Deserving of Luke (11 page)

“Luke's home,” she said as she laid down her roller and headed for the door at close to a run.

With an effort, she unclenched her jaw, plastered a smile on her face that she was far from feeling. Just because she was out of sorts and annoyed didn't mean that Luke had to be—or even that he had to know about it. She'd found one of the good things about children was that they were entirely self-absorbed most of the time. Hopefully he'd be too busy telling her about all the cool parts in the movie to wonder why she was a little off.

By the time she got her hands washed and got downstairs, Luke and Logan were hanging out on the porch. The door was open and it was obvious that Luke had invited his father in. It was just as obvious that Logan had declined the invitation. She didn't know if it was because he was in a hurry to leave or because she had yet to invite him into her sister's house. Judging from the way he was lounging on the porch swing, she had a feeling it was the latter—and appreciated his restraint. She wasn't sure she was ready to let him in any farther than the porch—literally or figuratively.

“So, how was the movie?” she asked as she walked outside, making sure to close the door behind her.

“It was great, Mom. Fabulous. The hero was supercool. He had all kinds of awesome powers, like he could get inside the bad guy's mind and make him…” Luke filled her in about the movie, including its twists and turns and not-so-surprise ending.

When he finally wound down, Logan laughed and said, “I hope you weren't planning on going to see it anytime soon.”

“Why would I, when I received such a wonderful plot summary right here?” She bent and brushed her lips over Luke's soft, black curls. “Thanks, baby. You made me feel like I was right there in that theater with you.”

“That would have been cool. Dad let me get popcorn and candy and an Icee. It was awesome. And then we went to get a hamburger afterward. Because all those stunts really worked up my appetite.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really? You had an appetite after popcorn, candy and an Icee? Those must have been some stunts.”

Sensing danger, or at least the beginnings of a lecture on nutrition, she could almost see the wheels turning in her son's head as he tried to figure out the best way to duck out on her. “They were. In fact, I think I'm kind of tired. I'm gonna go up to my room and rest for a while.” He turned to Logan. “Thanks, Dad. I had a lot of fun.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Logan's waist and squeezed for all he was
worth before scampering through the front door at close to a run.

Paige watched him go, a little surprised at the depths of emotion displayed in that hug. Seemed he was as susceptible to Logan's charm as his mother always had been. Her heart hurt at the thought, enough so that she smiled at Logan for his part in making her child happy instead of laying into him for worrying her.

“Well, you're certainly a big hit today,” she said lightly.

“I guess.” Logan shoved an uncomfortable hand through his hair. “I'm really sorry about being late. At first, I thought it'd only take about fifteen minutes to stop for burgers, but—”

“But Luke turned it into a three-ring circus?”

“Exactly. It took him almost ten minutes to order, and then he didn't want to eat half as much as he wanted to play on the playset or mess with the toy that came with his meal.”

“And then, when you were ready to leave, he decided to suddenly get interested in his dinner, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Believe me, I know the drill. It's a pretty common occurrence at our house.”

“I bet. Still, I should have called. It won't happen again.”

She nodded. “Thanks for that.”

“He's a great kid, Paige. I know I've said this before, but I'm so impressed with what you've done with him, all on your own.”

She felt herself flush with pleasure. “He is pretty wonderful, isn't he?”

“Absolutely. And he talked about you constantly—everything was ‘Mom would like this, I wonder if Mom knows, Mom told me…'” He shrugged sheepishly. “It's obvious that he thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling is entirely mutual.” She paused for a second, part of her wanting nothing more than to kick this guy to the curb. But she was smart enough to figure out that was her fear talking, because another, bigger part of her really wanted him to stick around for a while.

“So, do you want to hang out for a few minutes? Maybe have a glass of lemonade? I'm pretty much done with my half of the slave labor for the day.”

He glanced at his watch. “Normally I would be all over that. But I'm working tonight. I had to trade parole with one of my men in order to get tomorrow off for the carnival.”

She was glad that he had remembered something that Luke was so completely looking forward to, but it didn't surprise her. When they'd been together, Logan had always remembered little things that made her
happy, things that no one else would ever have paid attention to.

