Her eyes widened.

  “It surprises you so much?” He smiled gently. “Truth to tell, it surprised me too. But there it is, isn’t it? I don’t want to deny it any longer. And I don’t want you to doubt it.”

  Panic, pure and piercing, provoked an almost uncontrollable urge to run.

  “Don’t shut me out, Carmen.” Rising in all his naked glory, he came to her. “Don’t blame the sins of ignorance and the prejudice of generations on me.”

  He knelt beside her and took her hand in his. “I’m one man. I’m the one man who loves you because of who you are, not because of who you think I need you to be. And because you are the one woman who has made me aware how special life can be with someone like you to share it.”

  She wanted so badly to believe that all that mattered was the love she felt for him and the trust he offered as a condition of his love.

  But would he think she was so special if he knew where she’d come from? Absolute poverty is not pretty. Absolute poverty is often ugly and dark. She’d never known her father. He’d taken off long before she was born. She’d never known her mother. She’d known an addict who, devastated by the course her life had taken, had OD’d when Carmen was just thirteen. The only thing coming between her and the same path her mother had taken was a special lady who encouraged her to finish school and work her way through nurses’ training. She’d been one of the lucky ones. And though her existence was Spartan compared to his, it was grandiose compared with what she’d come from.

  “Carmen, it doesn’t have to be so scary. Where we came from isn’t as meaningful as what we do. We work, we try to make a difference. But because of what you perceive as a problem, if you don’t give this a chance, we’ll both end up with less than we deserve. We’ll both end up alone—thinking of each other, wishing we were together. Is it so wrong, what we want?” he continued, earnestly searching her face. “Does it have to be so complicated?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, clinging to her resolve to maintain some perspective.

  He touched her then. And that soft brush of his hand on her thigh turned her yes into a no.

  When he touched her, nothing was complicated. Everything was simple. As simple as the slow, languorous glide of his fingers across her skin, stroking, seeking, finding that part of her that responded with shameless desire. As simple as the immediate, responsive need he evoked with his touch.

  She gasped as he tugged her effortlessly to the floor, flicked open the buttons of the shirt she wore, and laid it open.

  “I don’t believe in complications,” he whispered. He rose and lifted her, then gently deposited her on the carpet. He covered her body with his and swiftly entered her. “When you’re beneath me, when I’m inside you, nothing is complicated. Everything is simple, and settled and right.”

  She closed her eyes and held him there, letting the strength of his body surround her, letting the cadence of his hips seduce her into believing what he insisted was true.

  Could it be this simple? Could it be as easy as the swift, explosive awakening he kindled inside her with a look, a touch.

  Her heart thundered as he braced himself on his hands and looked down into her eyes.

  “I’m not giving up on this,” he promised, his eyes dark and determined, his voice husky with his own attempt to control his desire. “I’m not giving in. I want you in my life, and later, when you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t belong in mine, I want you to remember how it feels when I’m inside you.”

  He moved slowly, sinuously, driving her wild, nurturing her need until she was clinging, and trembling and urging him deeper.

  “I want you to remember,” he commanded, lowering his mouth to hers and teasing her with the whisper of his breath against her skin, the glide of his tongue across her parted lips. “Remember every time we’ve come together. Remember the heat, the hunger” —he thrust deep— “. . . and the love, Carmen. Remember. . .” He groaned and stroked them both to a stunning, explosive conclusion. “Remember most of all the love.”

  His whisper filtered through the haze, riding the currents of the whirlwind that slowly drifted out of their path . . . gone but, as he intended, never forgotten.

  CHARADE

  Cindy Gerard

  TEN

  Though Logan had been born to wealth, he hadn’t amassed greater riches by relying on what he insisted was an accident of birth. He worked hard. In business and in love, Carmen was soon to learn. He was tenacious, driven, determined. And he was as devoted to making her see the possibility of sharing their lives as she was to making him see the impossibility.

