Logan’s tension was palpable, crowding into the room like another presence.

  “The Johnny I knew,” she began again, then hesitated when her heartbeat warned her against it. “The Johnny I knew . . . would never have stopped what he’d started this morning. Not for my sake.”

  The words were out. Like her heartbeat, the memories thrummed through her body, alive, electric. Was he, too, thinking of the way he’d coaxed her into bed last night, then gently held her? Was he thinking of the heat and sensations they’d shared in the dreamy haze of morning?

  She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Or about the rejection that had followed. As painful as it had been at the time, she suspected that he’d told her the truth when he’d said he wanted her, but that he hadn’t wanted to hurt her.

  She wanted him too. But there was more than desire involved here. She cared about him or she couldn’t have acted the way she had when he’d kissed her. Yes, she responded to him on a level as elemental as sexual attraction. But she hadn’t been ready to compromise herself merely for the sake of satisfying a demand as basic as lust.

  She’d reacted to so much more. He’d touched her and she’d been lost. Lost and at the same time found and recognized for what she was. A woman. A desirable woman. A woman making love with a man whose explicit sexuality exuded from every pore of his body, but whose ability to care and to take care was shielded behind a don’t-give-a-damn front. She’d reacted to that hidden side of him. The side she wanted to get to know better.

  “What made you stop, Johnny?” she asked softly, still uncertain if she regretted that he had. Uncertain if he regretted it too.

  He swallowed hard. “It just wasn’t a good idea,” he said finally, restating the explanation he’d given her this morning.

  She didn’t buy it. Not anymore. “Not a good idea for me or you?”

  His gaze shot to hers. A gaze full of heat and sparks and frustration.

  He didn’t answer her, but in his eyes, in the tense set of his jaw, he told her what she needed to know. He’d wanted her then. He wanted her now. As hard and uncompromising as he seemed at the moment, she felt his need. And his vulnerability. Neither was as minimal or as transient as he’d like everyone to believe.

  Her hand trembled as she reached out, touching her fingers to his hair. “The Johnny I thought I knew would have taken what he wanted, good idea or not. He’d have said the hell with the consequences. The hell with who got hurt.”

  He snagged her wrist, wrenching her hand away. “Carmen, you’re treading on dangerous ground.”

  His grip was hard and tight, his intensity bordering on violent, a self-directed violence bred of a dark, aching despair that touched her heart and spoke to her of secrets and desperation and desire.

  He wouldn’t hurt her. To show him she knew that, she pressed him. “Dangerous? Dangerous for me, Johnny?”

  The strong fingers wrapped around her wrist tightened then slowly let go. “You’re looking for something that’s not there,” he said. “Don’t bother. You’ll only be disappointed in what you find.”

  The conviction in his tone shook her, but it didn’t sway her. “Too late. I’ve already looked. And I’m not disappointed in what I see.”

  He made a sound that would have passed for a laugh if it hadn’t been woven so heavily with cynicism. “And what, exactly, is it that you think you see in me?”

  He sounded so angry . . . and so weary. She watched the tension mount on his face and wondered why she’d ever thought she’d known him. Three months wasn’t much time to take the measure of a man. And in those three months she’d seen him only fleetingly. He was either breezing in or breezing out, always on his way to bigger things, wilder women.

  She was beginning to wonder if she’d been so blinded by and wary of his bad-boy grin and his don’t-give-a-damn swagger, she hadn’t seen past the sex appeal to the caring man inside. Maybe her ego had been so bruised by his big-brother act and his roving eye that she missed the depth he’d hidden behind a macho front.

  She saw it now. She even thought she might understand it now. She studied his face, the strong bones and sculpted angles that made him such an attractive man. She studied the bruises and cuts that she knew still caused him pain. Yet she got the distinct impression that the prospect of Juan being returned to his mother’s care hurt him far more than any of his physical injuries.

  “I think I see a man who cares more about people than he wants to admit,” she said, suddenly sure of her answer.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t afford to care.”

