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  Logan’s hand clenched on his thigh. She glanced up at him, seeing the hardness in his eyes before he looked away. “She didn’t talk about him much,” he said brusquely. “She told me his name was Lucien Brassard and he was from Ontario—”

  “Really? Your father was Canadian?”

  Logan nodded curtly, staring down at the fire pit. “I was born in Toronto. That’s where my mother was going to school when she met my father. After she gave birth to me, she tried to get in touch with him one more time. She was hoping he’d take one look at me and do the right thing.” His lips twisted bitterly. “The son of a bitch wanted nothing to do with us. So she dropped out of school, went back home and got a job.”

  Meadow’s heart swelled with compassion as she pictured his young mother, discarded and left to fend for herself. She could only imagine how scared and desperate she must have felt. So desperate that she would abandon her own child five years later.

  “You said she didn’t have any family around,” Meadow recalled.

  “She didn’t. Her parents were divorced and she was estranged from her alcoholic father. Her mother had gone back to Argentina—”

  “Argentina?” Meadow interrupted in surprise. “Your maternal grandmother was from Argentina?”

  Logan nodded, glancing up from the leaping flames to meet her gaze. “My mom was half American and half Argentinian.”

  “Oh wow,” Meadow said with a fascinated smile. “So you’re a quarter Argentinian.”

  “Sí,” he murmured.

  “How interesting.” Her smile turned teasing. “Most Argentines are of European descent. So you’re mostly still a white boy.”

  He laughed. The sound warmed her insides and lightened the serious mood between them.

  She finished her drink and set the empty glass down, then settled back against the couch and grinned at Logan. “You know what we should do?”

  “No.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky register. “What should we do, Meadow?”

  She fought back a shiver at his use of her given name. She was pretty sure it was the first time he’d ever called her directly by it. It did crazy things to her pulse.

  “Well?” he prompted, waiting for her answer. “What should we do?”

  She licked her lips. “We should get DNA tests through one of those ancestry companies.”

  “Yeah? You want to?”

  “I do. I think it would be really cool to learn more about our ethnic origins. I’ve always wanted to trace my African roots, and I’d love to explore your Argentinian heritage.”

  Logan gave her a lazy smile. “I’m game. When do you wanna do it?”

  She made a face. “It’ll have to wait a while. My budget’s kinda tight right now, so I can’t afford any extra expenses. If I get the job at Gamenetic—”

  “I can pay for your DNA test.”

  “No way,” she said swiftly. “I can pay for my own.”

  “It’s not a big deal—”

  “It is to me.”

  “Not to me. I make a shit ton of money.” At her raised eyebrow, Logan shrugged. “Not bragging. Just stating a fact. Spending a hundred bucks on a DNA test isn’t gonna send me to the poorhouse.”

  “Hmm. Well, I appreciate your offer, but I’m good. Really.” Meadow rested her head against the back of the couch and gave him a soft smile. “I was so pleased to learn that you were adopted by Mr. Tavárez from the group home. How’s he doing?”

  Logan smiled. “He’s doing well. He works as a scout for the Washington Capitals.”

  “Really? I knew he was no longer with Family Services, but I didn’t know where he’d gone off to.”

  Their conversation was interrupted when the waitress brought them fresh drinks. She took her time collecting their empty glasses, leaning way over to let Logan get a good look down her blouse. She was so annoyingly obvious that Meadow couldn’t help rolling her eyes.

  Not that the waitress noticed. All her focus was on Logan.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” she purred and winked at him before sashaying off, hips swinging in her short skirt.

  Meadow didn’t realize she was scowling until she caught the amused look on Logan’s face.

  “Problem?” he drawled.

  Her scowl deepened. “I’ve never been a waitress, but I’m pretty sure flirting with a customer’s date is a terrible way to earn a tip.”

  Logan’s eyes gleamed. “Are we on a date, Jupiter?”

  “No, but she doesn’t know that.”

  “I’m sure she figured it out.”

  “How?”

  Logan gestured to the space between them. “People on dates don’t sit this far apart.”

  Meadow huffed. “I don’t have to be sitting on your lap for people to assume we’re on a date.”

  “True,” he agreed, eyes glinting mischievously. “But it might help.”

  A flush of heat climbed up her face. “I’m not sitting on your lap.”

  “Sure you don’t wanna try it?” He patted his muscular thigh. “I have a very nice lap.”

  It shocked her how badly she wanted to take him up on his invitation. But who could blame her? The man’s thighs were totally droolworthy. So was the rest of him.

  “C’mon,” he cajoled with that devilish grin. “You know you want to.”

  She managed a snort. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

  He laughed and drank from his glass, watching her over the rim with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

  She picked up her drink but didn’t take a sip. For all she knew the waitress might have spit in it out of spite. “Anyway, where were we? Oh, yeah, we were talking about Mr. Tavárez.”

  Logan nodded, lowering his glass to his knee.

  Meadow smiled. “I remember him being the only adult who could get through to you.”

