The Summer Cottage (9 page)

She reached the bottom of the ladder in time to catch the bleak irony of Logan’s half
smile. He was really leaving, without actually making a full recovery. How long would
it be before he was right back where he’d been two weeks ago, in full-blown exhaustion,
collapsing in his lab from stress and overwork?

Fear and hurt sharpened Jessica’s voice to a pitch that shocked her. “You may technically
be a full-grown man, but if I treat you like a child, it’s because sometimes you act
like one.”

For the first time, a flicker of anger pierced the defenses he’d slammed into place
over his expression. Good. Jessica preferred angry Logan to the robotic stranger he’d
turned into.

“I see. So taking responsibility for my job, my department, that’s childish behavior.”

Holding her head up, Jessica firmed her jaw. “No. But running out on your brother’s
engagement breakfast, to avoid facing the emotions that brings up for you? That’s
childish.”

With a sardonic twist to his mouth, Logan bent to retrieve the suitcase he’d tossed
to the living room floor. “Well, to be fair, I never promised to change. I only promised
awesome, temporary sex.”

Jessica abruptly wished she’d taken the time to get dressed before going in search
of Logan. She needed the armor of her professional wardrobe, her clean, classic suits
and sensibly sexy heels. This satin robe didn’t provide enough cover from Logan’s
sharp, searing glare.

And when he scored a direct hit like that, she couldn’t help glancing down to see
if the bloody wound was visible.

Playing her final card, Jessica reached out a hand and caught Logan’s arm as he brushed
past her toward the bedroom. “Logan. Please don’t do this. Stay, for me.”

He stiffened under her touch as if her fingers carried an electric charge. “I’ve wasted
enough time here,” he growled.

Jessica stumbled back a step, pain rocketing straight through her chest.

Wasted time. The days and nights on Sanctuary Island that had been some of the most
intimate, important hours of Jessica’s life were no more than wasted time to Logan.

Cold and numb, Jessica wrapped her arms around her ribs and met Logan’s impassive
gaze. “Fine. But if you go back to New York today … I’m not coming with you.”

Chapter 10

Logan stared at Jessica, a volcano of emotion seething under his skin. He didn’t understand
his own feelings, the restlessness and need to fight against the shackles binding
him to this island.

He had to get out of here.

But to leave without Jessica? Even though she intended to follow through with the
end of their affair when they got back to New York, the very idea of leaving her behind
made him pause—just as she must have known it would. She’d always known how to maneuver
him. Well, he was through with that.

Narrowing his gaze against the rise of anger and betrayal, Logan kept it as chilled
down as he could, even while striking back. “Now who’s using a personal relationship
to try to manipulate our professional lives?”

She drew back as if he’d raised a hand to her, and Logan had to clench his fists against
the urge to step forward and soothe the hurt he’d caused. This was madness, the chaotic
welter of confused emotion she pulled out of him as effortlessly as breathing. He
couldn’t stand it, didn’t know any way to weather it other than to run.

“Fine, go then.” Jessica looked away, the bed-tousled strands of her red-gold hair
like flames against the paleness of her cheeks. “I’ll cover for you with Dylan and
Penny when I go over to the café to help set up for the party.”

Logan forced himself to shrug. “If you want, since you promised to help out. But I
never actually promised them I’d be there.”

Her lips thinned. “And you always keep your promises.”

The scorn in her uneven voice caught him on the ragged edges of his nerves. “All except
one,” Logan snarled, his mouth running ahead of his brain for once. “I was actually
fool enough to start to fall in love with you.”

Every line of Jessica’s body, lovingly outlined by her shiny, clinging blue robe,
went still and tense. Eyes large and intent, she murmured, “And yet, you’re still
leaving?”

He nodded once, short and sharp, and she closed her eyes.

“You don’t know what love is. Sir.” And she turned and walked into the bedroom, closing
the door behind her with an implacable, gentle click.

Logan stared at the blank expanse of white-painted wood, paralyzed for a long, agonizing
moment before he realized she’d shut herself into the room that contained everything
he’d intended to pack in his suitcase. Part of him wanted to storm into the bedroom,
shake her by the shoulders and force her to admit that she felt something more for
him than a week’s worth of lust—and part of him only wanted to leave and never see
her again.

