CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On one hand, Logan and I have grown closer every day since the engagement party, but the side effects of being with a celebrity are beginning to take their toll. Logan was right in that I had no idea of the impact of the press on our lives.
Now that people know David is in Harrington, there have been more visitors, mostly women, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Yes, Logan is hot and sexy, but I just don’t get it. If I knew that Brad Pitt was going to be in Manhattan, as much as I love him, I wouldn’t be running off to see him, hoping to catch his eye in the middle of a crowd. Get a fucking life, or get laid, or something. But not only do these women travel to Harrington, they have, on a few occasions, followed me home. I don’t understand this mentality. I realize that Logan is a celebrity, but he is still a person and should be treated as such. The other day at the bakery, I was actually confronted by a stranger who felt it necessary to tell me that I wasn’t good enough for him and should do the decent thing and set him free. She offered these words of advice while devouring an entire coffee cake, right there in the store. I’ll never eat another coffee cake as long as I live.
I haven’t shared any of this with Logan, because what’s the point? It will only piss him off and make him feel responsible, but I have to admit I really don’t like it. Broderick’s warning plays in my head, but so does his assurance that it all eventually evens out. That’s what I’m doing, waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel.
Mr. and Mrs. MacGowan arrive today and so everyone is coming to my house for dinner. I have spent the past two days cleaning, everything from dusting to washing windows and wiping down baseboards. I’m making Italian dishes, since Logan’s parents are partial. The lasagna is in the oven, the meatballs are simmering, and the antipasto and tiramisu are chilling. I have a fire log in the fireplace, candles artistically placed around the living and dining rooms, and the table set with my nicer dishes.
As the doorbell sounds, I give everything one last look before I reach for the door and pull it open. Cold paint splashes all over me and then I hear the sound of someone running away, but I don’t miss the “bitch” called in retreat. I wipe at my eyes with my dress, and when I’m finally able to open them, I see the blue paint all over my foyer. Reaper is there, having come to greet our guests, so when he shakes, paint goes flying everywhere, before he trots away, leaving blue pawprints in his retreat.
Logan and his family will be pulling up any minute, but there’s not a damn thing I can do before they get here, so instead of attempting to clean it up, I walk out the back door and head for the beach. It’s cold, but I’m so angry that my temper is keeping me warm. Minutes later I hear the car, followed shortly by the commotion inside. I hear my name being called, but I don’t answer because I’m so angry I can’t speak.
“Saffron,” Logan calls from the back door. Seconds later, he’s right at my side. He turns me to him. “What the hell happened?”
Tears are in my eyes but I don’t let them fall. “Apparently, I’m a bitch.”
“Fucking Darla. She’ll pay for this. Jesus, you’re freezing.” He takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders before lifting me into his arms and carrying me back inside.
I rest my head on his chest. I’m feeling demoralized and pissed because the situation is completely out of my control. How do you deal with people who not only think about throwing paint at someone, but actually follow through? I mean, sure, I’ve thought about dragging the occasional person out of their car when I get cut off at a stoplight, but I don’t. When faced with someone who does act on their baser instincts, you’re helpless to do anything about it. My voice is hoarse from simmering anger. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Rage drips from his words.
“Not really the first impression I was hoping for. My house is a mess.” Wrapping my arms around him, I bury my face in the crook of his neck.
“I’m sorry, baby, I am so sorry,” he whispers.
“It wasn’t you who threw the paint at me.”
“No, but it was because of me.”
My head snaps up in response and I grab his chin, forcing his gaze on me. “It was no more your fault than it was mine. Don’t.”
He doesn’t answer, but I can see something burning in those eyes. I don’t like what I see, but before I can press him on what he’s thinking, we’re stepping into the house where Broderick, Dante, and Mr. and Mrs. MacGowan are standing. I gently push on Logan for him to let me down and unconsciously I arrange my skirt, which is pointless since most of it is covered in paint.
“Hello. I hope your trip was pleasant. I’m Saffron and . . .” My house is a disaster, it all is just too much for me to deal with. “I’m really sorry about this.” I turn to Logan. “Mitch will be able to get you into The Harbor.” I simply can’t deal any longer and add quickly, “If you’ll excuse me. Reaper, come.”