  His conviction was so complete that she hurt for him. “And yet you do. You do care. You’re involved, yet for some reason you don’t want to be. Why is that, Johnny? Is the price really so high?”

  This brooding, troubled side of him puzzled her. It was a side she’d seen in the middle of the night when he was hurting. A side she wanted to reach out to now, to wrap herself around and shelter as she sheltered Juan.

  “Johnny—”

  He shot off the sofa.

  All restless energy and edgy frustration, he paced the length of the room, then whirled to face her. Hands on his hips, he squared off, his expression combative and dark.

  “You want to know who I am?” he demanded. “You want to know who Johnny Dallas really is? Well, you’re asking the wrong man.”

  The depth of his anger startled her. He was reacting with far more agitation than circumstances warranted. And though she didn’t like to admit it, he was beginning to scare her.

  Something wasn’t right here. For the first time it occurred to her that the blows he’d taken to his head could be responsible for his personality change.

  Head trauma. The words echoed in her mind like an indictment. She was a nurse. She should have seen the signs. She should have gotten him to a doctor.

  “Dallas, where the hell are you?” he muttered as he stalked across the room then leaned back against the door, looking haggard and caged—the strike of a match away from combustion.

  “Johnny . . . maybe . . .” She hesitated, rose, and went to him. “Maybe you should lie down for a while.”

  He sighed wearily and met her concerned gaze.

  “And maybe it’s time for the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  Reacting to her troubled frown, he grasped her arm and led her back to the sofa. “Carmen, sit down. We’ve got to talk.”

  At a loss as to how to read the situation, she did as he asked, wishing she were as calm as she wanted him to think she was. She wasn’t fooling either one of them. When a knock sounded at the door, she jumped as if she’d been shot.

  Whoever it was, she didn’t want to deal with him or her now. She wanted to concentrate on Johnny.

  But Johnny seemed to be expecting someone. He rose, gave her a long, searching look, then walked to the door. Pausing with his hand on the knob, he turned back to her. “I want you to know . . . no matter what you think of me when this is over . . . it was never my intent to hurt you.”

  A very real sense of foreboding swamped her. “Johnny, what’s going on?”

  A closed look came over his face. Then he turned and opened the door.

  “What the hell took you so long?” he muttered, then stood aside for the man who filled up the doorway—a man Carmen recognized on sight by the flash of his blue eyes and his don’t-give-a-damn grin.

  On unsteady legs, she rose from the sofa as Johnny Dallas sauntered into the room.

  “Hey, Carmen. How’s it going?”

  She felt the blood drain from her face as she stared from one ruggedly handsome face to the other. From one broad, flashing grin to one dark, sullen scowl.

  From one heartbreak to another.

  Johnny’s grin quickly changed to a look of discomfort when he saw her deathly pallor. “Oh, man. He didn’t tell you, did he? He called and said to come over. I swear, Carmen, I never would have come if I’d known he hadn’t told you first.”

  In stunned silence, she looked from Johnny Dallas to the man she’d wanted him to be.

  No. He hadn’t told her. He hadn’t told her, but she realized now that she should have known. Deep down she suspected she had known. She simply hadn’t wanted to admit it.

  She hadn’t wanted to know that the man who had held her in the night, the man who had made her feel like a woman, the man who had stolen her trust was also the man who had betrayed her.

  CHARADE

  Cindy Gerard

  SIX

  Logan gazed disinterestedly across the gleaming walnut surface of the boardroom table. The board members’ heated discussion droned on around him like the irritating wheeze of a poorly oiled machine.

  Tuning out the conversation, he rose, walked to the window, and stared at the Transco Tower. The obelisk-shaped structure rose seventy stories above the other corporate and residential buildings making up the Galleria Area. He shifted his gaze to the city streets below; they were bustling with activity.

