“Claire.” Anne frowned at her. “I’m at my wit’s end with you. You’re having Garrett’s child and yet you go off on vacation with another man. What happened to you?”
“Mom,” Sophie chastised.
“It’s okay, Soph,” Claire said quietly. “I do owe her an explanation. Mom, things aren’t exactly the way you think they are. What I mean is—”
“Is he here?” Anne rose from her chair so quickly that she nearly sent it toppling to the floor. “I’d like to give that man a piece of my mind.”
“Mom.” Claire rose too, rushing after her mother, who had plunged into the entrance hall where Logan stood talking with Trevor.
But Anne was a woman on a mission. She marched right up to Logan, her low heels clicking on the floor. “I’d like to know what you think you’re doing, breaking up my daughter’s marriage,” she demanded, sounding every bit the self-righteous mother she was.
Logan’s eyes widened, flying briefly to Claire before returning to Anne once more. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you. You must be Claire’s mother. I’m Logan Monroe.” He extended his hand, looking as smooth and unruffled as he sounded.
“Of course I’m her mother,” Anne snapped. “And I’m well aware of who you are, you home wrecker. She’s pregnant with her husband’s child, for God’s sake.”
Logan stilled, his gaze flying back to Claire. Her breath seemed to freeze in her lungs at the look of naked hurt she saw for just a moment before he hastily hid it behind a mask of composure. “Is that what she told you?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft. Although he addressed Anne, he never took his accusing gaze from Claire.
“Of course that’s what she told me,” Anne responded, obviously annoyed. “What else would she tell me?”
“Logan,” Claire began, her voice pleading.
He broke eye contact with her, looking back at Anne. A self-mocking smile curled his sensual lips. “That I’m the father of her baby.”
“What?” Anne looked back at Claire, aghast. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” Claire affirmed, looking back at Logan. He, however, refused to look at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Claire?”
“Yes, Claire,” Logan chimed in, his voice sounding rather nasty. “Why didn’t you?”
“I…” she faltered. “The timing never seemed right.” As excuses went, it was a lame one, and she knew it, but it was really the truth. In a way.
“The timing.” Anne gestured wildly. “You’re five months pregnant. When was the timing going to be right?”
“I was going to tell you in the kitchen,” Claire defended herself, “but then you stormed off into the hallway to attack Logan.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I really have to be going,” Logan broke in tonelessly. “It was nice meeting you all.”
With that, he spun on his heel and strode out the front door. Claire rushed after him, knowing she needed to explain. She knew he’d been hurt by her mother’s revelation, and she knew she couldn’t let him leave like this.
She slammed the door behind her, hoping her mother would take the hint and butt out of the situation, and rushed after him as fast as her condition would allow. “Logan,” she called out. “Wait.”
He was already at his car, the door open, but he didn’t get inside. She slowed down and approached him hesitantly, uncertain of what reaction to expect from him.
“Tell me one thing, Claire,” he said, his voice low, almost guttural.
“What?” She wanted to reach out to him, touch him, smooth the hardness from him.
He skewered her with a glare. “Are you ashamed of me?”
“No.” She did reach out to him then, unable to help herself, taking his hand in hers. He didn’t pull away, but he remained unresponsive. “God no.”
She knew how much that question must have cost him, and she knew too where it had come from. For all his outward show of aloof calm, he was still uncomfortable with his past. That he was so vulnerable touched her beyond measure.
“You know me better than that,” she said quietly, squeezing his hand.
Logan’s jaw clenched. “Then why? Why keep it a secret from your own mother?”
