Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One (28 page)

He was totally alone, completely solitary, desolate, and miserable. Even though he knew, with a certainty that kept him sane, that he would return to them in four days—ninety-six hours, give or take a few minutes—he’d never felt so scared. It was going to be the longest four days of his life.

The driver pulled up to his house at the vineyard and he got out, grabbed his bags, and waved away the offered help.

He walked up to the dark house wondering how he’d ever thought of this place as home. He took out his keys and watched the taillights of the limo until it disappeared over the hill. Again he tried to shake off the feeling that he should be anywhere but here. He told himself he was letting his imagination run away with him and let himself into the house.

He flipped on the lights and was tempted to reach for his shades—it was so white he was nearly blinded.

He looked around for any color—all he saw were different shades of white. The walls were white, the carpet was white—hell, even the leather furniture was white. It
looked as cold as the Arctic and just as inviting. He stifled a shiver and tossed his keys on the chrome and glass table. There wasn’t a speck of dust. Not a thing out of place. Everything looked the same as it had when he left—high ceilings, massive windows looking over the vineyard—although he couldn’t see any part of it at that moment. Still, the vineyard was the only bit of color that came to mind when he thought of the house—not that he’d thought about it at all while he was gone. Looking out onto the vineyard might have helped. Unfortunately, on a moonless night, all he saw, all he felt, was deep, dense darkness. Everything was eerily still and quiet—something he used to find soothing. Now the quiet made him antsy; the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the world’s loudest grandfather clock, and the buzz of a lightbulb seemed to echo in the huge, empty, cold house. He felt as if he were the only human on the planet. There were no cars going by, no planes overhead, no surf smashing against the shore a block away, no life, no laughter, no love—just emptiness.

He’d never realized how impersonal the house felt. Nothing there was his—not really. He supposed it was because Payton had decorated it in her taste, not his. But then, he wasn’t sure what kind of taste he had. He’d never had a place of his own. He had a few apartments with roommates, but they were furnished in early Salvation Army. Now that he thought about it, that wasn’t so bad.

As he looked around the house he’d spent the last several years living in, the only bit of him he saw was a few pictures of him and Payton together. He picked one off the shelf and hardly recognized the man staring back at him—a stranger. That guy wasn’t him. He looked like
a wax sculpture from Madame Tussauds. Everything was perfect, his clothes, his pose, hell, even his smile—perfectly fake. This wasn’t the same man who tried to cook his girlfriend breakfast, or kissed Nicki good night. It wasn’t the guy who held Skye’s head over the toilet when she puked her guts up or went shopping for women’s coats to make sure she didn’t freeze to death. The guy in the picture never missed his girlfriend or anyone the way Logan missed Skye and Nicki, and he certainly never spent a sleepless night in a lonely bed after waking up reaching for the woman he loved and missing the way she curled up against him in her sleep. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Skye—not only for sex, although, damn, the sex was great, but no, he wanted to be with her even when she was PMSing and spitting fire, or looking at him like if she blinked, he might disappear. The guy in the picture might have his arm around Payton, but he was alone. He didn’t know how to love or be loved, but since he’d met Skye and Nicki, he knew how to do both in spades.

He checked his watch. It was too late to call Nicki—she was already asleep—but he could call Skye. He smiled for the first time that day, pulled his phone off his belt, and speed-dialed her.

“Hey, you called.” She sounded sleepy and surprised—he heard a half smile in her voice, the sheets rustle as she stretched, and Pepperoni’s piglike snore.

He pictured her in bed with her hair all messed up, warm and cozy, curled around the puppy instead of him. “I just wanted to tell you I got in safe. How’d it go tonight?”

“Okay. Nicki was a little down, but I made her favorite dinner and she perked up.”

Logan groaned. “You let her eat peanut butter and bacon sandwiches for dinner?”

“With fries and gravy.”

“That bad, huh?”

“She was pretty pathetic. You’d better FaceTime her tomorrow after school or her cholesterol level is going to go through the roof and I won’t be held responsible.”

