The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,52
protective arm around her shoulders and hunched against the sleet, keeping as close to the buildings as possible, hedging toward any cover the various awnings might offer.
“I can try.” Miraculously, the concentration it took to jog with an aching hip and not trip over Rosie kept her mind from dreaming up scary scenarios until they arrived at his apartment again.
The doorman let them in, at which point Logan released her shoulders but then clasped her hand and strode toward the elevator.
She tried not to stumble or make a show of gaping at their hands but—Oh. My. God. He’d intertwined his fingers with hers . . . like a boyfriend. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the sun broke through the clouds behind her. She wiped the stupid grin off her face, but that smile simply burrowed deep inside her chest and hummed.
Logan didn’t seem to notice anything until the elevator doors closed. His brows quirked when he realized he had her hand in his, as if he was as surprised as she. He flashed a crooked grin and then, with his free hand, brushed back a bit of her wet bangs. “You look pretty with these wet tendrils and colorful scarf. Can I take some pictures before we go?”
“God no!” She laughed. The elevator doors opened, and she reluctantly withdrew her hand to shake out the wet scarf.
“Why not?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Please, Logan. I’m not photogenic at the best of times, let alone when I look like a drowned kitten.”
“You’re crazy. Your face has a fantastic shape and curves, and those eyes.” He opened the door to his unit, then stopped short and caught her by the arm. He tipped up her chin and stared at her, his voice huskier than normal. “There’s such depth and fire in your eyes, Claire. Let me capture that.”
She swallowed hard, wishing he wasn’t Peyton’s brother. That he wasn’t a documentary photographer who traveled the world on a whim. That he wouldn’t always be chasing his own demons to prove something to himself and the world.
Reluctantly, she shook her head and glanced at the darkened wall of windows now spattered with icy rain. “We don’t have time. The roads will get worse if this weather keeps up. Can you grab your tux and those rejects so we can go?”
Logan sighed. “You make me sad.”
She let that remark settle on her heart while he gathered his things. In the next room was evidence of the kind of woman who wouldn’t deny him much, unlike her, who couldn’t even allow him to take her picture. She didn’t like how that made her feel about herself, yet she couldn’t seem to change.
“I’m sorry . . .” Every muscle in her chest tensed with discomfort.
“About what?”
“Being me. Being”—she motioned around herself with her hands—“so tightly wound. I’m sure you could’ve made better use of your day without me.”
He set his hands on her shoulders. “Stop it. I’ve enjoyed our day. We’re good for each other, Claire. I pull you out of your shell, and you pull me out of mine.”
“You’re in a shell?”
He shrugged. “That of a cynic.”
“And how do I help?”
“By showing me that there is at least one genuinely selfless person in the world.”
Before she could react to the compliment, he opened his front door so they could leave.
She let that conversation sink in as they made their way back outside, slogging past two buildings and down the ramp to the bowels of Chelsea. While waiting for Logan’s car, Claire shivered, partly from wearing wet clothes in near-freezing temperatures, and partly because she’d give anything to teleport to Sanctuary Sound rather than have to drive through Manhattan and on I-95 in this storm.
Visions of eighteen-wheelers careering into them danced through her head.
“Uh-oh. You’re turning green again.” Logan looked around. “Should I get a bag in case you throw up?”
She blinked rapidly so he wouldn’t see her humiliated tears. She wanted to be that strong, brave woman he’d once believed her to be. “I’m good.”
He leaned close. “You don’t need to lie. I know we’re pushing your limits. Next time it will be easier.”
Next time. She didn’t know if there would be a next time, even though she did enjoy seeing his apartment and dining with him in an authentic French bistro without being bothered by everyone she knew. But her elevated heart rate couldn’t be healthy. As memorable as the highlights of this day had been, she couldn’t control her anxiety.