Page 66 of Wilde Secrets

Logan nodded and watched as she considered the idea.

“No... I uh…” she trailed off, staring dazedly out the windows that opened on the view of the water.

Had she never written anything else? Surely, she hadn’t only written songs for Isla?

“You only write for Isla?”

“Yes,” she said. She blinked and focused on him. “I only write for Isla.” She grimaced. “Except for when I was a teenager, then I wrote for me too.”

Logan smiled. “And if you could write for you now, what would you write?”

Her reply was instant. “Acoustic folk songs. The type with a bit of a country feel.” She smiled, and her face lit up at the idea.

“So why don’t you write that?”

“Because Isla doesn’t sing that stuff. It’s not part of her brand. If she?—”

“Not for her. For you.” Logan interrupted her.

“But I can’t. I need to write for Isla.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” Logan’s voice softened and he gave her a smile, easing the harsh criticism.

“Yeah, I see your point,” she said with a grimace. “Alright, I’ll write something for myself. But only as a way to get back into the flow of things. I still need to get this album out.”

It was a start, and that’s all Logan wanted. Harper had more talent in her little finger than most people did in their entire bodies, and he wanted her to see it for once.

Maybe if she managed to write something for herself she would?

Harper began packing away the cookies and brownies, her back turned to Logan. He watched as she moved around his kitchen with sure strides, opening cupboards and drawers to find what she was after.

There was something delightful about having her in his space. He walked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist.

She squeaked and stiffened and then settled back against his chest. “Logan.”

“Mmmm?” His lips trailed down from her ear over her neck, her skin shivering at the touch of his lips.

“I need to get these cookies put away,” she said, her voice breathless.

“They can wait.” He swung her up into his arms.

So could the timber he needed to finish the closet in the last bedroom upstairs. So could the world. As far as Logan West was concerned, the only thing he couldn’t pull away from right now was Harper Holden.

He carried her, bridal style, up the stairs and into what he’d begun to think of as their bedroom and soon neither Logan nor Harper were thinking about song writing, baked goods or renovations.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Harper

“Shit,” Harper swore, tossing the pen down onto her notebook. So far, the best place to work was Logan’s hidden spot that he had shown her the week before. But today had not been a good day.

“Five days and three songs.” She shook her head in disgust. At this rate, she’d barely have half an album written in time. And two of the three songs weren’t good. They were barely passable compared to her usual efforts. At least the ones she’d written for Isla.

The ones she’d written for herself? They felt right in a way she didn’t want to examine too closely. There was just something about hitting the exact melody and lyric combo that had her grinning from ear to ear.

What was wrong with her? She could write songs for herself—in fact she had more than enough for an album now—but for her sister? Nothing.

Harper scrubbed a hand over her face and sighed.

---