Some Kind of Hero

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he said at last.

She crossed over to the sideboard, removed the crystal stopper from the Waterford decanter and poured a generous amount of scotch into two highball glasses.

She passed one to him, careful that their fingers not brush in the transfer. She was determined to avoid any and all physical contact with him. She’d let him have his drink, find out what he wanted and send him on his way.

But Joel obviously had other plans, because he set his glass down on the shelf and brushed his fingers over her bare shoulder, down her arm, linking them loosely around her wrist. She felt the jolt of awareness reverberate through her system, sending tingles from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and all the erogenous zones in between. Still, she refused to let him see how he affected her, refused to let him know that her whole system went into overload when he touched her.

She looked at his hand on hers, raised a brow. Most of the men she knew would have taken the not-so-subtle hint and terminated the unwanted contact, but Joel either didn’t understand her signal or simply refused to comply with it. She suspected it was the latter.

“How long have you been engaged?” he asked.

The abruptness of the question, as much as the hint of annoyance in his tone, startled her. “The engagement isn’t official yet,” she told him, silently wondering if it ever would be.

“No wedding date set?”

“No.” She tugged out of his grasp and stepped away. She tipped her own glass to her lips and drank deeply, the scotch burning a fiery path down her throat that didn’t compare to the heat on her arm where he’d touched her.

He picked up his glass again and sipped. “Nice scotch.”

Riane downed the last of her drink, set the glass down with a snap. “Did you come her to discuss my wedding plans, my father’s scotch, or was there something else you wanted?”

“Have I said or done something to upset you, Ms. Quinlan?”

Yes, damn it. She wanted to scream the words at him, to let her anger and frustration spill over. She’d been perfectly happy until Joel Logan had come into her life. Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. But she’d been content, for the most part, because she hadn’t known what she was missing.

She still didn’t know, but every time he looked at her, every time he touched her, he made her wonder.

“You’re here,” she said simply.

“I was thinking if either one of us had a right to be annoyed,” he said casually, “it would be me.”

“Why?”

“Because a woman who’s engaged to be married shouldn’t look at another man the way you were looking at me Saturday night.”

She dropped her gaze and moved to refill her glass. “I’ll apologize for the fact that you obviously misunderstood my intentions.”

“I didn’t misunderstand anything,” Joel said coolly.

Riane lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug, raised the glass. Joel was at her side before it touched her lips, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that held her drink.

Her first thought was that he moved fast.

Her second, he was dangerous.

Her next, she wanted him.

It was irrational, it was insane, but in that instant, she knew it was true. It wasn’t the subtle tug of desire she’d felt when she’d danced with him at the ball. There was nothing subtle about this at all. It hit her with the force of a runaway freight train, uncontrollable, unstoppable, undeniable.

Chapter 3

Joel could read the emotions reflected in her eyes.

Surprise. Awareness. Desire.

She wanted him; he wanted her. The attraction between them was simple. Unfortunately, everything else about the situation was not.

Her lips curved slightly and he tightened his grip. He prided himself on having a great deal of control but right now, he was very close to losing it. That sexy little smile almost put him over the top.

Almost.

He dropped Riane’s wrist abruptly, unaccountably angry with her for the desire her mere presence stoked inside him. Angrier with himself for not being strong enough to resist. He knew he should back away. Better yet, he should leave—this house, this state. But he stayed where he was, mesmerized by her presence.

Her lips curved again. They were glossy and red, the same tempting shade as her figure-hugging dress and those killer shoes. At the charity ball she’d looked the part of a senator’s daughter. Elegant, sophisticated, untouchable. Tonight she didn’t look like anybody’s daughter. She was all hot, steamy sex appeal in a beckoning package. And if she’d been his unofficial fiancée—not that that would ever happen—there was no way in hell he’d have said good-night at the door. But the proper Stuart Etherington III had, and his kiss hadn’t even smudged Riane’s lipstick.

“It’s late, Mr. Logan, and I’m too tired for games. So why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me why you’re here?”

It was a valid question, but he’d forgotten all the reasons he’d contrived for his visit the minute he’d seen her get out of the car. Something about getting answers, he recalled vaguely. He’d decided that the senator’s absence didn’t have to be a complete roadblock to his investigation, it only required a slight detour. And spending some time with Riane might prove to be a very pleasurable side trip.

But face-to-face with her now, he felt a little uneasy about his agenda. He didn’t want to be with Riane under false pretenses; he genuinely wanted to be with her. He wanted to know the woman behind the facade. He wanted to take his time and explore the attraction between them.

But his wants and desires were irrelevant here. His sole purpose for being in West Virginia was to finish the job he’d been hired to do. It was best to remember that, and to remember that a woman like Riane Quinlan was out of his league.

