Eclipse of the Heart

chapter 20

The answer was no. Logan Winter did not have a guest room in his spacious apartment. He had a workout room, a book-lined study, and a TV room. But no guest room. Clearly, he never had guests. Amanda gazed in frustration at Mrs. MacDonald, who'd been delighted to open the front door to her a few minutes ago.

"Yes, Logan called me," the housekeeper had said, "and told me you'd be staying here in his absence."

Mrs. MacDonald led the way to Logan's bedroom, without indicating in any way that Amanda already knew where it was. "Of course, he doesn't have a guest room, but he said you were welcome to sleep here."

She opened the door to the gray and blue room.

A pang hit Amanda right in the chest. Memories flooded through her. Logan up on his arms, braced over her, pounding into her.

Juxtaposed with the "other" Logan. Lying alone and silent on his side of the bed. Unaffectionate. Cold.

She shivered.

"Logan said you have strep." Mrs. MacDonald frowned. "Have you started your antibiotics?"

"Yes." Amanda tried to dredge up a smile. "I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine, dearie," the housekeeper answered bluntly. "Why don't you get in bed and take a nap? Would you like a nice bowl of hot soup?"

"Maybe later." Amanda looked at the bed. Sex. Passion. Whatever you wanted to call it. She'd had it, and she'd had to throw it away. She gripped the handle of her suitcase, and turned back toward the door. "You know, Mrs. MacDonald, it was a mistake for me to come here. I don't think I can be comfortable away from home."

"Oh, no." Mrs. MacDonald held up a hand. "You can't leave. Why, Logan would never forgive me. He told me specifically to take care of you."

"I'm sure you'd do a wonderful job. But I just can't stay here." Amanda began to drag her suitcase toward the door.

"He hasn't had anyone here since you were here."

The words stopped Amanda cold.

"That's none of my business," she whispered. Her lips were as stiff as the suitcase handle.

"You don't need to feel like an interloper. Logan will be gone all week." Mrs. MacDonald placed the back of her hand on Amanda's forehead. "You have a terrible fever. You need help. Please stay."

The older woman removed her hand, and her eyes met Amanda's. "I would welcome the company."

Amanda's heart dropped. Her head swam with a sudden dizziness. What choice did she have now? She was sick. Mrs. MacDonald was lonely. Maybe they could help each other.

She let go of the suitcase. "You're right," she said. "I could use your help."

"Good. That's all settled then." Mrs. MacDonald bustled over to the closet with the suitcase. "I'll unpack this when you get up from your nap." She opened the door and gestured to the empty closet. Amanda realized it was one of two master closets in the room. Its stark emptiness saddened her.

Logan Winter had convinced himself he didn't need other people. She shouldn't be foolish enough to think she could change that.

Mrs. MacDonald left, and Amanda crawled into the bed. The sheets were crisp and fresh, and she could tell they'd been ironed. But they still bore the faint scent of Logan. She buried her face in that false comfort, and fell asleep.

***

By Wednesday, Amanda was feeling much better. Mrs. MacDonald was a gifted nurse, who knew just when to leave Amanda to rest, and just when a bowl of chicken soup would be welcome. Amanda's fever had broken on Wednesday morning and she was able to eat a couple small meals during the day.

Wednesday evening, Mrs. MacDonald sat down at the kitchen table with her to share a cup of tea.

"Did Logan tell you I'm going to be away tomorrow and Friday?"

Amanda stilled. No, he hadn't mentioned it.

"Funny," she said, although there was no humor in her voice. "I knew he was manipulating me, but I still fell for it."

Mrs. McDonald set down her tea cup. "Logan is not manipulative." There was more than a trace of outraged mama bear in her tone.

"He knows how to get his own way. You can't deny that."

"His way is usually the right way."

"See?" Amanda threw her napkin on the table and surged to her feet. "Even you've been entranced by him."

The housekeeper smiled. "He is a good-looking man. But I remember him as a grubby schoolboy with frogs in his pockets and stinky socks hiding under the bed. It's hard to be entranced after that."

"Aw…"Amanda dropped back into the chair, misty eyed over the thought of Logan as a grubby little boy. Man, she had it bad. "He sure has changed."

"He grew up," Mrs. MacDonald said sharply. "And not quite as happily as you might be imagining."

"What do you mean?" She leaned forward eagerly. Mrs. M. had to know why Logan lived in an emotional freezer, cool and calm and removed from everyone.

"It's not my story to tell." Mrs. M. pushed herself to her feet, slowly, as if she carried an unseen burden on her shoulders.

Amanda pressed her lips together. Logan's problems weren't any of her business and she had to remember that. She stood up. "I should return home. Thank you for your help."

"There's no need for you to go," the housekeeper said. "I've left a roasted chicken, broth, a fruit salad and a green salad. You might as well eat it to build up your strength. In the freezer are single size portions of many meals. Whatever might strike your fancy, we probably have it."

She didn't say it, but Amanda knew the food in the freezer had been prepared for Logan. Single size portions. It sounded lonely.

***

Of course, she was the lonely one when she woke up on Thursday, and the apartment was empty. She decided she would work from here, rather than go into the office since she wasn't completely better. On Friday, she would definitely go to work and then return home from there. She couldn't afford to be here when Logan returned.

By the late afternoon, loneliness and cabin fever set in. Dressing warmly, Amanda went out for a walk, grabbing the keys Mrs. MacDonald had left for her in the foyer.

The setting sun shone onto the open spaces of Central Park South. Although she'd only intended to walk around the block, Amanda found herself venturing into the park. It was fun to see people strolling about, children running and screaming, the horses clopping by with their carriages full of tourists.

