“Uh-uh.” Claire shook her head. Cloud nine implied happiness and there certainly wasn’t much of that to be currently found in her life. More like cloud negative nine. “I was thinking about the Scrubby Soap account. Sorry. What did you ask again?”
Jamie frowned, looking like a concerned little mother hen, which was a strange role for her to play since she was a good eight years Claire’s junior. “Why don’t you want Monroe to know about the baby?”
“I’m concerned he’ll use it against me,” she said truthfully. More than she could say. She’d been forced to fill her assistant in on the pregnancy after the hellish morning sickness she had been suffering. Jamie had been convinced Claire had bulimia up until that point. Naturally, Claire had left out the little matter of Logan being the father. No one knew about the crazy, stupid night she’d hooked up with Logan but her almost-officially-ex-husband Garrett and her sister, and that was how Claire intended to keep it.
Jamie nodded sympathetically. “He’d probably find a way. Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”
Claire looked at Jamie’s bright-red, glossy lips and prayed that when it came to the topic of the baby, they would be bonded with superglue.
The minute Claire stepped inside her sister Sophie’s old house that night, she kicked off her heels. A groan sounded in her throat as her soles met the polished hardwood of the entry hall. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she’d go shopping during lunch and pick up a few pairs of sandals. They may not scream businesswoman, but her feet didn’t give a damn.
Sophie’s house didn’t exactly feel like home, but since Claire’s ex’s affair had sparked divorce proceedings, her sister had been kind enough to let her stay. Sophie was planning on moving into a new house with her new husband Trevor when they returned from their honeymoon in Paris.
She tossed her keys onto a nearby table and dropped her purse next to her discarded shoes. A loud grumble erupted from her stomach. She’d been barfing her brains out the entire first trimester and now she couldn’t ever supply her stomach with enough food. Honestly, she just couldn’t win.
Claire absentmindedly rubbed her right hand over her abdomen as she padded into the kitchen. “You’re just as demanding as your father,” she murmured to the baby, rummaging through the fridge.
What was she saying? No, she didn’t want to think of Logan as her baby’s father. Sperm donor, yes. Father? God no. Claire snagged a low-fat raspberry yogurt and closed the refrigerator door with a nudge of her hip.
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes in ecstasy as her mouth closed around a spoonful of yogurt. For some reason, she craved raspberry yogurt. Craved it like she’d once craved chocolate. Pregnancy, she’d discovered, did bizarre things to a woman’s body. Already, she’d been forced to buy the next bra size up, her once straight hair had begun to curl, and she took naps. Naps, for God’s sake.
Suddenly the doorbell chimed. Claire frowned as she made her way to the front door, taking her yogurt with her. She wasn’t expecting any visitors. Sophie and Trevor were still on their honeymoon. Claire’s friends had all but abandoned her since her split with Garrett, so she doubted any of the women she’d once counted among her most trusted confidantes would be paying a visit. Not that she could blame them, really. Their husbands were friends of Garrett’s and they knew Garrett had cheated on her. She didn’t want awkward conversations or pitying looks. She just wanted to move on.
The doorbell rang again, a quick, impatientding dong. Claire pushed aside her musings and opened the front door. And nearly dropped her yogurt all over her bare feet.
“Logan,” she managed, amazed to see him standing before her and not at all happy about it. Her lack of enthusiasm was obvious in her voice. “What are you doing here?”
He flashed her a mocking smile. “Do you always greet your guests so warmly, or do you just reserve it for me?”
“I think it’s just you.”
The mocking smile faded from his lips. “Invite me in.”
So arrogant, she thought, so typical Logan Monroe. He would never dream of asking her to invite him inside. He ordered it.
“What if I don’t want to invite you in?” she challenged him, recalling all too well that fateful evening when he’d demanded she invite him into her hotel room in New York. Look at what that had resulted in. Images flashed through her mind, of Logan looking down at her with those stormy brown eyes, of naked skin and cool white sheets and hot, steamy sex.
Logan braced a big hand on the doorframe and leaned forward, his face alarmingly close to hers. “You’re being childish. Just let me in.”
She couldn’t resist leaning into him so that her lips nearly brushed his. Claire knew she played with fire, baiting him like this. They were no longer in the safe confines of the office, and the sexual tension simmering between them was palpable. There was also nothing to inhibit it.
“And if I don’t let you in, what will you do? Break the door down like you’re the big bad wolf?” He certainly looked the part with the way he was eyeing her just now. As if he was starving for supper and she was it.
“I can if you want.”
Though his words sent heat snaking low into her belly, she took a step back, gripping the forgotten yogurt container so tightly it cracked. “Go away.” She glared at him. “You have my notice. What more do you need?”
Logan crowded her with his big body until she took several more steps in retreat and he strode into the house, arrogant as ever. She noticed that he hadn’t changed from his work clothes and she wondered if he’d even stopped at home before coming here to see her. Not that it would matter, of course. She still couldn’t stand him, even if she did have an unfortunate, explosive sexual attraction for the man.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said, his tone curt.
Her traitorous stomach growled on cue.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“We’re not going to dinner.” She hoped her voice sounded firm. Firmer than she felt, anyway. When Logan Monroe turned on the charm, she found it very difficult to resist him.
Logan raised a black brow at her. “Presumptuous of you to assume I’d ask.”
