Go to him, let him chase your doubts and fears away.
She picked up the two glasses and hurried upstairs. She entered the bedroom; from the bathroom came the sound of the shower. She crossed to the dresser and set down the glasses. Her hands, she realized, trembled.
Bailey stared at the ruby red liquid a moment, then shifted her gaze. It landed on a photograph of her and her mother. That last birthday they had celebrated together.
It was the only photo in the room. She moved her gaze over the bedroom, taking in every detail, every surface and wall. No framed photographs, awards or other mementos. Nothing personal. Like a well-appointed suite at a luxury hotel.
It’s what she had felt the first time she had seen the room, but hadn’t been able to put into words.
She imagined the rest of the house, searching her memory. The portrait of his mother. The photographs of her. Her show ribbons; the Olympic medal.
But where were the pictures of them all as children? Of holidays? What of grandparents? She understood removing any traces of True, considering the circumstances, but what of everyone else? Her mother had even kept a picture of Bailey’s no-good daddy, just because he was her father.
What of Logan’s father? He’d mentioned him, that he’d passed … but not how. Not when. Why were there no photographs of him?
Bailey felt sick to her stomach. Light-headed.
She stepped into the bathroom. He stood in the shower with his back to her. Dark hair slicked to his head. The water sluiced over his wide shoulders, down to the V of his waist. He was magnificent, beautiful.
But who was he?
He turned, saw her and smiled. He opened the glass door, poked his head out. “Hi, babe.”
“I brought the wine to you.”
“Perfect.” He held out a hand. “Join me?”
He smiled again. That smile. The one that made her melt.
“Yes,” she said, her own lips curving up. “I’d like that.”
Bailey slipped out of her jeans and shirt, then took his hand and stepped into the shower, still in her bra and panties.
“Nice,” he said softly, trailing his finger along the cup’s lacy edge, dipping his finger under the delicate fabric.
She arched against him. Greedy not just for his clever hands and mouth, but for the oblivion being with him would bring. The moments of dizzying pleasure, the certainty that came after.
That he was the man she thought he was. That their fairy tale would have a happy ending.
He pushed her up against the shower wall, hands and mouth everywhere. She shuddered and gasped, and dragged his mouth up to hers. He lifted her onto him and took her there, giving her just what she’d longed for.
Oblivion.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bailey and Logan lay naked under the sheet, twined together, the ceiling fan circling lazily above them. She trailed her fingers across his chest, thinking of the way she had doubted him. The way she had let her imaginings run away with her.
“Tell me about your day, sweetheart.”
As if he had read her mind. She nuzzled his neck. “I spent much of it being ridiculous.”
He tipped his head to see her face. “What does that mean?”
She sat up. “Our wine, I almost forgot.”
She slipped out of bed and crossed to retrieve it.
“Nice view.”
She glanced over her shoulder and struck a pose. “Glad to hear that.”
“Come back here.”
She collected the two glasses and returned to the bed. He sat propped up against pillows, the sheet puddled in his lap, chest, hip and thigh gloriously exposed.
“I like that view.” She handed him a glass, then crawled in beside him.
“Did you plan anything for dinner?”
She shook her head.
“We could drive into the city?”
“Would that involve putting on clothes?”
“Unfortunately, it would.”
“I could whip up a salad? Or some eggs?”
He made a face. “Faye’s is open for dinner.”
“No, not Faye’s.”
“Because you were already there today?”
She couldn’t hide her shock. “Who told you that?”
“I was joking. Were you there today?”
For a moment, she didn’t respond. His forehead wrinkled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s … wrong.”
“So, you were there?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I had a BLT. Hardly a crime.”
“I didn’t suggest you being there was a crime. You’re just acting … guilty.”
Her cheeks heated. She was. And why? She had done nothing wrong.
She opened her mouth, then shut it. This was her opportunity. Why was she hesitating? The longer she did, the stranger she felt about it. And the more uncomfortable he was becoming. She could see it in his expression.
“I was pulled over today,” she said.
“You got a ticket?” He sounded amused.
“A warning. It was a local cop.”
“Billy Ray Williams.” He said the name flatly, but something dangerous glittered in his eyes.
“Yes. I … there’s bad blood between the two of you.”
“You could say that.”
She pressed on. “What’s that all about?”
“Ancient history. Did Williams harass you?”
“Why would he?” she asked, the avoidance feeling like a lie.
He didn’t respond and she went on. “I heard something at Faye’s—”
He snorted. “I hope you took it for what it was worth. That place’s a hotbed for local gossip. And the Abbott family is always a favorite topic.”
She cringed at the bitterness in his tone and wanted to drop the whole thing. Just go on as if today had never happened.
But she couldn’t do that. “I saw a newspaper. I read about the missing women. Why didn’t you tell me about them?”
“It didn’t cross my mind.” He turned to fully face her. “That has nothing to do with us, Bailey.”
“Doesn’t it, Logan?”
“What does that mean?”
“I … overheard some conversation. About True.”
He stiffened. “You want to be more specific?”
“That she … that she didn’t leave you. That she went missing and should have been considered a victim of foul play. Like the other two.”
“I told you this would happen, I told you about the gossip.”