in prep school."
"Jesus, Elena." Without her noticing, Logan had snuck up behind her, and now he touched her hair. 'Tm sorry—"
*'Not for me." She whirled to face him, defiant. "You better not be sorry for me."
He tucked her hair behind her ear. "No, sweetheart. I'm sorry for your father. Sorry that he doesn't know Gabby. Sorry that he doesn't know you."
Elena swallowed, fighting off the weak, silly urge to step into Logan's arms. He wasn't supposed to know her either! She was supposed to be keeping him at a distance and not letting him past her guard.
She firmed her jaw and looked into his eyes, will-mg herself to give nothing away. "I think that you should go."
Logan gazed at the cool mask of beauty that was Elena's face. She was kicking him out again.
Damn her.
He'd gone quietly, even willingly, the other night, though she'd been half-naked in his arms. With the taste of her perfumed skin still on his tongue, he'd managed to walk away from her.
Conversation with Elena, let alone near-copulation with Elena, was a complication to his life he'd known he didn't need at the moment.
He'd been aware too, that he'd left her as sexually frustrated, as sexually hurting as he was himself. A consolation. Even retahation—^it only seemed fair that they both suffered.
But what she was feeling now wasn't physical pain. He could tell she was emotionally hurting from her argument widi Gabby and from talking about her father. It pissed him off that she wouldn't even admit it—or give him a chance to comfort her.
**You won't let anyone get too close, will you Elena?" he said tightly.
Her expression didn't flicker. "I'll walk you to the door."
How many feet away could it be? Twenty? Yet with each step he felt another surge of that unfamihar and hot, although also strangely exhilarating, emotion rise within him.
When she put her hand on the doorknob, he thought of the beautiful girl in the ice-blue prom dress who had snatched the corsage from his hand. Emotions rippling across her face, she'd thrown it down to grind it into the.cement with her shoe.
He'd been intrigued and awed by all that honesty
and temper, so different from the iron fist that his family used to control their feelings.
But now, he thought, despite the habitual verbal barbs and the occasional flash of real temper, she had grown to be like them. Under that impenetrable outer shell, she held everything she felt close to her heart. She wasn't like the fiery Elena he remembered at all.
And because he thought he might be in some way responsible for that change, he only felt angrier. She drew open the door. He slammed it shut with the flat of his hand.
*'No," he said.
She turned those cool blue eyes on him. "What?"
"Fm not going to let you push me away like this again."
Oh, she was good. Her eyebrows rose in a way perfected to frighten off the male half of the world. It was a look that could shrivel a man—^his ego as well as his erection—^unless that man knew what was underneath all her aloof condescension.
Wariness. Hurt. Her own fear, he suspected.
He leaned against the door, his adrenaline pumping, something telling him that a comer could be turned here if he pushed her. Pursued her.
Reaching out, he cupped her cheek with his palm. Her skin was velvety and warm. He remembered cupping her breast, the skin there was velvety too, and he'd felt her heartbeat racing against his fingertips.
She didn't budge, but there was just the sHghtest catch in her voice. "You don't want to do this, Logan."
Rationally—no. The good-natured, even-tempered Logan he'd been all his life was somewhere inside him, pointing out in reasonable tones that involving himself with Elena would only mess him up. But that voice was part of the same analytical, conamon-sensical Lx>gan who had stayed chained to a desk job at Chase Electronics for too many years.
Maybe it was time for a different kind of thinking. Or, better yet, not thinking at all.
His thumb stroked across
"Jesus, Elena." Without her noticing, Logan had snuck up behind her, and now he touched her hair. 'Tm sorry—"
*'Not for me." She whirled to face him, defiant. "You better not be sorry for me."
He tucked her hair behind her ear. "No, sweetheart. I'm sorry for your father. Sorry that he doesn't know Gabby. Sorry that he doesn't know you."
Elena swallowed, fighting off the weak, silly urge to step into Logan's arms. He wasn't supposed to know her either! She was supposed to be keeping him at a distance and not letting him past her guard.
She firmed her jaw and looked into his eyes, will-mg herself to give nothing away. "I think that you should go."
Logan gazed at the cool mask of beauty that was Elena's face. She was kicking him out again.
Damn her.
He'd gone quietly, even willingly, the other night, though she'd been half-naked in his arms. With the taste of her perfumed skin still on his tongue, he'd managed to walk away from her.
Conversation with Elena, let alone near-copulation with Elena, was a complication to his life he'd known he didn't need at the moment.
He'd been aware too, that he'd left her as sexually frustrated, as sexually hurting as he was himself. A consolation. Even retahation—^it only seemed fair that they both suffered.
But what she was feeling now wasn't physical pain. He could tell she was emotionally hurting from her argument widi Gabby and from talking about her father. It pissed him off that she wouldn't even admit it—or give him a chance to comfort her.
**You won't let anyone get too close, will you Elena?" he said tightly.
Her expression didn't flicker. "I'll walk you to the door."
How many feet away could it be? Twenty? Yet with each step he felt another surge of that unfamihar and hot, although also strangely exhilarating, emotion rise within him.
When she put her hand on the doorknob, he thought of the beautiful girl in the ice-blue prom dress who had snatched the corsage from his hand. Emotions rippling across her face, she'd thrown it down to grind it into the.cement with her shoe.
He'd been intrigued and awed by all that honesty
and temper, so different from the iron fist that his family used to control their feelings.
But now, he thought, despite the habitual verbal barbs and the occasional flash of real temper, she had grown to be like them. Under that impenetrable outer shell, she held everything she felt close to her heart. She wasn't like the fiery Elena he remembered at all.
And because he thought he might be in some way responsible for that change, he only felt angrier. She drew open the door. He slammed it shut with the flat of his hand.
*'No," he said.
She turned those cool blue eyes on him. "What?"
"Fm not going to let you push me away like this again."
Oh, she was good. Her eyebrows rose in a way perfected to frighten off the male half of the world. It was a look that could shrivel a man—^his ego as well as his erection—^unless that man knew what was underneath all her aloof condescension.
Wariness. Hurt. Her own fear, he suspected.
He leaned against the door, his adrenaline pumping, something telling him that a comer could be turned here if he pushed her. Pursued her.
Reaching out, he cupped her cheek with his palm. Her skin was velvety and warm. He remembered cupping her breast, the skin there was velvety too, and he'd felt her heartbeat racing against his fingertips.
She didn't budge, but there was just the sHghtest catch in her voice. "You don't want to do this, Logan."
Rationally—no. The good-natured, even-tempered Logan he'd been all his life was somewhere inside him, pointing out in reasonable tones that involving himself with Elena would only mess him up. But that voice was part of the same analytical, conamon-sensical Lx>gan who had stayed chained to a desk job at Chase Electronics for too many years.
Maybe it was time for a different kind of thinking. Or, better yet, not thinking at all.
His thumb stroked across
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