  Heat shimmered on the pavement in waves as an arid August wind sent dust and debris swirling. In the midst of a crowd of people, he spotted a dark-haired woman holding the hand of a little dark-haired boy. He superimposed the image of another woman, another child.

  “Logan?”

  Ben’s voice broke through the void he’d tried to create, the one he’d blended into too often in the past two weeks to suit either Ben or the other board members.

  Ben’s footsteps were silent on the plush gray carpet. “Logan,” he said softly as he walked up behind him. “We need your input to tie up this offer.”

  Logan turned in stony silence. He recognized the look on Ben’s face. He’d seen it often lately. Behind a facade of unruffled control, Ben was frazzled down to his imported Italian loafers.

  “Just handle it,” Logan said quietly. He turned back to the window. “Then get them out of here.”

  Ben tensed, collected himself, and faced the group.

  “Gentlemen,” Logan heard him say with a cheerfulness that betrayed none of his underlying irritation, “the time seems to have gotten away from us. I know you’ll understand that we need to adjourn for today. Mr. Prince has prior commitments.”

  Peripherally aware of a round of grumbled protests, Logan listened with half an ear to the sounds of the room clearing. When the double brass doors shut with a muffled click behind the last board member, he turned to face Ben.

  Frustration spurred a surly impatience totally foreign to Ben’s nature. Logan felt a twinge of guilt over causing it. Ben Crenshaw was one of the few men Logan trusted implicitly. They’d met in college and had kept in touch from a distance until ten years ago when Logan had brought him into the company. He’d never regretted the decision.

  Ben’s diminutive stature and penchant toward plumpness fooled many into overlooking his business acumen, his Yankee perspective, and sharp mind. All those qualities along with innate integrity made him invaluable as a friend and a business adviser.

  He didn’t look too friendly at the moment, however. His warm brown eyes, usually dancing with good humor, were snapping with irritation.

  “Logan, this has got to stop. You’re losing their confidence. If it keeps up, you’ll also lose control.”

  Ben was right. Logan knew it. He just didn’t know how he felt about it. At the moment indifference was the best he could muster. It must have shown on his face.

  “Dammit, Logan. What’s wrong with you?”

  Logan thought of a pair of soft Spanish eyes. Eyes he’d last seen two weeks ago. Eyes that had gone from caring to closed in a heartbeat when the truth of his deception had come to light. They haunted him.

  He could still see Carmen’s face when he’d opened the door to her apartment and Dallas strolled in. She look stunned. Then wounded. Then betrayed.

  “I knew trading places with that Dallas character was a bad idea to begin with,” Ben mused aloud, dragging Logan’s thoughts back to the present. “You haven’t been the same since. What happened to you when you were gone, anyway?”

  Logan didn’t want to think about what had happened to him. He wanted even less to admit it.

  “Leave it alone, Ben,” he said, picking up a crystal paperweight and absently testing its volume in his palm.

  Ben drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and strove for patience. “It’s the woman, isn’t it?” he asked finally, as if a light had dawned.

  Logan glanced at him, eves narrowed.

  “All those favors you’ve been calling in trying to make sure she gets custody of that little deaf kid,” Ben continued, undaunted by the silent warning. “It wasn’t only because you wanted to repay her for taking care of you. You’ve got a thing for her.”

  Logan faced the window again. “I said leave it alone.”

  A lesser man would have backed down. Ben Crenshaw wasn’t a lesser man. “Like hell I will. If you think I’m going to stand around and watch while you throw away everything you’ve worked for because you’ve got the hots for some little tamale—”

  One look from Logan cut him off. One dangerous, you’re-treading-on-thin-ice look.

  Ben considered him with renewed interest. “So that’s the way the wind blows. This one’s different.”

  He walked across the room and settled a hip on the table. “Look, as your business associate, I’m telling you you’re committing corporate suicide. As your friend, I’m begging you to get yourself together. It’s been two weeks. If she means that much to you . . .” He paused and gave Logan a meaningful look that said he was trying to understand, “Then for God’s sake, do something about it. If you want her, go after her.”

