shook her head. “I would have thought a guy like you would have figured that out by now.”
“And I would think that a woman like you wouldn’t be swayed by mere words.”
She smiled now, and the curve of those soft, tempting lips did strange things to his heart again.
“You’re right,” she admitted.
Unable to resist, he reached out and skimmed the pad of his finger over her bottom lip. He heard her breath catch, watched her lips part slightly in response to his touch. When he looked up at her again, her eyes were wide.
“What would sway you, Riane?”
She swallowed, her scrambled brain desperately searching for coherent words to respond to his question. She had to say something, anything, to get him to back off. Anything but the truth. Because the truth was that all it would take to sway her was his touch. He hadn’t even kissed her; he’d just brushed his finger over the curve of her lip and her insides had melted.
She’d experienced attraction before but never like this. The jolt of desire, so quick and unexpected, completely debilitated her.
He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek, threaded his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back. She forced herself to meet his gaze, then wished she hadn’t done so. Tightly restrained passion simmered in the depths of his blue eyes. A challenge. A promise.
“What would sway you?” he asked again.
She swept her tongue along her bottom lip, unconsciously following the same path as his fingertip.
“Maybe you wouldn’t be swayed at all,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth again. “Maybe it would have to be your decision.”
“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly. Yes, it would be her decision. And yes, she wanted him.
“You’re a strong woman,” he continued, the low tone of his voice as hypnotic as the desire in his eyes. “Capable. Confident. Passionate.”
Her heart melted just a little. No one had ever called her passionate before. No one had ever made her feel so passionate.
“And complicated,” he finished, almost reluctantly, before combing his fingers through the ends of her hair and dropping his hand back to his side. “I don’t have time for complications.”
The desire he’d so effectively stirred up inside of her gave way to hurt and disappointment. She shoved those unwelcome emotions aside in favor of anger.
“What are you looking for, Logan, a quick tumble to satisfy your basic urges?”
“I wasn’t looking for someone like you,” he admitted.
“Then what are you doing here?”
He looked around, and seemed almost surprised by the setting. “I don’t know,” he said at last.
“I didn’t ask you to come here.”
“I know,” he admitted. “And I thought I could stay away. But I can’t. You’ve got me all tied up in knots and I don’t know what to do about it.”
As far as poetry went, it was somewhat lacking, and yet his words touched something inside her. Or maybe it wasn’t the words so much as the frustration evident in his voice. He didn’t want to want her, but he did. The realization soothed her bruised pride, empowered her fragile heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “Why don’t we just forget about that little outburst and start over?”
“Sure,” Riane agreed, wishing it would be half as easy to forget the unwelcome feelings he’d stirred inside her. She folded her arms against the wooden fence. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
Everything. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Joel Logan, especially what it was about him that had her so enthralled. Through her charity work and her parents’ political connections, she’d had occasion to dine with millionaires, dance with movie stars, discuss international relations with heads of state. She’d never been flustered by the mere presence of a man—until Joel had shown up at her ball.
But that was hardly an admission she was willing to make, so she opted to start with something more simple. “Where did you grow up?”
He seemed surprised by her question, almost relieved. “Philadelphia.”
“Is that where you live now?”
He shook his head. “No. I moved to Fairweather, Pennsylvania, a few years back.”
“Is that where your family is?”
“I don’t know that I have any family left.”
“What do you mean—you don’t know?”
“I haven’t seen my mother since I was six years old. She left me with my grandmother and took off for parts unknown. My grandmother died five years later.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling unaccountably saddened on his behalf. Her mother often teased that the kids who came to her camp were her surrogate siblings—the brothers and sisters she never had. Riane couldn’t deny that there was probably some truth to that. But if she felt there was something missing from her life, she also knew how fortunate she was to have always had the unquestioning love and support of her parents. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be well and truly alone.
“What about your father?” she asked.
“I have no idea who my father is.”
“You never knew him?”
“I don’t know if my mother knew him,” he said dryly.
Her brow furrowed; Joel laughed.
“Not everyone has had the life you’ve had,” he said.
Riane felt her back go up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were raised in a perfect little family, in a cozy mansion on the hill. Between your private school education and ballet lessons and horseback riding, you probably never imagined that there were kids who went to bed hungry at night—or kids who had no bed to go to.”
Riane’s eyes narrowed on him. “Do you think I don’t realize how lucky I’ve been? I may gave grown up in a home of wealth and privilege, and I’m grateful that I’ve never had to worry about my next meal, but I’m not oblivious to what goes on in the rest of the world.
“My parents were in the Foreign Service when I was born. We lived in various places in Central America, Eastern Europe, Africa. It was an incredible opportunity, and it was incredibly disheartening at times. I saw things most people don’t want to hear about.
“I went to visit orphanages with my mother—dirty, overcrowded, unsanitary buildings where most of the children weren’t just orphans but were sick or dying. There was one little