I don’t wait for a response as Reaper and I disappear down the hall to my bedroom. I listen for the sound of the front door closing, signaling my guests are gone, before I make my way to the bathroom and step fully clothed into the shower. Reaper jumps in after me—he loves taking a shower. Peeling off the wet dress, I shower the paint away before washing down Reaper. Climbing out, I dry off and then dry Reaper, who shakes, sending water droplets flying around the bathroom. Not all of the paint has come out of my hair, but I’ll deal with that later.
After reaching for a bag under the sink, I squeeze out my dress and drop it, my panties, and shoes into it. In my state, the idea of taking my damn shoes off so I didn’t track more paint around my house escaped me. Reaper settles on my bed to groom himself further. I pull on some sweatpants and a T-shirt before pulling my hair back, and then I tackle the bathroom until it sparkles.
Wiping up the paint I tracked into my room, I move to the living room, but I’m confused when I hear the voices as soon as I open my door. Reaching the foyer my feet just stop at the sight. Logan, Dante, and their mom are all on their hands and knees, cleaning the paint from my floor.
“What are you doing?”
It’s Logan who answers me, and he sounds almost jubilant considering the circumstances. “What does it look like? We’re cleaning this up.”
“No, you’re getting paint all over your pretty clothes.” I hurry over to Mrs. MacGowan. “Please, I can do this.”
Beautiful hazel eyes lift to mine with understanding and sympathy. “I raised three boys, so I’m used to this.”
I kneel down next to her. “Yes, but you’re dressed in Armani.”
She grins and holds out her hand to me. “Briana. Nice to meet you, Saffron.”
I smile, seeing so much of Logan in her. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You might want to check on the lasagna. It smells delicious.”
“Oh, right.”
Jumping up, I start for the kitchen only to stop because Logan’s father is already pulling the lasagna from the oven. He turns in my direction and I almost gasp because I’m looking at an older version of Logan: every feature is the same. Even their bodies are built the same. I feel my legs go weak when a smile cracks over his face.
“Scary, isn’t it?”
It takes me a minute to comprehend what he’s saying. “It’s uncanny.”
He reaches for my hand. “Rory. Very nice to meet you, Saffron.”
I can’t help watching as he brushes his lips over my knuckles and I’m not embarrassed to admit that I experience my second ever crush, and for my own fiancé’s father, at that.
The doorbell sounds, but I can’t for the life of me think who would be paying me a visit. I’m somewhat reluctant to leave Rory, but I force myself from the room with a hurried “Excuse me.”
My heart is literally beating faster than before, but then, is that really a surprise with how much the father is like the son?
Reaching the living room, I see Tommy and Gwen carrying hangers of clothes. Even though they smile, I can see the understanding in their expressions. And then my eyes take in my foyer and to my surprise, it’s sparkling; there is not a speck of paint anywhere.
“Could I use your bathroom to freshen up?” Briana asks.
“I can’t believe you got this done so quickly. There’s a bathroom in the guest room. I’ll show you.”
Gwen hands me Briana’s clothes, before I walk her down the hall to the guest room. I place the clothes on the bed. “Thank you,” I say.
“It’s what families do, and you are now a part of our family.”
I’m smiling as I pull the door closed.
Dinner turns out to be lovely. The food and wine are delicious and the company is first rate. Throughout dinner, Briana and Rory entertain me with stories about Logan and his brothers, hysterical stories that make me laugh and the guys blush.
When they are preparing to leave, Briana takes me aside. “It takes a bit of getting used to, Logan’s celebrity status. Knowing how much time and effort you put into this evening makes what happened even more infuriating, but he is worth it. I’ve never seen my son so happy. There’s baggage with Logan, but you’ll never find a better man.”
My hands find hers. “I love your son and I realize I’ll have some adjusting to do, but if Logan’s the prize, I’ll do it.”
A smile spreads over her face. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “When you start planning the wedding, I’d be delighted to help.”
“I would love your help.”
Her entire face lights up at that.
I walk Briana to her husband, who immediately brings me close for a bear hug. “Dinner was delicious. We’ll see you tomorrow, yes?” he asks as he takes a step back and again I’m struck with how much Logan looks like him. “Yes.”
He brushes his lips over my cheek and my heart flutters.
