Borrowed Wife (16 page)

Abigail
stood for a moment as the car pulled away, her eyes lingering on the scene, and
Logan watched her, his gaze roaming over her slender shape in her ivory-
coloured dress—a sharp contrast to her shimmering black hair.

‘Want to
walk on the beach?’ he enquired quietly.

She did
but she was nervous. This time her nerves were not there because she did not
trust herself with Logan. She was anxious about his attitude when he had told
Grant and Ivy about his father’s death. She was desperate to find out the
truth but terrified to ask.

‘I would,
really,’ she said in a hesitant voice. ‘You—you don’t have to come, though; I
can—’

‘Don’t
annoy me, Abigail,’ he cut in coldly, taking her arm and leading her across the
garden to the beach path. ‘The fact that you’ve been looking at me in dismay
all evening has not escaped my attention.’

‘I haven’t!’
Abigail protested, stopping to look up at him. In the moonlight and with the
hotel lights now left behind, he looked tall and forbidding. The eyes he turned
on her flashed silver with the reflection of the moon and she felt her breath
almost stop at the look on his face.

‘I told
you that I never lie,’ he grated. ‘The news of my father’s death did not come
as any surprise to you.  ‘You know he died. So why the look of horror, Abigail?
Were you afraid I would go on to recount just how and why he died? What did you
imagine I would say—And Abigail’s father brought his death about? Were you
waiting for that, cringing with anticipation?’

‘No! I
never even thought of it!’ she exclaimed. She pulled her arm from his grasp and
walked away but he was behind her immediately, his anger rising even more.

Don’t
walk away from me!’ he ordered harshly. ‘If you think I’m letting you wander
alone on the beach you can forget it.’ He dropped into step beside her and she
shook her head with every sign of despair.

‘I didn’t
want to walk alone on the beach and I didn’t think you would even mention my
father. Whatever happens, I seem to get the blame. Whatever happens, the
responsibility is handed to me.’ She bit her lip, too choked up inside to say
any more, and Logan gave a Iow growl of annoyance as he grasped her shoulders
and swung her round to face him.

‘When
have I ever given you responsibility?’ he queried Murkily. ‘I protected you,
cared for you, practically carried you around when we were together. Look at
me!’ he finished angrily.

She
continued to look down and he tilted her face up impatiently, his anger dying
as the moonlight lightened her pale face and shimmering eyes.

‘You
little idiot,’ he muttered, pulling her forward until his arms enclosed her. ‘I
never learn, do I? I should just pick you up and carry you off somewhere.’

She felt
warm against him; his hands slowly caressed her back and his head bent to hers
until his lips could trail across the tender line of her jaw.

‘I wasn’t
looking anxious because of—because of the thought that you might mention my
father,’ she told him quietly, but she could tell that he was not really listening.
Instead he was breathing in the scent of her, his arms tightening. ‘Logan,’ she prompted when he didn’t reply.

‘Hmm?’
His voice sounded deep, almost drowsy and she raised her face to look at him,
grasping the moment.

‘I didn’t
think you would speak about my father,’ she insisted quietly. ‘I’m learning
more about him every day. Once I was certain but now—I don’t know.’

Logan
dropped his arms, letting her go, walking along
the beach, and she had to walk with him.

‘I’ll
never tell you anything about it, Abigail,’ he said tightly. ‘I didn’t tell you
before and I’m not telling you now. If you’re expecting the details from me
you’ll be waiting for ever.’

‘I’m not
expecting anything,’ she assured him, almost in a whisper, and Logan gave a short, harsh laugh.

‘No, you
never did. Even now you imagine that you have no rights. You take everything he
hands out and come up for more, don’t you?’

‘And everything
you hand out too,’ Abigail reminded him bitterly. ‘If I staunchly defended my
rights, I wouldn’t be here now.’

‘Where
would you be—with Wingate?’ He spun round and glared at her and that just about
finished it oil Abigail turned to march back to the hotel, her departure
somewhat spoiled when her high heels sank into soft sand as she stepped out a
little too briskly.  

