Deserving of Luke (14 page)

It was a terrible feeling, especially as he thought of everything his kid had had to do without because his father had been too much of a jerk to even consider his mother's point of view.

There was a gentle knock on Luke's door, and he turned to see Paige, a questioning look on his face. “Is everything okay in here?”

“Yeah.” He focused on the wall behind her head, embarrassed to face her after his realizations. “I was just looking at him.”

She smiled. “I do that a lot. He's pretty amazing, huh?”

“He's incredible. I can't believe how much I already love him. I wish—” Paige wasn't the best one to voice his regrets to. She'd been the one who had been hurt most by the fallout between them, after all.

But she wasn't going to let it go. “What do you wish?”

“What was he like as a baby? As a toddler? Was he easy, or did he drive you nuts?”

Paige didn't answer right away, and at first he felt as though he'd overstepped his bounds. He'd tried to take things slow, to let things unfold naturally, but he was starved for information about his son. About Paige and their life in Los Angeles.

“Never mind. Look, I'll—”

“Do you want to see some of his baby pictures? I've got some saved on my laptop. Not many, but enough to give you an idea of what he was like.”

“I—” It took a moment before he could force any words around the knot that seemed to have taken up residence in his throat. “I would really like that.”

She nodded, then headed downstairs. After brushing a kiss on the top of Luke's head, Logan followed, feeling as though his entire world had narrowed to this house and the two people in it.

W
HAT THE HELL WAS SHE DOING
?
Paige wondered as she settled on the couch next to Logan and turned on her laptop. With the bottle of wine she'd gotten out earlier on the coffee table in front of them, and Luke's pictures a few keystrokes away, things suddenly seemed a lot more intimate than she'd wanted them to be.

She should have sent Logan home after he put Luke to bed. But he'd looked so lost sitting there next to their son, so desperate for information about him, that she hadn't been able to turn him away. Even her old standby argument—about how Logan deserved to miss out on Luke's life after what he'd done to her—seemed to fall flat in the face of his pain.

“I've taken a million pictures of him through the years, but most of them are in L.A. I can send them to you when I get home. But I always keep a file with my favorites on my computer—so I can look at them when I'm away from Luke.”

“Do you have to be away from him a lot?”

She stiffened, sensing disapproval in the casual
question. “Not that much, actually. When he was younger he always traveled on location with me, but now that he's in school, he stays with a good friend of mine and her family. I'm usually gone only a couple of weeks—most of the actual set design can be done anywhere. I have to be around to supervise the construction on site before filming begins, but that's usually it. I've made a point of taking on jobs that are filming close to home or that don't require such extensive sets that I have to be away for months at a time.”

“The set for
A Long Winter's Night
was incredible. I can't believe that didn't take months to build.”

“It did. But Luke was younger then. He went with me to Australia. We had a great time.”

“Do you have any of those pictures on here? I'd love to see them.”

“I have a couple, actually.” She clicked a few buttons and pulled up the file, then turned the laptop toward him. “Of us on the beach and near the Sydney Opera House—typical tourist stuff. But I also have some photos of us on location in the middle of the desert. He had a great time.”

“I can imagine. Where else has he gone with you?”

“My first job actually building sets was in Vancouver. Lucas, the neighbor I told you about, got it
for me. He was a huge set designer in his day—he won three Oscars for his work.”

She waited for Logan to comment, but the slide show had started and he was engrossed in pictures of Luke as a baby. She hadn't had much money then—despite the fact that Lucas had let her live in the small guest house on his property for next to nothing—and all of Luke's clothes had come from a consignment shop down the street from where she waited tables.

Logan didn't say anything about the faded clothes though, and after a few minutes she figured out why. He didn't even see them—he didn't have eyes for anyone but Luke. It might have been sweet, if it didn't scare her so much. Made her worry about things like custody and mandatory visits—all the things she'd worked so hard to put out of her mind these past few days.

“How old was he here?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a chubby Luke on a blanket in the park.

“About four months, if I remember correctly. I'd had pneumonia, so we'd been cooped up in our little cottage for over a week and Luke was going stir-crazy. He was so happy to get out in the sunshine that day that he giggled for hours.”

The look Logan gave her over the laptop was inscrutable. “You had pneumonia?”

