“I was just wondering what other bare asses are off limits to me,” she said with a grin. “Maybe you could make a list.”
Logan grumbled something beneath his breath and glowered at her above his menu. “Just shut it.”
She blinked at him with feigned innocence. “It was a simple question.”
“There’s nothing simple with you. Believe me.”
Claire studied him, trying to determine whether there was a hidden meaning in his words. Was it possible that he too was beginning to feel a complicated mix of emotions? She decided to throw him a lifeline and change the subject.
“Why don’t you tell me about Eunice Withers,” she tried.
Logan expelled a sigh, his gaze searching hers. “You’re determined to go for the jugular today, aren’t you?”
“Teasing you was fun,” she admitted, “but this is serious. I want to know more about you. We’re having a baby together, and in so many ways, we’re still complete strangers.”
“Not in any ways that count,” he returned, his voice low, sexy. It stirred up vivid images of the two of them in her hotel room at the Pierpont.
She swallowed and forced herself to picture a sweet-faced elderly woman instead. “Stop trying to avoid the subject, Monroe. Tell me about Eunice Withers.”
He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. The man was terrible at opening up emotionally. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How did you meet her? Where did she live? How did she help you?”
Logan’s face shuttered. “I’d rather not go into this right now.”
Or ever, she thought. But she wasn’t about to allow him such an easy route of escape.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Fine,” Logan gritted. His eyes glinted with suppressed anger. His expression was cold and impassive. “Damn you. I was rooting in the dumpster in the alley behind her house for food. That’s how I met her. I was fourteen and I had run away from one of the foster homes I was shuffled to. The husband, my foster father, was a real bastard. He used to beat me regularly. I finally had enough and I ran away and lived on the streets for about a week before Eunice found me. You’d be amazed what you can eat when you’re starving.” He paused then and shot her a hard look. “There. Are you satisfied? Not what you wanted to hear, I’m sure, but there it is. I was a runaway alley rat who ate moldy pizza out of dumpsters.”
Claire’s heart ached for him, for the child he’d been, and for the angry man he still was because of it. She shuddered to think of what would have happened to him had Eunice Withers not found him that day. How had the system failed a little boy so horribly?
“It doesn’t make me think any less of you, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” she told him. “If anything, it makes me admire you even more.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he snapped. “I did what I had to. There’s nothing to admire in that.”
“Logan, you’re a good man. You should be proud of yourself for your accomplishments, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of your past.” She knew he wouldn’t accept her words easily, but they needed to be said. For all Logan’s success, he still thought of himself as the runaway who ate suppers from a trash bin. As a foster kid no one wanted. It was why he used the side door to his house rather than the front entrance. He was the feared, arrogant CEO of LM, and yet inside him was still the boy who thought himself worthless.
“Don’t play psychiatrist with me.” His words were cool, his eyes still hard and intense on hers.
Her heart ached for him, and in that moment, she decided she was going to use the week to get him to open up to her. She wanted to heal his scars, to help him realize there was no shame in his past. And by the end of the week, come hell or high water, she would do it. Regardless of what did or didn’t happen between them, she wanted to give him that much, simply because he deserved it.
Their waitress returned before Claire could form a reply. The girl plunked down glasses of ice and bottles of water before them, then pulled out her pad and paper. “Have you decided what you’ll be having yet, or do you need more time?”
“We’ll order,” Claire said in the exact same moment as Logan said, “We need more time.”
“We need more time,” Claire revised.
“We’ll order,” Logan said.
Leslie looked at both of them, nonplussed.
“I guess we’ll order,” Claire said quickly, laughing. “I’ll have the chicken taco. Is it spicy?”
“It is a little spicy,” Leslie told her, “but I can have them prepare it non-spicy for you if you’d like.”
“Oh no.” Claire smiled. “I’d like it spicy.”