She
muttered crossly, bending to take off her sandals, but she was scooped up into
two strong arms and Logan proceeded to carry her back with no effort.

‘Put me
down!’ She struggled uselessly, her dignity arms, and he didn’t even look at
her.

‘Shut up,
Abbie,’ he murmured softly. ‘I’ll just pretend
that
you’re
still nineteen and everything will be all right. You haven’t really progressed
much. Even the dresses still fit you. You glow with the same old look of innocence
and purity. You certainly don’t look as if you’ve ever been a wife. Grant
probably thinks I kidnapped you from a convent.’

She
didn’t quite know what to make of that but out of the corner of her eye she
could see Logan’s wide grin back in place and she was grateful for that at
least.

Abigail slept deeply that
night, the soft breeze from the balcony blowing the gauzy curtains and soothing
her. It
Was
later than usual when
she awoke next morning and she hurried to get up, wondering if Logan had already had breakfast. When she ventured onto the balcony there no sign of him,
no noise from his room and she looked over the rail as she heard a car
approaching the hotel.

She soon found out where Logan was because he came through the front door of the hotel and walked to the car to
greet the newcomer. Abigail drew back, thinking it might be Grant Cassidy and
not wanting to be seen undressed. The voice was not masculine, though. It was
as voice she had heard only once before but she knew it as she knew her own
nightmares.

‘Will,
I’m here, darling, and utterly exhausted.’  

 ‘You look dazzling as
ever,’ Logan assured her in an amused voice. ‘Quite obviously overnight flights
suit you. You should take one often.’

‘Only if
you command my presence.’

Abigail
looked over the rail, knowing what she would see, and she was not disappointed.
Fenella Mitchell was walking back to the hotel, clinging to Logan’s arm. He had
her briefcase in his hand and behind them trailed a porter with her luggage.

‘Thank
goodness you’re here,’ Logan muttered as they came directly below Abigail. His
deep voice carried even although he was speaking quietly and Abigail’s heart
began to break all over again.

She had been
through this once and she couldn’t face it again, even though this time she was
here acting out a lie. Logan had summoned his mistress to his side because he
couldn’t manage without her and she would be with him on the other side of the
connecting door, breakfasting with them, attending any social functions.

Abigail
began to pack her cases, fighting a mixture of humiliation and rage. She would
be out of here before lunchtime, even before she had eaten breakfast. Logan could not expect this. What had he said last night? He had never given her any
responsibility. No, he had treated her like a fool and he was doing it all over
again. No doubt it was part of the punishment he was handing out to her father.
She was to be punished too, for being a Madden by birth.

Logan
walked in a few minutes later and the pleased look
on his face faded into anger as he saw her cases on the long luggage stool, her
clothes on the bed ready to pack.

‘What the
hell are you doing?’ he rasped, his eyes glittering with annoyance.

‘Leaving,’
Abigail said tightly. ‘The game’s up, the show is over. Tell Grant Cassidy that
I ran off with the hotel manager.’

Logan
advanced like a menacing jungle cat but she didn’t
back off; her green eyes were glittering too, as angry as his own.

You’d better
explain before I really lose my temper, he warned, and she flared into rage,
her eyes flushing sparks.

‘What do
you take me for?’ she bit out furiously. ‘I
was
blackmailed into coming here to play a part that sickens me and now you’ve
summoned your mistress to join us. How do you propose to explain that to Grant—you’ve
already met my wife, Grant, but this is Fenella. She’s different—I can’t manage
without her?’

‘Of
course I can’t manage without her!’ Logan snapped. ‘She’s the company lawyer. I
can’t sign a dimmed thing without her.’

‘Don’t
insult my intelligence!’ Abigail stormed. ‘We have a company lawyer and he
doesn’t call the chairman ‘darling’.’

‘I see.
You were leaning over the balcony, spying and listening.’ Logan looked at her
in a scathing manner and Abigail’s temper rose accordingly.

‘I went
to look for you and you weren’t there. I was out of sight because I wasn’t
dressed.’

