Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove) (23 page)

“I’m not your boss. Not in any way that matters. No one questions your expertise. If you do this project, it’s because you’re qualified.”

She lifted her wine glass toward him. “Thanks.” Then another thought struck her. “Is that why you’ve been hiding out? Because you think folks will assume I earned this job some other way? If they’re going to talk, they’re going to talk. I’ll earn respect for the work from those who matter, and the rest, well, they can bite me. But your mileage apparently varies on that.”

He eased off the doorframe and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the end of the counter a few feet from where she sat. When he crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms, she had to work not to squirm in her seat.

By any measure, Brodie was a good-looking guy with an easy charm and a confident manner that said he probably knew his way around a woman’s body. At the moment, there was nothing easy or particularly charming about the man standing before her. Yet, with nothing more than a brooding look, he managed to short-circuit every nerve ending in her body to the point where she could barely sit still. It took more effort than she wanted to admit to casually turn her gaze away from his and back to her monitor. She would have sipped her wine again, but she was afraid she’d snap the stem in half.

The silence grew; then he said, “I don’t know what to do about you.”

She went still, then set her wine down and put her trembling hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together so he wouldn’t see. “You don’t have to do anything with me. Other than let me do my job.”

“Oh, I know what I want to do
with
you.”

Dear . . . God.
Did he know how easily he was dismantling every brick she’d so carefully laid in that protective wall she’d spent all week building?

“And yet, you’ve gone out of your way to have
nothing
to do with me.” She made herself look directly at him, shoulders level, chin straight. “I thought you said you were done with being frustrated.”

“Turns out there are different kinds of frustration.”

“Such as?” She turned, folded her arms, crossed her legs, mirroring his closed-off posture. And thought she saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. His throat might have worked a little, too.

Ah
. So she wasn’t the only one being affected.
Good to know.

She held his gaze, then wished she felt more triumphant when he was the one to look away first. With his gaze on the toes of his boots, he finally said, “You make me want more.”

That wonderfully deep voice of his, with that rough edge to it, was like a live wire, stroking every inch of her skin. Add in that hint of confusion, and she lost any hope of maintaining her brief hold on the upper hand. “You could have had more. I wasn’t the one hiding in my study all week and leaving before the crack of dawn so you wouldn’t have to risk being in the same room with me for breakfast. If this is about some perceived—whatever it is you think I’m having, or want to have, with Brodie—I’ve told you, even though I don’t owe you any explanation, it’s professional. Nothing more. Not for me.”

His gaze flicked up to hers and the hanging light over the kitchen table caught and reflected the heat in those golden eyes. It made her pulse twitch and her heart pound as if she’d suddenly come upon a wolf in the woods. She wasn’t too sure she hadn’t done just that.

He shook his head. “I’m not talking about sex. With me or anyone else.”

That caught her by surprise. “Then what are we talking about?”

He held her gaze for another long, intense moment. Then, just when she thought her skin might start to sizzle, he shifted his gaze toward the ceiling, and abruptly pushed off the counter and walked to the door. “That’s just it. We’re not.”

“Logan. What the—” Swearing under her breath, she stood. “Wait.”

He paused, then looked back.

“If you’re not talking about wanting sex, then what is it you do want?”

“I wish to hell I knew.” He smacked his palms on the door frame, then walked through. As he was crossing the living room, he added, “That’s what’s so damn frustrating.”

Acting on impulse, before she could think better of it—why start now?—she went after him. She caught up to him at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed his wrist.

By the stunned look on his face, he’d been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t known she was behind him. “Alex, don’t—”

“Too late.” She let his wrist go, but didn’t step back. “I’m done with all this enigmatic bullshit. I’m also done watching you hide in your own damn house. How do you think that makes me feel? I don’t want that. Not for you. Not for me. If you want a strictly professional relationship, then just say so. We’re grown adults. We can certainly behave accordingly. Just because we had sex, it’s not like we can’t respect each other’s boundaries and keep our hands to ourselves.”

She’d forgotten about his lightning-fast reflexes. One second she’d been standing behind him, giving him a piece of her mind. A split second later, she was pinned against the wall of the stairwell without so much as a breath of room between her body and his.

“That’s just it. Maybe I can keep my hands to myself. But I know I don’t want to.” She’d never heard his voice that low, that heated.

She could barely hear her own voice above the echo of her pulse thrumming in her ears. “Then why are you?”

His gaze dropped to her mouth as she spoke, and there was no hiding the trembling. And it wasn’t from fear. Far from it.

“I told you. You make me want more.”

More. And then she realized.
More than sex
. She’d been caught up in being so sure that’s all he wanted, so worried that she’d be the one wanting more, that it hadn’t occurred to her . . . She looked into his eyes, and feeling as if her heart was going to pound straight out of her chest, did the scariest thing she’d ever done. She said, “So?”