Despite her worries for her son, Paige felt her guard lower a little bit. She didn't know many men would have made such an effort to be a part of their son's life at this late date. It would have been easier for him to write Luke off, especially since Logan probably still planned to start a family some day. An eight-year-old kid with the town tramp had a tendency to mess with plans like that—particularly in a place like Prospect.

Maybe he had changed after all. It was a disconcerting thought, considering what it meant for Luke's future—and her own. If Logan was really in this for the long haul, then she had to prepare herself for some major changes.

Surprisingly, that thought unfurled a little bud of hope deep inside her. One she'd thought had disappeared long ago. She didn't know yet how she felt about that—the idea was even more frightening than the idea of having him in Luke's life for the duration.

But she could take a lot if it meant Luke finally got the father he obviously wanted and so richly deserved.

“So, what do you say, Paige? Do you want to go to the carnival with Luke and me? It might be fun if we all go together?”

“I was planning on it. Managing a kid at a busy carnival takes some practice.”

“Right, of course.” He smiled. “Good. I was really hoping you'd come, not necessarily to manage Luke but that's as good a reason as any if it means you'll be our date.”

She wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, or the way he was looking at her—as if he'd been able to read her thoughts earlier. And had agreed on them. That made her nervous, had her tripping over her tongue when she said, “I'm looking forward to going. It's been a long time since I went to a carnival at the Prospect Fairgrounds.”

But as soon as the words were out, Paige wished she could recall them. Logan's eyes had darkened to a gunmetal gray and she could see awareness in them. Could see the memory of that long-ago trip to the fairgrounds.

They'd only been dating for a little while when he'd taken her to the annual fair, and they'd barely been able to keep their hands off each other long enough for Logan to pay for their tickets. Once they'd gained admittance, Logan had dragged her through the entire carnival to the funhouse, refusing to stop to talk to any of his friends who called out to them.

Once they'd gotten to the attraction, he'd bought the requisite number of ride tickets, then had tossed them at the operator in his haste to get her inside,
where they'd spent well over an hour making out in the dark corners of the shadowy structure.

The air between them now turned electric. With each breath she took, Paige felt as though she was drawing sparks into her lungs, little, shimmery shocks of electricity that skated along her nerve endings until her nipples ached and her core throbbed.

She wasn't sure how much of the attraction was based on the memory and how much of it was because of the strong, handsome, virile man standing in front of her. The one who had taken such good care of her son.

For a minute they were in high school, before any bad stuff had happened. They'd been crazy about each other, and though she knew the past would never be the future, for one minute, she didn't care. For one minute, all she wanted was to feel what it was like to be held by Logan, kissed by Logan, loved by Logan. None of the guys she'd ever been with had ever played her body half so well as he had, had paid attention to her every breath and whimper the way he had.

She wanted nothing more than to fling herself at him, to beg him to kiss her. To plead with him to make her feel the way he once had. It had been so long since a man had touched her, so long since she'd let someone close to her, that the temptation to feel again—with him—was nearly overwhelming.

The heat in his eyes convinced her that Logan
was feeling the same way, a fact that both scared and delighted her. She told herself to say good-night, told herself to retreat. This was dangerous ground. But she did neither. Remained there, pinned by the power and the passion in his molten silver eyes.

“Paige.” His voice was so low and rough she had to strain to understand each syllable he spoke. “Tell me to go.”

She swallowed, tried to speak, but her mouth was desert dry. She cleared her throat, tried again to no avail. Licked her lips, then gasped as she realized he was watching her tongue trace her bottom lip with the intense, focused concentration of a wild bird of prey.

Her heartbeat was a crazy, mixed-up symphony inside her.

Her breath came in a series of harsh, broken waves she could no longer control.

And her body, her crazy, desperate, out-of-control body was shaking like a junkie desperate for a fix.

The sensations were nothing new—Logan had always inspired this reaction in her—but it had been so long and things were so messed up between them that she didn't know what to do.

Didn't know how to react.

Didn't know if she should stay or if she should run inside, bolting the door behind her.

In the end, she didn't have to do anything, because
Logan came for her. He stepped forward until his body was only inches from hers. So close that she could feel the heat radiating from him in waves and could smell the sweet, lemony scent of his breath.

