“Forget I said anything,” Derek groaned. “You don’t like to take it easy on a man, do you?”
Claire gave him an arch smile. “I know how to deal with arrogant men. I’ve been putting up with Logan for years.” She turned and began to leave, but paused, looking over her shoulder. “Oh, and don’t forget to remind him I’ll pick him up tomorrow morning. Seven. I’ll wait exactly two minutes.”
It was almost midnight before Logan’s migraine finally dissipated. Ordinarily, they didn’t lay him low for quite so long. He’d take his pills, close his eyes and re-emerge two hours later. But tonight’s had been bad, quite possibly the worst he’d ever suffered.
Raking a hand through his already bedraggled hair, he made his way down to the kitchen. Derek, ever the night owl, looked up at him from one of the barstools at the kitchen island. In his hands was a tattered copy of Shakespeare’sLove’s Labours Lost. The irony was not wasted on Logan. A bottle of water sat on the island before Derek. He sent Logan a semi-grin.
“He lives.”
Logan scowled at his friend. “What the hell are you doing, sitting in my kitchen, reading an ancient play at this time of night?”
Derek shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. What the hell are you doing in your kitchen?”
Logan pulled open the fridge and peered inside, evaluating its meager contents. “I’m hungry. Is there anything in here not sprouting mold?”
“If there was, I ate it,” Derek told him with relish.
Logan grunted and retrieved a carton of orange juice that had expired four days ago. He sniffed it, deemed it safe, and went for a glass. As he poured, he looked over his shoulder at Derek. “What did you think of her?”
Derek feigned ignorance, the jackass. “Who?”
“Claire, damn it.” The sound of liquid swishing onto the countertop had Logan turning belatedly back to his orange juice. It was everywhere.
A snicker reached his ears.
“Looks like you spilled, Loge.”
Issuing a growl of annoyance, Logan fumbled for some paper towels and began sopping up the mess. A silence descended, interrupted only by intermittent, squishy plops of juice-laden paper towels.
“Well?” he finally demanded, looking back at Derek. “You never answered me.”
Derek offered another shrug. “She’s gorgeous.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “And mine.” The proprietary words surprised him. Of course, they weren’t technically true, but she was going to have his baby. That had to count for something. So Derek and his golden boy, Hollywood looks could just forget about it.
“Settle down, Monroe,” Derek halted his admittedly jealous thought process. “I have eyes, that’s all I’m saying. But I’m not interested in her, you dipshit. Besides, anyone can see she’s got it bad for you.”
Really? The thought perked Logan up as he threw his soggy paper towels into the trash. Then again, he’d already known she was attracted to him. But she thought little enough of him otherwise to want to keep him out of their child’s life. That said a hell of a lot.
“She said she’d pick you up for work tomorrow at seven,” Derek continued. “You’ve got a two-minute window before she leaves without your ass.”
Logan walked back to the counter, picked up his full-to-the-brim glass of orange juice, and settled on the stool next to his friend. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with her,” he confessed, taking a hearty gulp of his drink. “She’s all wrong for me.”
“Or maybe all right for you,” Derek pointed out.
Secretly, Logan was beginning to think so too, which was all part of the problem. It had ceased to be about mere lust a long time ago. Maybe it had never been about lust and lust alone. He found himself wanting more and more to talk with her just to hear her voice, to see her, to be in her presence. He wanted to ask her advice, to have the freedom to kiss her gorgeous mouth whenever he damn well pleased. To wake up with her, go to sleep with her, rub her belly and feel their baby moving inside her. He wanted what couples had, that sort of warm intimacy that he’d never experienced in his life.
The list never ended.
“I don’t know,” he said at last, staring morosely at his half-empty glass. “She’s a business associate, and she’s at the tail end of a divorce, and she doesn’t seem to think highly of me at the moment.”
“She was worried about you tonight.” Derek laid his book down on the island, spine up to keep his page, and considered Logan gravely. “I was too. Migraines, Loge?”
“It’s nothing.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I get them mostly when things are hectic at work. They go away and I’m fine.”
Derek studied him for a moment, so closely Logan barely suppressed the urge to squirm. “I think you need to get away from your damn company. Go on an extended vacation. Take Claire with you. It’d be good for the both of you.”
Logan considered it. He had to admit, Derek’s suggestion sounded tempting. Very tempting. But he had duties and responsibilities, not to mention a shitload of work to do.
