The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(78)

Shame shot heat through her. “Because there isn’t another reason he’d like to spend time with me?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—” He looked at Steffi and Ryan for help, but they wisely stayed mum.

“It kind of is what you’re saying by jumping to that conclusion, Ben. Thanks for your concern, but don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I have no more false illusions about Logan than Melanie does about you.”

Ben winced at the mention of his regular booty call. “Sorry. Big-brother mode is hard to turn off.”

“Forgiven.” She smiled and turned to Steffi. “We should use tonight to drum up business. Everyone who’s anyone is here.”

“On it.” Steffi saluted her with a smile.

Logan and Peyton returned, and he handed her a glass of white wine. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” She threw back a full gulp. She’d need several more to help her converse with Peyton for the next three hours. “Let’s check out the auction items before the bidding heats up.”

“Good idea.” He turned to the gang before leading her to the long tables flanking the main room. “We’ll see you later.”



“Thank you for rescuing me from Ben. I think he wanted to bite my head off,” Logan whispered in Claire’s ear, glad to be putting some distance between himself and Ben Lockwood. “Tell the truth, did you two ever have a thing?”

“No.” She batted at him. “I told you, we’re like siblings. We stuck together after you all took off.”

Logan cast a glance over his shoulder. Ben was no longer glaring at him. “Well, I’m glad to have you to myself for a few minutes. In fact, can I persuade you to duck into an alcove with me?” He nipped at her shoulder.

She smiled, narrowing her eyes, and squeezed his arm. “I always knew you’d make a perfect rogue earl.”

“Is that a yes?” He tugged at her hand.

“Be serious. We’re here to raise money, so let’s check out the items.”

Logan rarely bid on anything because of his family’s affiliation with the event and donors. That, plus the fact that his deep pockets would unfairly tip the scales against those with modest bank accounts. He walked beside Claire, occasionally nodding hello to neighbors and acquaintances while she scrutinized each bid sheet.

She paused by the pair of tickets to the final women’s round of the US Open. Logan noted the longing in her eyes.

“Do you go often?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I never go.”

“Why not?”

She placed her hands on her hips and tipped her head, her expression reading “Duh” loud and clear. “Until last month, I avoided the city.”

“Well, now that you’ve broken that rule, would you like these tickets, or is it too painful to watch what might have been?”

She tipped her head side to side and shrugged. “Ten years ago, when some of the women I’d played with started popping up, it hurt to think, ‘That could’ve been me.’ But it wasn’t meant to be. Now I watch tennis on TV all the time without getting jealous.” She sighed. “The last serious live competition I went to was my own. Anyway, look at the retail value on those tickets. Fifteen hundred dollars is a bit rich for my blood. I need rent money for retail space.”

She moved to the next article on the table, inspecting the items in the gift basket.

But Logan remained in front of the tickets. “If you had the money, would you go? Or would you find another excuse to avoid the crowds?”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I’d like to think I’d go, but honestly, I don’t know. Last time I ventured out on my own was a near disaster—literally and figuratively.”

Claire was nothing if not honest, with herself and everyone else. He had to admire that, even if he didn’t like the fact that she wouldn’t push herself a little harder. “Operative word being ‘near.’”

She turned away, dismissing his point, now staring at a gift basket from Connecticut Muffin. Smiling, she bent over and wrote out a bid. “You know I have to win this.”

He snickered as they continued meandering along the tables, looking at the various gifts—jewelry, first-edition signed books, vacation-home rentals, and other items including a 10 percent coupon on Lockwood & McKenna design services for any project over one thousand dollars. Claire also placed a minimum bid for an in-home spa basket and for a color and cut at a local salon.

“Logan!” Karina’s familiar voice boomed from behind them. Her tall, shapely frame carried her merlot-colored gown well, its lengthy slit showing off long, toned legs. “Oh, Logan. A sight for sore eyes.”

She offered a partial hug, careful to hold her martini away from his jacket, then set her hand on his shoulder while flipping her shiny black hair behind her shoulder. “Cute little shindig. Almost worth the drive up,” she teased. “Guess it’s the closest thing to a real party you’ve been to in months, right? But don’t worry. We’ve missed you almost as much as you’ve missed us.”

Ah, the glib repartee commonplace in his circles. Funny how hollow it sounded tonight.

“Karina, let me introduce you to Claire.” He reached for Claire, who’d fallen silent, but apparently not before she’d given Karina a once-over and drawn conclusions about her and Logan. Probably not wholly incorrect conclusions, either. “Claire, this is Karina, the journalist I’ve told you about who I work with on occasion.”