If she’d thought his eyes were molten before, they were nothing short of volcanic now. He took her face in one broad palm, cupping his hand around her chin, his fingertips brushing the pulse in her temple. He drew his thumb over her lips, then guided her mouth to within a breath of his. “So, if I take more . . . I’m not sure I’ll want to stop.”

She was shaking with need, with the knowledge that the promise in his words, the intent in his eyes, the possession in the way he held her, sent a dark thrill through her that no amount of rationalizing would enable her to deny she wanted . . . badly. And yet her defense mechanisms, shaky as they were, kicked in, anyway. “I’m not . . . here to stay.”

“Well aware.” He pressed his thumb on her bottom lip and the shudder of pleasure that rocked her had her pressing her thighs tightly together.

Her voice was raw, needy, even to her own ears. “We—we don’t need more loss. In our lives.”

She saw the frustration, the flicker of pain, of regret. The idea that he was struggling as much as she was only made her feel closer to him.

“That’s why I’ve become a hermit in my own damn house.”

She was locked in his heated gaze, wanted his mouth on hers, his hands all over her. She wanted him to peel her clothes off, feel those hands on her bare skin, that mouth, his tongue, caressing her, electrifying her. She knew what he felt like—warm, big, strong—moving over her, pushing into her. She’d never wanted to feel anything so badly as she wanted to feel that, to feel him, inside her again.

“I could—move out,” she whispered, the very idea making her throat ache. “I . . . was thinking about it earlier.” She felt the tremble in his fingertips, unsure whether it was truly him, or her. “To help us keep . . . a professional distance. I-I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Is it what you want?”

She reached up then, her own fingers trembling as she stroked them along the side of his face, feeling his body jerk against hers as she traced the outline of his ear and brushed through his hair. He shuddered as she drew them across his bottom lip; she saw his throat work. His jaw was so set, she thought his teeth would grind to dust. His body was hard and unyielding, pressed up against hers.

But what she saw in his eyes, past the desire, past the frustration . . . the confusion and the vulnerability . . . made her own throat tighten with an emotion she couldn’t put a name to, didn’t dare to. She couldn’t speak, so she just shook her head.

“Then what do we do, Alex?”

What he wanted was clear, but it was that thread of real confusion, of . . . fear . . . that undid her. “I wish there was an easy answer. I really do.”

H
e wanted to be angry . . . at something, at someone . . . for putting him in the last place he wanted to be—wanting something that came with the very risk he’d done his best to avoid.

Alex understood.
We don’t need more loss.

Perversely, it was because she understood his frustration that he was being drawn in even more deeply. He wanted to discover all he didn’t know about her. What he did know, that elemental connection they shared, had created a bond that had been instant, specific, mutual. It rendered the element of time completely meaningless. The connection felt so . . . certain. It made wanting to know more about her feel exciting, the thrill of discovery, something to look forward to. Trusting that everything else was the proverbial icing on the cake. Icing he wanted to lick off slowly and over a great deal of time . . . layer by delectable layer.

It was a right pisser, as Fergus would say, that anything should stand in the way.

Thinking that made Logan feel ridiculous. He knew better than anyone that fairness was a meaningless construct when applied to life. He could be angry all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact his life was deeply rooted in Blueberry Cove. Everything that held meaning for him was there. Even if he willing to give it up . . . Alex’s life involved moving from job site to job site. He couldn’t fathom a role he could play in that kind of life. Similarly, she was just rediscovering her own life, taking the reins of her family legacy, following her passion, doing what she loved, which was as deeply rooted in her as the Cove was in him.

It took considerable will to stay in the moment, that very specific moment. With her. Everything inside him wanted to buck reality. But he gentled his grip and willed his body to relax, knowing he needed to step back.

That last part . . . that was going to take a little longer. He lowered his forehead until it rested on her hair, breathed in the scent of her, and, just for a moment, soaked in what it felt like to know there was someone so perfectly suited to him.

She . . . matched him. Intimately, intellectually, emotionally. She drove him crazy in ways unbelievably good and incredibly challenging. He wanted to be deep in her personal space as often as possible. In private. In public. In life.

He wanted to kiss her,
never stop kissing her,
even as he knew he had to find a way to shift them to where they needed to be. He needed to say . . . something. A personal, intimate good-bye to the promise of more. Just as he knew there was no way he could taste her now, or ever again, and be able to walk away.

“Logan—”

“I’ll help you find a place,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt her entire body go still.

