“I know you can.” His hand dropped, the movement seeming defeated. “I was just worried when you didn’t return to Kansas City. No one knew where you were.”
So he’d had his flunkies checking up on her? She wasn’t surprised, especially considering how he’d used every means available to find her last time. That was one reason why she’d stayed in New York. “I decided to extend my vacation a little longer. Take a mental health break.”
“I want you back.” The words were quiet but laced with emotion.
Brontë crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the floor. She refused to meet his gaze. If she did, she might see the emotion there, and it would make her weaken. She wanted to be strong. Needed to be strong. “I’m not going back to you, Logan. You don’t want me. You want a girl who isn’t a waitress and who knows which salad fork to use. That’s not me.”
“I don’t care about that. I want you. When you left, it felt like the lights went out. I don’t care if you eat with the wrong fork at every meal. I don’t care if you waitress for the rest of your life. I just want you at my side, Brontë.” Logan reached for her again, and then dropped his hand before he could touch her, as if suddenly remembering to respect her boundaries. “I miss you. I miss your smile. I miss your hand in mine. I miss your laugh when you’re nervous. I wish to God I was hearing it right now.” His mouth crooked in a half smile. “That hurricane was the best thing that ever happened to me because it brought you into my life.”
She was in danger of letting the nervous giggle escape, but she dug her fingernails into her palms until the feeling passed. “If I’m so great, why did you tell me you wanted me to ‘make something of myself’?” Even now, the words hurt.
He sighed, and the sound made her look up at him. Logan’s handsome face was drawn. He normally looked confident and supremely in control, but right now, he just looked . . . desolate.
Good, she thought with a little mental stab.
“I’m not a nice guy, Brontë. I don’t have to be, most times, because of my money.” His gaze met hers. “I told you once that my fiancée was only interested in me for my money. She was the only one I let get close enough before you. Usually women make their fascination with my money known right away, and then it’s easy to just end things before someone gets hurt. I was afraid I was making the same mistake again, and I was losing my head over you. I wanted to test you, to see how you’d respond. Thing is . . .” He ran a hand down his face. “You passed the test, of course. Except I’d forgotten that you have feelings, too, and how you’d feel about my little test. I’m sorry. It was arrogant and stupid of me.”
“It was,” she agreed. “Why would you think I’m after your money?”
“Maybe because most of the time everyone is?” He shook his head. “It’s not you, Brontë. It’s me. I realize that now. I’m a cynical bastard, especially when it comes to women. That’s why I didn’t tell you who I really was when we were stranded together. And it’s why I offered you the diner. It’s not that there’s something wrong with you. It’s that there’s something wrong with every other woman I’ve ever had in my life. They couldn’t see past my wallet to me. You can. And that’s why I want you.”
Nice words. She felt her resolve weakened by them and by his entreating gaze. But she shook her head. “I can’t trust you, Logan. I thought I could, but this just proved that you’re not who I thought you were. You shouldn’t have to ‘test’ me. You should be able to trust me, and me you.”
“Give me another chance, Brontë. A chance to prove how much you mean to me.”
She remained silent.
Logan moved forward. His fingertips touched her chin and tilted her head back until she met his eyes. “You told me you loved me that night in the limo.”
A knot formed in her throat, and she met his gaze steadily. “I was mistaken.”
Logan’s eyes hardened. “You were not.”
“I was,” she told him, even though it was a lie. “It was silly of me to think I’d fallen in love with someone so fast, and time has proved me right.”
“I’m not mistaken,” he told her, and the fingers under her chin began to caress her jaw. “I’m still in love with you.”
Her throat went dry at his husky words. “Logan, please.”
“I’m not fighting fair,” he told her. “I know. I don’t care. I want you back. I don’t give a shit about being fair or being the better man. I will be the most ruthless man in the world as long as I can have you at my side and in my bed. You’re the only thing that matters. I love you.”
“Love is not control, Logan. Love is partnership. Friendship. A wise man once said, ‘If you want to be loved, be lovable.’”
His mouth quirked. “I’d say that’s Plato, but I know it’s not. I’ve been reading the book you left me, you know. ‘The madness of love is the greatest of heaven’s blessings.’”
Tears stung her eyes. He’d been reading philosophy? To try and understand her better? Hope unfurled in her breast, but she forced herself to be calm, careful.
“I don’t know, Logan. We haven’t exactly had the most normal relationship. I never know how to act around you. I’m about as comfortable in the hurricane as I am at one of your society parties. Both scare the pants off of me.”