  A consummate businessman, he wasn’t above taking every advantage to arrive at the end he desired. Nothing was off limits—including Juan.

  Because of Logan’s influence, gaining access to Juan, always a frustration to Carmen before, suddenly ceased to be a problem. While it irritated her that his money and power could accomplish what she couldn’t, she embraced every opportunity to see Juan. She cherished the man and the boy as the gifts that they were.

  With Logan making the requests, day trips, afternoon visits, even an extra overnighter became the norm, not the exception. Logan appeared committed to sharing both her life and Juan’s—and this included demonstrating to her the advantages sharing with him could bring.

  During the next few weeks the three of them laughed and played and learned about love and patience and understanding. She became aware of a change in both Logan and Juan that was heartwarming. Juan, under Logan’s careful attention, gained more and more confidence in himself. And Logan seemed to her to come to terms with the child inside himself that she suspected he’d never been given the opportunity to know.

  She came to terms with a few things too. When Juan couldn’t be a part of their times together, Logan had a willing student in Carmen, and he taught her about the power of emotional love as a complement to their physical relationship. The love he made was exquisite. The pleasures he gave, selfless.

  Little by little he was making her a believer. Little by little she was beginning to accept the possibility that he really loved her. That a future for them together might actually be something worth contemplating. Exactly what part he intended for her to play in that future was still uncertain.

  He talked of want, of need, even of love, but never of marriage. She was glad he shied away from mentioning it.

  And then, too, looming over it all, was the unanswered question of whether Juan would play a part in any future they might have. The court date drew nearer. The prospect of the judge ruling in favor of returning Juan to his mother, who had completed extensive court-ordered sessions to learn parenting skills, hung like an ominous cloud above them.

  “Why the sad face?” Logan asked as he drove Carmen home from a quiet, candlelit dinner at his penthouse. It had been a dinner spiced with long sultry looks that had culminated in an exquisitely sensual session in his bed.

  “Sorry.” She forced a smile, not wanting to cast a shadow over the wonderful evening they’d shared. “I guess I’m sad the night has to end.”

  Juan’s future constantly rode on the edge of her thoughts. She didn’t want Logan to know the extent of her concern. He’d already done so much to make sure they had time together.

  “It didn’t have to end,” he reminded her softly. “You could have spent the night.”

  “Not and work tomorrow, I couldn’t.” Her voice dropped to a low intimate murmur. “I don’t seem to manage to get much sleep in your bed.”

  A knowing smile passed between them as he pulled up in front of her apartment. Their smiles combined longing and hunger and the wonder of the love they made every time they came together. The pleasures they shared were a phenomenon that bred a heady, breathless anticipation for the next time . . . and the next.

  “For the record,” he said, drawing her against him and touching his lips to her hair as they walked to her door, “if you didn’t have to work tomorrow and if I didn’t have to fly to New Orleans in the morning, I’d have found a way to keep you there.”

  Somewhere between the drive and the determination to call it an early night, she’d begun to miss him, even though he hadn’t gone yet.

  “You’re too used to getting your own way, Mr. Prince,” she replied primly. Leaning back against the door, she tempted him with a deliberately come-hither smile. “It doesn’t always have to be your bed, you know.”

  Bracing a palm on the door beside her head, he grinned down at her. “I thought you had concerns about an early morning.”

  “I do. That’s why I need a good night’s sleep.” She lowered her lashes and added in a voice full of innuendo and promise, “Something tells me if you come in for a little while, I’ll sleep like a baby.”

  His sexy grin deepened along with the color of his eyes. “You had in mind that I tuck you in?”

  His husky suggestion sent a shiver eddying through her body. She wrapped her fingers around his tie and tugged him closer. “Something like that.”

  “Lord, I’m going to miss you,” he whispered against her mouth as he folded her tightly against him.