“You better watch out, Logan, looks like you’ve got some competition,” Broderick teases.
After saying good-bye to Broderick and Dante, the door closes and silence falls. Logan remains looking at the door before he turns and I see the look I saw earlier. “I’ll go clean up the kitchen.”
He starts away from me. “Logan?”
He threads his fingers through his hair, his temper simmering just under the surface.
“You went to so much trouble for tonight and then some asshole throws paint at you. I mean, what the fuck? You don’t deserve to be pulled into the bullshit of my life and to have your quiet life invaded. I did this, I opened the fucking door and they just walked right on in and there’s nothing I can do to protect you from it.”
“Tonight was trying, but it’s a part of you and I love you so if I have to deal with the occasional crazy fan, so be it.”
“If it was Darla tonight, I’ll deal with her. If it wasn’t, from my experience, it’s only going to get worse.” He frames my face with his hands. “What I wouldn’t give to be just an average guy who didn’t have to watch the papers every day to make sure the media isn’t feasting on the woman he loves.” He wraps his arms around me. “If I could be that man, if there was something I could do to become anonymous again, I would. I’d do it for you.”
Trying to lighten the mood, I reply, “Well, you’re tolerable too, I suppose.”
He looks devilish as he tosses me over his shoulder. “I’ll show you tolerable, brat.”
After the paint incident, things seem to settle down. The town starts taking a more active notice of those visiting Harrington. Sheriff Dwight assigns a squad car to drive down my street a few times a day.
The MacGowans are heading back to Scotland but are planning a longer trip closer to the wedding. Briana and I have exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers, so the distance won’t affect us working together on the wedding plans.
After Logan and his parents leave for the airport, I head to Tucker’s for work. When I arrive I see Gwen and Josh waiting for me at the bar.
“I want to know all about your visit, but first, you okay?” Gwen asks.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’d been adequately warned about what to expect being linked to David, but I wasn’t expecting something so invasive. I can’t get my head around the idea that people can act so unhinged all because of a pretty face. It’s disturbing.”
“I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous. I heard the sheriff was asking at the local hardware store about any purchases of blue paint recently. What kind of person does that?” Gwen asks.
“Someone who isn’t completely stable,” I say.
“And Logan?”
“He thinks it’s Darla. He’s catching a flight to New York to deal with her.”
“You don’t look like you agree that it was her,” Josh guesses accurately.
“I don’t. When she came to the house . . . actually, more when she realized that Logan truly had moved on, she got it. So no, I don’t think it was her.”
“Maybe the sheriff will have luck, but in the meantime we’ll just have to be extra cautious. Now spill about his parents,” Josh says.
“They’re wonderful. After a disastrous beginning, we all sat around like longtime friends talking about everything and anything. They’re sweet and smart and they put me at ease, made me forget how the evening started, and I know they did it on purpose. Briana is going to help with the wedding plans, was so excited to be included.”
“And your parents?” Gwen asks.
“Debated about calling them, but I did. I left a message. I haven’t heard back from them, but I’m not really expecting to.”
“They won’t offer to pay for it?”
“Doubtful. Logan wants to pay for it, has insisted, even though I offered to help with the money that Frank left me. He wants me to keep that for Dupree House.”
“Like I said, we totally approve of Logan. Let’s talk dresses. Any idea what you’re looking for?”
A dreamy look passes over my expression at Gwen’s question. “No, I don’t know. I guess we need to go shopping so I can try some on and get ideas.”
“Sounds like a trip to Bar Harbor,” Josh and Gwen chime in together.
“We’ll have to schedule something, and soon. And with the Swordfish Festival coming up in a few months, I’m thinking that Logan and I should get married on that day. Call me crazy, but it’s when my relationship with Logan changed.”
“And forevermore swordfish will be synonymous with your love. How romantic.”
I clock Josh in the head. “You’re an idiot.”
The door to the bar opens, and in walks Shalee. Apparently, her seaweed allergy finally healed, because her skin is once again smooth alabaster. As soon as she sees me, she starts over before settling herself on a stool. “You’re engaged to David Cambre. How the hell did you pull that off?”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, you’re pretty and all, but David Cambre? You aren’t in his league. You’re a poor bartender. Do you have any idea what the people in David’s social circles are saying about the engagement? They’re counting the months, I assure you. You’re an embarrassment to him.”
