She sighed and tugged on the bottom of her shirt. He couldn’t begin to imagine her humiliation. Because of him. Hell, he’d dig into his trust fund if money would prevent that picture from being published. But it wouldn’t. Good press was worth more to the vultures out there than cold, hard cash.
“I can see your father’s manipulation in all this and I’m sorry he’s still trying to control you.” Pain still danced in her eyes along with what looked like resignation. “But I’m not sure I can stick around and be fodder for the media.” She glanced down at her bare legs, and he remembered her shirt hiked over her panties at the time the photo was taken. He shuddered at her humiliation.
“Cat…”
“I also think I see your grandmother’s hand. She locked us in a closet and she sent me things calculated to make me fall in l… to make me fall for you.”
He raised an eyebrow at her near slip. Now that was something he wanted to pursue further. So was his grandmother’s possible role. The fact that Emma had suggested this very scenario wasn’t lost on Logan.
But he wasn’t willing to give up on Emma yet. “I admit she had her own agenda. I even mentioned it to you the other day. But setting you up was never part of her plan.”
For all her faults, the older woman had a huge heart and she obviously cared for Catherine. Logan had no choice but to take a leap of faith and believe in Emma’s integrity. Otherwise, every good thing about his childhood and his life had been based on yet another illusion.
Catherine wrapped her arms around her waist. “Whether it’s Emma or your father who called out the press, it doesn’t matter. I just want out of here before this becomes a media circus.”
He muttered a curse, unsure what her feelings were behind the wall she’d erected. He didn’t have time to find out because she was right. He had to get her out of here and fast.
A glance out the window revealed a black sedan pulling into the graveled, unpaved space in front of his house. As usual, the older man’s appearance was timely as well as unwelcome. Logan rubbed his hand over his eyes and groaned.
He hoped this glance at his reality gave the judge a much-needed eye-opener. He’d certainly gotten one. For all his talk of being his own man, he was still having his strings pulled like a damned marionette.
But it would stop. Today.
Anger and frustration pulsed through him, as strong as the desire he’d been feeling minutes earlier. The last thing he wanted to do was give Catherine a way out of his life. But he owed it to her. If he wanted any shot of winning back the heart he’d worked so hard to reach, he had to let her go now.
He grabbed the keys to his truck he’d left hanging on a hook in the front hall. “I’m parked just outside the door. Walk out and don’t talk to anyone. Don’t answer any questions. Just jump into the car, circle around whoever else has arrived, and keep driving.”
Her sad eyes met his. “Thank you.”
Why did those two little words sound so much like goodbye? He glanced at her parted lips and the need for one last taste zipped through him.
He reached for her, grabbed her forearms, and pulled her close. She didn’t draw back, but the playfulness was gone. So was the unguarded look. Instead of her heart in her eyes, she now had it firmly under lock and key.
A loud pounding sounded on the door. Logan lowered his head and brushed his mouth over her lips. She tasted sweet and a renewed desire to reclaim his life—and her—surged through him. She sighed and he deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside. The knock came again, louder this time.
She jumped backward. He didn’t blame her but still held her tight. “I open the door, you slip by him and keep going. Got it?”
She nodded.
“This isn’t over, Cat. We aren’t over.”
“You’re too much of an idealist,” she murmured, touching his cheek.
He shook his head, reaching for the door at the same time. “I’m a realist, and when this is over, you’ll be part of my reality.” He turned the knob. “Now go.”
He opened the door, expecting her to duck past the judge without a word. Instead, she paused in front of him.
“Hello, Judge Montgomery.”
His father looked flustered for a moment as his gaze darted from Catherine to the waiting reporters. “Miss…”
“Luck. Catherine Luck.”
Logan wasn’t concerned that she’d given the judge her name. The media would print it anyway. But he grimaced in disgust at his father’s snobbery. She’d catered a party in his house, and the judge, master of working a room, couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. But now he would. Logan had a hunch after today Catherine Luck was a name Judge Edgar Montgomery would never forget.
She held out her hand, and after a brief hesitation, the judge accepted h
er greeting. “Do I know you?”