The Naked Truth by Natasha Rostova Page A

When was the last time he’d thought about his experiences fifteen years ago? The answer was fifteen years ago. He’d effectively blocked that all from his mind and had no intentions of reliving it now.
    He stepped out of the shower, his gaze falling on the small array of bottles and creams that belonged to Callie. She appeared to have taken very few of her personal belongings with her. Logan uncapped a bottle of lotion and took a whiff. Vanilla and lemons. He remembered that Callie always smelled that way in the morning.
    With a mutter of frustration, he replaced the cap and went back into the bedroom. As he dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he realised that many of Callie’s things were still around: the silver vanity set he’d given her for an anniversary present, her jewellery box, the photos of her mother, even a ragged stuffed animal she’d kept for years.
    One month, Logan decided. If he didn’t hear from her within a month, then he’d throw away all this stuff. There was no sense in keeping any of it if Callie wasn’t here.
    Logan went downstairs, aware of a nagging feeling of regret inside. He tried to shove it away. He was just used to Callie being around, he told himself. He was accustomed to sitting with her at breakfast, to her presence when he got home from work, to watching her get ready for dinner parties and listening to her latest activities. It was no wonder the place seemed empty without her. After three years, the absence of another person became glaringly apparent.
    He went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink, then sat down at the kitchen table to read the evening newspaper. Before he finished even the first article, the doorbell rang.
    Gloria Harper stood on the doorstep, bearing a foil-wrapped package. She smiled and held it up for his inspection.
    ‘Hi, sugar! I brought you some fresh lasagne.’
    Logan eyed her sceptically. ‘You made lasagne?’
    Gloria giggled. ‘Don’t be silly, honey. My cook made it this afternoon. I just thought you might enjoy it. What with Callie gone and all, I suspect you aren’t doing much cooking. I’ll just pop this in the oven for you.’
    She brushed past him and marched into the kitchen as if she belonged there. With a mutter of irritation, Logan closed the door and followed her. He leaned against the kitchen doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest.
    ‘Make me a vodka martini, would you?’ Gloria flashed him a pert smile and began prancing around the kitchen as she checked the oven temperature, added Parmesan cheese to the lasagne and laid the table.
    For a moment, Logan watched her. She was wearing a tight, little suit jacket cut low enough to reveal a considerable amount of her fleshy cleavage and a skirt that showed off the full length of her rounded legs. Her blonde hair was perfectly teased, her face made up to perfection. She had a flagrant, overt sexuality that was the exact opposite of Callie’s unpretentious nature. Overt sexuality always had an effect on a man’s prick.
    ‘Gloria, I have court tomorrow,’ Logan said. ‘I have a lot of work to do this evening.’
    ‘Well, you can’t do it on an empty stomach, now, can you?’ Gloria reached out to pat his stomach as she sailed past him. Then she paused and lifted her eyebrows, letting her fingertips trail over his abdomen. ‘My goodness, Logan. You have quite a washboard stomach there, don’t you?’
    Logan moved away from her and opened the drinks cabinet. ‘One drink and then you’re leaving.’
    Gloria’s lower lip jutted outwards in a mild sulk. ‘Really, Logan. Here I bring you dinner and you don’t even invite me to stay?’
    Logan sighed. ‘I said I have work to do tonight.’
    ‘And plenty of time to do it in.’ Gloria looked into the bread bin and removed half a baguette.
    ‘So, how’s Ted, Gloria?’ Logan asked dryly. He handed her the martini and watched her slice the bread.
    She threw him another smile. ‘Fabulous, sugar, just fabulous. Come now, sit