“Shalee, that’s enough.” I’ve never heard Gwen so angry before. Her anger almost rivals my own.
Shalee stands to go, but she levels me with a rather sincere look. “I’m not trying to be mean, but his world and your world just don’t mesh. Have you even considered the impact on his art an engagement to you will have? Part of the allure of David Cambre is his availability—the dream just out of reach. You’ve seen the women coming here to get a glimpse of him, for the idea that he’d point to them in a crowd and make all of their dreams come true. Marrying you will make him lose that, and his art will suffer. And as much as he may love you, he loves his art and sharing it with the world. He could one day grow resentful that marriage to you took that away from him.”
A coldness settles over me as Shalee takes her leave. As much of a bitch as she can be, she made some remarkably insightful comments. When I look over at Gwen and Josh, I know that they are thinking the same thing.
As we’re dress hunting in Bar Harbor, Shalee’s comment from the other day is still rattling around in my head. I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I don’t disagree with it either. I could dwell on how Logan and I come from two different worlds but I won’t, because all that matters is that we love each other.
Moving on to more pleasant thoughts, I say, “There are two bridal boutiques I want to visit. We have appointments at one and four.”
“So you still thinking the Swordfish Festival for the date?” Gwen asks.
I chuckle, recalling the conversation Logan and I had earlier that morning on the subject of setting the date. Now was the date he preferred.
“I’m waiting to hear back from the pastor to find out what his availability is. I’d like to have the ceremony at the lighthouse, right on the bay this spring, so I’m still thinking the Swordfish Festival.”
“Spring gives us a few months. We should be able to swing that,” Josh says.
“Mitch can coordinate with his team to cater the food.”
“Would he do that?” I wanted to approach Mitch about that, but I felt bad suggesting he work during a day he should be relaxing and celebrating.
“Absolutely.”
“I can’t believe I’m planning my wedding. It’s one of those things you think about from the time you’re a little girl, but now it’s reality. I almost want the day to be here already, but I want to plan it too.”
“It’ll be here before you know it, but first things first. We need a dress.”
The first boutique was a bust. The dresses were all too fairy princess for my taste. As soon as we entered the second shop, I see my gown: a strapless lace sheath. Simple and yet elegant.
“That’s it.”
“Oh, that is it,” Gwen says dreamily.
Half an hour later I’m standing in front of a three-way mirror and, oh, the dress is even more perfect. It’s only a sample. The actual gown will be custom made for me.
“Wait until Logan sees you in that,” Gwen says what I’m thinking.
“This is the one.”
The bridal consultant beams. “Then let’s get your measurements.”
After placing a deposit for my wedding gown, we head to a restaurant. “Are you going to do a veil?” Gwen asks as she reaches for her cosmo.
“I don’t think so, but I do want my hair up.”
“I can do that,” Josh says. “Maybe we can tuck a few flowers into it.”
“Perfect.”
“Isn’t that your neighbor, Saffron? That Elise chick?”
Gwen’s question yanks me from the happy wedding bubble I’m in, and I turn in the direction that she’s staring. “Yeah, that’s her. I wonder what she’s doing here?”
“Well, she’s not buying those clothes in Harrington.” Josh reaches for his water glass. “And I’d bet money she doesn’t take her car to Jake’s garage, fine German engineering and all.”
“Saffron.” Elise is forgotten with the arrival of Dean. I had called him to tell him we’d be in town and would love to hook up for dinner. “Hey. Long time no see. You remember Gwen and Josh?”
“Yeah, how are you?”
“Good, glad you could join us,” Josh says. “What are you drinking?” He flags down our waiter.
“Jameson, neat. So what brings you to Bar Harbor?”
“Wedding dress shopping. I got engaged.”
Genuine joy washes over Dean’s face. “To Logan?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. What about you? How have you been?”
“I’m good, keeping busy with work. Well, it isn’t just work keeping me busy. I met someone recently—Katherine.”
“And?” It’s all the encouraging Dean needs to talk about the new lady in his life.
Returning home, I’m greeted by Logan, who is relaxing on my sofa with Reaper. After kicking off my shoes, I settle at his side, his arm wrapping around my shoulders and tucking me more closely to him.