  Logan’s answering smile was warm. “I wouldn’t have a hockey career if it weren’t for Santino. He’s the one who made me start playing in the first place. And he didn’t stop there. He took me to practices, attended my games, hired me a trainer, found sponsors to pay for my fees and hockey equipment. As if that weren’t enough, when I turned eleven, he adopted me and gave me a home when no one else would. As I got better at hockey, he invited scouts to my games. Before I knew it, I was getting calls and visits from agents and coaches all the way from Canada. When I turned sixteen, I got drafted into the Ontario Hockey League. Santino quit his job, packed up and moved to Canada just to look after me and keep me on the straight and narrow.”

  “Wow,” Meadow marveled, thoroughly amazed. “Sounds like he was there for you every step of the way.”

  “He was. He made a lot of personal sacrifices for me and pretty much saved my damn life. I owe him everything.”

  Meadow smiled softly, moved by his impassioned words. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  “A few hours ago.” Logan pulled a wry face. “He called me right after I got ejected from the game. Gave me a fucking earful.”

  Meadow laughed. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

  “Tell me about it.” Logan smiled a little, studying her with those almost-black eyes. “Why aren’t you on social media?”

  The question caught her off guard. “What?”

  “You’re not on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. You don’t even have a LinkedIn profile.”

  “How do you know?”

  Logan hesitated, tracing the rim of his glass with his thumb. “I tried to find you once.”

  She stared at him in shock. “You did?”

  He nodded.

  She felt her cheeks flush as she whispered, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you try to find me?”

  He stared straight into her eyes. “Because I never really forgot you.”

  Her heart swooped in her chest. He couldn’t have stunned her more if he’d hit her over the head with a sledgehammer.

  “Oh,” was all she could say.


  One corner of his mouth twitched. “I kept the pendant you gave me. That should tell you something.”

  “Um…” Still speechless.

  His eyes held hers, searching and intent. “So why aren’t you on social media?”

  She swallowed with difficulty. “I guess I don’t want to be found.”

  “By who?” he probed.

  “What?”

  “Who are you hiding from?”

  She lowered her eyes and whispered, “The past.”

  Logan was silent. She could feel him studying her. Speculating.

  How could she explain the missing fragments of her memory? How could she explain the sense of danger she’d always felt—a nameless certainty that something awful lurked in her past? How could she explain to him that she was hiding out of a sense of self-preservation that she didn’t fully understand?

  She couldn’t explain any of it without sounding bonkers.

  Fortunately Logan took pity on her and let her off the hook. “Social media’s overrated,” he declared. “You’re not missing anything.”

  She gave him a grateful smile.

  He winked at her. “Let’s get some dessert. They have a chocolate Kahlúa cake that’s pretty tasty.” His eyes twinkled. “Think you can handle a little liqueur, lightweight?”

  She laughed. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  He gave her a wicked grin. “If you sit on my lap and feed me, our waitress will definitely think we’re on a date.”

  Meadow snorted. “Not gonna happen.”

  He laughed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Chapter Five

  MEADOW

  * * *

  It was after midnight when they emerged from the skybar.

  Logan gave his ticket to the valet attendant. As they waited for the truck to be brought around, he stood in front of Meadow, gazing down at her from beneath his inky lashes. He was so darkly beautiful, like an angel in need of redemption.

  She found herself staring at the dimple in the center of his full bottom lip. She wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him.

  “Can I have a hug?” he murmured.

  Her pulse skittered wildly. “A hug?”

  His lips twitched at her panicked tone. “Just a hug.”

  “Um.” She hesitated. “Okay.”

  The moment those big muscly arms wrapped around her, her entire body felt as if it had been zapped with a thousand volts of electricity. The electricity sizzled through her veins, heated her bloodstream and pulsed deep in her core.

  When she shivered, Logan tightened his arms around her, pulling her even closer. She hugged him back, letting herself sink into the hard wall of his massive chest. He made a low sound, a contented rumble, and buried his face in her hair.

  Closing her eyes, she breathed in his amazing scent and soaked up his body heat. With his arms around her, holding her like this, she felt a rightness she couldn’t explain. Didn’t want to explain.

  She had no idea how long the hug lasted before she reluctantly dragged herself out of his arms and stepped back.

  They stared at each other, little sparks of electricity still leaping between them. The hug had felt somehow more intimate than a kiss.

  “So when are you leaving?” Logan murmured.

  “Sunday. I have a ten o’clock flight.”

  “Morning or night?”

  “Morning.”

  Disappointment flashed in his eyes. “We have an away game on Saturday. So I guess you’ll be gone when I get back on Sunday.”

  “I guess so.” Why did she feel bummed about that?

  Logan slid his hands into his pants pockets, gathering the edges of his suit jacket behind him. “Did the Gamenetic people tell you when they’d be making a decision?”

  “They said sometime next week.”

  Logan nodded. “You’ll get the job.”

  He sounded so confident she had to smile. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I know they’d be crazy not to hire you.”

  “You sure about that?” she retorted playfully. “I could be a horrible employee for all you know.”