  “Miss me tomorrow.” She nipped him lightly, her insides turning liquid at the exquisite crush of his body against hers. “Make love to me again.”

  On a deep, throaty groan, he drew her into a kiss that sparked a flame to life between them. Fumbling fingers and questing hands worked frantically at knots and buttons and, belatedly, at the key to her door.

  With her giggling and him growling and both of them lost in an insatiable need to claim each other, they tumbled inside her apartment, where Logan promptly stripped her blouse from one shoulder and pinned her hard against the door.

  She was working hurriedly at the buckle of his belt when a sudden feeling set all her senses humming. Abruptly stilling her hands, she looked over Logan’s shoulder and froze. The silhouette of a man whose features were hidden in the shadows of the dark apartment moved slowly toward them.

  She stiffened and whispered Logan’s name. Even in the heat of his passion he recognized the stark terror in her abruptly rigid stance and in the breathless quality of her voice.

  He pulled away and saw that her wide-eyed gaze was locked unflinchingly on something beyond his shoulder. He spun around, effectively shielding her with his body.

  “Take it easy, man,” Logan said calmly, pulling Carmen more securely behind him as he sized up the dark figure watching them. “Whatever you want— it’s yours. Just take it and go. No one needs to get hurt.”

  In silence, in anticipation, the man moved to the lamp by the sofa and flicked it on.

  “Rico,” Carmen cried when the light revealed his features. She slumped against the door in relief as the adrenaline flow slowed to a rate that made both breathing and talking possible. “My God, you scared me to death.”

  She straightened, intending to go to him, a slow smile forming. Logan’s hand on her arm stopped her. It was only then that she became aware of the lingering tension in Logan’s body and of the antagonistic looks passing between him and her brother.

  Animosity hummed like the threat of an explosion.

  “Rico,” she said, attempting to defuse the tension. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

  “Obviously.” Rico’s dark gaze swung from Logan’s to hers. Instead of warming as she’d expected when he looked at her, his anger intensified with accusation. “Just like I didn’t want to believe Dallas when he told me what might be going on here.”

  “You saw Johnny?”

  Rico’s gaze darted from her to Logan. “He called me. And he filled me in on the sweet deal your ‘friend’ here made with him. It seems he’s been busy making more deals with you.” His fists and his jaw worked in tandem. “I never thought I’d see the day when my sister would become a rich Anglo’s whore.”

  If he had struck her, he couldn’t have staggered her more. Reeling with the pain of his insult, she could only stare. Logan suffered no such problem.

  “You little punk,” Logan said, striding toward Rico with blood lust in his eyes.

  “Logan, no,” she cried, shocked into action by the rage in his voice. “He didn’t mean that. He doesn’t understand.”

  “I understand, all right,” Rico said acidly, his gaze sweeping in disgust over Carmen’s disheveled blouse and tangled hair. “And you’re only fooling yourself if you think you mean anything more to him than a piece of Spanish—”

  Logan’s fist cracked into Rico’s mouth before he could finish his crude and hurtful slur.

  Rico’s head snapped to the side as he fell back onto the sofa. Logan followed him down with all the rage of a bull scenting blood.

  “Logan. No!” Carmen screamed. Pleading with him to stop, she squeezed between Logan’s upraised fist and her brother. “Please,” she begged, when he froze to avoid hitting her. “Please. Don’t do this. Let me talk to him. I’ll make him understand.”

  Very slowly, his gaze never leaving Rico’s, Logan backed away. Squaring his shoulders, he watched Rico with a barely controlled outrage. “You owe your sister an apology.”

  Rico rose, wiping blood from his mouth. “I owe her nothing. And I owe you even less. Get out of my home. Now. And I don’t ever want you coming near my sister again.”

  Heartsick, Carmen ran a hand through her hair and stepped between them again. “Stop it! Both of you. This is ridiculous.”

  “One of us goes, Carmen,” Rico threatened with none of the rancor leaving his voice. “Remember your place . . . and remember your people before you decide which one walks out the door.”

