LOGAN (The Innerworld Affairs Series, Book 5) by Marilyn Campbell Page A
Authors: Marilyn Campbell
Ads: Link
his. The moment her lips touched his, he knew , without a doubt, she could change his life—be the sweet woman who would lift his dark soul from the depths of hell and stand at his side through good times and bad.
Knowing they had no assurance of continued privacy, he controlled the desire to pull her down onto the cot and bury himself in her softness. Instead, he kept the kiss light and closed-mouth and his hands above her shoulders.
"I love you, Tarla," he whispered, and waited for her to return the sentiment. For several heartbeats, he was certain she wanted to do just that, then she sighed and slashed his exposed heart in two.
"Logan, I'm flattered. You're a wonderful man, and I'd be honored to have your love. But sometimes, a man thinks he feels something for a woman who's taken care of him when really it's only gratitude. A few weeks from now, after you've gone from here, you probably won't feel anything like you do right this minute."
"That's not true," he protested, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. "I'm not some kid fresh out of high school who can't tell the difference between love, lust and gratitude."
She touched her fingers to his lips. "I know you're not. But I've been through this before with patients and, if I believed everyone who said he loved me truly did, I'd be perpetually heartbroken. Please don't misunderstand, I really care about you, but I can't afford to love you."
She dipped her head to kiss him again but he turned his face from hers. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to feel, that to have it thrown back in his face hurt worse than any physical wound he'd ever received.
It made him remember the first and last time he'd been in love. He was fourteen and his raging hormones had clouded his mind enough to make him forget who he was and where he'd come from. When the prettiest girl in school was nice to him, he'd bragged that she was his girlfriend. As it turned out, she had only been treating him politely, as she had been taught by her upper-middle class parents. Behind his back, she told her friends what she really thought—that she'd rather kiss her dog than Dirty Logan McKay.
After that, he improved his personal grooming habits but remembered to keep his hormonal sights on girls who didn't mind being kissed by white trash.
The morning after Tarla's rejection, he wised up and started paying attention to what was going on around him. The pain in his leg was tolerable now without any narcotics, so his mind was no longer clouded by that either.
The first thing he noticed was the number of other patients in better and worse shape than he was and Tarla was sweet to every last one of them. He told himself that was her job, so it was stupid to be jealous. But when he saw her lean over one young soldier and brush his hair back from his forehead, he pounded the last nail into the lid of the coffin that usually housed his heart.
He had been a fool again.
At least she hadn't lied the night before. She just called it like she saw it... and she was probably right. He wasn't in love. He was grateful. His mind, temporarily confused by drugs and pain, had mistaken her simple kindness for what she was, rather than what she did for a living. He knew from personal experience how vastly different those two things could be.
By the time she came to visit him, he thought he had it all straightened out in his head, but he was still wrong. Just hearing her voice caused an ache inside him that no drug could fully numb. From that moment on, he did the only thing he knew to protect himself. He pushed her away. When ignoring her didn't work, he resorted to crudity to stop her from being so nice. Yet she kept coming back just as sweet and solid as hard candy, until he thought he'd go crazy before being sent back to his battalion.
And when discharge day finally came, he was sure he'd be able to forget her. As it turned out however, he had needed the fantasy far too often in the gruesome months
Knowing they had no assurance of continued privacy, he controlled the desire to pull her down onto the cot and bury himself in her softness. Instead, he kept the kiss light and closed-mouth and his hands above her shoulders.
"I love you, Tarla," he whispered, and waited for her to return the sentiment. For several heartbeats, he was certain she wanted to do just that, then she sighed and slashed his exposed heart in two.
"Logan, I'm flattered. You're a wonderful man, and I'd be honored to have your love. But sometimes, a man thinks he feels something for a woman who's taken care of him when really it's only gratitude. A few weeks from now, after you've gone from here, you probably won't feel anything like you do right this minute."
"That's not true," he protested, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. "I'm not some kid fresh out of high school who can't tell the difference between love, lust and gratitude."
She touched her fingers to his lips. "I know you're not. But I've been through this before with patients and, if I believed everyone who said he loved me truly did, I'd be perpetually heartbroken. Please don't misunderstand, I really care about you, but I can't afford to love you."
She dipped her head to kiss him again but he turned his face from hers. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to feel, that to have it thrown back in his face hurt worse than any physical wound he'd ever received.
It made him remember the first and last time he'd been in love. He was fourteen and his raging hormones had clouded his mind enough to make him forget who he was and where he'd come from. When the prettiest girl in school was nice to him, he'd bragged that she was his girlfriend. As it turned out, she had only been treating him politely, as she had been taught by her upper-middle class parents. Behind his back, she told her friends what she really thought—that she'd rather kiss her dog than Dirty Logan McKay.
After that, he improved his personal grooming habits but remembered to keep his hormonal sights on girls who didn't mind being kissed by white trash.
The morning after Tarla's rejection, he wised up and started paying attention to what was going on around him. The pain in his leg was tolerable now without any narcotics, so his mind was no longer clouded by that either.
The first thing he noticed was the number of other patients in better and worse shape than he was and Tarla was sweet to every last one of them. He told himself that was her job, so it was stupid to be jealous. But when he saw her lean over one young soldier and brush his hair back from his forehead, he pounded the last nail into the lid of the coffin that usually housed his heart.
He had been a fool again.
At least she hadn't lied the night before. She just called it like she saw it... and she was probably right. He wasn't in love. He was grateful. His mind, temporarily confused by drugs and pain, had mistaken her simple kindness for what she was, rather than what she did for a living. He knew from personal experience how vastly different those two things could be.
By the time she came to visit him, he thought he had it all straightened out in his head, but he was still wrong. Just hearing her voice caused an ache inside him that no drug could fully numb. From that moment on, he did the only thing he knew to protect himself. He pushed her away. When ignoring her didn't work, he resorted to crudity to stop her from being so nice. Yet she kept coming back just as sweet and solid as hard candy, until he thought he'd go crazy before being sent back to his battalion.
And when discharge day finally came, he was sure he'd be able to forget her. As it turned out however, he had needed the fantasy far too often in the gruesome months
Similar Books