“It was no big deal. Luke was young so I wasn't sleeping well and I got rundown.” She shrugged it
off, though those weeks when she'd been so sick had been some of the worst of her life. She'd barely been able to breathe, but had kept working, kept taking care of Luke, until she could hardly walk three steps without collapsing. Lucas had tried to help, but he was in his late seventies and there was only so much he could do with a baby before he got tired.

She'd made it through, had gotten her first set-designing job not long after that and everything had fallen into place in the next couple of years. She didn't need or want Logan to feel sorry for the girl she'd been, because she was quite proud of the woman that girl had become.

He must have registered her No Trespassing signs, because he didn't ask any more questions about that time, instead contented himself by clicking to the next picture. “Is this Disneyland?”

“Yeah. I saved up for months so that I could take Luke for his third birthday. He had so much fun—we both did.”

“I can see that.” He studied the photo of Luke in front of his favorite ride. “If his smile got any wider it wouldn't fit on his face.”

“I know. That's why I love that picture.”

He clicked to the next one.

“Oh, that's one from Australia. We spent a couple days at the beach after the set was finally done. We
went snorkeling and I ended up getting stung by a jellyfish.”

He looked up sharply. “You got stung?”

“Yeah, and it turns out I'm allergic to jellyfish. Who knew? It was awful—I swelled up like a balloon.”

“That's terrible. Was someone around to help take care of Luke while you were recovering?”

His question, preceded by the others, got her back up. “I don't need anyone to take care of me, Logan. I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. And
I
took care of Luke.” She flipped through the next half a dozen photos, all of which were taken after that day on the beach. “Does he look like he's suffering in those pictures?”

“That's not what I meant, Paige.”

“Well, what did you mean?” She rose and started to pace. “You keep asking all these questions about who he stays with and who took care of him. I'm a good mom. I don't neglect my son.”

“
Our
son. And of course you don't neglect him. If you thought that's why I was asking, then I'm sorry. I just want to know how you managed. Raising a kid with two parents is hard. I can't imagine what it would be like doing all this by yourself.”

His simple apology deflated her anger, and she was left standing halfway across the room and feeling
foolish. “No, I'm sorry for jumping down your throat. I'm a little touchy about Luke, as you can see.”

“There's no reason for you to be. I have nothing but respect for what you've done. And I'm sorry—really sorry—that I left you alone to raise him by yourself.”

Paige froze for a second, unsure if she'd heard Logan correctly. Her uncertainty must have shown on her face, because he grinned.

“You don't have to look so shocked, you know. I can apologize when I'm wrong. It doesn't make up for what you went through—what you both went through—but it's the best I can do at this point.”

“It wasn't so bad,” she answered, settling onto the couch next to him and continuing to flip through pictures until she got to the last one. For the first time since she'd come back to Prospect, she felt herself really relaxing—and wanting to confide in him about Luke.

“The first year was tough because I was young and broke and had no idea what I was doing. I remember trying so hard and failing miserably at almost everything I did. But once I got the hang of things, it got a lot easier. I got my GED and started taking a few classes toward my degree and Lucas got me into set designing. Luke got older and lately it's been pretty fabulous.”

Logan didn't say anything, so she glanced up at
him, expecting to share a smile. Except he wasn't smiling. His lips were pressed tightly together and his eyes—usually so light—were nearly black and filled with so much pain it took her breath away.

“Logan? What's wrong?”

He didn't answer, simply pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her neck.

“Logan?” she asked again, her arms wrapping around him instinctively.

“Thank you for having him. For taking such good care of him when I was too big of a jerk to—”

“Hey.” She pulled back enough to see his face. “I think that's enough with the self-flagellation. While I spent years dreaming of you saying all this to me, the fact of the matter is, I could have called you and I didn't. I could have given you a chance to be a part of Luke's life before now, and I didn't. And that was my mistake, so I'm sorry, too.”

She waited for him to say something after her big concession, but he didn't. Maybe because there was nothing to say. Instead, he lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that was so sweet it took her, instantly, to the very first time he'd kissed her.

They'd been at the beach right outside of town. It had been winter, so it was cold and no one else was around. She'd shivered and he'd pulled her against him before lowering his lips to hers so softly that,
with her eyes closed, she couldn't be sure she wasn't imagining it.