The vibration of his phone in his hand, signaling an incoming text, jolted him out
of the black cloud of indecision.

He had his phone. Everything else was replaceable. “To hell with it,” he muttered,
turning on his heel and throwing open the front door. Thanking God and GPS that the
island was small and easily walkable, Logan jogged around the house and out to Island
Road. He paused by the town square to key in the location of the wharf that docked
the ferry.

Totally absorbed in his map app, it took Logan a few seconds to register the increase
of wind gusting against his face and hair. Until suddenly his wrinkled button-down
was flapping like a flag, and the air was split by the unmistakable rhythmic whir
of helicopter blades.

Shading his eyes with the flat of his hand, Logan stared up in bewilderment. For one
crazy moment, he wondered if he’d summoned the company chopper with the power of his
brain and the intensity of his desire to get off this island.

He tracked the progress of the sleek bird as it touched down on the green grass of
the town square, right next to the picturesque little bandstand at the center. The
side door slid open, and his older brother, Miles, descended from the chopper with
an enigmatic gesture at the pilot.

The only man Logan had ever seen exit a helicopter without crouching and scuttling
away from the still-rotating blades, Miles strode across the town green as if he were
crossing a corporate boardroom. He was all pressed lines and perfectly tailored three-piece
suit, his light brown hair ruthlessly combed back and anchored in place.

That’s what a healthy, well-adjusted human being looks like,
Logan couldn’t help thinking with a grimace. Maybe Miles was the Harrington brother
Jessica ought to be with.

Even the merest suggestion of that idea caused a chain reaction of possessive denial
and anger so strong, Logan was all but snarling by the time Miles reached him.

“Good, I didn’t know if you got my text,” Miles said without preamble.

“I didn’t. But thanks for bringing the chopper to pick me up.”

“Pick you up?” Miles raked him with an impassive look, then glanced over his shoulder.
Logan followed his gaze to watch, wide-eyed with disbelief, as his perfect escape
route lifted off the grass in a tornado rush of wind and scattering leaves.

“Damn it, Miles,” Logan growled, clenching his fists until blood throbbed in his fingertips.
“Call her back. I need to get out of here.”

“You’re not going anywhere. We have a situation.”

“I know!” Logan ran his fingers through his hair. “The lab—”

“The lab is fine without you.” Miles flicked his fingers dismissively over a nonexistent
speck of dust on his charcoal-gray sleeve. “I checked in with them before I flew down,
and empowered your second-in-command to take charge, to keep them from panicking.”

Feeling the cage around him constrict, Logan scrubbed a hand over his prickly jaw.
“Damn it, Miles.”

“Focus.” Miles snapped, sharp and loud, in front of Logan’s face, as if he were an
unruly puppy. It took everything Logan had not to bite at those fingers. “I’m talking
about Dylan.”

“What?” Confused, Logan whirled to stare across Island Road at the white-trimmed Victorian
house. “Something happened to Dylan? I just saw him last night, he was fine.”

Miles snorted. “For values of ‘fine’ that include ‘being taken for a ride by yet another
scheming gold digger,’ sure.”

“Oh, that.” Logan frowned.

“Yes, that.” Impatient, Miles started walking, as if assuming Logan would fall into
step beside him. When Logan stayed put, Miles arched an imperious brow over his shoulder.
“Well? Come on. We have work to do.”

A headache screamed to life behind Logan’s tired eyes. This was why he preferred the
controlled conditions of his lab. The fierce rush of life in the outside world was
too hard to keep pace with. “Work.”

Miles paused on the curb to study his brother, a critical frown lowering his brows.
“I thought you were supposed to spend this week resting. Damn it, Logan, you look
worse than when you left. Where the hell is Jessica Bell?”

The sound of her name in Miles’s stern, uncompromising voice sent an odd jolt through
Logan. “Leave Jessica alone.”

Miles’s mouth went hard and flat. “I pay her—very well, in fact—to keep you functioning.
She’s obviously falling down on the job. But I’ll deal with that afterward.”

“After what?”

