One Sizzling Night(31)

The only thing pushing him toward the more favorable view was Sam’s conviction and her trust in Neil Patterson. Logan had a suspicion, though, that Sam would have gone to the mat for Kensey even if Neil hadn’t asked.

He’d also seen the devastation on Kensey’s face when she realized the only person in the world whom she had trusted completely had gone behind her back. Her shock and loss hit Logan in a surprisingly visceral way. He should have been pleased that she’d experienced what it was like to have her own trust thrown in her face. But he wasn’t. Which wasn’t to say he’d forgiven her, or had come to trust her. But he also knew Neil had been completely justified in his concern that Kensey could be in serious trouble.

She’d headed toward this night with blinders on. His chest hurt when he thought about her walking into Holstrom’s lair without a plan. Going in his car. Jesus.

Logan had to stop trying to make sense of this woman. He wanted her. He liked her. He’d hoped to see her once they returned to New York. But she’d made that impossible. Which was all the more reason for him to stay away from her.

He reached the end of the small wire, but he was reluctant to move his hand from where it brushed against her breast. Was he nuts?

Wrenching himself away, he retrieved the incredibly tiny earpiece. Sam had assured him that all he needed to do was place it behind her ear, in the fold. It wouldn’t be noticed there and it wouldn’t fall off.

“Hold still,” he said, moving Kensey’s hair behind her shoulder. Her scent was stronger there. It was the mix of her shampoo, the one that smelled like the ocean, along with the too-well remembered smell of her skin. He’d liked kissing her where her shoulder met her neck, and it had never failed to make her tremble.

His eyes opened, and he hadn’t remembered closing them. Before he could make a horrible mistake, he pressed the tiny device exactly where Sam had said to, then stepped back, turning quickly. Kensey didn’t need to see him in this state. It would be completely misleading.

He wished he could just walk away now. But none of these high-tech gadgets meant Kensey would be safe if things got ugly. She thought she could take care of herself and Logan understood why. In most scenarios she could probably kick ass. But between Holstrom’s ego and power, if things went sideways, Kensey didn’t stand a chance.

“Thank you.”

Turning only his head, he met her gaze. “For what?”

Kensey blinked at him. “Everything.”

“You should get dressed,” he said, turning away again. “What time will the car be here?”

“In thirty minutes.”

“Good. Don’t take too long. We’ll need to test the equipment before you leave. I’ll be—” He pointed his chin toward the door.

“Fine. I’ll let you know when I’m dressed.”

“It’ll take me about ten minutes to get everything working and to turn on the mic. After that, walk around, talk, open and close doors. Basically, don’t be afraid to make noises. I need to figure out the mic’s limits.”

“Okay.”

He left, the empty paper bag crushed in his fist.

He’d kill for a scotch. But he’d settle for a beer. What he grabbed from the fridge was a soda.

Once he was in his room he opened his laptop and, using Sam’s software, he studied the test pictures the green snake had taken. They were better than any HD shots he’d ever seen. When the images of Kensey came through, he saved four of them directly to his desktop. Three seconds later, he realized what he’d done and sighed. If he had half a brain left, he’d delete those pictures immediately. After tonight was over he needed to regroup, concentrate solely on his work. And forget Kensey.

From the checking he’d done, he was fairly sure the man she was trying to help was Douglas Foster. Logan couldn’t prove it, but he was reasonably certain Foster was Kensey’s father. The Swiss boarding school she’d told him about checked out, but when she hadn’t been in attendance, she’d remained in Europe the same time Foster was staying in his French villa. Her extensive knowledge of art was a big indicator, as well, and her age was right. Those were too many coincidences for his taste.

Then there was Neil Patterson. He’d stepped in as the perfect parental surrogate. Logan wondered how much he knew about Foster. Kensey herself had said the person she was trying to help wasn’t innocent.

What a damn mess. In every way possible.

And still Logan wanted to wrap her in his arms and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. Not forever. Just for a little while. Wanting her was purely physical. He’d get over it.