He lifted his head and found her gaze. It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done, staring into those sea-blue eyes and seeing the want and the pain swimming together. Knowing he was the root of both. He couldn’t believe he’d finally found that next step in his life . . . and he couldn’t take it. It felt like the cruelest thing. Hadn’t he had enough of cruel? Hadn’t she?

He took a deep breath. “I can work with you. But I can’t live with you. We’ll—
I
won’t be able to—”

“I know.” Her words were hushed, emotion thickening her voice. “You don’t have to explain. I . . . I already knew.”

He watched her eyes go glassy and pulled her into his arms, hugging her close. He pressed his cheek to her hair, then his lips. “It’s not what I want.”

“I know,” she said roughly. “I thought I could . . . wing it. Take what we could get. Be okay with that. I . . . I can’t. And hearing that you can’t either—I didn’t know that. Didn’t know you felt . . . Now that I do . . . it just . . . makes it even . . .” She shook her head and he pressed his lips harder against her hair.

He lost track of how long they stood like that.

Later, he’d wonder how in the hell he’d let her get in so easily, so swiftly, and so deeply. He’d convince himself that he’d just spent too much time alone and had been ripe for the picking, that—
was a crock of shit is what it was.
Any other time, any other woman, maybe he’d have pulled that off. But not Alex. He’d only been ripe for her . . . because she was the only one he’d wanted to pick him.

“I have to—I can’t—” She didn’t finish, but gently pushed at him, disentangling herself. Keeping her gaze averted, she stepped around him. “I’ll—while you’re at work tomorrow, I’ll pack up.”

She paused after turning away, but didn’t look back.

He watched her take a breath, try to square her shoulders, steady herself. Her struggle made him want to put his fist through something. She shouldn’t have to be the strong one all the time, handle every goddamn thing alone, carry it all. He hated that he’d added to the burden she carried.

“I can handle the appointments tomorrow. I’ll leave my notes in your study or on the kitchen counter. And I’ll get—” She took a deep breath then, chin up, eyes straight ahead. “I’ll get Owen to go up in the tower with me. He’ll love that.”

The one who should be punched was Logan. “Alex, you don’t have to go up in the tower tomorrow. I was pissed off and frustrated when I said that. Seeing you with Brodie, laughing, even though I had no right to feel . . . anything. I was an ass for saying what I did. Especially that. Deal with it when you’re ready. I don’t—”

He blew out his own breath, swore under it, then shook his head. “The job is yours. The house, the cottage, the lighthouse. I know you can handle it. You’re damn good at what you do. And it needs to get done. Just . . . make your recommendations and whatever else you need to do, and we’ll find a way to make it happen. All of it. However it works best.”

He saw her shoulders slump, and he couldn’t tell if it was in relief . . . or defeat. “Unless you . . . if you think you don’t want to deal with . . . any of it.”

She shook her head, started to speak, then cleared her throat. “No, it’s—I want the job. I’m already . . . invested. It feels really . . . personal. I didn’t—I wasn’t sure—” She broke off, ducking her chin. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel that again, so, if the job is mine, then I need to—want—to see it through. Okay?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever. Just tell me what, when, how.”

She sucked in another breath, then looked over her shoulder. Her eyes devastated him. It should have been a happy, positive achievement for her, a major step forward . . . and all he could see was what it was costing her.

“Thank you.” She looked like she was going to say more, but then she gave a little shake to her head and looked away while blinking back her tears. “Good night, Logan.”

She turned and crossed the living room toward the kitchen.

He realized he was clenching the knob on top of the stair railing so hard it was a miracle it didn’t grind straight to sawdust. He made himself relax his hand, his fingers, then rubbed his palms on the sides of his pants. It was that or go after her, pull her back into his arms, and ask her to stay.
Ask, hell . . . he’d beg
.

“Good-bye, Alex,” he said quietly, then climbed the stairs before he lost what courage he had left.

 

Stupidly, Logan tortured himself by getting online and doing a little more research on Alex’s family history. His rationale was that the more he could cement in his mind what generations of her family had accomplished in their specialized field, including all of her personal contributions to that impressive and important body of work, the easier it would be for him to establish the professional boundaries he knew they needed to maintain.

He did a little more digging into her father’s death. The controversy over faulty building materials and the lawsuit brought by the owner of the tower blaming Alex’s company for substandard work, essentially blaming her for her father’s death, pissed him off all over again.

He couldn’t imagine if he’d had to deal with something similar after Jessica’s death. There was no question that it had simply been a horrifying accident. Camille’s ridiculous blame campaign notwithstanding—she’d simply felt Logan should never have let Jessica work alongside him and her father in such a dangerous job in the first place—he’d suffered guilt enough for not being able to save her, and that was with the support of the town, including Jessica’s own father.

