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Hannah smiled at Rhia and then made a big show of cocking her head as though she was listening to something only she could hear.
She clapped her hands and laughed. Rhia frowned as though Hannah had lost the plot, and maybe she had. Logan sure as hell didn’t know what she was up to, but it seemed to be working at least. Rhia’s tense little shoulders relaxed slightly, and the death grip she had on Mr. Hoppy lessened somewhat.
“Yes, I think you might be right there. I just bet he does a grand job of looking after Rhia.” She continued to give a good impression on listening to someone. Rhia looked over to Logan, and he shrugged. A tiny smile formed on Rhia’s cupid mouth, and when Logan nodded, she held Mr. Hoppy up.
“Mr. Hoppy wants to know who you’re talking to.” Rhia’s voice came out low and thready, but at least she was talking.
Hannah sat down on the floor, giving him a tantalizing flash of her bare bottom in the process, and Logan swallowed a groan. He should rot in hell for noticing how satisfyingly red that skin still was, and her slight wince as her butt made contact with the luxury carpet shouldn’t please him. Not at all. Nor should it make his palm itch to repeat that experience, before he buried himself balls deep back inside of her. Further proof if ever he needed any that he was indeed a perverted bastard, not fit to be around a child, like Rhia’s grandparents claimed. His mood darkened further, and he pushed those thoughts away, and concentrated on the magic that was happening right in front of his eyes.
After everything she’d been through Rhia didn’t trust easily, yet Hannah coaxed a genuine smile from her when she started talking.
“Ah, well, nice to meet you, Mr. Hoppy, by the way.” She reached out to take one of the stuffed animal’s paws, and gave it a good shake. Rhia giggled, and the tense ball of emotion which churned in Logan’s gut slowly unraveled. “I had a rabbit just like you when I was growing up. He sits on my bed at home, and when I listen really hard, I can hear him. He was just telling me how brave your Mr. Hoppy is, and what a good job he does looking after you. He’s worried about you though, because it’s really late, and you should be in bed. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hoppy?”
Hannah smiled at the stuffed animal, and Rhia sighed.
“Don’t like sleeping.”
She hugged the rabbit closer, and her little bottom lip wobbled. Hannah looked toward Logan with a query in her face, and he slowly edged closer.
“She has bad dreams.”
Rhia shuddered and nodded.
“I see, well, we can’t have that. You know what always helps me to chase away the bad dreams?” Hannah asked as she got to her feet. She looked around the living area of the suite as though she was searching for something. Her gaze stopped at the writing bureau, and she walked across to pick up the pen and paper.
“I write the bad dreams down. I know you can’t write yet, but perhaps you can draw them. Once I’ve done that I rip the paper into lots of little pieces and flush it down the loo, and bingo. They’re gone, for a little while at least.”
She approached the coffee table Rhia was still sitting under and held out her free hand. Rhia looked from that hand to Logan and back again, and when he smiled at her, she took Hannah’s hand and finally came out from under that table.
“Thatt’a girl. Here, you sit right here on the couch and start drawing. I’m just gonna talk to your daddy out there. Is that okay?”
Hannah pointed to the veranda, which afforded breathtaking views over London at night, and then helped Rhia hop onto the settee. Seeing her tiny form on that huge, antique couch made him swallow. She shouldn’t be here, should never have had to deal with any of that, as she bowed her head and started scribbling on the notepaper.
“K, I draw.”
“That’s it, munchkin.” Not caring about his audience, he stepped over and dropped a kiss on her curls. Rhia dropped everything in her hands and wrapped her little arms around his neck in a stranglehold, which tore at his heartstrings. He didn’t deserve her love, but he would damn well make sure she was safe.
He hugged her back, murmuring nonsense, and when she let him go and picked up the paper and pen again, he joined Hannah on the balcony. Arms wrapped around herself to no doubt stay warm against the cool night air, she whirled around to face him, when he pulled the doors shut behind him.
She glanced toward the settee, where Rhia’s head remained bowed over the notepad, and then fixed her expressive eyes on him. Oh, yes, she was still utterly furious with him, and his cock jerked in his joggers. Now was so not the time for sex, but it seemed that particular part of his anatomy had a mind of its own around Hannah. It didn’t help his current state one iota that, with the light spilling out from the suite behind her, she might as well not have been wearing anything
“You better have a good explanation for all this, Logan. What in the hell is going on?”
****
Hannah’s hands cramped in the tight grip she had on his shirt in an effort to not take the man by his impossibly big shoulders and shake some sense into him. Not that it would have done any good, even if she’d managed to do that. Without her heels, she only reached mid-chest on him, and the coldness of the balcony was slowly seeping through the soles of her feet, adding to the shivers she didn’t seem to be able to shake off. Now that the immediate adrenaline rush was wearing off, she felt the cold even more out here, but she could have hardly had this discussion in front of his daughter, and she was so not going back in that bedroom.
Logan sighed, ran a hand though his messy hair, and stared out over the city view. Damn the man. Even having witnessed his temper, the violence he exhibited toward that admittedly vile man, she still wanted him. Great sex had to be addictive or something, but this right here, that little frightened girl, feverishly drawing on that couch, that was far more important than scratching any itch, and she wanted, needed answers.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Damn you, talk to me. Why is your daughter sitting on that couch, clearly terrified out of her wits, or is that none of my business, too?” That comment flung over his shoulder, when she’d first walked out into this mess, still stung, and Hannah hated the wobble in her voice.
“Rhia is not my daughter.” Logan didn’t look at her when he said that, his voice so deep and raw, laced with pain it took her breath away. His white-knuckled grip on
the railing and the way his whole body had tensed were other indications of his mental state, which made her want to reach out to him and offer comfort.
She resisted, however, taking refuge in the righteous anger that bubbled up inside her at his lying to her.
