For many reasons, she shouldn’t feel anything but anger. She felt much more. She felt every forbidden longing, every sharp tingle of awareness as his gaze moved along the length of her body, touching her breasts, her hips, her bare feet, and finally her wet, tangled hair.

  “May I come in?”

  So formal. So pristine and untouchable with his hair perfectly cut and styled. So stiffly elegant in his dark tailored suit and crisply knotted tie.

  He’d recovered from his beating except for a faint, crescent-shaped scar that curled into the corner of his lower lip.

  Wounded and bruised, he’d been dangerously handsome. Healthy and healed, he was devastatingly so.

  Here was the corporate power player she’d read about. Here was the “Prince” of Prince Enterprises. The one the financial page of the daily paper worshiped for his business savvy. The one the society section drooled over as Houston’s own equivalent of royalty. A Texan born and bred, this millionaire bachelor, most notably labeled as cool, aloof, distinctly patrician, made for great copy.

  Carmen realized he fit the mold as if it had been made with him in mind. Logan Prince. Any resemblance to the man who had lain naked in her bed, vulnerable and needy, desirable and desired, now seemed like a figment of her imagination.

  That man had walked out her door two weeks ago.

  That man had faded to a memory.

  At least that’s what she’d tried to make him. A memory, no matter that her dreams had kept his image too crisply in focus. No matter that every night he drifted through her sleep as vivid as reality, or that every morning when she woke up alone in her bed, the truth of his betrayal cut like the slice of a knife.

  To combat the pain, she lifted her chin and drew a deep breath. “What do you want, Mr. Prince?”

  He raised a brow.

  Could he possibly think she still didn’t know who he was? A wildly ecstatic, mildly apologetic Johnny Dallas had filled her in on the grand charade before he’d kissed her good-bye with a gleam in his eye and a ranch near San Antonio on his mind.

  She’d seen neither man since that night, neither the good-time drifter nor the brooding corporate raider.

  Both men had deceived her. Both men had left her.

  Only one had lingered overlong on her mind. The one standing in her door.

  “Carmen.”

  He said her name so tentatively, she realized he must have repeated it.

  Startled, she snapped her gaze to his.

  “I’d like to come in. Will you let me?”

  Pride kept her from turning him away. She could only suffer so much humiliation at his hands, but she wasn’t about to let him see how desperately she wanted him to leave—or how desperately she wanted him to stay.

  Standing back, she gestured for him to enter, then quickly tucked her hand in her jeans pocket when she realized it was shaking.

  “You’re a long way from home,” she said with as much cool detachment in her voice as she could muster. “But then, I guess you’ve taken this path before. Funny. I never figured you for a man who’d opt to stroll down memory lane. Or is this more like returning to the scene of the crime?”

  That half smile snuck back again. Just a shadow, just a glimpse that touched his mouth but held no humor. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Carmen. Take it from a true cynic, you should stick with something you know.”

  “Oh, but I do know. You’re the one who taught me.”

  He looked intently at her. “And for that, I’ll always be sorry.”

  She fought a compelling urge to believe him. So what if he was sorry? So was she. But she was also humiliated, and she’d live with it for a long time.

  “If an apology was your reason for coming here,” she said stiffly, “you’ve done your duty.”

  She needed to get him out of here before she forgot she was supposed to hate him for what he’d done to her. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve really got to get ready for work.”

  “Carmen, you don’t owe me, but I’d like a chance to explain.”

  He was right. She didn’t owe him. And she didn’t need to give him that chance. She didn’t need to risk hearing his explanation because she didn’t want to have a reason to forgive him.

  “No need. Johnny already explained about the deal you cut with him. Very inventive. You’ve made him a happy man.”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about Dallas,” he said, advancing a step toward her.

  She moved back, telling herself she wasn’t running. It simply made sense to keep her distance. After all, except for what she’d read in the papers, she didn’t really know anything about him. Not this man. She’d known—she’d thought she’d known—another man. Rounding the sofa, feeling safer with its bulk and length between them, she faced him.

  “Then please, get on with it. I really do have to get ready for work.”

  His gaze drifted restlessly around the room before returning to meet hers. Now that she knew who he was—the wealth he was surrounded by—her Spartan furnishings and the shabbiness of the apartment seemed magnified in her eyes.

  She hugged herself, then quickly dropped her arms when she realized the gesture communicated her feeling of defensiveness.

  “I want you to know,” he began slowly, “that I never intended to use you.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I never intended to be used. I guess that makes us even. Live and learn, right? I learned a lot from you, Mr. Prince.”

  If possible, the look in his eyes grew even darker.

  “You’ll have difficulty believing this, Carmen, but I learned something from you too.”

  “You’re right. I do have difficulty believing it. Somehow I find it difficult believing anything you have to say.”

  “Yes, well.” A sadly resigned look crossed his face. “I guess I gave you good reason.”

  Another long, painfully silent moment passed, during which she sensed he was struggling with a desire to defend himself. In the end he must have decided there was no defense for what he’d done.