“How did it go?”
“A success.”
“I suppose asking you to describe it would be fruitless.”
“Yup. I called Dean and invited him to dinner. I was happy he could join us.”
“Lawyer Dean?” His body has tensed ever so slightly in response to that news.
“Yes, he’s seeing someone. He sounds quite smitten.”
“Really? So he no longer has eyes on my woman?”
“Your woman?”
“Yeah. My. Woman.”
Shifting, I straddle his lap. “So very caveman of you, Logan. I like it. What do you think about getting married on the day of the Swordfish Festival?”
“Seriously?”
“Well, it is when your feelings for me deepened.”
He laughs, such a great sound. “True. You don’t mind that we will be eternally linked to the swordfish?”
“I’ve a whole new outlook, remember?”
He smiles, as if recalling the fond memory. “Okay, then let’s do it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but you’re going to have to include Chastity in the planning.”
“Right.” And then I remember the day she opened up to me, and, under her harsh exterior, that she’s just looking to fit in. “I can do that.”
His hands drift up my back to tangle in my hair just before he pulls my mouth down to his. Lips mold, tongues battle, and the need to get closer builds until Logan is ripping my shirt up over my head. He yanks my bra down and closes his mouth over my breast. Linking my hands behind his head, I hold his mouth there as my hips start to move, rubbing against the hard length of him, seeking to ease the ache that his tongue is stirring.
He flips us and in the same motion, peels my jeans and panties off. Our gazes are locked as he undresses in front of me until he is standing there brilliantly naked and aroused. Kneeling on the sofa, he spreads my legs wider, running his hands to my thighs, and kisses me right on the nub that’s throbbing.
“Oh God, yes.” His tongue moves over my aching flesh, pushing into me, deep and hard. My hips move, seeking deeper penetration. He works me until I’m about to come, and then he moves up my body, shifts his hips, and drives into me. My body spasms, the orgasm washing over me in magnificent waves. He doesn’t stop, his thrusts moving harder and faster until he tenses, his muscles flexing from the fierceness of his orgasm.
He drops onto me. I take his weight, his heart beating hard and fast, his breathing as labored as my own.
“We scared the shit out of Reaper,” I say in his ear. My baby isn’t used to Mommy having sex on the sofa.
He laughs, the sound flowing over me, and to my surprise I feel him growing hard. His head lifts and he says, “The more he sees us, the more comfortable he’ll get.”
He shifts and almost completely leaves me before he sinks back in, really slowly. I moan.
“This for Reaper’s benefit?” I ask.
In response he bites my nipple. The slight pain in combination with what he’s doing between my legs has another moan escaping.
“Yep. I’m a real animal lover.”
The first negative story about the engagement of David Cambre to his sex kitten is printed only a few days after I find my wedding gown. I’m standing in the grocery store reading a magazine article that details how I lured David into marriage through inventive and kinky sex play. As I’m reading, Tommy comes up next to me.
“I heard the Fletcher sisters talking. They want to ask you what kind of sex play gets such effective results.”
I’m embarrassed, but I can’t help but laugh, because it’s completely ridiculous. I know everyone in Harrington knows it’s completely ridiculous, but how does the press come up with this shit?
“There isn’t one shred of fact in this entire article. Did you know that, prior to being a bartender at a nearly topless bar, which I still haven’t figured out what that means, I was Brad Pitt’s paramour? How the hell did they learn I like Brad?”
“Who knows,” Tommy says, but he reaches for my hand. Concern clouds his expression. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Everyone important knows it’s bullshit.”
I squeeze Tommy’s hand before I put the magazine back. “I know.”
That night Logan lies in bed, but he’s brooding and I can only guess it’s because of the article. He confirms this when he says, “I’m sorry about the article in that ridiculous rag. My lawyers are demanding a retraction.”
“You’re going to have to grow a thicker skin, because we’re news and the stories written about us are not going to be flattering. No one understands why you’re marrying someone so completely beneath you.”
He sits up at that, the anger in his expression startling. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I believe that Logan MacGowan and Saffron Dupree are perfectly matched.”
“But?”
“I think that David Cambre is way out of my league.”
“But I’m both.”
