“It is,” he agreed. “But you’ve convinced me that you and Stuart aren’t engaged.”
“Not officially.”
“Make up your mind, Riane.” He took a step closer, and she took an instinctive step back. It was only when she felt the heavy velvet curtains behind her that she realized she’d been retreating. She forced herself to stand her ground; she wouldn’t let him intimidate her.
“You can’t use your relationship as a shield when it suits your purpose,” Joel said, the low timbre of his voice sliding over her like a caress. “Are you engaged…or not?”
Her throat was dry, her heart pounding. Unconsciously she swept her tongue along her bottom lip to moisten it. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered.
“No,” she admitted breathlessly.
He leaned closer, and when he spoke again she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “Then I don’t have to worry about violating my personal code, do I?”
She didn’t know what to say, how to extricate herself from the situation. She only knew that it was what she had to do. What she really wanted to do, however, was to breach the few scant inches that separated them and touch her lips to his. She wanted to—
“I have cheesecake,” Sophie said, returning with two dessert plates in hand and effectively cutting off Riane’s building fantasy in midstride. “And fresh strawberry sauce.”
Joel stepped back, and Riane exhaled slowly. She should be relieved by Sophie’s interruption, but she was unaccountably disappointed instead.
“Mr. Logan was just saying that he has to get back to his hotel,” Riane said.
“I’m sure I have time for cheesecake,” Joel countered.
Riane glared at him; Joel grinned.
And in that moment, Riane knew that he knew exactly how his almost-kiss had affected her, how much she’d wanted to experience the touch of his mouth against hers.
“Good,” Sophie said, apparently oblivious to the under-currents passing between Riane and Joel. “I’ll bring in coffee for you to have with your dessert.”
Riane couldn’t sleep, and she knew without a doubt that Joel Logan was responsible for her sudden bout of insomnia. Just as she knew it had been a mistake to invite him to come for dinner—even if it had been his suggestion rather than her own. It had been an even bigger mistake to agree to see him tomorrow.
She had so many other things she should be doing—obligations and responsibilities. She didn’t have time to play tour guide for some bored, out-of-town P.I. And she wasn’t sure she had the willpower to continue to resist the desire inside her.
With a groan of frustration, Riane pushed back the covers and commenced pacing the length of her bedroom. Pacing helped her to think, to get her thoughts in line and clear out her brain. But she knew, on some basic level, that it wasn’t her brain that was the problem. It was her heart.
She groaned again, annoyed with herself for such fanciful notions. Whatever was wrong with her had more to do with her hormones than her heart. Hormones that had been stirred by Joel Logan’s mere proximity and that continued to churn restlessly.
She sank down on the edge of her four-poster bed. Why was she so attracted to a man who was so obviously wrong for her? Was there something innately masochistic about her that she was destined to fall for men who could only break her heart?
She pushed herself to her feet again and resumed pacing. She didn’t believe in destiny, and she was not going to fall for Joel Logan. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him—what living, breathing, heterosexual woman wouldn’t be? But feeling an attraction and acting upon it were completely different things. And Riane had no intention of acting upon this insane attraction.
Besides, she was involved with Stuart. Stuart was a good man—solid, stable, dependable. After her disastrous relationship with Cameron Davis, that was all she wanted.
Then why, a nagging voice from deep in her subconscious wondered, was she feeling so unsettled? And why was she pacing the floor of her bedroom at 3:00 a.m.?
Unable to answer either of these questions, Riane found herself reaching above her dressing table and plucking a toy from the shelf. Her action may have seemed random, but the doll she instinctively sought out was the one she’d called Eden for as long as she could remember. The one she’d always found gave her a measure of peace and comfort when nothing else could.
She couldn’t recall when she’d started her collection, and she had dolls from various countries around the world, but Eden had always been her favorite. She smiled wryly in the darkness, embarrassed to admit—even to herself—that she still found solace in the tattered old doll.
She turned back toward the bed as a soft knock sounded at the door, immediately contrite that her nocturnal wandering had awakened the housekeeper. “Come in, Sophie.”
The door pushed open, light spilling into Riane’s bedroom from the hallway. The housekeeper followed, an elegant gold-rimmed cup in her hand.
“You’re restless tonight,” Sophie commented, offering the drink.
Riane set Eden down on her pillow and cradled the delicate china between her palms. She raised the cup and inhaled the sweet scent of chocolate. Sophie had played a key role in Riane’s upbringing. She understood Riane’s moods and needs, and she knew there was nothing that worked better than chocolate when she was feeling unsettled.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Riane said. “Please, go back to bed.”
“You didn’t wake me,” Sophie told her, picking up the doll Riane had set aside. She smoothed back the tangled hair, straightened the faded skirt of her dress. Riane hid a smile behind the cup as she sipped. It was Sophie’s nature to want to fix and soothe, even when it wasn’t always possible.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sophie asked.
Riane wasn’t sure she could talk about feelings she didn’t understand. She was an intelligent, educated woman, yet the intensity of her reaction to Joel Logan continued to baffle her. “I don’t know.”
“It’s Mr. Logan,” Sophie guessed.
“It isn’t always about a man,” Riane chided, trying to deflect Sophie’s focus.
“It is when you’re pacing in your bedroom at 3:00 a.m.”
Riane frowned. Being up in the middle of the night wasn’t usual for her. “I’ve never been up pacing at this hour.”
Sophie’s smile was smug. “Exactly.”
“Sophie, you know that I’m going to marry Stuart.”
“I know that you think you’re going to marry Stuart.”
Riane took another sip of hot chocolate. “I thought you liked Stuart.”
“I like him well enough for a politician.”
“Sophie.” Such a statement was almost sacrilege in the Quinlan household, but Riane grinned.
“He’s not right for you,” Sophie insisted.
“He’d make a good husband,” Riane said loyally, wondering why she sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.
“You need someone who can put a sparkle in your eye, a flush in your cheek.”
“This is reality,” Riane said dryly. “Not a fairy tale.”
“The flush in your cheeks was real enough when Mr. Logan was here.”
And just the memory of the almost-kiss Sophie had interrupted caused Riane’s cheeks to flush with color again. She hid behind the heirloom cup, sipped the hot drink.
“I’ve seen the