  “Look, I only wanted you to know I’m sorry. For everything. And I’m sorry I bothered you. Bottom line—I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “So now you know. I’m fine.”

  Why wouldn’t she be? Just because she’d been tied in knots since he’d left her? Just because she hadn’t slept, or eaten, or been able to forgive her own gullibility didn’t mean she wasn’t handling things. Just because she couldn’t forget the way he’d made her feel when he’d kissed her or couldn’t quit wanting and wondering what it would have been like between them didn’t mean she wasn’t okay.

  “Carmen.”

  Achingly soft, devastatingly caring, his voice all but destroyed her. She gripped the back of the sofa. Damn her eyes. Why did they have to burn and blind her with the misty threat of tears? She blinked hard and looked away.

  “Carmen,” he repeated on a ragged groan as he walked around the sofa and, with a touch of his hand, tipped her face to his.

  She knew she should move. She knew she should run, not walk, as far away from him as she could get. But the piercing intensity of his gaze pinned her. She stood there, searching his face as he grasped her upper arms and pulled her slowly toward him.

  His gaze caressed her. His eyes glinted with a fire she recognized as desire. And something else. Something she shouldn’t let herself believe, but that moved her far more than his passion.

  She saw again his vulnerability, his struggle to deny what he didn’t want her to see.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispered.

  His admission arrowed to her heart, where it penetrated and burned. Another spark sizzled and flared, then spread deep inside her as his gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered.

  “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. I swore I wasn’t going to touch you.”

  She swallowed hard and tried to pull away. “Then don’t,” she managed to whisper when he held her fast. “Please, don’t do this.”

  But it was too late for begging. They both knew it.

  “You think I didn’t try to stay away?” The vehemence in his tone revealed the battle he’d waged. “You think I don’t know that coming here was a mistake?”

  Held captive by his arms, held hostage by his words, she braced her hands against his chest. “Then why did you bother?”

  With a fierceness that matched his scowl, he dragged her against him and lowered his head to hers. “This . . .” He whispered against her mouth. “This is why.”

  And this is what she’d been afraid of . . .

  And longed for . . .

  And dreamed of . . .

  He took her mouth with a desire that was real and commanding. With a need neither calculated nor controlled. His breath was searing heat and forbidden desire. His kiss was a volatile assault of restless passion, self-directed anger, unrelenting seduction.

  She should fight him. He wasn’t about to let her. His tongue swept inside her mouth with intent to conquer, not compromise, with a promise to possess not finesse.

  He consumed her with his hunger, seduced her with his urgency, asking neither her forgiveness nor her permission, but instead demanding the right.

  It was everything wrong. It was everything right. Everything she’d dreamed of. Everything she’d longed for. Nothing she had a right to wish for or cling to.

  But his strength was her weakness. His power was her defeat as one strong, seeking hand stole down her back while the other tangled possessively in her hair. His mouth ravaged hers, claiming her, devouring her, until the hands braced against his chest were pulling him close instead of pushing him away.

  She sagged against him, sighing in total surrender when he cupped her hips with his large hands and nudged her legs apart with his knee, pressing her intimately against him.

  “This . . .” he hissed as he dragged his mouth from hers and trailed a path of fire across her jaw with his lips. “This is what I came for. This . . .” he whispered, possessing her mouth again, “is why I couldn’t stay away.”

  It was the one thing Logan had promised himself he wouldn’t do. He hadn’t come here to take from her. He hadn’t come here out of need.

  Like hell he hadn’t.

  Seeing her again was supposed to put that need to rest, to get her out of his head and out of his life. But then he’d seen her face. He’d looked into her soft Spanish eyes, and she’d given him a glimpse of her soul. He’d touched her and suddenly it was his soul, not hers, that was in imminent danger.

  She moved like water against him, flowing around him, eddying into him, all fluid grace and liquid fire. Sensual, inviting. She was all he remembered and more than he’d dreamed. Heated velvet, honeyed silk.

  And now that he held her in his arms again, he didn’t know how he’d ever managed to stay away.

  Crushing a handful of her heavy, wet hair in his fist, he tilted her head back until she opened for him again. On a breathy sign, she welcomed his tongue, offering hers, mating with his mouth in an urgent, erotic parody of the love they both ached to be making.

  With a groan, he skated his hands down the length of her back, filling his palms with her bottom, pressing her hard against him. Hard into his heat. Hard against his arousal.

  He gathered her fully against him, feasting on the sweetness of her mouth. Driven by a desire stronger than any he’d ever known, he reached for the snap of her jeans. When she whimpered but didn’t pull away, he walked her backward, pinning her against the wall. She groaned as he tugged her shirt free, tunneled his hands beneath it, and filled his palms with the sweet weight of her breasts.

  He couldn’t get enough of her. Couldn’t get enough of her taste. Couldn’t get enough of her texture. And her skin. It burned like fire where he touched her. He skimmed her nipples with his thumbs. Her breath caught on a moan, then rushed out in short, shivery puffs that tasted like honey when he caught them in his mouth.

