Michael sighed. “Chandler’s a bit of a romantic. She wouldn’t have agreed to this marriage if she didn’t think I was in love with her.”
“You’ll fall in love with her eventually, son. She’s a jewel. But for now a business marriage based on shared values and commitments is nothing to bark at. It’s as good as any nowadays.”
Michael muttered something under his breath which was overshadowed by her father’s chuckle. Chandler slowly backed away from the door and turned, stumbling down the hall in a daze. She couldn’t remember how she found her way home. She only remembered the feeling of her safe little world ripped to shreds, and the fear of knowing she’d never be the same person again.
Chandler slid beneath the cool sheets and shivered. When Michael knocked on the door that evening she knew what needed to be done. She remembered his cruelty when she’d given him back the ring; his reminder that her father controlled her life and could force her to marry him.
The stark truth of his words took her breath away. Michael was right. Her father’s money financed everything. Her job and future was his corporation. She had no other family, no friends, and no one she could depend on. If he ordered her to marry Michael, what could she do?
Chandler remembered her fear and hatred four years ago. The anger and loneliness at being trapped, forced to play out a role because her father controlled her destiny. Then she’d made the hardest decision of her life.
She left.
Chandler flicked out the light and forced back the memories. She’d made a decision to start a new life for herself, one which would never tie her down to another human being like her father. She refused to think of regrets this late in the game. The present seemed enough of a challenge.
Using one of her techniques to clear her mind, she focused on her breath and consciously let go of any thoughts. Soon, each part of her body relaxed and sank deeper into the pillowed mattress. As she drifted toward sleep she was grateful the last image flickering before her eyes was not Michael.
But she dreamed of a dark haired man whose touch set her blood on fire.
Logan sat in front of the fireplace and stared into the crackling flames as he thought about Chandler Santell. The haunting strains of Beethoven filled the air and soothed his nerves. His gaze took in the sparsely decorated room. He wondered why it felt so empty now that he had seen her apartment. He’d always liked his home, feeling it was suitable to his busy lifestyle. The wraparound sofa was a soft, buttery leather, which matched two easy chairs across from it. The contemporary teak furniture complemented the bare wood floors nicely without adding unnecessary clutter. There was a huge entertainment wall, a desk, and a teak and marble coffee table. The hand rubbed Tuscan beige walls were bare of paintings and pictures, offering no distractions to the elegant lines of the furniture.
Maybe the room needed some distractions. Some paintings. More plants. Chandler.
He sipped his cognac and tried to ignore the odd hunger clawing at his gut. When he stepped into Chandler’s apartment, he’d been struck by a sense of joyous clutter, almost like the woman herself. He pictured her floating through the rooms, tossing things over the furniture and floor, flipping through random books and magazines without ever worrying about replacing them in their proper location. He wondered if she’d bring the same wild abandon to the bedroom.
Now he knew.
Logan groaned and tried to force the erotic image from his mind. She’d gone up in flames in his arms and surrendered completely. He’d met many woman who experienced passion, but he always felt as if they played a game, and he was the prize. His money. His name. His reputation. Never had he felt the sheer honest response of a woman melting beneath him, needing him as much as he needed her.
Until tonight.
A flicker of unease shot through him. He’d been prepared for her to turn in disgust once she heard the circumstances surrounding his famous nickname. Instead, there'd been a light of understanding in those jade green eyes; a gentleness in her demeanor that touched him. Chandler Santell was a woman who walked in the sunlight, yet she willingly reached out for someone in the darkness and invited him into her world.
He wondered how it would feel to live in such a place.
Logan swirled the amber liquid around in his glass and let the lilting strains of music wash over him. Their encounter presented him with more questions than answers. It had taken every shred of his willpower not to pull her back in his arms during her tidy speech, and force her to acknowledge her feelings. He only stopped because of the sheer panic in those green eyes, and his determination to find out what was the cause. Or who.
A flare of jealousy gripped him, but Logan stamped down hard on the strange emotion. His yoga teacher may not have realized it, but she’d started the game the moment she melted so sweetly in his arms.
He intended to finish it.
His instincts told him he needed to move carefully. He suspected Richard Thorne could prove a problem. The man knew something about Chandler, and in order to play the game properly, Logan needed to find out the rules. First thing in the morning, he’d contact his friend to start some research.
Logan tapped his finger absently against the crystal rim and frowned at the strange restlessness flooding through him. Hell, he’d never bothered to question his life before. Crazy to start now. He pursued a strict path to achieve money and power, and never looked back. No regrets. After all, there had never been a choice.
Growing up in the slums, he watched his mother struggle to support them after his father left. He vowed one day he’d be successful. She regaled him with tales of a world that was limitless, urging him to make the most out of himself and break away from the vicious cycle of poverty. As his mother grew weaker, he’d been driven by a hunger that constantly ate at his gut, and spent each day working furiously. He was determined to make a home for them someplace safe, where guns and drugs and crime didn’t dominate the streets. He longed to see his mother happy again, instead of offering a tired smile when she came home from the restaurant where she worked, counting every penny from the tips she received.
He delivered newspapers and ran odd errands. He worked as a cashier and waited on tables. The neighborhood knew him as the boy who’d do any job as long as the pay was good. And, slowly, he began to build a reputation.
His big break came in high school, when he was recommended for a summer internship by one of his teachers. He took the train into the city every day and worked late into the night at a well known financial firm. By practically living at the office, he soaked up every bit of information. He learned he had a head for figures and a talent for getting what he wanted. Emotions had no place in the world of high finance, and Logan found himself easily slipping into a role that demanded nothing but the accomplishment of profit. At home, he was overcome by feelings of guilt and helplessness. When he stepped into the office, he felt nothing, and as time passed, he realized he had started earning a name for himself. Negotiating the acquisition of companies demanded a businesslike approach and certain ruthlessness, especially in hostile takeovers. Logan realized early on in the game it was easy to tap into those parts of himself. He remained cold when faced with pleas and objections from family companies not wanting to merge. He made a man sign on the dotted line with whatever ammunition he could get, and he learned how to play dirty.