He took a deep breath and felt something inside him uncoil and expand. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” She sounded surprised that he asked. When was she going to realize that he loved her more than he knew was possible? “I left the restaurant in Harrison’s capable hands when Nicki came down the third time.”

Shit, he knew leaving was a mistake. “I’m sorry, sugar.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I wasn’t having a great day either, so leaving wasn’t a problem. I helped Nicki with her homework, I signed her agenda book, and we packed up her backpack, and then we popped popcorn and watched
Aladdin
. She says Aladdin reminds her of you. You’re just missing the magic carpet. She loves you, you know.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” He was surprised to feel his lips curl in a smile. He was no Aladdin, but hell, if Aladdin was who he reminded Nicki of, he’d start buying up Turkish carpets—they’d beat the shit out of the white wool he was walking around on.

“How was the flight?”

“Long. I’d forgotten how damn far away California is from Red Hook. Too far.” He went into the kitchen, pulled Nicki’s picture from his breast pocket, and rooted around the junk drawer until he found the magnets he’d bought a few years ago. Payton kept taking them off the damn refrigerator. When he’d asked her why, she’d
said they were too pedestrian. He liked pedestrian. He smoothed out the crease in the middle of the picture and smiled at the drawing of Nicki and Skye holding a sign saying, “Come Home Soon. We Love You, Logan.” He rubbed his chest and wondered if he was just hungry. Maybe that was what was bothering him. There hadn’t been much to eat on the plane. He opened up the fridge and was surprised to see it filled with the foods that made up Payton’s usual diet—celery, carrots, lettuce, and Greek yogurt. Until he’d met Skye, he’d never realized how nice it was to be with a woman who ate real food and cooked. There was nothing in the fridge he wanted, so he opened a bottle of water and took a sip. “Is Pop behaving himself?”

“No. He tried to sneak down to the bar, but I called Francis and Simon and threatened their lives if they let him drink. For some strange reason I get the distinct feeling that Francis is afraid of me.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Frankie’s been well trained by Patrice. I think he’s afraid of anything that vaguely resembles a female. Even Pepperoni makes him break out in a cold sweat.”

“Good to know. I’ll have to ask her how she pulled that one off for future reference. So, what are you doing?”

“Me? I’m going to bed.”

She sighed the kind of sigh that made his dick jump. “I wish I was there, or better yet, you were here.”

“We can still go to bed together. How do you feel about phone sex?”

“Right now, I’m totally open to it. I miss you.”

“Really?” Well, damn, that was a pleasant surprise. “Okay then, why don’t you start by telling me what you’re wearing?” Her laughter spilled over him as he
headed toward his bedroom. He took a swig of water, hit the lights, and choked when he saw Payton posing on his bed wearing a sheer black gown. He blinked and shook his head. Too-thin spaghetti straps threatened to snap under the weight of what he used to think were a magnificently matched pair of double Ds. Tiny buttons ran from the V of her bosom to the O of her navel and disappeared under a layer of sheer netting. She knelt and the skirt fell open, revealing a barely there G-string. Three months ago he’d have dived into the alphabet. But now the memory of Skye’s slightly mismatched B/C cups were more to his liking. After all, variety was the spice of life.

He dragged in a breath and coughed again. “I have to go.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Logan, what’s the matter?”

“I have an unexpected visitor.”

“Is Payton there?”

“Yes.”

“In your bedroom?”

“Yes, but not for long. I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t worry about it. I can handle her. You just get some sleep.”

“Right, like that’s going to happen. Call me when you’re through. I’m suddenly wide-awake.”

No doubt. Damn it. He didn’t need this. Logan ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. He squared his shoulders as she shimmied to the edge of the bed, confusion marring her brow. “Get the hell out of my bed and put on some clothes.”

Her hands went to her hips, and her face flashed red
under what was left of her war paint. “Who were you talking to?”

“None of your fucking business.” He clenched his fists to keep from picking her up and throwing her out. “Get dressed and get out. Now.”

She scurried off the bed and went toe-to-toe with him. “This is my home.” Her cloying perfume made him step back and breathe through his mouth.

