Simply Scandalous
Carly Phillips
New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips continues to delight her many fans with this steamy tale of two unlikely lovers who come together in a way that is…Simply Scandalous. Wealthy Assistant D.A. Logan Montgomery needs to ruin his reputation–fast! That's the only way he'll be able to convince his father that he's not cut out to follow the family tradition of going into politics. His plan? To indulge in a very public fling with a woman whose family is a scandal in itself. It should have been the perfect solution….Only, the more time Logan spends with Catherine Luck, the more he realizes he'd give up his reputation–and everything else–for just one night in her bed….
Rave reviews for the novels of
Carly Phillips
CROSS MY HEART
“Who doesn’t love a reunion of long-lost loves? Add a diabolical villain, as Carly Phillips does, and you have everything you need for a beach read.”
—Columbus Dispatch
“Smart, engrossing and totally addictive! Cross My Heart is a definite must-have in this season’s beach bag.”
—www.FreshFiction.com
SUMMER LOVIN’
“Phillips’s light touch assures a happy ending to this diverting beach read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A funny and touching family drama.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“A fun, yet emotional story. A story that will keep you hooked with its kooky, yet charming characters.”
—Romance Reviews Today
What’s steamier than a New York City summer? Carly Phillips’s Hot series!
HOT ITEM
“Saving her best for last, Phillips wraps up her jocular Hot Zone trilogy….”
—Publishers Weekly
“Phillips has penned a charming, fast-paced contemporary romp-through-the-sheets.”
—Booklist
“Hot Item is a winner.”
—Romance Reviews Today
HOT NUMBER
“A veteran romance author who climbed to star status in Harlequin’s Temptation line, Phillips is certain to capture a new bank of fans with the fresh venue and stylish dialogue featured in this perky series.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Hot Number is a fun, sexy read. For everyone who has ever wished to turn the head of a guy, this book definitely allows you that fantasy while giving you a satisfying love story. Ms. Phillips has proven herself more than capable of delivering stories that touch your heart and your funnybone.”
—In the Library Reviews
“In the follow-up to last year’s Hot Stuff, Phillips once again dives into the high pressure world of sports. Micki and Damian each have quite a few issues to resolve, which adds spice to an already volatile mixture.”
—Jill M. Smith, Romantic Times BOOKreviews (4 stars)
“Carly Phillips hits a home run with the fun, yet touching Hot Number.”
—Jennifer Bishop, Romance Reviews Today
HOT STUFF
“This breezy book will likely score a touchdown with readers looking for sexy thrills and instant gratification.”
—Publishers Weekly
“This first book in The Hot Zone trilogy shines with Phillips’ trademark sizzle and sensuality. She delivers strong, appealing characters while exploring the dynamics of families—what brings them together and what draws them apart. The ending emotionally satisfies and gives readers a tantalizing peek at the romantic quandaries awaiting the rest of the family.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews (4 stars)
“Hot Stuff is a surefire hit.”
—Jennifer Bishop, Romance Reviews Today
Carly Phillips
SIMPLY Scandalous
SIMPLY Scandalous
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
“TARGET AT ONE O’CLOCK.”
Logan Montgomery listened to his eighty-year-old grandmother and groaned. “You’ve been watching James Bond again, Gran.”
“Just Sean Connery. That Pierce Brosnan is too new and the other one is a pansy. He wouldn’t know how to please a real woman if she bit him on the—”
“Gran!” Startled, Logan shot a glance at his grandmother.
An impish gleam lit her knowing gaze. She’d learned to use shock value to her advantage, he thought wryly. “I think that’s enough.”
“You never used to be a prude.”
He stifled a laugh and chose to warn the irrepressible older woman instead. “And you never used to go so far. Better watch yourself.”
The white-haired woman gave an unrefined, unladylike snort. “If you aren’t careful you’ll end up a stuffed shirt like your father.”