“I know, and so we’re going to have to get used to stories like the one in that rag mag because no one will ever understand why David Cambre would settle for a bartender from a little poor fishing town.”
He whispers, “Bartending is what you do, who you are is the most loving, sweet, fun, and adventurous woman I’ve ever known. You make me laugh, you make me love . . .” But quickly, he turns serious. “Have you noticed anyone lurking around your house?”
I’m not sure where that came from and why he looks so determined all of a sudden. “No, why do you ask?”
“It may be nothing, but I have the sense that someone’s been snooping around the lighthouse. The reporters are gone because I kicked them off my property, but I still feel as if someone is watching us. Darla didn’t dump the paint on you, as it turns out, so I’m uneasy. I’m probably being paranoid, but I would really like for you to be very careful and make sure you bring Reaper with you when you go out on the beach. If there’s someone around, he’ll sense it.”
“Okay.”
I’m uneasy now too, but I promise to make an effort to be more alert.
I was okay with the first article, my introduction into the celebrity realm, but it seems the other tabloids have decided to have fun at my expense. Each story printed is more unbelievable than the next.
Again I’m in the market reading about myself in the tabloids. There’s one story that claims I am a high-priced prostitute and the picture that accompanies this is one of Logan and me at The Pierre coming home from the gallery show. I wasn’t even aware we had our picture taken and for these assholes to take such a beautiful memory and twist it into something sleazy really pisses me off. And if this isn’t bad enough, further into that same story is another picture of me, at least they claim it’s me, and I’m kneeling in front of some man I’ve never seen before. Hateful. Just because I tend bar at a fishermen’s watering hole doesn’t make me a slut. As much as I know I’m being foolish to allow it to hurt me, it does all the same.
As I drive home from the market, I try to pull myself together. I really don’t want Logan to see how much this is hurting me. As soon as I pull up to my house, I walk around to the back toward the beach. I know it’s all bullshit and that these people don’t know me, but it’s hard not to take it personally.
Logan, having heard my car, seeks me out and without a conscious thought, I blurt out, “I know it shouldn’t upset me, but it really does.”
I can feel the anger radiating off him, but when he speaks his voice is soft. “I am so sorry. I had no idea they would be so cruel.”
“How could you have known?”
“I should have guessed. The thought that you’re being ripped apart and your character being defamed only because you are with me . . . I want to rip their fucking throats out. I want to buy their magazines and shut them down.”
“You can’t fight all of them.”
“Fucking David, I am seriously growing to hate him.”
“But he’s you.”
“He is what that world created and he is kept going by that world.”
“Regardless, he’s a part of you and that means he will be a part of us and everyone will believe that they have a say in our lives.”
He steps away from me, and when he looks back I can see the fury turning his eyes almost black. “I don’t want that kind of life for you. I want anonymity again, and if there’s a way to make it happen I will. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Not really.”
“Just promise that you will listen with your heart as well as your ears.”
“What are you up to?” I ask, but I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“Just reaching for the dream. And in case there’s any doubt in that pretty head of yours, you are the dream. Remember that.”
“Okay.”
He takes my hand as we start back to the house. “I would like to have an alarm system installed in your house. Are you okay with that?”
“Should I be concerned?”
“I’ll do the worrying, you just be careful.”
“You aren’t telling me everything.”
He reaches for my other hand. “I’m not, because I think you have quite enough to deal with, but if I feel you need to know in order to keep you safe, I’ll tell you. Deal?”
“Deal.” I see the tension fading from him as well as the anger. We start down the beach again and then he says, “So I had a dream about you. You were naked and there was caramel sauce.” I look up to see his lascivious grin. “Tell me, love, that you bought caramel sauce.”
How he can switch moods so quickly I don’t know, but my body is suddenly throbbing. “I did.”
He releases my hand as a mischievous grin curves his lips. “I’ll give you to the count of three.”
Three days after our adventure with caramel sauce, the stories are still going strong, but I’m trying to separate myself from the woman depicted. It isn’t me they’re writing about. To the press I’m a person of interest only because I’m connected to David. Eventually, the media will move on.
However, when the hate mail starts arriving, Logan takes that very seriously. He’s got the sheriff tracking the mail and he’s added additional locks to my house. I know there’s more to what’s fueling him than just the mail, but I find I don’t really want to know the details. There’s already so much going on.
