minutes pass. Logan’s still on me and in me. My breathing evens out, making speech possible again. “I totally forgive you.”
His chuckle in reply tickles my neck.
In the kitchen later I’m grinning like a fool thinking I wouldn’t mind starting every day like we did this one. As I whip up some scrambled eggs, I hear Logan coming down the hall. I turn just as he enters and I am thankful that I’m not holding anything because I would have dropped it. He shaved and now his truly magnificent face is completely visible.
“Wow.”
His cheekbones flush a lovely shade of pink and the sight is both unexpected and endearing. I pull the pan from the stove and flick off the burner before walking to stand just in front of him. My fingers have a mind of their own as I trace his jaw, his cheek, his nose, his beautiful lips.
“I like you as my yeti too.”
His eyebrow raises slightly in response before he asks, “Yeti?”
“That was how I thought of you: my seafaring yeti. You aren’t a fisherman, though, so I guess that description really isn’t accurate at all anymore.”
“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that,” Logan says, and I laugh.
“You have to admit you were really very hairy for a while and with you so tall, I think it was a fair description.” I stop talking because I remember the wave of women who had come to Harrington looking for the man standing before me. To be so sought after only because of your outer beauty, what a drag.
“Thank you for shaving, but I’ll understand if you want to grow your facial hair back.”
Surprise covers his face. “Why do you say that?”
“I personally witnessed your fan club: women actually hunting you down solely because you have a face like that. If any of them realize that your outer beauty pales in comparison to your inner beauty, they’ll never give you a moment’s peace. That must really suck.” He quickly pulls me into his arms, his chuckle rumbling up his throat. “Is it any wonder that I am completely taken with you?”
“Taken with me?”
“Mmm.” His lips brush over my neck. “Totally captivated.”
“Captivated, that’s even better,” I mutter. His lips are working down my throat to my shoulder.
“Dazzled,” he purrs just before he presses wet kisses over my shoulder and along my collarbone. “Bewitched. I’d like to take you to New York City. Would you do me the honor?”
“Yes.” My knees go weak, so it’s a good thing he’s wrapped his arms around me as he speaks.
“I have a showing next Saturday, so we can leave on Thursday and come home Sunday.”
“Sounds perfect.”
A smile spreads over his face before his eyes glance behind me to the eggs, which are now cold and congealed. “I’ll take you out to breakfast.”
“Okay.”
“But after,” he says.
“After what?”
He doesn’t answer with words, but turns me and bends me over the table. His hands move up my legs, over my ass, moving my nightie up and out of the way. And then his fingers are past the barrier of my panties, rubbing me and instantly I’m wet. He teases the nub before moving lower. My back arches when he slips one finger inside, in and out in a gentle glide. I moan when he adds another finger, pushing deeper as he grinds his erection against my ass. I’m panting when he adds a third at the same time he presses hard on that pleasure point.
My hands are gripping the edge of the table, my hips pumping against his hand, my stomach tightening with my coming orgasm and then his fingers are gone. I hear his zipper seconds before his hands return to my hips; moving his feet to the inside of mine, he pushes my legs wider. I feel the tip of him right where I ache for him. A second later, he’s buried deep inside of me.
I want to touch him but I can’t, my body is pinned under his and completely at his mercy.
He presses my chest flat against the table, his hand splays over the small of my back as he pounds into me. His pace is hard and fast until I come in the most stunning orgasm. Having just had a mind-blowing one, that’s saying something. He continues to move hard and deep until the last of my orgasm ripples through me. Only when my orgasm subsides does he give in to his own, his powerful body going still as his release moves through him. He bends over me, his chest pressing into my back just as his lips touch my ear. “Can’t get enough of you.”