Unguarded

“Well, I can understand how Mike would. Your kid’s twelve years old. But you’re nearly forty.”

“Hey, I’m the same age as you.”

“Exactly my point. You don’t see me going gaga over some comic-book character.”

“Graphic novel character, thank you very much.” He grinned.

“Oh, excuse me.”

“I don’t know if you should be excused. You managed to land this guy when I’d give my left arm to work with him.” Logan flipped open the second book, then the third, pausing when he got to the dedication Shawn had written for Rhiannon.

He stopped flipping pages and pinned her with a look that made her flush immediately. Gone was the aging fan boy and in his place was her too-shrewd best friend. “What’s going on, Rhiannon?”

“Nothing.”

“This doesn’t sound like nothing. ‘The party’s just the beginning?’ Is he bothering you?”

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“Nothing like what?” Logan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Has he come on to you?”

“Of course not.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Because you’re the most suspicious man I’ve ever met?”

“No, that’s not it. Maybe it’s because you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. You keep twirling your pencil in your hair—that’s a dead giveaway. You do it only when you’re nervous. Or lying.”

She slammed the pencil she was holding onto the desk, nearly yanking a chunk of her hair out in the process. “I am not lying. He didn’t do anything overt. I just got the impression that he was…interested. But I don’t know. My radar’s all screwed up when it comes to men. You know that—”

“Your radar is just fine,” Logan said firmly. “One minor mistake doesn’t mean you can’t trust your instincts.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it minor.”

“You know what I mean. None of that was your fault, Rhiannon.”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. This whole conversation is ridiculous. I mean, he’s obviously famous, and probably rich—”

“Definitely rich.”

She ignored him. “Plus he’s younger than I am, by at least five years.”

“More like ten or twelve—”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sorry.” He held up his hands, as if in surrender.

“Well, actually, maybe you are. Why would some twenty-some-year-old guy be interested in me?” Rhiannon breathed a sigh of relief, her stomach muscles un-knotting as she allowed herself to be convinced by her own words, despite the kiss. “He wouldn’t. So it’s no big deal, then. I was just reading the signals wrong.”

“Not to ruin the peace you seem to have found, but have you looked in a mirror lately?”

She stiffened, tried not to react to his words. She reminded herself that Logan meant them in a good way, but that didn’t seem to matter. Not when the answer was no—she hadn’t looked in a mirror. Not for years, or at least not for any longer than it took to apply a quick coat of lipstick and mascara before a party.

She was too afraid of what she might see.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Rhiannon.”

“Does your wife know you go around saying things like that to other women?” she asked, trying to divert his attention.

“Sandy agrees with me. She tells me regularly we should try to find someone to fix you up with.”

“Logan, no!”

“Relax, I’m not trying to get you to go out on a blind date. I wouldn’t do that. I just brought it up so you’d know that it’s not far-fetched that this guy could be interested in you.”

“I don’t want him to be interested in me.”

“Well, then, don’t worry about it.” Logan drained the last of his coffee, setting the cup on her desk like he always did. For two years now, he’d been making coffee and bringing her a cup, with the tacit understanding that she was in charge of cleanup. Since she made terrible coffee the situation worked perfectly for both of them. “If he makes a move on you, shoot him down. That should be enough to send him packing. And if it doesn’t, I’ll take over the account. It’d be no hardship for me to work with the genius who created Shadeslayer. As it is, I’m more than a little jealous that you get to.”

“Yeah, well, feel free to take over anytime.”

“Believe me, I would.” He headed for the door. “But somehow, I think Emerson would notice the last-minute substitution. My legs just aren’t nearly as good as yours.” He ducked out of the door just as the stress balls she kept on her desk went sailing across the room, smacking the door frame exactly where his head had been only moments before.

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR WHAT HAD TO BE the fifth time in as many minutes, Shawn stirred the pasta sauce he’d spent the better half of his afternoon making. Rhiannon was late. Not stand-him-up-late, or even kind-of-rude late—at least, not yet. But still, the seconds were crawling by, probably because he’d spent all day counting down to seven-thirty, only to have it come and go with no fanfare whatsoever.

Lifting the wooden spoon to his lips, Shawn tasted his maternal grandmother’s pasta sauce with a grin. Like always, it was delicious. He’d have to tell her so the next time they spoke.

He glanced at the clock. Seven forty-five. She’d probably just gotten hung up at the party—it was her job to take care of things, after all. Besides, normally he wouldn’t even notice if his date was late—he’d be too engrossed in working on the latest adventures of Shadeslayer. But he hadn’t been able to write a word or draw a picture all day—he’d been too busy thinking about Rhiannon.

It was ridiculous, really, how excited he was about this date. He’d dated a lot of women through the years—since Cynthia had died, he’d made it a point not to get serious about any of them—so he couldn’t figure out why he was getting so worked up this time. Over this woman.

Sure, she was beautiful, but he’d learned long ago that beauty was often only skin deep. Cynthia had been absolutely gorgeous, yet when they’d been engaged, she’d made his life a living hell for longer than he cared to remember.

No, it wasn’t Rhiannon’s looks he was responding to so strongly. Maybe it was her cautious sense of humor, the one she kept hidden but that came out at the best moments? Or the fact that she was extremely cautious, yet had chosen to come here anyway. She might look fragile, she might even be fragile, but she was braver than he’d first given her credit for. And that he admired the hell out of her for.

The ringing of his doorbell had him all but leaping over the counter. Telling himself to chill—or he really would scare her away—Shawn headed through the entryway to the front door. He pulled it open, and couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face.

She looked good—really good—all dressed up from the afternoon garden party in a long-sleeved wrap-dress of navy silk. Her briefcase was slung over her shoulder and though he caught tantalizing glimpses of cleavage as she stepped inside, it was her smile that really caught his attention. Wide and happy, it transformed her whole face from sedately beautiful to breathtaking. If he looked closely, he could even see that small, peekaboo dimple in her left cheek. It made her look like a teenager.

“I’m sorry I’m late. The party ran long, and then the caterers took forever to clean up. Which ended up being nice, actually, because it gave the client plenty of time to gush about how great the party was. Seven of the guests walked away with my business card, promising to call early next week.” She laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound he’d never heard from her before. Which was a shame—she had a great laugh, though it sounded a little rusty, and it bugged him that she usually held herself back so much.

“Believe me, I understand how work can wreak havoc on the best-laid plans.” He rested a light hand on her lower back as he ushered her through to the kitchen. “I have a tendency to get lost in my own world when I’m working.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I know all about you artistic types.”