“It looks like I’m going to be in town a while,” he said, “and I thought we could spend some time together while I’m here.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know anyone else.”

Her soft, smoky laugh went straight to his loins, making him again question the wisdom of the course he’d decided to pursue.

“That’s the most unique, if not the most appealing, invitation I’ve ever received,” she told him.

“Is that a yes?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Joel nodded, as if her response was what he’d expected. “Your fiancé probably wouldn’t approve.”

“Stuart’s not my fiancé,” Riane said again. “And he doesn’t dictate how I spend my time.”

“Then there’s no reason why you can’t show me around.”

“Except that I don’t want to. I’m a busy woman, Mr. Logan.”

“I’m sure you are,” Joel agreed easily. “I just thought you might enjoy the opportunity to show an outsider the beauty and bounty of your home state.”

“There are all kinds of tours you can take if you want to see the sights. You don’t need my help for that.”

“I was hoping for a more authentic experience.”

She smiled again. “Authentic?”

There was something in the mischievous curve of her lips that set off warning bells, something in the gleam of those dark brown eyes that hinted at a secret agenda. Maybe he should back off, reconsider his plan. But he’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

“I’d like to do whatever native West Virginians would do if they had a few days to play.”

She studied him for a long moment, considering. “What is it that you really want from me?”

Was she innately suspicious, or had his powers of persuasion been affected by his frustration with this assignment?

Determined to try harder, he smiled. “Just the pleasure of your company.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Riane. Intelligent, charming—when you want to be. Why do you find it so hard to believe that I want to spend time with you?”

“Most people who seek out my company are more interested in my political connections than sharing conversation,” she said candidly.

“Including your fiancé?”

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice, when she responded, could have frosted the windows. “My relationship with Stuart is none of your business.”

“Did I hit a nerve?”

“Not at all,” she denied in the same icy tone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he was. Although he was curious about her relationship with the other man, he was sorry he’d put that guarded look in her eye.

Riane shrugged stiffly.

“I’d appreciate it if you could find some time to show me the sights.”

“I’m going to be at the camp all day tomorrow.”

“What about Friday, then?”

She hesitated.

“Please.”

Sighed. “All right. Where are you staying?”

“At the Courtland Hotel, downtown.”

“I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock. Wear something comfortable, casual.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I’m going to show you some of West Virginia’s most impressive sights,” she promised.

But Joel didn’t wait until Friday to see her again.

He awoke in the morning determined to move on with his investigation. After all, that was his reason for being in West Virginia, and he was certain there must be other avenues to explore, other possibilities to examine.

According to the travel agent he’d consulted, the only cruise ship currently near Thailand had sailed out of Hong Kong nine days earlier and wouldn’t complete its journey until it reached Singapore in another six days. Which meant that he had six more days to wait—seven, if the senator and her husband stayed an extra night in Singapore. Surely, he could occupy himself for that amount of time.

Yet when he left the hotel late that morning, he found himself stopping at the front desk for directions to the Quinlan Camp—just in case. When he found himself following those directions, he told himself it was simple curiosity. When he pulled through the wrought iron gates, he figured she probably wasn’t even there.

There were several cars parked outside a long, low building built of hand-hewn logs. Colorful blooms spilled out of the large clay pots that flanked either side of the wooden stairs.

Joel parked his dusty Explorer beside a shiny red pickup truck and got out to stretch his legs. It was still early in the day, and the breeze was cool, the air crisp and clean and scented with the tangy perfume of cedar from the surrounding woods. Having grown up in the city, he wouldn’t consider himself a nature lover, but he couldn’t deny the appeal of this place.

He followed the flagstone path to the wide porch that spanned the length of the building. There were three doors at evenly spaced intervals, the one on the far end slightly ajar. He made his way in that direction, and his heart did a slow roll in his chest as he heard Riane’s voice coming from inside.

He paused with his hand against the heavy wood. The rational part of his brain reminded him that he shouldn’t be here. There was nothing to be gained by pursuing the attraction between them.

Okay, maybe he was hoping that she could give him some of the answers he needed. And he hadn’t completely disregarded the possibility that she was the answer he was seeking. But he wasn’t entirely comfortable using her in such a subversive manner. He was even less comfortable with the feelings that were churning inside him. Feelings that had nothing to do with his reasons for coming to West Virginia and everything to do with the woman who was Riane Quinlan.

There was a pause in the conversation, and he realized that she was on the phone. Then she laughed, and he felt that quick punch of arousal in response.

He should get back in his truck and go.

He pushed open the door.

Riane glanced up, her eyes widening. First with surprise, then pleasure—just a quick, almost imperceptible glimpse of it, immediately supplanted by annoyance. She frowned.

“Someone just came in. Can you call me back later, Adam?”

Adam? Just how many men was Riane juggling in her life? And why was he willing to stand in line to be yet one more?

