sappeared down the hall, a door slammed shut behind them.
Logan understood Kane’s warning. He accepted it without malice. But he doubted Catherine would appreciate her brother-in-law’s interference. Yet when he met her gaze, instead of anger, he saw wonder and disbelief.
“I thought he put up with me for Kayla’s sake,” she murmured in answer to his unspoken question.
Her reaction hit him in the gut. Had she always felt so alone? He knew the answer because he often felt the same. One more thing they had in common. One more thing he wanted to change in her life.
Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms. “There you go again, selling yourself short. I won’t have it, Cat.”
“What will you have, Logan?” Her eyes glittered with pleasure.
Pleasure he wanted to increase. “You.” His hands moved and cupped her waist. Because her ruffled shirt ended at the waistband of her fitted black pants, his hands gripped bare skin. Logan let out a slow groan.
She sucked in an answering breath before meeting his gaze. “Say that again.”
He glanced into her green eyes and recognized her need to be reassured. Their week apart had worried him, and he saw now he’d been right to be concerned. He curled a strand of her hair around his finger and tugged lightly. “I want you, Cat. All of you.”
She sighed softly. The sound went straight to his groin, stopping first to wrap itself around his heart. She surprised him by moving closer. Their lower bodies collided and a shaft of white heat shot through him, hard and fast. No way could she mistake his body’s reaction.
He glanced at her, expecting to see remnants of self-doubt in her gaze. He saw only clear certainty. Unabashed desire.
For him.
He’d never been more relieved. When Emma had informed him she’d sent Catherine a gift—fairy dust, of all things—he’d nearly had a coronary. Of all the corny, harebrained schemes, with this one, Emma had outdone herself. But, as she’d informed him, he could spend his time yelling or pick up the ball she’d dropped and run with it.
He still wasn’t taking his grandmother’s calls and was barely speaking to her, but he’d chosen to run with it. Once his eighty-year-old spitfire interfered, what else could he do?
Catherine wasn’t one for expensive gifts or flowers. She wasn’t impressed with money or material things. Honesty had reached her once before, during the closet episode. He hadn’t forgotten that.
When he’d left her at her sister’s, she’d been wary and skittish. If he wanted to reach her again, he had to sway her mind first. Her body he had no trouble with, he thought wryly. So, taking quick breaks from work, he’d come up with the other two gifts, choosing to let his words speak for him.
Apparently, he’d been on target, he thought as her hands pulled his shirt out of his jeans and her palms splayed against his back.
“I think we ought to move this someplace else,” he said, and she nodded.
Heartened, he asked, “Are you ready to let yourself believe in possibilities?” Because he didn’t want just another night with regrets in the morning.
The week without her had been hell. And if this thing between them had happened fast, he was willing to let it take the lead. He’d had too many other weak imitations of what he and Catherine shared not to recognize its potential.
But she had to be open to the future, too. He couldn’t pursue this alone. He held her and waited.
“I believe in you,” she admitted, her heart in her eyes.
He’d be a fool not to know what the admission cost her. And it deserved one from him in return. “I was thinking we could go home.”
She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. He kissed each eyelid and then her upturned nose. “My home,” he added. “And there’s something I want you to know. You’re the only woman I’ve ever brought there, Cat.”
Before she could answer, he brushed a kiss over her soft lips. He meant to reassure, but the fire flared fast and without warning. Breaking contact wasn’t easy, but he managed.
She let out a shaky laugh. “You do have a way with words, Mr. Montgomery.”
“I do, don’t I?” he said with a grin. “Now, let’s go.”
* * *
The cottage loomed in the distance, as warm and welcoming as she’d remembered it. Logan pulled in front of the small house and cut the engine. With the sun setting behind them, Catherine followed him inside. Desire throbbed inside her as fast as her rapidly beating heart. But the one thing she was aware of was a sense of belonging.
Deprived and lost were the only words Catherine could think of to describe how she’d felt the week without Logan. She’d known him one day. It felt like a lifetime, maybe because he’d used that week wisely, to build faith. Trust. Longing.