Borrowed Wife (14 page)

‘You want
me to shower with you?’ Logan asked lazily, and she stiffened at the seductive
sound of his voice.

‘Stop
it!’ she bit out, anger at herself a bitter taste her throat.

‘I always
did,’ he reminded her. He trailed one indolent finger down her spine, making
her shiver and pulled away. ‘You tell lies, Abigail. Your father tells lies so
do you. It must run in the family.’

‘I don’t
ever—!’ Abigail began as her head spun I round, her eyes Dashing green sparks
at him.

‘You do,’
he interrupted evenly. ‘Poor Wingate. I savaged him for no reason at all.
Nobody has touched you since you left my arms four years ago.’

‘Don’t
fool yourself.’ She turned away, franticly searching for her clothes, terribly
aware that Logan still lay there, relaxed and magnificent, a mocking smile on
his lips.

‘I’m not
fooling myself,’ he assured her quietly. ‘Abigail, I know your body as I know
my own. It was always mine and it still is.’

‘I
suppose you think that little trick was clever,’ she snapped, her flushed face
turned away from him.

‘There
was no trick, Abigail,’ he pointed out in amusement. ‘You came to me gladly. I
gave as much as you gave.’

No, she
thought in anguish. He gave nothing. He only had desire.

‘Really?’
Now fully dressed, she stood and turned to him, her face composed. ‘Well, it
backfired. I don’t need these clothes now because I’m not going with you. And,
she added when his grey eyes simply looked at her with wry amusement, ‘you can
threaten all you want to. My father will be strong enough to take over when he
comes home from hospital and I’ll be going to another job.’

Logan
didn’t stir. He was lying back with an arm behind
his head, one strong leg raised comfortably, and she had to force herself to
ignore the sheer masculine beauty. His lips twisted in a sardonic smile as he
looked at her.

‘Your
father will have nothing to take control of,’ he assured her. ‘The moment I’m
certain that this childish defiance is real, I’ll reactivate everything. At the
moment, my bankers are servicing your debts, keeping your bank in a state of
hopeful euphoria. If I pull the plug there will be an unseemly rush to chop up
the Madden Corporation. I have no feeling of generosity towards Kent Madden and
just because I’ve taken your body I do not feel obliged to give you the firm.
You enjoyed it as much as I did, wanted it as much as I did. The bargain stands
or the firm falls.’

He looked
at her with taunting amusement and she stared at him wildly.

‘Servicing
our debts? You can’t be!’

‘You’re
unworldly, Abigail,’ he mocked, laughter touching his mouth. ‘Why do you think
the bank and everyone else held off? Do you imagine I’m so powerful that I held
up my hand and said, Stop?’

In effect
she had and the truth of that was on her face. His smile widened into a grin
and he rolled over, reaching for his own clothes.

‘Oh,
Abbie,’ he teased gently, ‘if I were half as powerful as you seem to think, I’d
rule the world.’

‘I’ll
have to go with you, won’t I?’ she muttered miserably, and he turned to face
her, tucking his shirt into his trousers, seeing the forlorn look on her face.

‘I’m afraid
so,’ he commiserated. ‘Maybe after today you’ll be able to play the part
better.’

‘It will
never happen again!’ she assured him sharply, and his intent gaze narrowed on
her downcast face.

‘Never is
a long time. When the time comes, you’ll forget all about never.’

She
flushed at his words and spun round to leave but his voice stopped her before
she had taken two steps.

‘Your
clothes, Abigail. I would hate it if your ordeal had all been for nothing.’ He
was taunting her again. He knew that it had not and never had been an ordeal.
The only ordeal about it was coming back to earth, losing him. She began
gathering her clothes and he went to the little safe set in the wall behind a
beautiful Degas print. He took out her jewellery case and put it on the bed.

‘You’ll
need some of these,’ he informed her quietly. There’ll be one or two social
evenings and you need jewellery.’ He held up a necklace glittering with
emeralds. Take this. It was always my favourite. It matches your eyes.’

