window.
"I've always liked roosters," the older woman answered. "They seem like cheerful creatures." She took a cantaloupe from the refrigerator and began slicing.
"Did you grow up on a farm?"
"Oh no, I'm a city girl, oddly enough. Or was." She paused in her slicing to remove the bagel from the toaster oven. "Of course, I'm still a city girl, I guess. Living in Manhattan." She laughed. "Never expected to end up here. Still not used to it."
"Funny. I think of Logan as having always lived here."
"Oh, no. New York City is something different for him." She finished buttering the bagel and set the plate down in front of Amanda. "Of course, different can be good." She arched a brow. "I'm talking about you, dear. ‘Cause Lord knows what we’ve had up until now hasn’t been good. So I’m all for change. That man deserves some happiness."
Amanda pushed her plate away. "Mrs. MacDonald," she whispered. "He’s not looking for happiness with me. I don’t know what you’re hoping for, but please don’t expect anything like that from—from me."
"Don't be put off by his formal manner, dearie." Mrs. MacDonald set the cantaloupe on the table. "His heart is as warm as a newborn babe's."
"He's anything but helpless and dependent."
"He was a happy child, and a successful young man. That person is still somewhere inside him."
"Guarded well." Amanda stood up and brought the cup over to the sink. "It was nice meeting you, but I’d better be on my way."
"See you soon, dearie."
She had a lot more confidence in that than Amanda did.
Chapter 18
Amanda dreaded going in to work. How would she be able to act in front of Logan as though nothing had happened? How would he treat her? She didn't know if it would be better if he showed some acknowledgement of the change in their relationship, or if he behaved as if nothing whatsoever had happened.
On the whole, she thought he'd carry on as if nothing had changed. If she'd experienced some feelings of tenderness toward him, that was her unlucky lot as a female. In fact, if attachment hormones flowed from women during orgasm, well, she must have been awash in them all night long.
But he certainly hadn't felt any emotional attachment.
In hindsight, she'd made a terrible mistake. She never should have had that second glass of wine, even a half-glass, because she had no tolerance for liquor. Although she hadn't been flat-out drunk, she'd certainly been tipsy. Too tipsy to maintain her self-control when Logan had finally made his move.
It would have taken the willpower of a hundred sober women to resist his hot kisses, his expert hands, his hard body.
But there was only one woman who'd reap the heartache.
Her.
She could already feel that heartache reaching out exploratory tendrils, looking for an opening. When Logan ignored her at the office, those tendrils would take root.
Fool, they would whisper. Sap. You knew he'd never have emotional feelings for a lover. He told you that right from the beginning. What made you think you could change a man like him?
Sighing, she grabbed the small white card resting in front of a vase of flowers that had been waiting on her desk when she arrived at the office. She wasn't surprised he'd send flowers, even as she knew the gesture was meaningless.
She exited her office as she slid the card out of the envelope.
"Enjoyed my dessert last night," she read. Her eyes widened even as she looked up and saw Logan striding down the hallway toward her. Her breath escaped her as he filled her vision with his clean, white-shirted presence.
He looked fresh and polished, not at all like the hard, heaving, mass of muscles who'd turned her world inside out last night.
"Don't send me flowers," she said. The message may have surprised her, but the gesture made her feel cheap. It was the kind of thing he'd do with a mistress.
His lips twitched. "Good morning to you. Feeling a bit tired?"
"If I'm tired, I know exactly who to blame."
"I can take it." A full smile emerged. "And more."
"I—I—" She didn't know what to say to that.
Logan stopped in front of her. "I thought all women liked flowers."
"I’m not all women," she snapped. I’m me, she wanted to shout. Me. Look at me for myself, not as one in a long parade of generic women. She bit down hard on the side of her mouth. There was no point in going there.
But she didn't mind putting him on the spot. "What kind