  She was his. In this moment, at this time, she was his, only his, for the taking. And he wanted to take it all. Staking his claim, slaking his need, he pressed his arousal against her hips, damning the barrier of clothing between them. Damning a head-clearing moment of lucidity, that forced him to realize how fragile she was and that if he took her now, she’d hate him for the rest of her life.

  Framing her face roughly in his hands, he broke the kiss, then sucked in a deep, controlling breath and willed the blood coursing through his body to cool and slow.

  Too fast. He came alive too fast when he was near her, and she became too fragile, too vulnerable in his arms. One look into her dazed brown eyes showed him just how vulnerable.

  Pressing his forehead to hers, Logan steadied himself and her with a slow, rhythmic caress of this thumbs against her cheeks.

  He knew the moment she came to her senses. Even before the glaze of passion had cleared from her eyes, he felt her body tense with the realization of what had happened.

  Her eyes filled with accusation, which quickly turned to shame before she lowered her lashes and looked away.

  “No.” He caught her jaw in his palm and forced her to look at him. “Carmen, no. Don’t look like that. There’s no shame in what’s happened. It was honest and real.”

  “What do you know about honesty?” Her eyes were filled with anguish as she clamped her hands around his wrists and tried to jerk free. “How do you get off even talking about honesty after the way you lied to me?”

  “Did that kiss feel like a lie? Did the way I came apart beneath you in your bed that morning feel like a lie?” He pressed his hips intimately against hers. “Does this feel like a lie?”

  She closed her eyes and he knew she was remembering. And responding. Aching with need. Wanting to hate him. Hating herself for wanting him.

  “Carmen, please, listen to me. I didn’t intend for any of this to happen. Not two weeks ago. Not today. And I know you didn’t either.”

  With his palms still cupping her face and her fingers clamped combatively around his wrists, he made her hold his gaze. “It happened. It wasn’t your fault. Hell, I’m not even sure it was mine. I swear to God, when I came here, I only wanted to talk to you. I only wanted to see you so I could get you out of my head and get on with my life.”

  She heaved a long, shaky breath. “So you’ve seen me. If you really care about me, prove it. Walk out that door and leave me alone.”

  He clenched his jaw as a gnawing guilt ate at him. Slowly he let her go. “Is that what you want? Is that what you really want?” He watched her eyes, knowing he’d see the truth there.

  She nodded, but without much conviction.

  “Carmen.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he stopped short of touching her again and instead brushed a trailing lock of hair away from her face. “The first time I saw you, I realized something about you. You reveal your emotions through your eyes. And you can’t lie. Not to me.

  “You don’t want me to leave,” he insisted, but gently. “You might wish that’s what you wanted. And I might wish I could oblige you, but somehow I don’t think it’s going to work out that way.”

  Confusion, then a weary shadow of defeat crossed her face. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand any of this.”

  He smiled, weary himself but determined not to fight it any longer. “That makes two of us.”

  “What do you want from me?” Fire and fury made a triumphant return. “Sex? Is that what this is all about? A curiosity tumble with the little Chicana?”

  “You have to know that’s not true.”

  She laughed. A sharp, wounded sound that held little humor and even less belief. “What else could it be? Look at you,” she said, pushing him away. In a quick, defensive gesture, she brushed her hair out of her eyes, then tapped her chest with the flat of her palm. “Look at me. I’m not even in your ballpark, let alone in your league. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re slumming, Mr. Prince. You may not be far from your penthouse in the Galleria in terms of miles, but in social position, you’re a continent away.”

  “If you knew me, you’d know I don’t care about any of that.”

  “But I don’t know you, do I?” Her expressive eyes added the painful truth that once she’d thought she’d known him. Once, a lifetime ago.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You probably know me better than anyone ever has. And because of you, I know things about myself I’d never suspected.”

  “What, that you’re a liar?” Resistance brightened her eyes as she tried desperately to cling to her anger. “That you could play on a person’s sympathy to take the best advantage?”

  “What I learned is that I’m a man, not a machine. I thought I could take without giving. I learned I can’t do that. I wanted to take from you, Carmen. For a while there I even convinced myself that I could. I thought I could play a part and take what wasn’t mine, the hell with the fact that you wouldn’t be the wiser.” He shook his head, reflecting on his own stupidity. “I thought wrong. I didn’t want you responding to Dallas. I wanted you responding to me.”

  “You lied to me,” she accused, but her eyes showed her struggle not to be touched by his admission. “You took advantage of me.”

  “Yes. I did. I’m not proud of it. And I’m sorry that because of it you got hurt. But don’t expect me to tell you I’m sorry for what happened between us. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

  Silence, as heavy as her satin black hair, as delicate as her wounded pride, held them hostage in memories, held them captive with anticipation.

  “I’ll make you a promise you can believe in, Carmen,” he said finally. “I’m not backing away from this. I’m not backing away from you, unless you convince me you don’t want to be a part of my life.”

  “A part of your life?” Her eyes were suddenly wild, incredulity replacing her hesitation. “What part could I possibly play in your life?”

  He stared at her long and hard. “I don’t think I’ve got that completely figured out yet. I promised you honesty,” he added when she looked momentarily bewildered.