Love at Any Cost (16 page)

The strains of “Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder” filtered through the ballroom, and Logan found himself hoping that the song was prophetic for Cait. Heaven knows it was for him. He grinned. “Come on, Cait, you're not a woman prone to untruths. Why don't you just admit the only reason you said yes is because it's my birthday and you felt guilty?”

A pretty shade of rose burnished her cheeks and he laughed. She was so easy to read . . .
and
rile. He swept her in a wide arc, savoring the way wisps of her auburn tresses fluttered in the breeze. “Besides, Mrs. McClare,” he said softly, “I can be stimulating too.” The rogue in him took over as his gaze flitted to her lips and back, his voice a husky whisper. “Or don't you remember?”

Color swamped her throat and cheeks, nearly swallowing her whole, and he laughed out loud, firming his grip when she tried to pull away. “Come on, Cait, I'm sorry, but you're just so easy
to bait.” His smile ebbed into a tender look. “You always were, as I recall.”

Shooting a nervous glance at their table, she fixed him with a stern gaze, gold flecks of fire in those startling green eyes. “
Please
keep your voice down.” Her nostrils flared slightly as she drew in a calming breath, chin engaged once again. “And I'd appreciate it if you would not refer to our past to anyone, including me.” Her tone softened. “We are friends, Logan, please keep that in mind. I am not one of your many women to be toyed with, I am your sister-in-law. I ask that you treat me with the respect due your brother's wife.”

He gave her a veiled look. “You mean my brother's widow,” he said quietly.

Her jaw set. “Either way, you are my brother-in-law, and it's uncomfortable when your comments or actions are overly familiar.”

Grip firm, his eyes and voice softened. “You forget, Cait,” he whispered, his humor no longer a mask for his feelings, “I
am
overly familiar with you whether you like it or not. I know your habits, your expressions, every nuance of your face. I know you take Earl Gray with sugar in the morning and Chamomile without at night. I know you have a habit of jutting your chin when backed into corner and that you tend toward melancholy when fatigued. You pick at your nails when you're nervous and you twirl your hair when in thought, and despite your love for the classics,” he said in a rush, exhaling slowly, “you have a secret fondness for dime novels.” His voice trailed to a whisper. “Especially on rainy days.”

She stared, lips parted, as if poised for her lungs to start breathing again.

Her hand felt small and warm in his and with a shift of his throat, he gently circled her palm with his thumb. “We have
history
, Cait,” he said softly.

Tears glimmered as she carefully slipped her hand from his, the grief in her face a mirror of his own. “Yes, we do. But that's no basis for a future.” Slowly, gently, she cupped a palm to his cheek. “I need a friend, Logan, nothing more.” The bridge of her nose puckered as she studied him intently. “Can you be that for me—please?” The orchestra began to play, and she took his hand. “Can we celebrate your birthday as family members who respect and support each other?” She peered up, a gentle woman with a gentle request. “And friends—good friends?”

He paused, unable to breathe for the ache in his chest. Bracing his palm to her shoulder, he lifted her hand to begin the dance, a dance of will and heart that he was determined to win. He smiled, his manner as kind as hers. “Sure, Cait, friends.” With casual grace, he whirled her to the music, her body suddenly relaxed and fluid and calm.

For now.

 15 

I
s Cass in there?” Jamie squinted at the ladies' room door Allison had just exited with a group of society matrons, their brows in a scrunch.

Alli perched a hand to the waist of her pale-green dress where ruffles swept to her hip. She tossed her head back, midnight-black curls shimmering beneath a crystal chandelier as she blew wisps of bangs from her eyes. “Why? You planning on going in?” she asked, a mischievous gleam in piercing green eyes much darker than Cassie's.

Jamie's lip swerved. “No, but she owes me a dance, and I plan to collect.”

“Mmm . . . only a dance?” Tongue in cheek, Alli folded her arms to stare him down.

His collar suddenly felt on fire, and he scowled. “What, does she tell you everything?” he groused, absently gouging the back of his neck.

“Uh-huh, which means I have her ear all the time while you, my good friend,” she said with a pat of his cheek, “only had her lips—once.”

Okay, now his entire dinner jacket was aflame. Hands sweating,
he pried a finger inside his collar to release some of the heat. “Aw, come on, Al—have a heart.”

Alli laughed and swallowed him in a tight hug. “You are
so
adorable when you're embarrassed, you know that? Just like a little boy caught misbehaving.” She stepped back, bracing his arms while the smile softened on her lips. “You like her a lot, don't you?”

Jamie plunged his hands in his pockets, feeling every bit of that little boy she'd just accused him of. “Yeah, I do.” He inclined his head, coaxing with a boyish smile. “So . . . you gonna help me steal her heart or not?”