She nodded and doodled on the legal pad on her desk as she finished up her call. He took a moment to scan the room—utilitarian furnishings, unadorned walls, a few potted plants. It was safer than looking at Riane, at the loose-flowing tresses that framed her delicate features, at the soft pink lips that curved slightly in response to something he couldn’t hear, at the close-fitting sweater that seemed to mold to her breasts—

He tore his gaze away.

“I’ll talk to you later, then,” she agreed.

She hung up the phone, then tilted her head to look up at him again.

“Mr. Logan.” It was more of a question than a greeting.

Without waiting for an invitation he knew wouldn’t be forthcoming, Joel folded his frame into one of the hard plastic chairs facing her. Riane picked up the mug of coffee on her desk, took a sip and grimaced.

“Do you want to take a break?” he asked. “We could go somewhere to get a hot cup of coffee.”

She set the mug back down. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

When she looked at him again, her deep brown eyes were wary.

“I didn’t plan on coming here today,” he admitted. “But I was lying alone in my bed last night, thinking about you. Then I woke up this morning thinking about you. And here I am.”

“I’m not going to be a distraction for you while you’re in town,” she said.

“I just want to spend some time with you.”

“I agreed to show you around tomorrow.”

“I was bored today.”

Riane sighed, shaking her head as she pushed her chair back from the desk and stood up. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll give you a tour of the camp.”

It wasn’t quite what he wanted from her, but he figured it was a start. So he walked around the grounds with her, listening as she explained the function of the camp, the program, her plans for expansion. She had such passion for the project, such focused enthusiasm. It was obvious the camp meant a lot to her, more than he’d realized during their brief discussion at the charity ball.

“This will be our fourth season,” Riane said proudly.

“And two of the counselors we’ve hired for this summer were campers here our first year.”

“You must be very proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

“For the most part,” she agreed. “But there are still too many kids turned away each year simply because of the limited size of our facility.”

“And that’s why you’re expanding?” he guessed.

“We have the space,” Riane told him. “And, thanks to increased contributions this year, we have the funds. By the start of next season, we’ll have six new cabins, each one designed to sleep five campers and a counselor.”

“How many buildings do you have now?”

“Twelve cabins, a mess hall, an arts and crafts center,” she gestured as she explained, “and the stables.”

“Stables?”

She nodded and set off toward a fenced paddock he’d passed on the drive in. “We have half a dozen horses the children are taught to care for and ride.”

“How many people work here?”

“In addition to the counselors, who are mostly volunteers, there’s a registered nurse and child psychologist on staff. Plus Jared, our horse trainer, year-round groundskeeper, camp supervisor and chef.”

“Chef?”

“Someone has to feed the kids.”

“How many kids?” Joel wondered aloud.

“We have sixty kids for each of four two-week sessions.”

“That’s a lot of macaroni and cheese.”

“Jared does better than that,” Riane assured him.

They stopped at the fence that bordered the paddock, leaning against the rails to watch the horses grazing.

“Have I bored you to death yet with all this stuff?”

Joel shook his head. “I think it’s a wonderful thing you’re doing.”

“Even with the expansion, it won’t be enough. We’re considering weekend programs in the spring and fall in addition to the summer camp. In the not-too-distant future, I’d like to open another site—maybe in Virginia or Pennsylvania. Somewhere close by, so I can stay involved with both.”

She sighed again, a heartfelt expression of frustration and futility. “Let’s talk about something else,” she suggested.

“Like what?”

“You.”

He studied the pair of sleek, chestnut horses grazing contentedly in the paddock. “I’m not very interesting.”

Riane clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a sound of disapproval. “That’s hardly the kind of statement to impress a woman,” she chided.

Joel couldn’t help but laugh. “What should I say?”

She shook her head. “I would have thought a guy like you would have figured that out by now.”

“And I would think that a woman like you wouldn’t be swayed by mere words.”

She smiled now, and the curve of those soft, tempting lips did strange things to his heart again.

“You’re right,” she admitted.

Unable to resist, he reached out and skimmed the pad of his finger over her bottom lip. He heard her breath catch, watched her lips part slightly in response to his touch. When he looked up at her again, her eyes were wide.

“What would sway you, Riane?”

She swallowed, her scrambled brain desperately searching for coherent words to respond to his question. She had to say something, anything, to get him to back off. Anything but the truth. Because the truth was that all it would take to sway her was his touch. He hadn’t even kissed her; he’d just brushed his finger over the curve of her lip and her insides had melted.

She’d experienced attraction before but never like this. The jolt of desire, so quick and unexpected, completely debilitated her.

He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek, threaded his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back. She forced herself to meet his gaze, then wished she hadn’t done so. Tightly restrained passion simmered in the depths of his blue eyes. A challenge. A promise.

