Eclipse of the Heart - By Carly Carson Page 0,59

but everyone he interacted with in his daily life. He was courteous, and pleasant, but emotionally distant. The conviction tore at her – whether he knew it or not, he was suffering in his solitude.

The music reached a crescendo and died away. In the sudden silence, Logan swiveled his chair around and opened his eyes, focusing directly on her. His lips curved in that almost-smile he used when he knew a smile was called for, but he didn't have one handy. Her heart squeezed in pain.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"I didn’t know you enjoyed opera," she said.

"An occasional indulgence." He flicked his hand as if it were a negligible pastime. "Are you feeling better?"

Subject closed. She tightened her lips. She didn’t have any right to pry, so how would she ever know what haunted him?

He was an adult. He had a right to his secrets. But he could never have a healthy relationship with anyone as long as his emotional energy was being used to contain whatever trauma was in his past.

"Yes." She answered his question automatically. "I'm better. I worked here today. Mrs. MacDonald isn't back yet."

Logan nodded. "She had further to go."

Further to go? That was an odd thing to say.

Amanda removed her gloves, dropping them on a side table. "Where did she go?"

He paused, and then said, "To Illinois. To visit her husband's grave."

Amanda jumped, and gave a soft cry. She hadn't expected that. And she knew beyond a doubt there was more to the story. His eyes were so bleak, and his face strained.

Taking off her coat, she said, "You knew her husband?"

"Yes." Logan hunched over, placing his forearms on his thighs, almost as if he were in pain.

"You didn't go with her, did you?" Amanda knew she was prying, violating both common sense and good manners. At the same time, she sensed an opening. Logan seemed—different tonight, wounded almost, in a way she'd never seen before.

She should leave him alone, to endure whatever grief he was suffering. But something prodded her to get him to open up. A little voice whispered in her ear that she might never get another chance like this to find out what demon plagued him.

He closed his eyes as if wrestling with something, and then opened them and looked directly at her.

"No," he said. "I didn't go with her."

The words sat there starkly. No, he hadn't gone with Mrs. MacDonald. Amanda knew he wouldn't offer further explanation.

But she couldn't stop.

"Have you just returned from Paris?" she asked.

He hesitated, and then said, "I returned last night."

His sorrow, the tension surrounding him, his unexplained trip, were all related to Mrs. MacDonald and the death of her husband. Amanda knew it. "Then where did you go today, Logan?" she whispered.

Silence stretched between them while he stared at her, his eyes grim. "To hell," he said, in a low, almost inaudible voice.

A cord of emotion pulled her forward, an invisible tether that she could almost see. She crossed the threshhold. "What do you mean?"

His hands clenched on the smooth arms of his chair, as he straightened up and pressed against the seat back. "Nothing, Amanda. It was nothing."

She moved toward him, breaching the barrier of his personal space until she could smell him, hot and wintry and clean. "Tell me, Logan," she whispered. "Tell me why you look so haunted."

He shook his head. "It's nothing." His jaw tightened with stubbornness.

Amanda sank to her knees in front of him. She placed a hand on his knees, and they spread further apart. She wasn't sure which one of them had made that happen.

Logan's eyes widened as he looked down at her. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know." She gazed into his shadowed gray eyes. This man, who sat by himself, listening to beautiful music, when he could be with almost anyone in the entire city – this man was an enigma to her. But she knew one thing. She had to comfort him.

This was why he'd hired her.

This was why he'd invited her here, even though he didn't know it.

This was why she'd stayed in his home for four days.

So that she could be here when he needed her.

She leaned forward, pressing herself between his spread legs.

"Why are you always alone?" she asked. Although the words came out without conscious thought, the impact was immediate. As if a door had closed, quietly, but firmly, she saw the tenderness leave his eyes, to be replaced with a calm wariness.

"I like to be alone, Amanda." His tone