She
almost snatched it from him and stuffed it into her bag with several other
pieces. He had bought it for her as a wedding gift and she had loved it. But
then, she had loved him too. It was part of a past she would discard as soon as
this was over.

She
turned away, a feeling of desolation washing over her. She still loved him and
there was no chance of denying it. If he reached for her now she would fall
into his arms. It was something he would never know and she hurried to the
door, leaving the flat, slamming the outer door behind her.

The rain
had stopped and Abigail packed her clothes into the car, being very careful not
even to glance at the flat as she left. If he was watching her she would not
give him the satisfaction of knowing how great was his victory. Her body ached
and deep inside excitement still throbbed slowly. The need to be with Logan was growing and his knowing grey eyes had almost certainly assessed that. She would
have to be very careful on this trip.

New York
was hot. The flight had been exhausting too
because even though they had come first class Abigail had been tense and
miserable all the time. Now, as they were dropped at the hotel where they would
spend the night, she felt as if her legs would give way beneath her.

‘Have a
meal in your room and then go to bed,’ Logan advised her after a close look at
her pale face. ‘The only lesson we’re here is because I have a meeting tonight,
otherwise we would have gone straight to our destination. It was perhaps a good
idea after all, though; you look worn out.’

‘I’m
tired.’ Abigail conceded. Being with him on the flight had been difficult
because she was still crushed by the way she had given in. She recognised that
she was feeling both guilty and disgusted with herself but if Logan realised he
gave no sign of his knowledge.

In fact,
he had spoken very little. He was not icy, simply indifferent. The other
afternoon might just as well have been a figment of her imagination It had had
no effect at all on Logan, while she fell devastated.  ‘I’ll get something sent
up to you,’ he murmured after coming to her room for a swift glance of
inspection. ‘If you need anything, I’m next door, although I’ll be out within
the hour and not back until late.’

He just
nodded to her and left, closing the door firmly. It was as if she were his secretary.
His cool politeness was an astonishing lesson in good manners and she sat on
the bed wearily and stared at the door even after it had been closed.

If she
had ever had any doubts about him then they were completely gone now. Logan was an aloof stranger; his lapse into passion had been merely a masculine need. She
felt used and abandoned

Abigail
bad a shower and when she came back into the bedroom there was a tray neatly
placed on her table. Under the silver covers were dainty delicacies that would
have tempted even the most exhausted of people. Logan always knew what to do in
any situation. There was a note on the tray too. The words had been written by
some unknown hand. ‘Compliments of Mr. Steele.’

She
grimaced. How had he signed them in to the hotel, to their separate rooms? Was
she put down as Mrs. Steele? They must be thought an odd couple. Separate
sleeping arrangements and her supper sent with compliments. ‘Send supper up to
my wife, with my compliments.’ It would have been amusing if it had not made
her feel lonely. Her feelings swayed between despair and regret and she dreaded
tomorrow.

Playing
his wife would be an ordeal. She would have to be close. He would touch her.
Without that the game would be up and it couldn’t be. She hoped this man, whoever
he was, expected no show of affection, merely immaculate manners. Logan could satisfy that requirement very well. Why had he needed her here? Why couldn’t
he have taken a photograph of her to show off proudly and told them she was
ill?

It was
cruel, his way of showing that he had a death-grip on the firm her father lived
for. She nibbled at her supper and before long crept into bed. Somewhere out
there in this teeming city, Logan would be engaged in the thing he loved
most—power games. It was all he loved. He didn’t love her and she wondered if
he loved Fenella Mitchell. Perhaps not. If he had done, he would have demanded
a divorce ages ago,

She was
being stupid, her tired mind grasping at fantasies. She turned on her side,
determined to sleep. At Ieast in sleep she could escape from the worry of the
next days—or weeks. Logan hadn’t said. She was totally dependent on him. They
all were—her father, Rose, Martha, the loyal people at the firm. Everything
relied on her and as usual the weight hung around her heart mid refused to
move.