“No, this is my home. You and I are no longer living together. I thought I made that clear in New York when I told you we were finished. What part of that conversation didn’t you understand?”

He didn’t bother to wait for her answer—he just turned, walked out, slammed the door behind him, and headed straight to the wet bar. His hand shook as he grabbed one of her precious Baccarat crystal tumblers and the decanter she made him pour his tequila in. The damn set had set him back over two grand. Maybe he’d take them with him, but then what the hell would he do with them? He’d be just as happy drinking out of a jelly jar.

The door slammed open and she stomped out in those ridiculous heels she called slippers. The slap of her pedicured foot against the shoe hit him like the zap of a Taser and only added to the mad he had building. “You wouldn’t dare throw me out.” She’d pulled on a sheer black robe that hid nothing, and tied it so tightly around her, he was surprised she didn’t cut off her circulation.

He looked her up and down and shook his head. What had he ever seen in her? He preferred Skye in her ripped sweatshirt and yoga pants, though he had to admit she would look great in Payton’s getup. “I’m not going to get into this with you, Payton. I want you to pack your things and get the hell out of my life.”

She went from spoiled brat to charity case in the blink of an eye. “Where am I supposed to go?” He really couldn’t believe he’d ever fallen for her theatrics.

“I ceased to care when you told me you wanted nothing to do with my daughter.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I can and I do. I’ve moved on. You need to too.” He took a sip of great tequila and listened to her labored breathing. Her face morphed from shocked to embarrassed to conniving so quickly, he almost missed it before she gathered her composure and hit the serene button. It was fascinating.

“Logan.” Her voice took on a low, sexy, Kathleen Turner quality. “We’re engaged.”

“The sex kitten act isn’t working. Payton, we were engaged and now we’re not. You never loved me. I never loved you. The whole engagement was a disaster in the making. It’s a good thing we called it off when we did.”

“You can’t just dump me. Without me, you’re nothing.”

From sex kitten to Leona Helmsley—the Queen of Mean—in less than two seconds flat. His hand tightened around the tumbler. He was glad it had some weight to it—if it hadn’t, he would have crushed the damn thing in his fist. He took a deep breath; every muscle in his entire body vibrated. “If I’m such a nobody, why in the hell are you trying so hard to get me back?” His mind raced and then he saw the look on her face—the look that told him she’d been caught red-handed. “You haven’t canceled the wedding.”

“Why would I? I’ve decided to take you back. When you were in that dump you call a restaurant, you weren’t
thinking straight. Now that you’re home, things will return to normal. You’ll see. We’ll have a fabulous wedding and wonderful life.”

“I already have a wonderful life—one that does not include you. We’re not right for each other, Payton. The only thing I want from you is for you to leave.”

“You can’t mean that. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. I even pulled some strings and got Vicki into one of the best prep schools in the area. It took some doing, of course.…”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. “My daughter’s name is Nicki, not that you really need to know that.”

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

“Listen and listen good, Payton. I have a meeting tomorrow morning with your father. Either you tell him we’re through or I will. It’s up to you.”

“He’ll fire you.”

“I really don’t care. I have to resign my position regardless. I have a family to think about now, and I won’t move Nicki away from the only home she’s ever known. I’m moving back to Red Hook permanently. It’s my home. It’s where I belong. I’m happy there.” He shook his head and actually felt sorry for her. The anger left him just as quickly as it hit. He was sick and tired of this thing he’d thought of as a life before he knew better. “Look, Payton, I’m tired. I have nothing else to say to you, so I’m going to sleep in the guest room. I’ll pack my things in the morning and leave. You can stay for as long as you want—your father owns the place anyway. Have a nice life.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Logan Blaise. We’re going to be at the competition together. And don’t even think about embarrassing me.”

“I have no interest in embarrassing you. You do a good enough job of it all by yourself. I just want to get through this weekend and go home where I belong. Do us both a favor and stay the hell away from me. I’m going to talk to your father in the morning, so if you want to be the one to tell him the news of our breakup, I suggest you get dressed and take a run over to his house. Explanations like these are better when done in person. Good night.”