Smoothing a hand down his already perfectly smooth suit coat, Miles glanced up at
their grandparents’ vacation home. “After I break up Dylan’s engagement, of course.
Now let’s go.”

Logan, who had never in his life considered trying to stop Miles from doing something
he was determined to do, hesitated. “Wait.”

“What’s the holdup?” Miles scowled. “Look, I know you usually leave this kind of thing
to me, and that’s fine. It’s my responsibility to take care of the family. But this
is crunch time. The way Dylan sounded on the phone … I think we need to present a
united front about this.”

For the most part, Logan was content to let Miles sweat the small stuff—and the big
stuff—when it came to taking care of business. All Logan concerned himself with was
the scientific end of things, both developing and then creating the cutting-edge technology
that would take their company into the future. But a kernel of shame lodged beneath
Logan’s breastbone at the realization that he’d let Miles also bear the full burden
of holding together what was left of their family.

And as he stared at his older brother now, he noticed for the first time that there
was a thin layer of frazzled worry under his normal, unruffled façade.

This wasn’t just another problem to solve, for Miles. He was genuinely concerned about
Dylan—which meant he’d be even harder to dissuade from the course of action he’d set.
Miles would save Dylan from another gold-digging fiancée, or die trying.

However, Logan wasn’t a hundred percent sure in this case that Dylan needed saving.

His phone buzzed with another incoming e-mail, and his fingers itched to check for
more flailing and freaking out from his lab rats.

Miles sighed, and Logan looked up to see a spasm of something tighten his older brother’s
mouth before Miles said, with his usual calm composure, “Never mind. You won’t be
happy until you’re in your lab, overseeing everything. It’s fine, I’ll call back the
helicopter, then go deal with Dylan myself.”

He reached into an inner pocket of his suit jacket for his phone, and Logan’s breath
hitched. Escape was so close, he could almost taste it …

A vision of Jessica’s face as he’d last seen it rose up before him. Pale as milk,
but blank. Expressionless. Except for her eyes—they’d burned with a green fire that
threatened to reduce him to ashes.

You don’t know what love is.

Her parting shot echoed in his mind, and Logan filled his lungs with clean, clear,
salt-scented air. She was wrong. He knew exactly what love was. That’s why it terrified
him.

But all his fear and all his defenses hadn’t stopped love from slipping into his heart
and setting up a home. And what did all that fear boil down to, in essence? What was
he afraid of?

The pain of loss. The very same pain that was currently squeezing his lungs and boring
holes in his heart—because the worst had already happened. He’d lost Jessica.

And yeah, it hurt. A lot. But he was still alive, and so was she. Something his mother
used to say, an old-fashioned sentiment he hadn’t thought of in years, echoed in his
ears.

Where there’s life, there’s hope.

“No, don’t call the helicopter,” Logan said, surprised by how calm he sounded as his
long-held fears sloughed off him like a snake shedding its skin. He stood tall and
proud, steadier than he’d been in years. “I’ll stay and talk to Dylan with you. It’s
time we faced things as a family.”

One look into Jessica’s gorgeous green eyes would be enough to tell if Logan should
keep that hope alive—or bury it forever, along with his heart.

Chapter 11

“Who on earth can that be?”

Greta Hackley, who’d proudly informed Jessica that her family had owned the hardware
store on Sanctuary Island for generations, was kneeling in a booth and staring out
the picture window at the front of the Firefly Café with wide dark eyes.

Jessica joined Penny’s maid of honor to peer through the glass. “Oh no. Damage control
time.”

As if reluctant to take her eyes off the spectacle of two incredibly handsome, tall,
broad-shouldered men striding up to the restaurant, Greta turned her head slowly to
study Jessica. “There, now there’s a little color in those cheeks. When you first
walked in here to help, I thought we were going to end up picking you off the floor.
But you’re a hard worker, even when you’re feeling poorly.”

“Poorly,” Jessica murmured, most of her attention on the approach of the elder Harrington
brothers. “That’s one way to put it.”

Another way would have been “heartbroken.” But that was ridiculous, she chastised
herself. Of all women, Jessica, who’d been through this before, who’d cleaned up after
Logan’s endless string of one-night stands, should know better. She
did
know better.