They arrived in California the next afternoon and Abigail was much recovered. She looked better than Logan be-cause, for the first time ever, she saw lines of strain on his handsome face. She
had no idea how late he had been the previous evening but the superb physical
power was looking slightly drained today.

A long
white car met them at the airport and Abigail’s hopes brightened as she saw the
man who waited for them.

‘Here he
is,’ Logan said quietly, and then she was being introduced to the man who
disliked any idea of mistresses and divorce. He was well past middle age,
white-haired but very healthy-looking—too young to retire, in Abigail’s
opinion. He had a nice open smile too. He shook hands heartily with Logan and beamed at Abigail.

‘My wife,
Abigail,’ Logan said, taking her hand.  ‘Abbie, this is Grant Cassidy.’ He had
no time to say any more because Grant Cassidy gave her a big hug.

‘The most
beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ he said. ‘You must excuse my enthusiasm, little
lady, but I’ve heard all about you from Logan. I thought he was exaggerating
but he wasn’t.’

Abigail
managed a bright smile but her mind was somewhat stunned. In the first place
she was not little, although Logan towered over her and this man was like a
well-meaning bear. That Logan had told him about her brought some credibility
to the situation. She could see that they knew each other and if he had left
her in England it would have looked suspicious.

‘Knew his
grandpa and his uncle Greg,’ Grant Cassidy confided to her, tucking her arm in
his and leading her to the car. ‘Never managed to get him down here to my
place, though. This is a big day.’ He looked round impatiently and then added
apologetically, ‘Waiting for Pete. He’ll be here in a second.’

He
chatted to Logan, and Abigail was content to wait at the side of the huge car.
After flying for so long it was a relief to stand and stretch her legs. She
wasn’t really paying much attention to the conversation so she was startled
into looking up when Grant Cassidy suddenly said, ‘He’s here. Come and meet
this delightful creature, Pete.’

And then
Abigail found herself facing a man whose presence alarmed her immediately.

‘This is Logan’s wife.’ Grant introduced her enthusiastically. ‘I’ve told you about Logan Steele,
and this is his wife, Abigail.’

‘Well,
hello, Abigail.’ She found her hand taken and kept too long and she looked up
into two eyes that held her mesmerised. Beside her she felt Logan stiffen with
annoyance and she could understand why. Even the way he had said her name had
been a sort of disrespectful intimacy.

‘This is
my son, Pete,’ Grant Cassidy informed them, and she found herself comparing the
wholesome appearance of Grant and the smooth, speculating looks of his son. She
almost snatched her hand away but the eyes Mill watched her steadily. They were
dark—too dark — with a dull gleam at the back of them. He almost made her
shudder openly.

He was
possibly twenty-eight or nine, too slick in his appearance, his pale hair
smoothed back against a good- looking bronzed face. She had the awful feeling
that he was waiting to pounce and she wondered how any girl could be attracted
to him. He was insolently sure of himself, his gaze filled with cold sexual
appraisal. He had shocked her into immobility and Abigail found herself unable
to step back in spite of her distaste. His dark eyes never left hers and they
were almost hypnotic. He had the eyes of a cobra.

CHAPTER SEVEN

They
were dropped at their bold, and after seeing Pete
Cassidy Abigail was more than delighted that they were not staying at the
Cassidy home. The younger Cassidy was someone she must avoid at all costs. She
assumed that he gave his undivided, insolent attention to every woman he met
but she found it revolting. Just meeting him had been a disturbing experience.
Living under the same roof would have been impossible, especially as she would
have had to keep her temper because of Logan’s business deal.

‘Did
Grant Cassidy book us in here?’ she asked when the car had left and they were standing
in the foyer of the low white hold with its Spanish arches and wrought- iron
balconies.