She knew it was stupid to stand like this with him, knew it was insane to even think about opening herself up to Logan again. Yet there was something about him—had always been something about him—that drew her like a moth to a flame. No matter how determined she was that she wouldn't get burned this time around, she found herself pulled in despite herself.

“Logan.” It was a whimper, a plea, though she didn't have a clue what she was asking for.

“Paige.”

“I need—”

“I know, darlin'.”

“How?” Her breath broke.

“Because I need it, too.”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking gently over her lips—once, twice—before he slid his hand to the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugged a little, and she felt an answering heat streak through her body. And then he was inching her forward, bending his head as he lowered his mouth gently to hers.

Paige gasped as his lips brushed her own, soft as a butterfly's wings. She wasn't sure what she expected
from him—maybe the impatience of his youth—but this sweet restraint wasn't it. And yet it caught her, made her crave the taste of him until she could think of nothing, of no one, but him.

Her hands slid up his chest, vaguely cataloguing the hard muscles there before she slipped them into the shaggy hair at the base of his neck and tried to tug him closer. Tried to get a proper kiss from him.

If this was the only moment she would have with him, then she would take it. She would grab it with both hands and say to hell with the consequences—at least for a little while. At least for the duration of this one, perfect kiss.

W
HAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING?
Logan wondered wildly, even as he pulled Paige's body flush against his own. He knew he should stop, knew he should walk to his truck before things got out of control. Even as the thought came to him, he knew he wasn't going to do it. He couldn't. Separating himself from Paige now, before he got a taste of her sexy mouth, was unthinkable.

He told himself he hadn't wanted this to happen, hadn't planned for it when he invited her to go the carnival with him and Luke. But he knew the truth. It wasn't only the look on her face—the proof that she remembered the last time they had gone to the fairgrounds together as clearly as he did—that had undone him. It was being around her this past week. Seeing her smile. Hearing her tease Luke. Smelling her sweet, crazy scent.

At odd moments at the park and on the beach, he'd found himself transfixed by her and the way she threw herself into whatever she was doing—whether
it was playing football with Luke or playing tag with the waves.

Paige had always been like that, once he'd gotten past the hard outer shell she presented to the world. Had always been so full of life and excitement that she made him feel the same way. When they'd been young, all he'd needed to get aroused was hear her laugh. He wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that time hadn't changed that.

He did know that he wasn't going to let the past stop him from kissing her now. As he brushed his mouth over hers one more time, asking for entrance—for acceptance—Paige parted her lips on a soft moan. It was a low, breathy sound that shot through him, ratcheting up his arousal to flashpoint and taking him from gentle to demanding in the space between one thought and the next.

All the blood in his body rushed south, and his erection throbbed, until all he could think of was getting closer to her. Getting inside her as quickly as possible. And since there was no way for him to get inside her lush body, he would make do with a kiss.

Crushing his mouth against hers, Logan slid his tongue along the fullness of her bottom lip. She whimpered, her hands tugging at his hair and it was all he could do to keep from shoving her against the
wall and taking her here on the front porch with their son and her sister inside the house.

Because he couldn't do what he wanted, what he needed, he contented himself with exploring her mouth with his tongue, taking her, tasting her. She was everything he remembered—dark, warm honey and soft, ripe apricots—and more. So much more. Wild like the ocean that was beyond reach. Sweet like the summer strawberries he could eat by the bucketful.

Her taste got to him, wound itself around him, became a part of him. Made him crazy and burned him alive. All he could feel or hear or see or taste was her. Pulling her head back for better access, he deepened the kiss. Ran his tongue over the roof of her mouth and along the sensitive inner seams of her lips. Tangled it with hers, before pulling back and nipping at her lower lip.

She gasped again, her arms twining around his neck as she melted into him, the incredible softness of her body making him desperate with the need to be inside her one more time.

When he'd been a teenager, being inside Paige had been the most pleasure he'd ever felt, but as he'd grown older he'd convinced himself that he'd imagined the connection. That he'd remembered it wrong. That the passion and need that had woken him up in the middle of the night for years after she'd left were
figments of his imagination. It wasn't possible for him to have felt everything that he dreamed, everything that he fantasized about.