  “Nah. I don’t believe that for a second.” He put on a serious face. “If they don’t give you the job, I’m driving over there and kicking their asses.”

  She laughed. “You’d better not!”

  When the valet pulled up with the truck, Logan opened the passenger door for Meadow and helped her up into the cab. Once again, the touch of his hand spread goose bumps across her skin.

  After tipping the valet, he slid behind the wheel. “Where to?”

  She gave him her aunt’s address and watched him plug it into his phone, which was connected to the illuminated GPS display on the dashboard.

  “I should have called her after the meet-and-greet to let her know I’d be home even later.”

  “Wanna call her now?”

  “Nah. I don’t want to wake her if she’s in bed.” Meadow nestled into the leather bench seat and let out a contented sigh. “That chocolate Kahlúa cake was sooo good.”

  “Told you.” Logan grinned as he pulled away from the curb. “So you’re a chocoholic, eh?”

  “I am,” she admitted with a laugh. “Chocolate is like crack to me.”

  Logan chuckled. “Same.”

  Meadow leaned her head back against the headrest, studying his profile as he drove. He had a tiny dark mole on his cheek that was sexy as hell. So was his buzz cut, which was beginning to grow out some.

  He glanced sideways at her. “What?”

  She smiled lazily. “I always remembered you with a wild mop of thick black hair. It was beautiful. Why’d you cut it off?”

  His expression grew shuttered. Guarded. “I got tired of asking women not to run their fingers through it.”

  She gave him a puzzled smile. “Why didn’t you want women running their fingers through your hair?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was brittle with raw pain. “My mother used to ruffle my hair all the time. I didn’t want to be reminded of her.”

  Meadow stared at him, her heart squeezing with sympathy. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  He gave a hard shrug. “It’s ancient history.”

  Meadow could see through his tough exterior to the wounded child inside. There was still so much she didn’t know about him. But she knew a damaged soul when she saw one, being one herself.

  She looked at his bruised left knuckles on the steering wheel and murmured, “I always thought you might become a boxer.”

  The ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “When I was growing up, my favorite boxer was Thiago Cervantes. He’s from Argentina and he was an orphan, so I related to him. I looked up to him so much that I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.” He draped his wrist over the arch of the steering wheel and flicked a glance at Meadow. “I remember how excited I was when I found out that he was coming to Vegas for a fight. My foster father at the time promised to take me to the fight if I kept my grades up and did my chores. I was super stoked. Going to the fight was all I could think about for weeks. I dreamed about meeting Thiago and shaking his hand. I thought maybe he’d even let me try on his boxing gloves. For the first time in ages, I had something to look forward to.”

  He paused, making a hard left turn. “The night of the fight, my foster father was passed out drunk on the couch. Turns out he’d never intended to take me to the boxing match. He only said he would to keep me in line, and he thought it was pretty hilarious that I’d gotten my hopes up.”

  “Oh no.” Meadow stared at him, her throat tightening with sympathy and anger. “I am so sorry, Logan. You must have been so hurt and disappointed.”

  He looked sardonic. “What can I say? Story of my life.”

  Her heart ached for him.

  As a heavy silence fell between them, she turned away to stare out her window, watching the city rush by.

  Her aunt lived in a pic
turesque suburb of Denver. Her cozy one-story bungalow was nestled on a quiet cul-de-sac.

  When they arrived at the house, Logan pulled into the driveway behind Aunt Rosalie’s car. A light was glowing in the living room window. Meadow wondered if her aunt was waiting up for her. She wouldn’t be surprised.

  Logan put the truck in park.

  Feeling suddenly shy, Meadow looked at his chiseled profile. It stood out sharply against the car window. “Well…thanks for the drinks and dessert. It was great catching up.”

  “I agree.” He picked up his phone from the console. “What’s your number?”

  “My number?”

  “Yeah. I wanna keep in touch with you.”

  Her heart did a silly little flip. “I might not be moving here—”

  “Doesn’t matter. This is the only way we can keep in touch since you’re not on social media.”

  When she still hesitated, he barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Damn. I’ve never had to work this hard to get a woman’s number.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” Meadow said dryly. “I’m sure women hand their numbers right over, along with their panties and self-respect.”

  “Pretty much.” He grinned when she rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Jupiter. Let me get those digits.”

  She huffed a sigh and rattled off her number, lips twitching as she warned, “Don’t start stalking me.”

  Logan chuckled. “I make no promises.” He programmed her number into his phone and then held it up to her face. “Smile.”

  “Wha—?”

  He snapped her picture before she could stop him.

  “Hey!” she protested. “What’d you do that for?”

  “I need a picture for your contact.”

  “Really?” she countered skeptically. “Do all your contacts have pictures?”

  “Nope.” He grinned unabashedly, put his phone down and cut the ignition. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “You don’t have to—”

  He was already hopping out of the truck and coming around to open her door.

  She quickly climbed down out of the cab before he could help her. She didn’t think she could handle any more contact with that big, hard body of his.