“With your influence? Not a chance.” He drank from a glass of hundred-dollar cham pagne, tasting bubbles and little else. Damn waste of money. A cold beer would taste a hell of a lot better, especially on such an unusually hot and balmy May afternoon. “So tell me why you summoned me to the annual Garden Gala.”
He’d hoped he could ignore the formal invitation, hand-delivered to his house, as it had been hand-delivered to dozens of others. Although the Garden Gala was as much a part of Montgomery tradition as baseball was a part of spring, Logan didn’t feel the same sense of anticipation for this event. His grandmother, Emma, was a different story. He adored her.
“Because of her.” His grandmother waved a wrinkled finger in front of his eyes. “Over there by the Dogwood tree. She catered this whole party herself. Talent personified.”
Logan narrowed his gaze. He couldn’t see much besides the overwhelming sea of floral prints on the female guests and the stark black-and-white uniforms worn by the help. “All I see is a bunch of penguins,” Logan muttered.
“I believe waiter or waitress is the politically correct term,” Emma said.
“Couldn’t you get the judge to relax the dress code for God’s sake? These poor people look like they’re attending a formal wedding, not serving cocktails on a spring day.”
He liked parties as much as the next guy but this uptight excuse for a gathering wasn’t the way he’d choose to spend a Saturday afternoon.
“Your father has his standards,” Emma said in her haughtiest voice, in imitation of her son, Judge Montgomery. “He believes the help should dress as such. Ridiculous,” she muttered. “The man ought to come into the twenty-first century. Anyway, enough about Edgar for now. Look around. What else do you see?”
Logan took two steps to the right so he could see around a ridiculous-looking parasol held by one of his mother’s friends, to protect her skin from the nonexistent sun and impending rain.
“Well?” A bony elbow nudged Logan in the ribs.
He looked once more and was rewarded by what he saw at the elaborate bar set up in front of the pool house, on the perfectly manicured lawn—a delectable-looking creature in uniform. She stepped around the bar and into full view. The clouds had begun rolling in but this woman radiated pure sunshine. Not even the standard waitress uniform looked ordinary on her supple curves.
She reached over to clean the bar of used glasses, and Logan was treated to a backside view that was just as enticing. Black running shoes, obviously worn for comfort, and black tights with a vertical seam ran up the length of her well-toned legs. As she reached forward to sweep the top of the bar with a damp rag, the hem on her black miniskirt inched higher. He stepped closer in time to catch a hint of lace peeking beneath the black hem. Interest replaced curiosity and the temperature outside hitched up a notch. So did strategic body parts. He stuck one finger inside the constricting collar of his white shirt, giving himself some breathing room.
She rose to her full height, which wasn’t much. Petite, with blond hair pinned on top of her head, she couldn’t have been more than five foot three. Considering he had one sister who had traipsed more friends through the house than he could count on both hands, Logan considered himself an expert on all things female.
And this female intrigued him. His gaze traveled over her form-fitting white blouse, which was buttoned to her chin but failed to hide well-rounded breasts, lingered on the belt cinched over a small waist and settled on the white socks pulled over the sheer stockings. She wasn’t a typical waitress by any means.
Didn’t matter if he looked from the bottom up, or the top down, he liked what he saw. A smile edged the corners of his mouth.
“Quit drooling and tell me what you see.”
“A damn sexy penguin,” he muttered.
“Call her what you want,” Emma said, resigned. “She’s the solution to your problems.”
“Didn’t know I had any.” Another glance as she swung back around the bar and he grinned. If he had a problem, he sure wouldn’t mind this woman being his solution.
“Do you want to put an end to Montgomery expectations or do you want your parents and their big-money friends to keep hounding you to run for public office? No peace, no quiet. And bye-bye low profile job at the public defender’s office. Once next Saturday is over, your life will be out of your hands.”