“Whatever you want to do, Brontë, I’ll do it.” He moved close, his mouth inches away from hers, and her pulse began to pound. Just an inch or two more and his lips would be on hers, coaxing hers into opening for him, his tongue thrusting into her mouth and conquering her all over again . . .
Brontë took a step backward, out of his grasp.
“Come home with me tonight, Brontë. We’ll start over.” Logan’s gaze was caressing as it moved over her.
“No.”
He stopped short. A flash of pain flickered in his eyes, quickly masked, and Brontë was both pleased to see that pain and saddened by it. Pleased because it meant he was genuinely invested, and saddened that she had to hurt him.
“Is this good-bye, then?” Logan asked.
“No,” she said again quickly. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. She needed more time to process how she felt about Logan. More time to pull herself together. More time to just be . . . her. An idea hit her, and she looked up at him with a bright smile. “I think we should date.”
“Date?” His brows furrowed, as if the concept were foreign to him.
“Yes,” she said, warming to her topic. “Date. You know, dinner and a movie. Bowling with friends. Going out for pizza and seeing the sights. Spending time together just to spend time together. A date. Several dates. I need to know that what I thought we had was real, Logan. And I need to know you want to be with me. I think we should date.”
“I want you,” he said, and his tone was nearly a growl of frustration. “Going to see a movie isn’t going to change that. I love you, Brontë.”
“But I need to date, Logan,” she said firmly. “No fancy parties, no buying of restaurants. No hurricanes. You and me, on a few regular dates like normal people. We can see if we’re truly compatible or if we’re just caught up in the madness of it all.”
She suspected that she was still head over heels in love with him, but dating meant that she’d have him all to herself and that they’d be on familiar territory. She wasn’t at home at fancy society parties. But at a pizza place or a movie? She could relax and just be herself.
There was a challenging gleam in his eyes that made her pulse flutter with excitement. “If you want me to win you over with romantic dates, Brontë. I will.”
“Great,” she said enthusiastically, and when he leaned in to kiss her, she ducked away again. “Call me sometime.”
“Let’s go out. Tonight.”
“Can’t tonight,” she said lightly. “I’m working. Call me.” She stressed the last two words and turned to the door, then glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m serious, Logan. I want to date like normal people. Not like a billionaire and the waitress he just bought.”
She could practically hear his teeth grinding. “You know it’s not like that, Brontë.”
Then prove it, she thought. But she gave him only an enigmatic smile and opened the office door. “Then call me sometime.”
Brontë forced herself to walk calmly through the store room and back out to the main café. With calm hands, she lifted the bar, stepped in behind it, and then let it slide shut behind her again, taking her place next to the others behind the counter.
She immediately approached the line of customers, smiled at Gretchen, and then took over manning the register. A few moments later, her heart flipped in her breast as she watched Logan’s tall form walk past the bar and leave the café.
Had he given up on her? So quickly?
Confused, she concentrated on the complicated order a very patient woman was trying to place. Brontë had to ask her to repeat it twice, because her head wasn’t in the right place. Had she messed things up with Logan? Had he decided she wasn’t worth the effort?
“Seventeen ninety-one,” she told the woman as she completed her order. Just then the phone in her pocket began to vibrate. Brontë jumped and pulled it out with shaking fingers and turned away from the cash register.
Logan Hawkings, the screen read, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest. “H-hello?” she answered.
“I’m calling you,” Logan said in a gruff voice. “Go out with me.”
That wild, nervous giggle escaped, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. When she recovered, she cleared her throat. “Where would you like to go?”
“Dinner. Tonight. Someplace casual.”
“I told you. I’m working tonight,” she said calmly, though she couldn’t stop grinning.
He made a frustrated sound that was nearly swallowed up by the sounds of traffic. He must have still been out on the street. “Tomorrow night, then.”
“Tomorrow night is good,” she said, smiling. “Where should we meet?”
***
As she prepared for her first date with the man she was in love with, Brontë was thankful that Audrey had dragged her out and made her go clothes shopping. Her own funds were still a little lean, and although working at the coffee shop was a good way to pass time, living in New York was expensive and she found she was constantly a bit strapped for cash. A date outfit would have been out of the question.
Luckily, she had the clothes she’d taken when she’d left Logan’s apartment. She grabbed her favorite jeans, paired them with a silver belt, and tossed on a form-fitting black boatneck sweater and some ankle boots. She pulled her hair into a smooth ponytail and added a pair of hoop earrings, and then presented the ensemble to Gretchen.