A delicate sigh escaped Alli's lips as she patted his arms and let go. “I'd like nothing better, Mac, but there's only so much I can do.” She glanced up, sympathy radiating from her eyes. “She has reservations, Jamie, and they're good ones. You need to talk to her.”

The sweat beneath his collar glazed to ice. “What do you mean ‘reservations'? Like her lack of trust because of that louse in Texas?”

“Yes, but it's more than that.” She cupped a hand to his cheek, her voice soft. “Just talk to her, before you get hurt. I care about you too much to see you pursue something you can't have, especially a relationship with no future.”

Jamie caught her hand and held on, his eyes issuing a challenge. “Oh, we have a future all right, Allison, you mark my words on that, whether your cousin wants to admit it or not.”

Alli assessed him through pensive eyes. “I'd like to believe that, Jamie, I really would. But you have to be prepared to let it go if Cassie says no.”

“She won't,” he said with a shift of his tie, his confidence as shaky as his fingers as they tugged at the cuffs of his coat. “Where is she—do you know?”

“On the veranda, I think. Left her there not ten minutes ago.”

He bent to press a kiss to Alli's forehead. “Thanks, Al—wish me luck.”

“I'd rather you ask me to pray, Jamie,” she whispered, “and so would Cassie.”

He eyed her over his shoulder, lips in a clamp. “Sure—whatever works.” Annoyance prickled as he made his way to the door, quite sure it would be his efforts and not God's that would turn Cassie McClare's head. Drawing in a steady breath, he reached for the brass knob of the veranda door. A welcome wash of briny air cooled the sweat on his brow as he stepped outside, blinking to adjust to the darkness where a smattering of couples nuzzled here and there. He scanned the marble veranda, gaze searching the stone wall till he spotted her at the far end, tucked away in the shadows. She stood, face to the sky and palms on the balustrade while a breeze fluttered her hair. His throat went dry, and he realized he was already way in over his head.
I care about you too much, Jamie, to see you pursue something you can't have.
His jaw molded tight.
Oh, I'll have her, all right,
he vowed.
Whatever it takes . . .

He approached silently from behind, the chords of “Hello, Central, Give Me Heaven” floating in the air with the scent of lilacs from Cassie's perfume, and Jamie was almost tempted to pray, so close was “heaven” within his grasp. With a silent exhale, he moved to the wall to stand beside her, casually leaning over the balcony with arms folded and eyes lifted to the sky. “Wishing on a star, Miss McClare?” he said softly, turning to study her in the moonlight.

She smiled, her satin dress shimmering from either a breeze off the bay or a contented sigh. “Something like that.” She peeked up. “That was really nice what you did tonight, Jamie.”

He deflected with an awkward grin. “Naw, ‘nice' would be boxing the ears of that little hooligan who made that sweet little
girl cry.” His humor faded as his gaze returned to the sea, a tic pulsing in his jaw. “Nothing makes me angrier than that—people picking on people, belittling them, ostracizing them, thinking they're better when they're not.” He sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of his harsh tone. “Sorry, Cass, but few things grate on me more than that.”

“Sounds like painful experience,” she said quietly, gaze fixed on her hand as she picked at her nails.

He glanced at the nubby beds of her long, slender fingers and smiled. Holy thunder, he even liked that about her, the fact that she wasn't like every other woman who polished their carefully manicured nails with tinted powders and creams. No, Cassie was as natural and unconventional as the gentle spray of freckles that dusted her nose and shoulders, telling Jamie loud and clear that her beauty was not just skin deep. It was honest and real and true all the way to the bone. He straightened to face her, hip cocked to the wall. “You could say that, I suppose, but I prefer to focus on the pleasurable experiences, such as teaching a cowgirl to dance.” With a slow reach, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, lingering several seconds too long. “I seem to remember you owe me a dance, Miss McClare.”

Her pert little chin angled high. “Is that so?” She nodded toward the ballroom. “Then I suggest we remedy that.”

She turned toward the door and he caught her hand, drawing her into his arms for a waltz. “My thoughts exactly,” he whispered in her ear, twirling her before she could object.

“Jamie!” Her voice was a raspy scold. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you to dance, Sugar Pie, and judging from your progress, I'm pretty good.”

He caught her off-guard with a wide spin, holding her closer than he had inside, and she giggled, body gliding with his as
naturally as breathing. “Oh, I have to admit, this
is
fun,” she said with a heady sigh. She paused, thick lashes edging up. “But . . . were you holding me this close inside?”

He grinned and whirled her in several broad sweeps in a row, hoping she was at least a fraction as dizzy as his heart. “Absolutely,” he lied, unable to resist the slide of his hand to her waist when the music came to an end. He bent close, exercising every sliver of willpower he possessed to keep from suckling the lobe of her ear. “Dizzy?”