“You don’t have to sound like you’re enjoying this,” Logan muttered. But instinct told him his grandmother wasn’t just trying to shock him now. Emma lived in this mausoleum along with both of Logan’s parents. She was privy to details Logan wasn’t and shared that information willingly. He turned his attention back to the older woman.
“You can keep telling them no thank you.” She patted her perfect bun into place as she spoke. Not even the humidity touched Emma’s coiffure. “But your daddy’s been stubborn as a mule and insistent on having his own way since he was in dirty diapers.”
He stifled the urge to laugh again. She didn’t need an audience. “You’ve really got to watch your mouth.”
“Nonsense. Age gives me the right to say and do whatever youth prevented me from saying or doing. The expression is young and stupid, not old and stupid.”
Logan grinned. “I know now why Dad wants you in a home.” He gazed at the outspoken woman who had given him and his sister their only source of love and affection growing up. In their best interests, she’d undermined his parents’ efforts at making their children clones of their own public-perfect selves. She’d accomplished her goal with his sister.
But with Logan, the only son, things had been more difficult. Though he’d traveled his own path, many of his choices—college, law school and his stint as district attorney—had paralleled his father’s.
No one believed he intended to chart his own destiny. Not even the past two years spent working on the wrong side of the tracks, at the public defender’s office, swayed his family’s beliefs. To all the Montgomerys, Logan was the next generation, destined to follow in past footsteps.
Except to his beloved grandmother. To Emma, Logan was the grandson she’d raised, a man with his own beliefs. He turned his attention back to what she’d said minutes earlier. “Okay, let me have it. What’s happening on Saturday?” he asked.
“I thought you’d never ask.” She nudged Logan, urging him to walk with her. Resigned, he followed the sound of the crinkling taffeta of her long day-dress until she reached her destination. Emma gestured across the patio to where his father was holding court. “In one week your father and his conservative cronies plan on announcing your candidacy for mayor of our fair city. Hampshire needs some young blood and you’ve been handpicked. Perfect son of the esteemed Montgomery family on his first stepping-stone to even higher office.”
“Never happen,” he said.
“That’s right and I’ll tell you why. We’re going to publicly disgrace you. Free you to live life outside the realm.”
He drew a deep breath and forcibly stopped himself from rolling his eyes at her theatrics. “I don’t need scandal to free myself from the family. They can talk politics until doomsday, but without a willing candidate, they’ve got nothing.” And Logan was completely unwilling.
“You drove all the way out to Hampshire, so at least hear me out.”
As usual, the older woman had a point. Besides, he had no place else to be and the view from this angle was good.
Logan folded his arms over his chest. “You mentioned a plan,” he prodded. “So how can she save me?” He pointed to the blonde across the way.
Emma nodded. “You need a public trashing and who better to ruin your reputation than a woman born into poverty with a family history of prostitution behind her?”
He choked on champagne bubbles. “You’re exaggerating.” He glanced at Emma’s target.
She’d left the covering of the bar and now tread with a light step, gliding among the guests, talking quietly with the help serving hors d’oeuvres. Her air of authority set her apart from the other hired help. So did the miniskirt she wore in place of the black pants favored by the rest of the waitresses. A black bow tie nestled below her chin, accentuating her heart-shaped face. How had he missed that before?
“She owns Pot Luck, the caterers. She doesn’t attend every event her company caters, but I insisted she run this one.”
“Of course you did,” he muttered.
“She’s a woman after my own heart. Remember the charm school the cops closed down last year?”
“Vaguely. I was out of state.” He’d graduated from Columbia Law School and snagged a job at the Manhattan district attorney’s office, working there until Emma’s mild heart attack this past year brought him home. He wanted more time with his family. Other than his sister, Grace, with whom he’d bunked in Manhattan, Emma was the only family who counted.
“Well, she and her sister,” Emma said, pointing to the caterer, “inherited that business. Turns out the previous owner, her uncle, was operating a call-girl service in disguise.”
“But she wasn’t involved.”