‘You’re
not dressed now,’ Logan pointed out, and she ignored him, getting back to her
task.

‘I will
be as soon as I’ve packed this case. Obviously you think I’m stupid—too stupid
to react to this—this insult. Too stupid even to care for a child when we were
married and too stupid to see through this subterfuge.’

‘You’re
jealous,’ Logan said with a good deal of satisfaction, his temper easing. ‘If
you’re here because I blackmailed you, and I admit that I did, then why should
you react so violently to Fenella’s presence?’ He took her shoulders, spinning
her to face him. ‘I’ve told you, Abigail, she’s my lawyer. I need her here or
she would not be here. This is a game you’re in, to get the deal with Grant.
She’s here to add her signature when he agrees to the deal and she’s here for
no other reason.’

‘Well,
you can count me out of this game,’ Abigail snapped, struggling under his
hands, too angry and hurt to feel any sort of magic. ‘I’m going home and
nothing you can say will make me change my mind.’

Logan
scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her
struggles.

‘I’m not
going to say anything,’ he assured her grimly. ‘Talking is over. This is all
you understand.’

He
dropped her on the bed, trapping her when she tried to roll away, towering over
her with sensuously teasing eyes.

‘Don’t
touch me!’ Abigail warned shakily, and his lips tilted in a cynical smile of
amusement, his eyes holding hers unwaveringly.

‘You keep
reminding me that you wanted a baby,’ he murmured as he pulled off his tie and
began to unbutton his shirt. ‘I’ve changed my mind, Abbie. You can have a baby.
Maybe it will give you a small amount of sense and keep you out of mischief.’

‘No!’ She
tried to struggle up but he knelt above her, watching her with amused eyes that
began to take on the slow-burning glaze of desire.                  

‘Yes,
Abbie,’ he said softly. ‘You’re jealous. How else am I going to prove that
Fenella means nothing to mc?  She’s here right now but it’s you I want. In
about one second you’ll be begging me to love you.’

‘You
don’t love me!’ The cry was torn from her and he came down to her, gathering
her to him, his lips tracing her neck and shoulders as he pushed aside the
straps of her nightdress.

‘Is that
what you want me to say?’ he asked thickly.

‘All right. I love you.
Does that make it any better, Abbie? Does that ease your mind and make that
jealousy away? Does that make Fenella into a lawyer and nothing else?’

‘No!’ she
cried, struggling to move away from his coxing lips. ‘She’s your mistress. She
always has been. She’s like you—hard, unfeeling, ruthless.’

‘You
never grew up after all,’ he breathed, seeking her lips and holding her tossing
head to make it still beneath his searching mouth. ‘It doesn’t much matter. I
still go crazy when you’re close to me. I still watch the way you walk and want
to reach out and get you.’ He buried his face against her breasts, breathing in
her perfume. ‘You smell like a flower,’ he whispered huskily. ‘A morning rose,
delicate and dewy. You always did. You’ve always haunted my dreams.’

His lips
closed over hers and she moaned softly, her fight gone, her limbs relaxing,
opening to welcome him without any message from her mind. Her arms wound round
his neck and he lifted his lips from hers, his teeth gently biting her lower
lip.

‘Tell
me,’ he demanded, breathing the words into her mi ml h. ‘Tell me, Abbie.’

‘I want
you,’ she said imploringly and he stroked her nightie away, his hands caressing
her heated skin

‘And I
want you,’ he said thickly. ‘There’s never a moment when I don’t want you,
never a moment since the first time I saw you in that red sweater and black
shirt, your hair flowing over your shoulders and your eyes the most beautiful
eyes I’ve ever seen.’

‘But you
never loved me,’ she lamented, her hands on his face, her lips eagerly
searching for his.

‘Does it
matter?’ he muttered, his breathing fast and ragged. ‘What do you care? ‘You’ll
go into that spinning, far-off place you fly to and you’ll never know how I
feel, will you? One day, I’ll let you go there completely, but not now, Abbie.
Now you’ll stay with me and come back with me.’