———

Dizzy?
Cassie closed her eyes, lips parted in shallow breaths. Reeling might be a better word, not unlike the time she'd been bucked by that filly in the county-fair rodeo. Her head spun faster than their palomino weather vane during a Texas thunderstorm, and now her pulse was pumping faster than their oil rigs used to do. Chest heaving, she opened her eyes to Jamie's half-lidded gaze lingering on her lips, and her stomach looped while her hands began to sweat. She tried to back away, but the press of his palms lured her close.

“Jamie, no . . . ,” she wanted to say, but her body stifled the words, weighting her eyes shut as his mouth hovered close enough she could almost taste the crème brulee he had for dessert.

“So help me, Cass,” he whispered, “this doesn't feel like friendship anymore . . .”

Her gasp met the caress of his lips, gentle and yet possessive as they nuzzled her mouth, swaying with restrained passion until he relented with a low groan, fingers sifting into the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck. He cupped her head to deepen his kiss, and her hand fisted his shirt, clinging tighter than she had to that filly's neck on the ride of her life.
Bloomin' saints
, she thought, as woozy as if she'd just bolted some wine,
make that the second ride of my life . . .

Jamie jerked away, chest heaving and a glaze in his eyes—or maybe it was just her—tenderly framing her face with massive palms while his thumbs feathered her mouth. “I'm falling for you, Cass,” he whispered, the shock of his words icing her skin. Gone was the self-assured womanizer and in his place, a little boy with a hint of puppy-dog eyes, the slightest bit of trepidation in his tone. “I love being your friend, truly . . .” The white bow tie and tall winged collar shifted with his Adam's apple while his voice faded to a whisper. “But I want more.”

“More?” She was too much in a fog to stop her eyes from fluttering closed when he bent to graze her lips with an achingly gentle kiss.

“Yes,” he breathed in her ear, the effect akin to a Texas heat wave. “I want to court you.”

The fog lifted as quickly as her eyelids, which shot up faster than a renegade bronc with a loose saddle of burrs.
Merciful Providence—as in marriage?

“Promise you'll save your heart for God's best, Cass—a man who loves God as much as you do . . .”
Aunt Cait's words haunted her mind while Jamie's haunted her heart. She felt the wild thump of his pulse beneath her fingers still embedded in his shirt, and with a harsh catch of her breath, they sprang flat against his rock-hard chest, palms thrusting him back. “J-jamie, no . . . I'm sorry, but I can't . . .”

Something steeled in his jaw when those hazel eyes locked with hers, penetrating her heart as easily as his kiss had done. “Yes, you can, Cass, because you're falling for me too . . .”

“No, Jamie, I'm no—” The words died in her throat when his mouth took hers with a fury, unleashing waves of heat that rolled through her body as he delved deeper, chest heaving against hers when he finally pulled away. With a heated gaze, he slowly traced
from the quiver of her jaw to the hollow of her throat, grazing her skin with the pad of his thumb. “Your pulse says different, Cass,” he said quietly, the shocking truth leaving her limp in his arms.

Her eyes drifted closed, palms splayed to his chest. “That may be, Jamie, but we can't . . .”

“Why?” It was little more than a hiss, the first flicker of temper she'd ever seen in the gallant Jamie MacKenna, matching the sudden tension of his hold. “Because of that snake-bellied ex-fiancé who taught you not to trust any man?”

She eased from his grip, distancing herself with a wobbly step back. “Yes, because of Mark,” she said, buffing her arms. “And because I've learned I can't trust just any man. Trust is key with me, Jamie, and it's the only foundation I'll settle for in the marriage I hope to have. ”

The breath caught in her throat as he gripped her again, the plea in his tone matching the urgency in his eyes. “You can trust me, Cass—I've tried to prove that this last month as a friend, but friendship isn't enough anymore. And I'm not just ‘any man'—I'm the one who loves you and needs you and wants to make you his wife.”

Slipping from his grasp, she eased away, her heart cramping at the look of hurt in his eyes. “I care about you, Jamie, way more than I should, and you're a good man, you are. But I need more than a good man.” She paused, almost hesitant to say what was in her heart for the pain it would cause. “I need a good man who needs God as much as he needs me.”

His jaw dropped a full inch while a nerve pulsed in his temple. “That's what this is about? Because I told you I don't believe in God?” He wheeled around, slashing shaky fingers through his hair, the mutter of garbled words stinging the air. Pivoting halfway, he glared, hands slung low on his hips. “Let me get this straight,
because I want to be sure I understand. You're falling in love with me and I'm in love with you and I'm already practically one of the family . . . but you're stomping on my heart because I don't believe in God?”