“Well, no, but it’s family scandal. And to make things even better, she used to work for them when she was in college.” His grandmother clapped her hands in growing excitement.
“She was a prostitute?”
“Bite your slandering tongue. She taught classes for the testosterone impaired. All on the up-and-up. But think of your parents’ reaction if you brought home a woman whose family had dabbled in prostitution. A woman who instructed the single man on how to score.”
Certain she had done no such thing, Logan refused to touch that outrageous comment. “I don’t bring women home,” he said instead.
Why should he? His parents would take it as a sign the prodigal son was ready to settle down. Logan couldn’t say he wasn’t itching for steady companionship. He was. He couldn’t say he didn’t long for someone to come home to at the end of the day. He wanted that, too. But he’d yet to meet a woman who interested him enough to forsake all others, let alone one he could imagine looking at across the dinner table each and every night for the rest of his natural life.
“You would if you met the right one,” his grandmother said, with a gleam in her eyes that alarmed him.
The old lady had an agenda. Logan only wished he knew more. Just because Emma was admitting her scheme aloud didn’t mean she was revealing all.
He knew her too well to be anywhere near complacent, but he decided to humor her for now. “My social life is plenty full, Gran. Too full to settle for just one female out of the bunch.”
His social life was full, all right. Full of renovation and restoration. Logan was busy, just not busy playing the field. But a white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, least of all Emma, who needed to believe Logan was happy and on the lookout for the future Mrs. Montgomery.
While he met, dated and appreciated females as much as any man, he didn’t see a long-term relationship in his future. The women he met at the P.D.’s office and the opposing counsel he ran into around the courthouse cared more for what the Montgomery name could do for them than in Logan himself. Same for the women in his parents’ illustrious social circle. They sought only to marry and keep their steady income streaming in. All were disappointed and disinterested once they discovered Logan lived off his salary and kept himself isolated from the family legacy.
A marriage for the sake of appearances, like the one his parents shared, didn’t interest him. No one benefited from a loveless union—especially not the requisite number of children, born only for show. Children raised by servants and ignored by their parents.
“Open your eyes, son. You never know what’s in front of you. Now, as I was saying about your father and his mayoral ideas. If making your point in private doesn’t work, we can always resort to the headlines. Judge Montgomery’s Son Dating Ex-Hooker. Not that I’m in favor of that approach, mind you—Catherine deserves better.” She pointed to the woman in the corner.
At least now she had a name. He’d need one if he wanted to get to know her better.
“You know how the papers exaggerate about sex,” Emma said. “You’ll be a dropout candidate before you know it.”
He let out a groan. Humoring her was getting more difficult. “I hate to break it to you, Gran, but sex scandals don’t affect approval ratings anymore.”
Emma shrugged. “Maybe not but I can see you’re interested. So go for it with Cat and get caught. My money says the embarrassment will be enough. Your father will call off the campaign.”
Logan shook his head. “You really do have an overactive imagination. There’s no reason to go that far. A press conference minus the candidate will take care of any expectations.”
“And how would that affect your job at the public defender’s office? I happen to know it’s a first step toward opening your own law office down on the docks.”
“Both are my business and as much as I appreciate your concern, I can handle my life without help.”
As if on cue, a large hand slapped Logan on the shoulder. “Good to see you, son. I knew you wouldn’t miss a chance to mingle with your supporters.”
In a move she’d perfected over the years, his grandmother raised an eyebrow and nodded her head, as if to say, I told you so.
He met his father’s gaze. “Of course not. These people are very important.” To Emma, Logan added silently, which was the only reason he’d chosen to attend.
His father puffed out his chest and beamed, obviously misconstruing Logan’s agreement. Logan didn’t bother to explain. The judge would never listen.
“I’m glad you agree. Now you’ve got to learn the art of working a room,” Edgar said.
“What room?” Logan asked, deliberately playing dumb. He glanced at the sky and the clouds that had been steadily rolling in. “I thought this was an outdoor garden party, not a political fund-raiser.”
