Some Kind of Hero

But that was only the first part of his plan.

Four days after the charity ball, Riane hadn’t stopped thinking about Joel Logan. Even sitting across from Stuart at their usual table at the Casa, where they dined every Wednesday night, she couldn’t help but think about the other man.

It was because of Joel that she’d decided to shake up her relationship with Stuart a little. Maybe Stuart wasn’t passionate with her, she reasoned, because she didn’t inspire him to passion. So she’d bypassed the dark blue Chanel suit in favor of a scarlet silk A-line dress she’d bought several months earlier but hadn’t yet found the courage to wear. The dress had a plunging neckline and a back slit that cut more than halfway up her thighs. It was bold, vibrant, daring. Everything she wasn’t. Everything she wanted to be.

Stuart hadn’t even commented on the dress except to say, as he always did, “You look lovely, Riane.”

Not stunning.

Not sexy.

Lovely.

Several hours later, as Stuart pulled through the gates of the Quinlan estate, Riane found herself exhausted and frustrated. Dinner had been delicious, the service impeccable, their conversation monotonous.

It was all she could do not to scream.

When they arrived at the house, Stuart parked his Mercedes in front and came around to open her door. Always the gentleman, she thought, with an unfamiliar hint of resentment.

He walked with her up to the front porch, then touched his lips to hers. She willed herself to feel something, anything, in response to his kiss. But there was no tingle, no warmth, no desire. Nothing.

And then it was over.

“Good night, Riane.”

“Good night, Stuart.” She held back the sigh until he was in his car again and driving away.

Sophie was waiting for Riane when she stepped into the marble-tiled foyer.

“Good evening, Miss Quinlan.”

The housekeeper’s presence, as much as the formality she’d used, surprised Riane. “I told you not to wait up, Sophie.”

“You have company, miss.”

“Company?” Riane frowned.

“A gentleman.” Sophie’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

Riane’s frown deepened.

“He’s waiting in the den,” Sophie told her.

Riane didn’t want to deal with anyone else tonight. Her dinner with Stuart had been an exercise in monotony; his good-night kiss at the front door had left her uninspired. And she mentally damned Joel Logan for showing up at her charity ball and making her feel as though she was missing something.

All she wanted now was to slip into her favorite pair of satin pajamas and climb into bed. But she was a Quinlan, and the responsibilities she bore as such were equal to the rights and privileges. She squared her tired shoulders and turned toward the den.

The unnamed visitor was standing in front of the window, his back to the door. He didn’t turn around; he didn’t need to. Riane recognized him immediately. She wasn’t sure if it was the breadth of his shoulders, the tension in his posture, or maybe just his aura. But she knew it was Joel, and her breath caught in her throat, her heart thudded heavily against her ribs.

She chided herself for the instinctive reaction. She was twenty-four years old, not a law school freshman enamored of the editor of the Law Review. But the feelings he stirred in her weren’t so different from those she’d felt the first time she’d set eyes on Cameron Davis. And the first time he’d smiled at her, she’d been halfway in love.

The mental comparison terrified Riane. She didn’t want to have these feelings again. She didn’t want her emotions to be out of control. She didn’t want to be vulnerable.

That niggling fear bolstered her lagging resolve. She wasn’t twenty years old anymore—she was a woman. A strong, independent woman, and she could handle this man and her unexpected and inexplicable attraction to him.

“Mr. Logan,” she said, in what she hoped was a casually disinterested tone.

He turned slowly, and she realized then that he’d been standing at the window watching for her. That he’d seen her arrive. That, in all likelihood, he’d seen Stuart kiss her good-night.

“Good evening, Ms. Quinlan.”

She didn’t insist that he call her Riane this time. She’d already decided it would be best to keep this man at a distance—as far a distance as possible. He was too potentially dangerous to her peace of mind to allow him to encroach on her carefully ordered life.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded.

“Your housekeeper, Sophie, let me in.”

“I didn’t mean into the house—I meant through the security gates.”

“Sophie again,” he told her.

Riane frowned. “She’s not in the habit of opening the gates to strangers.”

“But I’m not exactly a stranger, am I?”

“You are to Sophie.”

“I told her that we’d met at the charity ball, and that I had something that belongs to you.”

“And do you?”

He gestured to the wrap draped carelessly over the back of her father’s chair. The velvet wrap that she’d belatedly realized she’d left in the ballroom.

“I didn’t realize you worked in lost and found.”

One side of his mouth kicked up in a half smile. “Apparently I do.”

“Well, thank you for returning it.”

“You’re welcome.”

But instead of moving toward the door, as she expected him to do, he leaned back against the corner of a bookcase and folded his arms over his chest. His pose was deliberately casual, his gaze leisurely as it skimmed over her. His self-confidence bordered on arrogance, the boldness of his stare almost insolent. It unnerved her, and aroused her.

“You look…” Joel paused, his deep blue eyes filled with heat as he sought the appropriate word to complete his thought, “…stunning.”

Stunning.

Riane felt her cheeks flush with guilty pleasure. Why did it matter what Joel Logan thought? Why did his reluctant compliment mean so much to her when Stuart’s words had only annoyed her?