Page 37 of The Wanderer

Her mood soured, so she did what she always did when confronted with something unpleasant: drew her shoulders back, lifted her head, and focussed on the positive.

Starting with dinner tonight.

Logan had said he'd meet her at the Melba Room, the Langham's signature restaurant that boasted fabulous views of the city and equally fabulous food. She'd quelled her initial disappointment at not travelling to dinner together, ignoring the niggle at the back of her mind that insisted he had already started distancing himself.

Though it was more than a niggle, considering the way he’d snuck out of her place the other morning. Maybe he'd already started laying the groundwork then and that was the real reason he absconded before dawn?

Or maybe he knew she was a phoney?

She hated herself for not owning up that she'd been awake when he called his dad. She'd felt him watching her so had pretended to sleep, waiting for him to come to her, willing him to kiss her awake, sweep her into his arms, and carry her to the bedroom. But when she'd overheard his phone call, she'd realised he’d been checking up on her to ensure he wouldn’t be disturbed.

Considering what he’d told her it had been a momentous step to contact his dad and she hadn't wanted to get in the middle of that, so she'd feigned sleep after he hung up, waiting a few moments before entering the bedroom. He’d appeared startled to see her and in that split second between her opening the bedroom door and seeing his stricken expression, she’d known what he needed.

For someone to distract him, to take away the pain and focus on the good stuff, so she’d released her inner vamp and gone for it. The sex had been phenomenal but when she’d woken to his terse note, she’d cried a little.

The tears had been for him and the upcoming confrontation with his father and nothing at all to do with acknowledging she already cared too much for Logan and wished she could be there for him while he went through the impending emotional upheaval. Yeah, right.

As she entered the restaurant, she spied him at the cosy corner table for two that she'd requested when she made the booking. She wanted privacy tonight for what had to be said.

The hostess led her to the table and it gave her a few moments to study his handsome profile: strong jaw, long eyelashes, slight bump on the bridge of his nose that prevented him from being drop dead gorgeous. An accident with a hammer in his apprentice days, he'd explained when she'd asked about it. She'd traced that bump with her fingertip before kissing it, and yearned to explore every inch of him with her mouth again.

The first song she'd written the other night had been about him. Yearning. Because that's what he made her feel. He'd never know it, but she'd never felt like this about any guy and by pouring her soul into her music she had some chance of getting him out of her system when he left.

She may not be willing to fully trust him with her heart but she hoped that after tonight she would’ve taken the first monumental step to admitting that maybe, just maybe, she might be willing to try.

He chose that moment to glance up and their gazes locked, the instant sizzle of heat arcing between them, tugging them together like an invisible string.

Right then, she knew she had no chance in hell of a song helping her forget him.

Resisting the urge to smooth down her chartreuse silk halter dress, she fixed an upbeat smile on her face and strode towards him. His gaze started at her coral painted toenails and travelled upward in a slow, languorous sweep that made her skin prickle with heat.

He stood when she reached the table and kissed her cheek. "You look amazing."

"Thanks," she said, fighting a rising blush and losing as he pulled out her chair and waiting until she sat before sliding it in.

"Do you always dine in fancy places like this?" He gestured at the elaborate buffet featuring mouth-watering cuisines from around the world.

"Frequently. I like feeling special."

It sounded lame but she couldn't tell him the real reason: that cooking for one lost its appeal fast and coming here reminded her of visiting the Langham in London with her folks every birthday. They might've ignored her for most of the year but they always made a big fuss on her birthday and being here helped her focus on good memories rather than bad.

"A classy woman like you deserves that."

The compliment sounded offhand but it wasn't the first time he'd alluded to the supposed class divide between them. Considering the gift she intended on giving him, it needed to be addressed.

"Do you think there's some kind of socio-economic gap between us?"

His eyebrows shot up and he held up his hands. "Whoa. That's heavy talk on an empty stomach."

"You didn't answer my question."

"That's because it's irrelevant." He shrugged, his nonchalance forced considering the way his fingers gripped the water glass in his right hand. "We're having fun. So what if you're an English princess slumming it with an Aussie builder?"

She'd been right and it annoyed her that he thought he was her plaything when he was so much more. She hoped her gift would prove that.

"Technically you're a CEO, and I'm certainly not 'slumming' it."

He laughed at her overt snootiness, which completely undermined her refuting the princess tag. "Hey, it's okay. We've got a good thing going. Don't let the motivation get in the way of a good…fuck."

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