Emotions were destructive. He couldn’t let himself make that mistake again.

And now she was back in his life, and she wasn’t merely a beautiful but problematic woman, she was also the mother of his child.

And that changed everything. That changed him. It had to change him. There was no way he’d allow his child to be caught between two adults battling for control. Nor would he let Logan disappear with his daughter the way his mother, Maire, had disappeared with him after Devlin’s death.

So there would be a wedding, yes, but beyond that?

Rowan didn’t have all the answers yet. He wasn’t sure how he’d keep Logan and Jax in Ireland. He wasn’t sure how he’d ensure that they couldn’t disappear from his life. He only knew that it couldn’t happen. And it wouldn’t happen. He’d keep Logan close, he’d make her want to stay, and if he couldn’t do it through love, he’d do it through touch...sex. Love wasn’t the only way to bond with a woman. Touch and pleasure would melt her, weaken her, creating bonds that would be difficult, if not impossible, to break.

Was it fair? No. But life wasn’t fair. Life was about survival, and Rowan was an expert survivalist.

Fáilte abhaile mo bride, he repeated silently, glancing once more at Logan’s elegant profile, appreciating anew her stunning gold-and-honey beauty. Welcome home, my bride.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE LUXURIOUS INTERIOR of Castle Ros hid its technology well. At first glance one didn’t see the modern amenities, just the sumptuous appointments. The scattered rugs and plush carpets. The rich paneling and decoratively papered walls. The glow of lights in intricate fixtures. The oil portraits and massive landscapes in ornate gold frames. But then as Logan settled into her suite of rooms, a suite that adjoined Rowan’s, she noticed the electrical outlets and USB ports tucked into every surface and corner.

There was a remote on the bedside table that controlled the temperature, and the blackout blinds at the windows, and an enormous painting over the fireplace that turned into a flat-screen TV. A refrigerator, sink and marble-topped counter had been tucked into one of the adjoining closets. On the white marble counter stood an espresso machine, and next to that was a lacquered box lined with pods of coffee. Milks and snacks filled the refrigerator. A small wine rack was stocked with bottles of red and white wine.

Apparently Rowan—or his estate manager—had thought of everything. There was no reason Logan couldn’t be comfortable in the lavish suite.

Now Jax was another matter.

The castle wasn’t child-friendly. There wasn’t a small bed or even a chair suitable for a two-year-old anywhere, never mind the massive fireplaces—with fires—missing screens, and the steep stone staircases without a gate or barrier to slow a curious toddler’s exploration.

But before Logan could voice her concerns, Rowan was already aware of the problem. “I recognize that the house poses a danger for Jax. While it’s impossible to make the entire castle child-safe, I can certainly ensure that she has rooms—or an entire floor—that have been made secure, free of hazards, giving her plenty of space to play and move about.”

And then he was gone, and Logan was alone with Jax in her huge suite with the high ceilings, crackling fire and tall, narrow windows.

Logan frowned at the fire.