  Logan shifted his shoulders. “That’s not a possibility.”

  “Why?” Ben shot back. “Because she’s Hispanic? Because she’s not on the preferred list of the country-club set? Because your old man would have a bloody stroke if you brought someone of her background home to meet the family?”

  Ben couldn’t have been further from the truth. For that reason, his accusations stung. Logan had thought Ben Crenshaw was the one person who knew him. But if that’s what Ben wanted to believe about him, let him. He hid his disappointment under a careless shrug.

  Ben laughed, but without humor. “Sell it to someone else. I’m not buying. You don’t give a damn about her pedigree. You care about her.”

  Logan faced his friend, feeling more relief than he should have. “Believe what you want, then.”

  “I’ll tell you what I believe,” Ben said, ignoring Logan’s frown. “I believe you’re in deep on this one and you don’t trust your feelings to steer you through it. I believe you finally found a woman who was able to crack that cynical reserve you’ve posted around yourself like no-trespassing signs. You’re running scared. You’ve finally found out you’re not immune to what the rest of the human race has been suffering for generations.”

  “Love has nothing to do with it,” Logan stated flatly.

  “Oh, were we talking about love?” Ben smiled slyly. “I’ll be damned. And here I thought we were talking about indecision.”

  Logan clenched his jaw.

  “I guess indecision isn’t your problem after all. You’ve shot right past it. You know what you want, Logan. And from the way you’ve been acting, I think you know what you need.”

  “What I don’t need is a budding Cupid in a pinstripe suit.”

  Ben laughed. “You need a kick in the ass, if you ask me.”

  Logan cocked a brow. “I don’t remember asking you.”

  Rising, Ben clasped his hand firmly on Logan’s shoulder. “Yeah, well, maybe you should have. The way I see it, it’s pig simple, friend. You want her? Go after her. Just do us both a favor and get to it before you take me and Prince Enterprises down with you.

  “Take the chance, man,” he added meaningfully. “If she’s got you tied up in knots this tight, my guess is she must be worth it.”

  Logan stared out the window long after Ben left. If only it was so simple. That Carmen was worth it wasn’t at issue. At issue was the fact that she deserved better than what he had to give her.

  Carmen was getting out of the shower when she heard the knock on her apartment door. Slipping quickly into a T-shirt then wriggling into a pair of old jeans, she poked her head into the hall and shouted in the general vicinity of the foyer. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

  Slinging her damp towel over her shoulders, she hurried down the hall on bare feet, snapping and zipping her jeans as she crossed the living room.

  Gathering her wet hair in one hand, she wrung at its dampness as she reached for the knob. A quick glance at the wall clock had her wondering why Barb, who’d said she’d stop by and give her a lift to work, was so early.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting,” she said, swinging open the door. “I just got out of the show—” The hand working through her hair stalled midsnag. Her explanation dangled, unfinished, when she saw not Barb Jennings’s pixie smile but Logan Prince’s electric-blue eyes and dark, sullen scowl. Like an automaton, she slowly lowered the towel.

  “You shouldn’t open your door like that.” His scowl never wavered. “You never know who’s going to be waiting on the other side.”

  Carmen willed her heartbeat to a steady rhythm. “You’re right,” she said, drawing a calming breath and tightening her grip on the doorknob. “And you make a good point to support that argument.”

  A ghost of a smile hovered around his mouth, telling her he figured he deserved the barb. Memories made her heart harden against the unexpected gladness she felt seeing him standing there.

  She supposed she should be more surprised to see him. Somehow, though, she’d known he would come. What she hadn’t known was how difficult it would be to face him.

  Silence, suspended like the time that had passed since he’d left her apartment two weeks before, swelled in the room.

  Seeing him again was a cruel reminder of what had happened between them. Both physically and emotionally, everything they’d shared had been predicated on a lie. She’d paid a high price, and was beginning to wonder if she’d ever stop paying.