“I like your sense of humor, son.”
Behind the judge’s back, Emma caught Logan’s attention with a wave. She rolled her eyes and they shared a silent laugh at the judge’s single-mindedness.
“Glad you’re amused,” Logan muttered.
“Yes, but you know as well as I do that behind every event there is a purpose,” the older man said. “The fact that you showed up for this is telling.” He adjusted the lapels of his jacket.
Logan waited a beat before walking around and placing an arm around his grandmother’s shoulder. “The only thing my appearance should tell you is I wouldn’t miss one of Emma’s extravaganzas. Beyond that, I have no purpose or hidden agenda.”
He gave the older woman a loving squeeze. Her frailty stunned him a moment before he reassured himself. Behind the aging body lay an agile mind and a generous spirit.
“I promised him a good time, something you’ve never learned how to have.” An irreverent gleam sparkled in the older woman’s gaze.
The judge shot his mother a warning look then faced Logan once more. “We need to talk.”
Logan studied his father. With his dark double-breasted suit and air of authority, Judge Montgomery appeared every inch the man in control of his domain. Too bad for him Logan no longer lived within that realm, nor could he be manipulated. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
The judge shook his head. “I want what’s best for you, son, and that means putting you in public office.”
“Placing me in office is what’s best for you. You want me to carry on the political tradition. I want to live my own life.”
“You’re young.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “You’ll come around.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re probably right. After all, I bought my house even after you put a down payment on a penthouse apartment in Boston. I took the P.D.’s job even after you pulled strings at Fitch and Fitzwater, the leading firm downtown.” He shrugged. “I suppose if you hold your breath long enough, I might come around after all.”
Edgar narrowed his eyes. “This is your influence,” the judge said to his mother.
“If so, I’m proud of him. And you should be, too,” Emma said. “Shame on you, Edgar. I raised you better than this.”
“Logan, see to it your grandmother gets some rest. She’s cranky. We’ll talk more later.” He issued his commands and, without awaiting a response, he turned and strode toward his guests.
“He’s determined,” Emma said.
“I’m more determined.” But Logan was also tired of the battle. A part of him wished he didn’t have to fight his father for every step he took in his own life.
“Still think you don’t need my help?” Emma asked.
“I love you for your concern but I can handle the judge alone.”
“But her kind of help would be so much more fun,” his grandmother said, her gaze shifting from him.
Logan followed her glance at the woman standing on a chair, adjusting a speaker, and he had to agree. Still, no matter how tempting, he wouldn’t use an innocent woman as a pawn in his family’s game.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t pursue this attraction and get to know her for his own reasons. As Emma had probably predicted, she fascinated him in a way few women did and he wanted to know why. He placed the champagne glass down on a passing server’s tray.
“I’m here if you need backup,” Emma said.
He kissed the older woman’s weathered cheek. “I’m sure I can handle it,” he said wryly. He glanced across the lawn to where Catherine had settled back into bartender mode.
She handled the bottles and glasses with ease. Logan grinned at the sight. One of the cocktail waitresses paused and whispered something in her ear. Catherine bolted from behind the bar and headed toward the house. Without her presence, the bar loomed as empty and boring as the party had minutes earlier.
Logan sighed, seeing opportunity vanish at least for the moment.
“She’s got the goodies,” Emma said. “She’ll be back.”
“I believe drinks or liquor is the politically correct term these days.” He couldn’t help but needle his grandmother.
His gaze followed Catherine’s retreating form. The well-shaped bottom and trim waist were a sight to behold before she disappeared inside the open French doors.
Emma cleared her throat. “From your perspective I’d say she’s got the goodies,” she said with a laugh.
He chuckled. “I’d say you were right.”
A SEXY MAN HAD been watching Catherine for the last fifteen minutes. He had dark hair, model-like looks, and a penetrating stare that made her muscles weak and her heart flutter. She couldn’t imagine what sparked his interest when there were dozens of other women at the party. Female guests dressed in silky dresses and flowing chiffon skirts, beautiful women with perfectly manicured nails and hair straight from the beauty salon.
