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“It was you,” she said, feeling generous. And what harm could there be in the truth? Because he was good—very, very good—and he was making her feel the same hot bright need that she’d felt during the bachelor auction. And it’d been forever since she’d felt anything sexual, her hunger smashed beneath layers of motherhood and maternal devotion. “You have quite the skill set.”
“Years of practice, love.”
“I commend your dedication to your craft.”
His dark head inclined. “I tried to give you value for your twenty grand.”
She didn’t like that jab. But she could keep up. He and the rest of the haters had taught her how to wrap herself in a Teflon armor and just deflect, deflect, deflect. “Rest assured, you did. Now, if I knew then what I know now, I might have given you a few pointers, but I was so green. Talk about inexperienced. Talk about embarrassing. A twenty-four-year-old virgin.” She shuddered and gently pushed back a long tendril of hair that had fallen forward. “Thankfully you handled the old hymen like the champ you are.”
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
Everything felt different. The very air was charged, seething...pulsing...
She gave him an innocent look. “Did I say something wrong?”
Rowan drew off his sunglasses and leaned toward her. “Say that again.”
“The part about the hymen? Or the part where I wished I’d given you a few pointers?”
His green eyes were no longer cool. They burned and they were fixed intently on her, laser beams of loathing.
She’d finally gotten a rise out of him. She had to work very hard to hide her victorious smile. “But surely you knew I was a virgin,” she added gently. “The blood on white sheets...?”
“It wasn’t blood. It was spotting.”
She shrugged carelessly. “You probably assumed it was just from...vigorous...thrusting.”
His eyes glowed and his square jaw turned to granite. “You weren’t a virgin.”
“I was. And don’t you feel honored that I picked you to be my first?” She glanced down at her hands, checking her nails. She must have chipped one earlier, when she fainted and fell. She rubbed a finger across the jagged edge and continued conversationally. “You set the bar very high, you know. Not just for what happened in the bedroom, but after.”
He said nothing and so she looked up from her nails and stared into his eyes. “I can’t help but wonder, if I hadn’t climaxed during each of the...sessions...would you still have called me a whore?” She let the question float between them for a moment before adding, “Was it the fact that I enjoyed myself...that I took pleasure...that made me a whore? Because it was a very fast transition from virgin to whore—”
“Virgins don’t spend twenty grand to get laid,” he said curtly, cutting her short.
“No? Not even if they want to get laid by the best?”
* * *
He’d stopped smiling a long time ago. He had a reputation for being able to handle any situation but Logan was giving him a run for his money.
If it were any woman but Logan Copeland, he’d be impressed and maybe amused. Hell, he’d been amused at the start, intrigued by the way she’d thrown it down, and given it right back at him, but then it had all taken a rapid shift, right around the time she’d mentioned her virginity, and he didn’t know how to fight back.
She’d been a virgin?
He didn’t do virgins. He didn’t take a woman’s virginity. And yet he’d done her...quite thoroughly.
Dammit.
“You’re taking my words out of context,” he said tightly, trying to contain his frustration. “I didn’t call you a whore—”
“Oh, you did. You called me a Copeland whore.”
He winced inwardly, still able to hear the words ringing too loud in the kitchen of her Santa Monica bungalow. He could still see how she’d gone white and the way her blue eyes had revealed shock and then anguish.
She’d turned away and walked out, but he’d followed, hurling more insults, each a deliberate hit.
He despised the Copelands even before the father’s Ponzi scheme was exposed. The Copelands were one of the most entitled families in America. The daughters were fixtures on the social scene, ridiculously famous simply because they were wealthy and beautiful.
Rowan grew up poor and everything he had, he personally had worked for.
He had no time for spoiled rich girls.
How could shallow, entitled women like that respect themselves?
Worse, how could America adore them? How could America reward them by filling their tabloids with their pictures and antics? Who cared where they shopped or which designer they wore?
Who cared where they vacationed?
Who cared who they screwed?
He didn’t. Not until he’d realized he’d screwed one of them senseless.
But it hadn’t been a screw. That was the thing. It had been so much more.
Rowan’s jaw worked. His fingers curled into fists. “I regret those words,” he said stiffly. “I would take them back, if I could.”
“Is that your version of an apology?”
It had been, yes, but her mocking tone made it clear it wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t good enough.
Rowan wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused.
And then he questioned why he’d even be offended. He’d never cared before what a woman thought of him.
He’d be a fool to care what a Copeland thought of him.