She walked slowly down the path toward the zoo. It was darker inside the park, under the tree cover. Before reaching the zoo, she turned back, chilled and a bit tired.

She was glad to re-enter the apartment, which was warm and—was that music she heard? She froze on the doorstep. Had Mrs. MacDonald returned early? She'd said she wouldn't be back until late on Friday.

Amanda tiptoed in. She wasn't afraid, exactly, because that was opera she heard pouring from a room at the back of the apartment. No thief would break in just to listen to opera. She followed the sound down the hallway, the volume building as she ventured closer.

The music throbbed with passion, rising and climbing toward a raw, explosive climax. Amanda halted in the doorway as she was caught up in the swelling frenzy of desire bordering on madness.

Yes, she understood that feeling.

Just one look at the man sitting in a tall leather chair facing the windows, and her body was softening, her mind reaching, her hands twitching with eagerness.

Logan's head was tipped back, his black hair resting on the top of the chair. He was little more than a dark profile outlined by the golden light of the setting sun. The music soared around the room, rising and falling in swells of beauty that contrasted sharply with the silent, unmoving man. An unknown emotion clutched Amanda's heart and sudden tears pricked her eyes. He was so alone.

He should have looked content, a successful man relaxing at the end of the day. Instead, he looked solitary, apart, a man cut off from normal interaction with other people.

Why? What had happened to cause this accomplished, successful, and dynamic man to withdraw and move away from emotional connections with other people? It wasn't just her he held at arm's length, but everyone he interacted with in his daily life. He was courteous, and pleasant, but emotionally distant. The conviction tore at her – whether he knew it or not, he was suffering in his solitude.

The music reached a crescendo and died away. In the sudden silence, Logan swiveled his chair around and opened his eyes, focusing directly on her. His lips curved in that almost-smile he used when he knew a smile was called for, but he didn't have one handy. Her heart squeezed in pain.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"I didn’t know you enjoyed opera," she said.

"An occasional indulgence." He flicked his hand as if it were a negligible pastime. "Are you feeling better?"

Subject closed. She tightened her lips. She didn’t have any right to pry, so how would she ever know what haunted him?

He was an adult. He had a right to his secrets. But he could never have a healthy relationship with anyone as long as his emotional energy was being used to contain whatever trauma was in his past.

"Yes." She answered his question automatically. "I'm better. I worked here today. Mrs. MacDonald isn't back yet."

Logan nodded. "She had further to go."

Further to go? That was an odd thing to say.

Amanda removed her gloves, dropping them on a side table. "Where did she go?"

He paused, and then said, "To Illinois. To visit her husband's grave."

Amanda jumped, and gave a soft cry. She hadn't expected that. And she knew beyond a doubt there was more to the story. His eyes were so bleak, and his face strained.

Taking off her coat, she said, "You knew her husband?"

"Yes." Logan hunched over, placing his forearms on his thighs, almost as if he were in pain.

"You didn't go with her, did you?" Amanda knew she was prying, violating both common sense and good manners. At the same time, she sensed an opening. Logan seemed—different tonight, wounded almost, in a way she'd never seen before.

She should leave him alone, to endure whatever grief he was suffering. But something prodded her to get him to open up. A little voice whispered in her ear that she might never get another chance like this to find out what demon plagued him.

He closed his eyes as if wrestling with something, and then opened them and looked directly at her.

"No," he said. "I didn't go with her."

The words sat there starkly. No, he hadn't gone with Mrs. MacDonald. Amanda knew he wouldn't offer further explanation.

But she couldn't stop.

"Have you just returned from Paris?" she asked.

He hesitated, and then said, "I returned last night."

His sorrow, the tension surrounding him, his unexplained trip, were all related to Mrs. MacDonald and the death of her husband. Amanda knew it. "Then where did you go today, Logan?" she whispered.

Silence stretched between them while he stared at her, his eyes grim. "To hell," he said, in a low, almost inaudible voice.

A cord of emotion pulled her forward, an invisible tether that she could almost see. She crossed the threshhold. "What do you mean?"

His hands clenched on the smooth arms of his chair, as he straightened up and pressed against the seat back. "Nothing, Amanda. It was nothing."

She moved toward him, breaching the barrier of his personal space until she could smell him, hot and wintry and clean. "Tell me, Logan," she whispered. "Tell me why you look so haunted."

He shook his head. "It's nothing." His jaw tightened with stubbornness.

Amanda sank to her knees in front of him. She placed a hand on his knees, and they spread further apart. She wasn't sure which one of them had made that happen.

Logan's eyes widened as he looked down at her. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know." She gazed into his shadowed gray eyes. This man, who sat by himself, listening to beautiful music, when he could be with almost anyone in the entire city – this man was an enigma to her. But she knew one thing. She had to comfort him.

This was why he'd hired her.

This was why he'd invited her here, even though he didn't know it.

This was why she'd stayed in his home for four days.

So that she could be here when he needed her.

She leaned forward, pressing herself between his spread legs.

"Why are you always alone?" she asked. Although the words came out without conscious thought, the impact was immediate. As if a door had closed, quietly, but firmly, she saw the tenderness leave his eyes, to be replaced with a calm wariness.

"I like to be alone, Amanda." His tone was gruff, but he didn't make a move to pull away. "Don't romanticize me."

"Oh, no," she said. "No romance for the aloof and emotionally unavailable Logan Winter. I do understand that. But I'll bet you'd accept another kind of closeness." She pushed her hands up both of his thighs, slowly, feeling the the hard muscle, the warmth.

He sucked in a deep breath.

He was already erect, enticing her visually. Her own breath came more quickly. "You're very sexy, Logan," she murmured.

"Ahhh, Mandy." He spread his legs further apart. "I don't understand you. But don't stop now."