  “Look,” she began, weary suddenly of this entire scene. “If you’ll cool that hot head of yours for a few minutes—”

  Drilling her with a look of anger and disgust, Rico grabbed his duffel bag and headed for the door. She cast Logan a pleading look.

  Swearing under his breath, he moved in front of the door, blocking Rico’s exit.

  “I need to talk to him.” She met his eyes beseechingly. “Please, Logan. It would be best if you left us alone. I’m sorry,” she added when his eyes narrowed. “Try to understand.”

  She could see that he was trying, but it was a deep reach and one he didn’t willingly make. Finally he capitulated. A major concession for a man used to getting his own way.

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” he said after a long, tense moment. He shot Rico a glare that should have made him shudder. “Lay one hand on her and you’ll answer to me.”

  Rico’s answering frown was both insolent and rebellious. “You would do well to remember your place here, too, Anglo. You don’t own me. And you may have paid for her, but you don’t own my sister either. Not anymore.”

  Carmen gasped, more angry now than hurt by her brother’s cutting accusations. “Logan. I’m sorry. But please, please go now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Planted like a tree in the doorway, Logan looked ready to explode again.

  “He won’t hurt me, for heaven’s sake,” she insisted, hating to push him out the door, but knowing she’d never get this resolved with the testosterone levels so high in both men. “It’s okay. Please, please go.”

  With a last, lingering look at Carmen, a last explicit but silent threat to Rico, he turned and stalked out.

  Closing the door behind him, Carmen sagged against it and breathed a sigh of relief. The relief, however, was short-lived when she saw the anger in her brother’s eyes.

  “Dammit, Rico.” She headed for the bathroom and her first-aid supplies. “And damn men in general. Why is it always my apartment that turns into a war zone?” She returned quickly to treat her brother’s battered mouth.

  He pulled away as if he couldn’t bear to have her touch him. “Why, Carmen? Why did you let a man like that use you?”

  She sighed deeply. It was going to be a long night.

  It was even longer than she’d anticipated. When the smoke cleared and neither had given any ground, she threw up her hands and went to bed—where Rico’s accusations kept her awake well into the night.

  He was wrong about Logan using her. He was wrong. In her heart, she knew that. But he was right about everything else. She had let her love for Logan blind her to the differences between them. His people would never accept her. Her people would never accept him.

  She’d lost sight of those simple truths. She had forgotten where she’d come from. She had forgotten where he had come from.

  Getting through the next day was pure torture. And as if Rico’s sullen contempt and her own resurrected doubts weren’t enough misery to contend with, there was the unexpected visitor who arrived shortly after she returned home from work the next afternoon.

  Even without his cool, polite introduction, she would have recognized Logan’s father anywhere. Preston Prince’s genes were strong. As she stared at him she knew she was seeing Logan thirty years in the future.

  “You’re very lovely, my dear,” an older, harder, but no less devastatingly attractive Prince observed when Carmen opened her door for him. “I can see why my son is so taken with you.”

  While his words were eloquent and flattering, the tone of his voice was redolent with contempt. “But let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” he suggested as he stepped into the apartment and gave a cursory and condescending look around him. “How much?”

  Though she returned the diamond-hard stare of blue eyes a colder shade of Logan’s, it was a moment before she found her voice.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled. Glacially cool. Regally authoritative. “How much, my dear? How much will it take to get you out of his life permanently.”

  She regarded him with a frosty contempt of her own. “That’s the second time in the past twelve hours that someone has accused me of being for sale. One accusation I can excuse due to immaturity. Yours, there is no excuse for.”

  Her pride surprised him. He looked at her again— with no more respect, but at least with a grudging admiration.

  “You’re very good,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated you. All right, let’s explore this thoroughly, then. The way I see it, you’ve already been compensated to some degree, so it’s only a question of arriving at your final price.”