But he'd been wrong. It wasn't that he remembered too much, it was that he hadn't remembered enough. Those sweaty, sexy dreams couldn't compare to the reality of having her in his arms again, her body trembling against his as she opened herself to him. As she let him take her, let him ravage her, in an effort to soothe the savage emotions ripping through him at an alarming rate.

It didn't work. Nothing did. Need was a Molotov cocktail inside him, and he ground his mouth against hers in an effort to absorb everything she had to give. Sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit her in an effort to absorb her very essence.

She whimpered and he tried to stop, afraid that he had hurt her with the crazy mix of emotions rushing through him. But she wouldn't let him go, her hands clutching his shoulders, twisting in the soft fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to keep him with her.

It was all the encouragement he needed, and Logan lost himself in her softness, in her desire. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, until his lips felt swollen and tingling against hers and his body screamed for relief. And still she held on to him, as
if all the years and pain and betrayal between them no longer mattered.

In the end, all those things did matter—more now than they ever had. And he wasn't a teenager who couldn't control himself, who would rather have sex now and worry about the consequences later. He had a son—
they
had a son—and the relationship between the three of them was so precarious that he didn't want to do anything to threaten it, no matter how good it felt to hold her in his arms again.

With that thought uppermost in his mind, he forced himself to pull back slowly, his lips pressing gentle kisses to the corners of her mouth, to her chin, to the little dimple that had driven him insane for most of junior high and all of high school.

Then he let her go, because no matter how much he wished differently, they weren't kids anymore. They couldn't do things simply because they felt good.

He brushed her bangs off her cheek, kissed her forehead and watched as Paige came slowly back to herself. For long seconds, those beautiful green eyes of hers blazed like the most fiery of emeralds before slowly dimming, darkening.

She stepped back, shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Wow.”

“That's what I was thinking.”

“I don't—I'm sorry—I— Where did that come from?”

He grinned despite the layers of complication he had added to their relationship. “My guess is from where it always came from, darlin'. It isn't like we weren't compatible in that area before.”

Her cheeks flushed a soft, becoming apricot and he was reminded, again, of how good she tasted. His hands ached with the need to touch her, to pull her against him, but he clenched them into fists and ignored the strange and unexpected pain that came with separating himself from her.

“I should probably…” She gestured to the door behind her.

“Absolutely. I need to go anyway. I'm supposed to be at the station in—” he checked his watch “—ten minutes.”

“You're going to be late.”

“I am.”

Neither of them made a move to leave.

“Thanks again for taking Luke to the movies.”

He shook his head. “I already told you, I enjoyed it.”

“Right.” She still didn't turn to go inside.

“Is it okay if I pick you guys up at five o'clock for the carnival?”

“That sounds good.” She smiled at him and Logan felt his control slip another notch or three. He almost
reached for her, probably would have if his cell phone hadn't picked that moment to issue the special ring he'd programmed for the station.

“I really have to go,” he said, reaching for his phone as he backed away.

“Okay. Have a good night, Logan.”

“You, too, Paige.”

He rushed down the stairs, answering the phone as he went. Sure enough, it was a call from Lisa at the station, and as usual the news she had to deliver wasn't good. They'd gotten another call about raised voices over at the Finley place.

Shaking his head as he threw his truck into gear and headed over there—he didn't need an address as it was the third such call he'd received in the past couple of months—he swore that this time he was hauling Graham Finley into jail, whether his wife wanted to press charges or not. That man needed a wake-up call and fast—there was no way Logan was going to let him beat up his wife any longer. Not on his watch and not in his jurisdiction.

Sure enough, when he pulled up in front of the old house on the outskirts of town, every light in the place was on. The ambulance Lisa had called had obviously made it a few minutes before him, as the paramedics were already at the door, talking to a very distraught—and very bruised—Barbara Finley.

From where he was sitting, it didn't appear as if
she was cooperating, but then, that wasn't exactly a surprise. No matter what he told her, no matter what promises he made that he would keep her safe, she absolutely refused to testify against her husband.

And while state law said he could arrest the bastard—and even prosecute him if the district attorney agreed—without her testimony, he had no real proof. Not when she insisted that she'd walked into a door or fell down the steps.

