defeated one sheâd shown for months after several failed attempts at getting pregnant again. And it was a far cry from the rebellious one sheâd worn as a girl, intent on challenging him at every turn.
This was something different. This was worse. It was the professional posture a claims adjuster assumed with a client. The polite demeanor a woman assumed with a stranger.
Logan balled his fists at his sides, his chest tightening with the familiar sting of regret. Heâd waited too long.
âWhat can I do for you, Logan?â
She continued running her fingers over the sweaterâs neckline. The movements remained small and graceful. Not erratic or anxious. Certainly not an action that should draw attention.
A flush bloomed on the skin of her neck. A fraction of an inch above the tips of her fingers. Her bare fingers.
Loganâs eyes burned. This trip was a mistake. Like so many others. There was nothing left of their marriage to salvage here. He should walk away, get back in his truck and leave. It was the sane, sensible thing to do.
He jerked his head to the side but couldnât force his stare to follow. It clung to the small motions of her fingers, causing the pink shade on her neck to spread and deepen to a fiery shade of red.
Logan clenched his jaw. Heâd already lost a child. Hell if heâd lose his best friend, too. The girl he remembered was still there. Buried beneath the sophisticated veneer. And he wasnât leaving without her.
Reaching deep into his pocket, Logan withdrew the thick wad of papers and tossed them onto the desk. They bounced, slid across the mahogany wood and drew to a precarious halt on the far edge.
âIâm here to bring you home.â
* * *
L IES VARIED . Amy knew that. They could be as white as a consoling whisper. Or as dark as a secret never spoken. As a girl, sheâd only lied to Logan once but it had been dark enough to follow her for years.
Amy curled her fingers tighter into the collar of her sweater and refused to look at the papers balancing on the edge of the desk. Instead, she focused on Logan, lingering over the dark depths of his eyes, the strong line of his jaw and the sensual curve of his mouth.
He hadnât changed much in the four years since sheâd last seen him. His lean length was still as sculpted as ever. His broad chest and shoulders were just as wide and impressive. And the familiar attire of jeans, collared shirt and boots were still the same.
A deep rush of longing enveloped her, making her ache to reach out and wrap her arms around him. To draw him close and hold on. Just as she had so many times over the years as a friend and, eventually, as a lover.
Dear God, sheâd missed him. Missed his smile, his strength. Even his tight-lipped frowns of disappointment. Most of which had been directed at her over the years.
Her stomach churned. Figured the one thing sheâd always admired most about him was something she had never been able to possess as a girl. Something sheâd always found so elusive and so foreign.
Honor . Logan lived and breathed it. Even when it cut deep.
Amy smiled, hoping the slight quiver of her mouth didnât show. âI told Mom on the phone that Iâd drive home as soon as I got off work today. I promised I wouldnât miss Thanksgiving dinner this year and I wonât. Iâm already packed andââ she flicked her sleeve back and glanced at her wristwatch ââitâs time to close up. Iâm about to swing by my apartment, grab my bags and head out. There was no need for you to make such a long trip.â
A muscle in his jaw jumped. His left hand moved, his thumb twisting the ring on his finger. The same one sheâd slid there years ago when she was a selfish girl of nineteen. A girl who had lied and purposefully gotten pregnant with Loganâs child, knowing his honor would demand he marry her.
The memory conjured up shame. It scorched a