Outside of turning my house into a fortress, I’ve noticed that he spends a great deal of time planning. It’s the only word I can think to describe his actions. And there are times when I’ll be reading and he’ll be at his desk working and I’ll look up to see him watching me with such sadness in his expression that it breaks my heart. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he always turns the conversation to making love. Almost all the time now, he’s carrying me off to the bedroom and sometimes we don’t even make it that far. It’s wonderful, but there’s a desperation about him—as if he’s trying to get his fill in because there’s a time limit.
Thinking of him makes me miss him, so I walk to the lighthouse, but when I arrive I hear something shatter. I find Logan standing in the midst of his ruined studio: fragments of sculptures, broken canvases, and the pile of wood I can only assume was his easel. His chest rising and falling from exertion and his hands are clenched into fists.
“Logan.”
He doesn’t seem to know I’m there until I walk closer and repeat, “Logan. Logan, what are you doing?”
“Some mistakes you never stop paying for,” he whispers before he slowly turns around to face me. “You should run as far from me as possible.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s just as well, because I’ll never let you go.”
And then he’s kissing me. When his mouth leaves mine, he lifts me into his arms and starts from the room. “I’ll always come for you. Even when it seems impossible, I will find a way to come for you.”
“Logan?”
“Just remember that. In this world, all I want is you.”
Though our lovemaking is beautiful, I can’t help having the sense that the other shoe is about to drop.
Driving home from a wedding session with Gwen, my thoughts are on the florist I need to call tomorrow. We spent the night discussing flowers. Logan was invited because he has taken a very active role in planning, but his expression when he learned what we had planned for the night was comical.
The roads are not very well lit at this hour, so I’m going under the speed limit. It’s been two weeks since Logan had a meltdown in his studio. I’ve repeatedly asked him what caused it, but he politely dismisses the question, usually turning the subject to something else. Rain starts when I’m about halfway home, making the roads pretty slick. Reaching the top of a rather steep section of the road, I apply my brakes to slow my descent, but nothing happens. I don’t immediately appreciate the trouble I’m in. My foot still slams down on a pedal that’s not responding, my speed picking up at an alarming rate. The road bends at the end of the decline, and I try to downshift, but the car is really moving. I can’t make the turn. Even as I’m pulling the wheel to the left, I know I’m not going to make it.
My headlights illuminate the guardrail seconds before the sound of crushing metal fills the silence. My head jerks forward and back so hard, pain immediately erupts in my skull and shoots down my spine. The car comes to a shaking stop, but it takes me a bit longer to react since shock has set in. My purse had been next to me, but it isn’t now. I’m about to reach for it, but flashes of all those shows where you’re not supposed to move someone with a neck injury keep me from doing so. Especially with the pain radiating from my back. I don’t want to cause more damage. Panic sets in. Logan will be waiting for me; when I don’t arrive he’ll come looking, but until then I’m stuck and alone in the dark.
Unconsciousness threatens, but I force myself to stay awake.
My car is totaled; I don’t need to see it to know. It’s my own fault. Buying such an old car, it was bound to malfunction, even though I did have Jake look it over. Wear and tear is natural, especially on older cars like this.
I can only imagine Logan’s reaction. At this point I don’t really care how he reacts just as long as he’s here at my side. It’s only about a twenty-minute ride to Gwen’s. How much time has passed? The thought just leaves my head when I see headlights appear over the horizon, another set coming up from behind me. Logan barely puts the car in park before he’s flying to get to me. He thinks I’m dead. The sight of him illuminated by my headlights will haunt me for a long time to come.
“Saffron.” With a second of profound relief, he turns deadly serious. Pulling his phone from his pocket he calls for an ambulance.
“Does it hurt anywhere, baby?”
“My head and back.”
His grip on my hand is nearly painful. Gwen and Mitch appear next to Logan. They must have been in the other car.
“Oh my God, what happened?” Gwen’s crying, Mitch looks rattled, but my focus is completely on Logan because the expression on his face scares me. If I had to put a word on it, I’d say resolved. But resolved about what?
Hearing the sounds of the sirens and knowing that Logan’s with me, I succumb to the darkness that’s been threatening.
