Ever since the confrontation with Logan, she’d been in panic mode, unable to think or function normally. At lunch, she’d been an automaton, opening gifts without seeing their contents, smiling and speaking without knowing what she’d said. Jamie had been upset by Logan’s unexpected crashing of the party and had apologized profusely. Claire didn’t recall her own response, but it had probably been mild, noncommittal. No one could really stay angry with Jamie. She was just too cute and well-intentioned for her own good.
And it was Jamie’s good, if misplaced, intentions that had Claire snuggled beneath a quilt, wearing her pajamas, eating raspberry yogurt and watching her old favoriteHope Floats. Not to mention ignoring the incessant ringing of the telephone. She didn’t want to talk to Logan. Or look at him, or argue with him, or lie to him. She just wanted to watch a feel-good chick flick with a happy ending, eat her yogurt, go to sleep, and wake up tomorrow pretending as if today had never happened.
Was that too much to ask?
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Apparently so. Claire picked up the remote and hit the volume button, turning it up a few notches to drown out the sound echoing through the house. Why did Sophie have so damn many phones, anyway? Nobody needs a phone in every room.
Ring. Ring.
“Stop calling me,” Claire grumbled, desperately trying to focus on Harry Connick Jr.’s face.
Ring.
Determined, she punched the volume button several more times. Blessedly, the ringing stopped. She knew it was Logan calling her, even though she couldn’t see the caller ID screen from the bed. If the phone weren’t on the other side of the room and if Claire weren’t so lazy, she’d get up and turn off the ringer. Or better yet, pick up the phone, tell Logan to go to hell, then hang up on him.
But Claire was lazy, and perhaps a bit of a coward to boot, so she turned her attention back to the movie, trying to allow herself to become engrossed in it.
Suddenly, she heard what sounded like thunder. If it was going to storm, she’d have to go close the windows she’d left open for the cool night breeze. Claire reached again for the remote and hit the mute button. The noise sounded again, but this time, it seemed more like a…
Like someone pounding on the front door.
Her heart flip-flopped to the pit of her stomach. Logan wouldn’t confront her about the baby, not like this, not now. It couldn’t be him. Hadn’t he just called her?
She heard a muffled voice. Logan’s. She’d recognize it anywhere. Damn, this day just wouldn’t end. And why did Logan suddenly refuse to play his customary role of detached CEO? Why in God’s name did the man have to pick now to suddenly sprout a conscience?
The knocking continued, growing in insistence and volume until it became more like banging. Claire squeezed her eyes closed, willing Logan to go away, to leave her in peace and go back to being apathetic about anything other than business.
Suddenly, the pounding stopped. Claire opened her eyes, hoping he’d finally left…
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Incredible. The man was calling her now, she just knew it. The same way that she knew he wouldn’t leave until he had his say. Realizing it made her heart plummet, brick-like, to her toes. There was no way around it. She had to face down Logan Monroe.
Either that or go hide in Sophie’s attic until he went away, which wasn’t really an option. Was it? No, of course not. She couldn’t cower around in the pitch-blackness, surrounded by spiders and cobwebs.
Claire tossed back her quilt and swung her legs to the side of the bed. Hiding had seemed like a good plan, but with a man like Logan, it just wasn’t feasible.
Dreading the coming confrontation, she padded downstairs in her bare feet to the once again vibrating front door. Without bothering to look out the window, she pulled open the door to reveal an angry, but somehow still sexy, Logan.
“Claire.” He scowled then swept past her into the house, slamming the door in his wake. “What were you thinking, just opening the door? I could have been anyone.”
Claire would have rolled her eyes had the situation been less serious. But it wasn’t, so she just shrugged. “I knew it was you.”
Logan startled her by reaching down and taking her hand in his. “Check before you open the door next time.”
Claire tore her eyes from his intense gaze and looked at his hand enclosing hers. Her fingers had unconsciously curled around his.
“We need to talk,” he said then, more as a curt command than as a polite suggestion.
“Logan,” she began, only to be cut short.
“Don’t give me a goddamn excuse. You owe me some explanations and you know it.” He paused as if he were trying to calm himself. “Maybe we should sit down.”
He’d struck a nerve. She did owe him some explanations, much as she wished she could deny it. “Follow me.” She turned and headed toward the living room, a sudden fit of nervousness seizing her. Logan had grown unaccountably calm, compared to the irate man alternately banging down her door and plaguing her with phone calls. Oh he was still angry. The clench of his jaw and glint in his eyes assured her of that, but he seemed to have reined himself in surprisingly well.
It would be so much easier to lie to him if he were angrier, colder, more autocratic and arrogant. She sat down on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her, watching as Logan seated himself on the loveseat opposite her. Here it comes, she thought.