He couldn’t fathom facing the kind of nasty inquiry Alex had been subjected to. It had come from someone far more powerful, with greater resources, and connections in the Canadian courts, who was apparently looking to deflect the blame from himself. Alex had shown remarkable strength and resiliency, not only in persevering and getting through it, but emerging victorious in getting MacFarland & Sons acquitted from any and all culpability.

Logan hated that there hadn’t been enough evidence to countersue the owner, whom everyone—including the judge—seemed to think was truly at fault. It explained a lot about the shape Alex had been in when she’d arrived . . . and was still in, despite getting herself back to a steadier, healthier routine.

The more digging he did, the more he realized all she’d lost and the more his heart broke for her. It was literally
just her
. One truck, one job. She had no place to go back to. At least, nowhere that felt like home. Except maybe whatever lighthouse she was working on. And they represented terror and tragedy to her now.

He wondered if she had aspirations to eventually return MacFarland & Sons to its former glory. He smiled faintly, thinking if there was anyone who could do it, it was the woman sleeping one floor below him.

Eventually, he shut down his laptop and hoped that sleep would come, giving him a break from the hamster wheel of thoughts and emotions that wouldn’t stop spinning through his mind. All he could think about was her. Her past, her present . . . her future.

 

When he first heard the cries, the sobbing pleas, he thought he’d awakened from his own dreams, his own nightmare, reliving some fugue-like mixture of Alex’s past and his feelings of helplessness as he stood on the sidelines. Once he’d shaken off the sleep, he’d realized it wasn’t his nightmares that had woken him up. But hers.

Half asleep, he knew that going to her was all kinds of unwise, but there was no way in hell he was going to lie there and listen to her suffer through one more minute of pain. As he pulled on the first pair of sweats he found and headed downstairs, he wondered if this had been happening to her all week, and he’d just slept through it. She looked so much better than that first day, he guessed he’d just thought . . .
what, asshole? That she’d miraculously gotten over it? With a freaking lighthouse staring her down every single day?

His gut clutched at that, and he knew he was worse than an ass. He was an idiot. Likely his own selfish, stupid jealousy and frustration, all but ordering her to go in the tower tomorrow, had triggered the damn flashback. It didn’t matter that he’d recanted later, or that he’d apologized. The seed had been planted. Who knew how much of the evening she’d spent thinking about it, worrying about it, while he’d been essentially hiding from her.
Coward
.

“Daddy, don’t!
Please!
Don’t let go!”

Logan thought his heart would squeeze itself dead listening to the plaintive, wrenching, begging note in her voice. He knew how her father had fallen through the lantern balcony railing when it had given way, how only his grip on the side of the gallery ledge . . . and his daughter’s own hand . . . had kept him from falling to the rocks below.

“Help! Somebody! Anybody!
Help me!
” She was shrieking in terror and anguish, reliving the moment that defied living through once, much less over and over again.

He forced himself to slow down after taking the stairs three at a time, so he wouldn’t burst into her room like a wild man and make the nightmare worse. Heart pounding, breath coming in gulps, living the horror with her through every wrenching sob, he wished he could somehow take it from her. He turned the doorknob with a shaky hand and stepped quietly into his guest bedroom.

His eyes already adjusted to the dim moonlight, he saw her hunched under the covers, sobbing as if the tears were being ripped from her heart. Working solely on instinct, he climbed in bed behind her and carefully, gently, put his hands on her arms. “Shhh, Alex, it’s okay.”

He eased her from the fetal ball she’d curled in and turned her toward him. “It’s just a dream. Come here.” Tucking her against him, he cradled her to his chest. “It’s okay. You’re here now. It’s over.”

The tears continued to fall, but she clung to him as she cried.

He wasn’t sure if she was awake or still fighting dream demons, and he didn’t know what else to do but hold her. He stroked her hair, whispered to her, and rocked her.

“I couldn’t hold on,” she choked out, the words barely understandable. The fear, the terror, and the grief were utterly palpable. “I couldn’t hold on.”

His throat constricted and tears formed at the corners of his own eyes. “I know. I’m so sorry. I know.” He kissed the top of her head, then nudged her face up and kissed her temple, wiping the tears away with the side of his thumb. “Alex.” He kissed her cheek and the soft spot in front of her ear. “It’s over. You’re here. It’s okay.”

Her hands slid around his neck and she clung to him, burying her face against the bare, heated skin on the side of his neck. “It will never be okay. I can’t—get past it.”

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled to his back, keeping her curled up on him. He kept stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, wishing like hell he could take her pain away and make it his. “You will get past it,” he told her in hushed tones as her tears slowed. “It takes time. But you will.”

She slid her hand down over his bare chest, pressing it over the thumping beat of his heart. Turning her face into the crook of his neck, she said nothing more as she struggled to get her breath back.