“It is what it is,” he said, the helicopter dipping, dropping. They’d reached the Ontario airport. His private jet waited at the terminal.
Her head turned. She was looking down at the airport, too. “Why here? Do you have a place in Palm Springs?”
“If I did, we’d be flying into Palm Springs.”
“I find it hard to believe you have a place in Ontario.”
“I don’t.” He left it at that, and then they were touching down, lowering onto the tarmac.
Rowan popped the door open and stepped out. He reached for Logan but she drew back and climbed out without his assistance.
She started for the terminal but he caught her elbow and steered her in the other direction, away from the building and toward the sleek white-and-green pin-striped jet.
She froze when she realized what was happening. “No.”
He couldn’t do this again, not now. “We don’t have time. I refuse to refile the flight plan.”
“I’m not leaving Los Angeles. I can’t.”
“Don’t make me carry you.”
She broke free and ran back a step. “I’ll scream.”
He gestured to the empty tarmac. “And what good will that do you? Who will hear you? This is the executive terminal. The only people around are my people.”
She reached up to capture her hair in one hand, keeping it from blowing in her face. “You don’t understand. I can’t go. I can’t leave her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Jax.” Her voice broke. “I’ve never been away from her before, not overnight. I can’t leave her now.”
“Jax?” he repeated impatiently. “What is that? Your cat?”
“No. My baby. My daughter.”
“Your daughter?” he ground out.
She nodded, heart hammering. She felt sick to her stomach and so very scared. She’d forced herself to reach out to Rowan when she’d discovered she was pregnant, but he’d been even more hateful when she called him.
“How did you get my number?” he demanded.
“Drakon.”
“He shouldn’t have given it to you.”
“I told him it was important.”
He laughed—a cold, scornful sound that cut all the way to her soul.
“Babe, in case you didn’t get the message, it’s over. I’ve nothing more for you. Now, pull yourself together and get on with your life.”
And so she had.
She didn’t tell him about the baby. She didn’t tell him he was having a daughter, and whatever qualms she had about keeping the information to herself were eventually erased by the memory of his coldness and hatefulness.
Her father had broken her heart, shaming her with his greed and selfishness, but Rowan was a close second. He was despicable. Like her father, the worst of the worst.
Thank goodness he wasn’t in Jax’s life. Logan couldn’t even imagine the kind of father he’d be. Far better to raise Jax on her own than have Jax growing up with a father who couldn’t, wouldn’t, love her.
And now, facing Rowan on the tarmac, Logan knew she’d made the right decision. Rowan might be a military hero—deadly in battle, formidable in a combat zone—but he was insensitive to the point of abusive and she’d never allow him near her daughter.
“You’re a mother?” he said.
She heard the bewildered note in his voice and liked it. She’d shocked him. Good. “Yes.”
His brow furrowed. “Where is she now?”
“At home.” Logan glanced at her watch. “Her sitter will leave at five. I need to be back by then.”
“You won’t be. You’re not going back.”
“And what about Jax? We’ll just leave her in a crib until you decide you’ll return me?”
His jaw worked, the small muscle near his ear pulling tight. “Drakon never mentioned a baby.”
Her heart did a double beat and her stomach heaved. “They don’t know.”
“What?”
“No one knows.”
“How can that be?”
“It might surprise you, but we don’t do big family reunions anymore.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Who is her father?”
She laughed coolly. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, do you?”
He sighed. “What I meant is, can’t her father take her while you’re gone?”
“No.”
“I think you need to ask—”
“No.”
“Not a good relationship?”
She felt her lip curl. This would be funny if one enjoyed dark comedy. “An understatement if I ever heard one.”
“Can her sitter keep her?”
“No.” The very idea of anyone keeping Jax made Logan’s heart constrict. “I’ve never been away from her for a night. She’s a toddler...a baby...” Her voice faded and she dug her nails into her palms, waiting for Rowan to say something.
He didn’t. He stared at her hard.
She couldn’t read what he was thinking, but there was definitely something going on in that head, she could see it in his eyes, feel it in his tension. “I need to get home to her.” Her voice sounded rough. She battled to maintain control. “Especially if there are paparazzi at the house. I don’t want them doing anything—trying anything. I don’t want her scared.”
“Logan, I can’t let you anywhere near the house. I’m sorry.” He held up his hand when she started to protest. “I’ll get her. But you must promise to stay here. No taking off. No running away. No frantic phone calls to anyone. Stay put on my plane and wait.”