He checked his watch and wondered if she was about ready to test the mic. He put in his earpiece, figuring she’d let him know when it was time.

Tonight was going to be a bitch. Listening to her talking and laughing with Holstrom. If Logan was right about Foster—and he was 90 percent certain that he was onto something—it was no wonder Kensey felt the need to keep her guard up. He’d be a hypocrite to condemn her for that, given the years he’d told his family and friends so many lies of omission it had felt like treason.

Even so, he was unable to let go of his anger and his disappointment. Anger that was probably too large for the offense, but he couldn’t shake it. Disappointment not in her, but in the truth he’d finally seen. They had too much baggage to be together. Trust would be an issue. He still couldn’t erase her stricken look when she learned Neil had betrayed her confidence. And Patterson was her closest friend and ally. How would they get past that?

Logan cursed his own stupidity. They weren’t his problem. Kensey wasn’t his problem. Not after tonight. He had enough on his plate. More than enough. After all this shit was over he’d be back to looking for someone else with deep pockets and great connections.

“Logan? Can you hear me?” Her soft voice felt like a caress.

“Yes.”

“What would you like me to say?”

He closed his eyes.

Nothing. Not one damn thing.

It was too late.

* * *

KENSEY STEPPED OUT of the limo and smiled at the driver. Holstrom’s Tudor-style mansion reminded her of boarding school. The home was nearly as large, the surrounding landscape lush with beds of roses and trellises with green, climbing vines.

She walked through the stone courtyard to the front entryway, wondering where her host was. A beep too loud to be anything but an alarm sent her straight toward cardiac arrest.

“Don’t mind that.” Ian Holstrom appeared as if the beep had summoned him. “These days, you can’t be too careful.” He held out his hand. “All it means is that you don’t have any weapons and aren’t carrying any bugs.”

“Ah,” she said, letting him lead her into the house. “I imagine someone in your position needs to take extra measures.”

He smiled. “May I?”

“Oh.” Kensey realized he was asking for her purse. Her phone was inside so she hated handing it over to him but she had no choice.

She took in the expanse of what was basically the foyer. Except it was huge. Bigger than most Manhattan apartments. Everywhere she looked, there was something ostentatious. Gold leaf on the mirror? Check. Enormous crystal chandelier? Check. She watched as he laid her purse on an intricately carved antique console table.

Then she was pulled into an embrace that tested every ounce of discipline she had. It wasn’t bad enough that she hated being constrained by him, but when he pulled back only to kiss her, she put on the show of a lifetime.

It was so tempting to bite the tongue testing the seam of her lips. Thankfully, her moan of distress sounded more like something it wasn’t. Yes, Sam’s “accessories” were a godsend and could mean Kensey’s success, but knowing that Logan was listening to everything was pure torture.

How had she ever thought she could do this?

Holstrom finally let her go. “What can I get you to drink? I have an excellent wine cellar. Are you familiar with Harlan Estate?”

“Yes.” She didn’t have to fake her surprise. A bottle could go for five hundred dollars. “I certainly wouldn’t ask you to open something that expensive.”

He smiled as he leaned against her side. “But you wouldn’t turn it down if I brought one up, would you?”

She suppressed a shudder at the feel of his breath near her ear. “You know me too well.”

“Kindred spirits, eh?”

“Well, if my being dazzled by the fact that you’ve got a Chagall over your fireplace is any indication, then yes. May I get closer, or is the guard I saw outside going to run in and slap my wrist?”

“Bruno? He watches the gate. I have another man monitoring the camera feeds. That’s all I need. This place is locked tight.”

“Does that mean I’m free to...” She swept a longing glance at the Chagall, hoping Logan caught that bit about the camera feeds and stayed put.

“Of course.” Ian gestured her forward. “We’ll save the wine for dinner. How about a drink for now?”

“Yes, thanks. A vodka tonic, please? Not too strong. I don’t want to miss a thing in this amazing house...is that a Whistler?” She nodded to one of the paintings on the far wall. “Little Arthur?”