“What would sway you?” he asked again.

She swept her tongue along her bottom lip, unconsciously following the same path as his fingertip.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be swayed at all,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth again. “Maybe it would have to be your decision.”

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly. Yes, it would be her decision. And yes, she wanted him.

“You’re a strong woman,” he continued, the low tone of his voice as hypnotic as the desire in his eyes. “Capable. Confident. Passionate.”

Her heart melted just a little. No one had ever called her passionate before. No one had ever made her feel so passionate.

“And complicated,” he finished, almost reluctantly, before combing his fingers through the ends of her hair and dropping his hand back to his side. “I don’t have time for complications.”

The desire he’d so effectively stirred up inside of her gave way to hurt and disappointment. She shoved those unwelcome emotions aside in favor of anger.

“What are you looking for, Logan, a quick tumble to satisfy your basic urges?”

“I wasn’t looking for someone like you,” he admitted.

“Then what are you doing here?”

He looked around, and seemed almost surprised by the setting. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

“I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“I know,” he admitted. “And I thought I could stay away. But I can’t. You’ve got me all tied up in knots and I don’t know what to do about it.”

As far as poetry went, it was somewhat lacking, and yet his words touched something inside her. Or maybe it wasn’t the words so much as the frustration evident in his voice. He didn’t want to want her, but he did. The realization soothed her bruised pride, empowered her fragile heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “Why don’t we just forget about that little outburst and start over?”

“Sure,” Riane agreed, wishing it would be half as easy to forget the unwelcome feelings he’d stirred inside her. She folded her arms against the wooden fence. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

Everything. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Joel Logan, especially what it was about him that had her so enthralled. Through her charity work and her parents’ political connections, she’d had occasion to dine with millionaires, dance with movie stars, discuss international relations with heads of state. She’d never been flustered by the mere presence of a man—until Joel had shown up at her ball.

But that was hardly an admission she was willing to make, so she opted to start with something more simple. “Where did you grow up?”

He seemed surprised by her question, almost relieved. “Philadelphia.”

“Is that where you live now?”

He shook his head. “No. I moved to Fairweather, Pennsylvania, a few years back.”

“Is that where your family is?”

“I don’t know that I have any family left.”

“What do you mean—you don’t know?”

“I haven’t seen my mother since I was six years old. She left me with my grandmother and took off for parts unknown. My grandmother died five years later.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling unaccountably saddened on his behalf. Her mother often teased that the kids who came to her camp were her surrogate siblings—the brothers and sisters she never had. Riane couldn’t deny that there was probably some truth to that. But if she felt there was something missing from her life, she also knew how fortunate she was to have always had the unquestioning love and support of her parents. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be well and truly alone.

“What about your father?” she asked.

“I have no idea who my father is.”

“You never knew him?”

“I don’t know if my mother knew him,” he said dryly.

Her brow furrowed; Joel laughed.

“Not everyone has had the life you’ve had,” he said.

Riane felt her back go up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were raised in a perfect little family, in a cozy mansion on the hill. Between your private school education and ballet lessons and horseback riding, you probably never imagined that there were kids who went to bed hungry at night—or kids who had no bed to go to.”

Riane’s eyes narrowed on him. “Do you think I don’t realize how lucky I’ve been? I may gave grown up in a home of wealth and privilege, and I’m grateful that I’ve never had to worry about my next meal, but I’m not oblivious to what goes on in the rest of the world.

“My parents were in the Foreign Service when I was born. We lived in various places in Central America, Eastern Europe, Africa. It was an incredible opportunity, and it was incredibly disheartening at times. I saw things most people don’t want to hear about.

“I went to visit orphanages with my mother—dirty, overcrowded, unsanitary buildings where most of the children weren’t just orphans but were sick or dying. There was one little girl—” Even after so many years, her throat tightened at the memory. “She was about three years old, but she weighed no more than fifteen pounds. She wasn’t just malnourished, she had AIDS. Both of her parents had died of AIDS a few months earlier, her older sister only days before I met her.

“There was something about her, this child more so than any other I’d seen, that tore at my heart. Maybe it was the way she so simply and quietly accepted her fate. Knowing it was only a matter of time before she died.

“For almost three weeks, I went to that orphanage every day—to see her, to read stories to her. She loved fairy tales. As she listened, she’d smile and get this faraway look in her eyes, as if she was imagining herself inside the story—a life so much better than the one she was living.

“So don’t you dare compare my life to yours and say I don’t understand. Why don’t you stop feeling sorry for yourself for five minutes and compare your life to hers?”

Riane was out of breath by the time she finished, and a little ashamed by her impassioned outburst. It wasn’t like her to go off so easily. She was used to people making judgments about her, treating her commitment to the underprivileged like a hobby or, worse, a stage she would outgrow.