Two days later, I’m home. I have a neck brace due to whiplash and some bumps and bruises, but other than that I came through my ordeal intact. My friends take turns staying with me, making me meals, walking Reaper, and keeping me company. And though it isn’t necessary, I am glad for the company because they help to keep my mind off Logan.
He has not left my side since the accident and, as wonderful as he’s been, something is still off. He’s distant, the best I can express it, like he’s an observer. In the nine months since we’ve been together and the six before that when we circled each other in silence, there was never a barrier.
Asking him about it, about his change, gets me nowhere, even though I’m only looking for confirmation, since I already suspect what’s going on in his head. Sheriff Dwight arrives to talk to me and that’s when I get my confirmation.
“Saffron. How are you feeling?”
“Achy but, considering how much worse it could have been, I’m great.”
“About that. Need to ask you some questions.”
“Okay.”
“Have you noticed anyone paying you specific attention? I realize with your engagement and who Logan is, you’ve had more attention on you than you’d like, but does anyone stand out specifically?”
“Not since Darla.”
“Have you seen anyone poking around your place, your car?”
“What’s this about?”
Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he takes a minute to reply. “Your brake lines were cut.”
I could not have heard that correctly. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”
“Got a call from Jake after we had your car towed there. It’s standard procedure to have the car examined after an accident. It wasn’t mechanical failure. Your lines were intentionally cut.”
“Does Logan know?”
“Yeah, I intended to wait until I could tell you, but the man can be very insistent when he wants to be.”
Fear slices through me. Knowing Logan as I do, he’ll feel responsible and he’ll take steps to ensure I’m not put at risk—and thinking about what those steps will be terrifies me.
“So have you seen anyone poking around?”
“No, I haven’t. Since no one has attempted to kill me before, I’m guessing you and Logan are both under the impression this threat on me stems from my association with him.”
“Most logical answer.”
Damn.
I’m home for a week when the proverbial other shoe drops. I’m in the living room with Reaper going over the report from the contractor for Dupree House when Logan appears in the threshold. He makes no attempt to step farther in the room—distancing himself from me, both physically and mentally. If I’m being completely honest, in my heart and my head I know what’s coming, have been fearing it for some time.
“I can’t marry you.”
Even knowing those words were coming, I’m still eviscerated. A welcoming numbness spreads over me—I’m guessing it’s my body’s way of protecting me from the trauma his words have inflicted. And though I know argument is futile, I try anyway.
“Don’t do this.”
“I can’t marry you.” Stronger this time, more force behind his words, more determined.
“Why?”
And then the floodgates open and I am no longer looking at emptiness, but rage and fear so savage it’s frightening. “Someone fucking cut your brake lines. You could have died and when I approached your car I thought you were dead.” He comes at me, a more primal Logan. “My beautiful, wild and alive Saffron, dead because some sick fuck has a hard-on for me. No, I will not marry you, I will not live in a world where you don’t. I love you, I love you enough to leave you be.”
“And then what? I get to live safe but alone?”
“I need to know who came at you, I need to protect you. When the threat is gone, I’ll be back and I hope that when I do, I’m not too late.”
“Too late? Like I’d move on? You’re the fucking air I need to breathe. Are you speaking your own feelings out loud?”
He’s on me, my papers torn from my hand as he yanks me from the sofa and crushes me to him. His kiss is violent and so full of need and desperation. Feeling the same, I rip his shirt up over his head, my mouth on him, licking, tasting, before I sink my teeth into his shoulder, marking him. Grabbing my thighs, he lifts me, my legs coming around his waist, his mouth closing over my breast through my shirt. But it’s not enough, we need skin to skin. Moving to my room, he drops me to my feet and removes my clothes as I frantically remove his and then we’re tumbling on the bed, all legs and arms, mouth tasting and touching every part of each other we can reach. My legs spread and he drives into me. The pace we set is almost brutal, my fingers raking down his back, his teeth marking my neck and shoulders until my orgasm nearly splits me apart. He’s relentless, pounding into me, but when he comes he scoops me up, cradling me against his body, the gesture beautiful, almost reverent, and unmistakably a good-bye. I burst into tears. He holds me until I fall asleep. When I wake in the morning, he’s gone.