Amy had been a pretty girl from the start. Eight years old to his twelve when she’d first arrived at Raintree, she’d been all daring smiles and impish expressions. At nineteen, she’d been beautiful. That shiny length of black hair, and tanned legs that seemed to stretch on forever.
Now, as a woman of twenty-four, she was breathtaking. Curves replaced the coltish angles and a relaxed strength resided in her lithe frame.
“Logan.”
His attention shot to the lush curves of her mouth and the deep jade of her eyes. Both opened wider with surprise.
“I needed to...” His blood roared, his tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth.
Needed to see her. Touch her. Hold her.
Amy’s expression cleared. She regained her composure and took slow steps toward him, stopping when the toes of her shiny heels were an inch from the scuffed toes of his boots.
At well over six feet, Logan found it rare that anyone met him on his level. Amy, however, never failed to do so. Wearing heels, her slender frame reached almost the exact same height, her gentle breaths dancing across his jaw.
“It’s good to see you,” she whispered.
It was the last thing he’d expected her to say.
She rested her palms loosely on his shoulders, her smooth cheek pressing gently against the stubble of his. Her sweet scent enfolded him and soothed his senses. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, sliding his hands over her back to draw her closer.
She felt the same. Soft and strong. Only, now, the mature curves of her body met the hard planes of his, filling each hollow and reminding him of exactly how much he’d missed.
How the hell had he ever managed to accept her decision to leave? Encouraged it, even? And why had he waited so long to come? When all he had to do—
“You look well,” she said, drawing back.
She crossed the room to the other side of the desk and removed her jacket to hang it on the back of the chair. Smoothing a hand over the collar of her sweater, she adopted a welcoming stance. A patient countenance.
It wasn’t the empty expression she’d had years ago after the loss of their daughter. Or the defeated one she’d shown for months after several failed attempts at getting pregnant again. And it was a far cry from the rebellious one she’d worn as a girl, intent on challenging him at every turn.
This was something different. This was worse. It was the professional posture a claims adjuster assumed with a client. The polite demeanor a woman assumed with a stranger.
Logan balled his fists at his sides, his chest tightening with the familiar sting of regret. He’d waited too long.
“What can I do for you, Logan?”
She continued running her fingers over the sweater’s neckline. The movements remained small and graceful. Not erratic or anxious. Certainly not an action that should draw attention.
A flush bloomed on the skin of her neck. A fraction of an inch above the tips of her fingers. Her bare fingers.
Logan’s eyes burned. This trip was a mistake. Like so many others. There was nothing left of their marriage to salvage here. He should walk away, get back in his truck and leave. It was the sane, sensible thing to do.
He jerked his head to the side but couldn’t force his stare to follow. It clung to the small motions of her fingers, causing the pink shade on her neck to spread and deepen to a fiery shade of red.
Logan clenched his jaw. He’d already lost a child. Hell if he’d lose his best friend, too. The girl he remembered was still there. Buried beneath the sophisticated veneer. And he wasn’t leaving without her.
Reaching deep into his pocket, Logan withdrew the thick wad of papers and tossed them onto the desk. They bounced, slid across the mahogany wood and drew to a precarious halt on the far edge.
“I’m here to bring you home.”
LIES VARIED. Amy knew that. They could be as white as a consoling whisper. Or as dark as a secret never spoken. As a girl, she’d only lied to Logan once but it had been dark enough to follow her for years.
Amy curled her fingers tighter into the collar of her sweater and refused to look at the papers balancing on the edge of the desk. Instead, she focused on Logan, lingering over the dark depths of his eyes, the strong line of his jaw and the sensual curve of his mouth.
He hadn’t changed much in the four years since she’d last seen him. His lean length was still as sculpted as ever. His broad chest and shoulders were just as wide and impressive. And the familiar attire of jeans, collared shirt and boots were still the same.
A deep rush of longing enveloped her, making her ache to reach out and wrap her arms around him. To draw him close and hold on. Just as she had so many times over the years as a friend and, eventually, as a lover.
Dear God, she’d missed him. Missed his smile, his strength. Even his tight-lipped frowns of disappointment. Most of which had been directed at her over the years.
Her stomach churned. Figured the one thing she’d always admired most about him was something she had never been able to possess as a girl. Something she’d always found so elusive and so foreign.
Honor. Logan lived and breathed it. Even when it cut deep.
Amy smiled, hoping the slight quiver of her mouth didn’t show. “I told Mom on the phone that I’d drive home as soon as I got off work today. I promised I wouldn’t miss Thanksgiving dinner this year and I won’t. I’m already packed and—” she flicked her sleeve back and glanced at her wristwatch “—it’s time to close up. I’m about to swing by my apartment, grab my bags and head out. There was no need for you to make such a long trip.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. His left hand moved, his thumb twisting the ring on his finger. The same one she’d slid there years ago when she was a selfish girl of nineteen. A girl who had lied and purposefully gotten pregnant with Logan’s child, knowing his honor would demand he marry her.
The memory conjured up shame. It scorched a path from her soul through blood to muscle, then sizzled on the surface of her skin.
There were so many things she couldn’t change. But one thing had changed. She was no longer that selfish girl. No longer reckless or relentless in her pursuit of Logan. Always pushing for more than friendship and stealing his freedom from him.
She’d ruined his life back then. Hurt him more than she’d ever hurt anyone, and she’d never hurt him that way again.
Amy squared her shoulders and wrapped her hands around the chair in front of her. End this fast. Make it clean and painless.
“It may have been a while since I’ve made the drive,” she said, trying for a small laugh. “But I can manage to find my way back on my own.”
The tight grooves marring Logan’s face deepened. She longed to reach up and smooth the
