At least this one had a grate and screen, but the fire worried her.

But then, everything worried her. She’d lost control. Her carefully constructed world was in pieces, shattered by the appearance of Rowan Argyros.

He wasn’t supposed to be in her life. She didn’t want him in her life. She didn’t want him near Jax. And yet here they all were, locked down in his high-tech, high-security castle.

She needed to get away. She needed to get Jax away from here as soon as possible. Logan didn’t know how. She just knew it had to be done, and quickly. And while time was of the essence, strategy would be important as it wasn’t going to be easy leaving Rowan’s fortified home, nor would it be simple sneaking a two-year-old away.

After a bath and a light meal, Logan and Jax napped and then before Logan was ready to be awake, Jax was up and eager to play.

Logan’s head throbbed. She needed sleep. Her body seemed to think it was the middle of the night—and back in California it was—but Jax was adjusting to the time change far better and Logan allowed the busy toddler to take all the shimmering silk pillows to the huge empty walk-in closet to play.

Logan made coffee and sat down with a notebook to figure out the next steps to take, and she was still sitting with the notebook—pages perfectly blank—when a knock sounded at the door.

Opening the bedroom door, she discovered a fresh-faced young woman in the hall.

“I’m Orla.” The young woman introduced herself with a firm handshake and quick smile. “I’ve been a nanny for five years, but I’m not just a child minder, I’m a certified teacher, specializing in early education. So where is my lovely girl? I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

Logan drew a short, rough breath, as Orla stepped past, entering the bedroom suite. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly. “There must be a mistake. I haven’t hired anyone.”

“Your husband—”

“I don’t have a husband.”

Orla turned around and faced Logan. “Mr. Argyros—”

“Not my husband.”

“Your fiancé—”

“He’s not my fiancé.”

The young woman didn’t blink or flush or stammer. Her steady blue gaze met Logan’s and held. “Your daughter’s father.”

Logan bit down on her tongue. She had no reply for that.

“He hired my services,” Orla continued in the same calm, unflappable tone, her dark hair drawn back in a sleek, professional ponytail. Orla appeared to be a good five to ten years younger than Logan, and yet she was managing to making Logan feel as if she was a difficult child. “He said there’d been a recent death in the family,” she added, “and you had matters to attend to. I’m here to help make everything easier for you.”

Again, Logan couldn’t think of an appropriate response. Somehow Rowan was getting the best of her, and he wasn’t even here. “But I’m not working. I don’t need any help with my daughter.” She tensed as she heard her voice rise. She was sounding plaintive and that wouldn’t do. “I enjoy my daughter’s company very much, and right now I need her.