That's how he kissed her now, with gentle touches of his lips to hers. Again and again, until her heart was pounding and her body aching for his. Knowing she couldn't take much more without screaming, she slid her hands up his back, tangled them in his hair, and brought Logan's mouth down on hers firmly enough to make them both cry out.

And then they were kissing, licking, biting, stroking,
devouring
each other with their mouths. He tasted so good—like spicy cinnamon and the strong, dark espresso she liked to drink by the gallon—that she wanted to go on kissing him forever, absorbing the flavors of him deep inside herself.

He must have agreed, because he didn't push for more, didn't try to take anything but her mouth. And when his tongue tangled with hers, she gasped. Opened herself fully to him. Gave herself to him the way she had so many times before.

Logan didn't wait for a second invitation. Levering himself over her, he trapped her against the sofa, caged her with one arm on either side of her as he pressed his upper body against her.

Paige moaned, arched her back, pressed herself more tightly to him in an effort to give her aching breasts some relief. It didn't work. The contact only made her hotter, made her want him more. Her
nipples ached, and she wanted him to touch her there—needed him to touch her with a desperation that bordered on insanity.

But she was insane, crazy, absurd to contemplate doing this. She'd trusted Logan once, had given him everything, and had been left a broken, bloody shell of herself. It had taken her months to work her way from the precipice of depression he'd left her dangling over, years to get to where she was now—happy, confident, fulfilled.

If she followed through with this, if she let him make love to her as her body was screaming for her to do, where would that leave her in the morning? Once, Logan had been everything to her and he had nearly destroyed her. She didn't know if she could do that again, or if this time she would shatter into so many pieces she—like Humpty Dumpty in Luke's favorite nursery rhyme—would never be able to put all the pieces back together again.

Wresting her mouth away from Logan's, she pushed at his shoulders even as she longed to wrap her body around him and never let go. “No,” she gasped. “I can't—”

The teenage Logan would have kept kissing her, would have tried to persuade her, but this Logan—the grown-up version—stopped instantly. He pulled back, slid off her until he was kneeling on the ground between her thighs, and simply looked at her.

His lips were swollen from her kisses and he was breathing even faster than she was. He was tense—like a jungle cat ready to pounce—his muscles hard as rock between her legs. And his eyes, his crazy, wonderful eyes were silver chaos as he stared at her, dark and swirling and heated and so tender, that she felt her breath catch in her throat.

And still he didn't push her, didn't pressure her. Stayed where he was and watched her, cataloguing every shaky breath she took. She should apologize, tell him to go, tell him she wasn't ready for this. For him.

But she couldn't, not while desire was a throbbing wound between them. Not while the past was a shuddering presence all around them and tomorrow was a future too distant to think about.

It had been nine years since she'd trusted a man to touch her intimately, nine years since she'd trusted
this
man not to hurt her. Could she do it again?

Reaching out she stroked her fingers over his forehead, down his cheek, across his eyes. His lashes fluttered, his eyelids drifting shut and she marveled at the trust it took for him to be so vulnerable. She had yet to close her eyes with him, wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to again.

But as her trembling fingers drifted across his mouth, he kissed them—one after the other—and she knew she had to try. It might be the stupidest
thing she'd ever done, certainly the dumbest thing she'd done in the past nine years, but she couldn't help it. She wanted him, needed him, and tonight she would take him. If, in the morning, it proved to be a mistake, then she would deal with those consequences, too. But she would take this moment with Logan, with the only man she had ever loved, and say to hell with the future.

 

H
E FELT THE MOMENT
P
AIGE
gave in, the moment she stopped fighting the emotions that were swelling between them like a tsunami. Part of him wanted to take her right then, when her defenses were down. To thrust himself into her graceful, giving body and lose himself the way he had so many, many times before.

But he needed to be sure—needed her to be sure—even more than he needed to be inside her. She mattered to him. Even after all this time and all the anger and pain that had gone before, she mattered and he needed her to know that.

“Are you sure?” he whispered against her fingers, resisting the urge to suck them—one at a time—into his mouth.

She shook her head no, but whispered, “I want to be with you, Logan. I want to feel you inside me. I want to know that it's you holding me, you taking me.”