But just because he might not be able to make a case against Finley in a court of law, didn't mean he wasn't going to pull the man out of here tonight. Let him cool his jets in jail for a few days—the judge was on vacation and wouldn't be back for four days. No judge meant no arraignment and no bail, which meant Finley wouldn't be beating on his wife for a little while anyway.

It was a shitty solution, but it was better than leaving the man here. And maybe, if he got her away from her abusive husband for longer than a few hours, he'd have a shot at convincing Barbara that she had other, better options than sticking around and waiting for him to kill her.

Already tense and more than a little bit wary, Logan approached the front door, where two paramedics and one of his deputies stood talking to Barbara. Through the dining-room window that overlooked the street, he could see Graham sitting
at the table, eating his dinner. It took a cool son-of-a-bitch, and one who was damned sure of his wife, to keep eating his pot roast while his wife, whom he had beat the hell out of, stood at the door talking to the police.

Anger crawled up Logan's spine. But he forced himself to stay ice cold and unfeeling. He could be pissed all he wanted later. Right now, he had a job to do.

“Hello, Barbara,” he said to the woman who had been his date to the seventh grade Sadie Hawkins dance.

“Oh, hi, Logan. I'm glad you're here. Will you please tell these men that I don't need any assistance?” Her voice was impatient, but she wouldn't look him in the eye. “I'm perfectly fine.”

Logan looked her over from head to toe, cataloguing the damage as he went. A black eye, an uneven jaw that he would bet was broken, bruises up and down her arms, including the one she was cradling to her body as if it was too sore to leave by her side. Her wrist was already swollen and a quick glance at Cal, the paramedic in charge of the scene, told him that the man was pretty sure it was broken.

“I've got to be honest with you, Barb. You look pretty banged up. I think a trip to the hospital is going to be a necessity here.”

“Don't be silly. I tripped and hit my head on
the kitchen counter.” Her voice broke. “It's no big deal.”

He gritted his teeth, wished not for the first time that he had a female officer on his squad. He'd gone through all the sensitivity training for domestic disputes in Seattle, made sure his officers here did the same thing, but that didn't mean he was an expert on how to talk to battered women.

“Maybe we could come in and talk to you about your fall. The neighbors who called 911 said there was some loud yelling coming from over here.”

“Graham and I were having an argument,” she agreed. “That's how I tripped—I wasn't paying attention.”

Logan forced himself not to react to her blatant lies, then spent the next few minutes going round and round with Barbara, trying to get her to admit the truth. She refused to, but when he finally talked his way into the house, he found Graham with skinned knuckles on both of his large hands, as well as some blood on his arm that didn't appear to have come from him.

It was enough to make an arrest, especially with the statements from two of the neighbors who'd heard and seen most of the fight. Barbara was upset, and she pleaded with Logan to let her husband go. Told him he was making a huge mistake.

He refused to let her pleas sway him as he read
Graham his rights, hoping that once he hauled her husband away in cuffs, Cal and his partner could convince Barbara to go to the hospital, but he wasn't holding his breath. Especially as she followed him all the way to the car, begging him not to take her husband in.

Reaching into the glove compartment of his truck, he pulled out a card for Sarah Jerome—a psychologist in town who provided counseling to abused women. She even ran a small shelter out of her clinic, and as he handed the card to Barbara, Logan said, “You don't have to stay here. I know we've talked about this before, but you need to let me help you, Barbara. I can take you to the hospital, get you fixed up and we can take you to Sarah. She'd take you in, help you build a new life for yourself.”

He glanced at the house. “You can't stay here. He's getting worse.”

“He's my husband.” Her chin trembled as she spoke, as if every word she said was an agony.

“He's going to kill you one day and you know it. So why are you staying?”

“He'll kill me if I leave.”

“I won't let him, Barbara. I promise you. I'll protect you. The department will keep you safe.”

“For how long?” She shook her head. “No, I'll take my chances here with Graham. But thanks for asking, Logan. It means a lot.”

“At least let me take you to the hospital, then.”

“Logan—”

“For old times' sake. I'll even stay with you for a while, if you want me to.”

It seemed she was on the brink of accepting. Then she shook her head regretfully and slowly walked to the house. Her head was bowed and every step she took was obviously painful. But she never looked back and he had to force himself not to punch the nearest wall—or Graham Finley's face.