Catherine’s sneakers—comfortable shoes for a day of working on her feet—squeaked as she crossed the gleaming marble floors. She cringed and kept going. Years had passed since she had felt this…inadequate, she thought, coming up with the right word. She glanced down at her working outfit, the same one she wore to any party her company catered. Instead of feeling comfortable in her own skin, she felt out of place and transported back in time, to when she and her sister had been the Luck girls from the wrong side of the tracks.
Catherine shook her head and raised her chin a notch. There was no sense denying it. The rich were different. But Catherine had worked too hard and come too far to let insecurities hit her now. She’d survive this party. As long as the threatening rain held off…and her chef didn’t bail out.
She and her company Pot Luck couldn’t afford the disaster. With Kayla, her business partner and sister, pregnant and under doctor’s orders to stay in bed, Catherine was handling more than usual. Between doing the food prep work for today, substituting as bartender, overseeing along with her manager and planning upcoming bookings, Catherine was overworked and stressed. As soon as the temperature warmed, people clamored to organize outdoor events and Pot Luck was booked solid.
She couldn’t complain about being busy, but she did long for future days when all they would have to cater was full-scale parties like this one. But for now Pot Luck accommodated any request—from complete party packages, to hors d’oeuvres only, to simple decorations and party favors. Some day, once their reputation was more firmly established and the bank account posted a hefty surplus, they could be more discriminating—and Catherine could make more use of her culinary background as well. After this event, someday could arrive faster than she’d ever imagined.
The Montgomery party had been a coup and Catherine had no problem with rearranging her schedule to accommodate Emma Montgomery. Success here would mean referrals to the wealthiest people and most prestigious companies in Hampshire. She wouldn’t allow anything to ruin this chance, especially not a temperamental chef who was her oldest friend.
She entered the state-of-the-art kitchen where stainless steel and chrome gleamed from every corner of the room. “Nick, you’re a hit!” Catherine made her way around a long center island and placed a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek.
“The duck isn’t cold,” he denied, whacking at a large chunk of meat with a knife.
“I never said it was. The guests love the hors d’oeuvres. They’re going to spread your name from here to downtown Boston.”
Another loud whack sounded against the cutting board. “I’m already famous in Boston. I don’t need to take abuse because your help can’t get in here fast enough to serve hot food.” Beneath his anger and frustration, she recognized the concern and warning. Someone had been complaining about the temperature of the food. She cringed. She’d take care of her lazy help, but first she had to calm the chef.
Catherine glanced at his exaggerated pout. She’d grown up with Nick. She knew when to worry and when a word or two would smooth things over. She snuck a peek inside the large oven and inhaled an enticing aroma. “This smells heavenly. I don’t know another chef who can create the way you do.” She returned to his side. “The food is almost as good-looking as you are.”
The knife slammed into the wooden board again and he glanced up, dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to flatter me, Cat. It won’t work.” His gaze settled on her for the first time and he touched her cheek with one hand. “You’re red.”
“The day is so overcast I forgot the sun-screen.” Catherine shrugged. “Besides we can’t all bronze like you.”
“You’re fair. You ought to be more careful.”
She rolled her eyes. For as far back as she could remember, Nick had looked out for her. He had classic Mediterranean looks and most women would have snatched him up at the slightest chance. Not Catherine. Lovers came and went; best friends were for life. “If you’re so worried about me, stop yelling at the help.”
“They’re incompetent.”
“I’ll talk to them. I promise.”
“It’s a start. What’s going on out there? Is Mr. Right mingling among the guests?”
“Back off, Nick. Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean everyone else wants the brass ring.” Catherine had no desire to have this conversation with Nick yet again. “Look, the bartender never showed. I’m already pulling double duty and I can’t afford to have the help leave in tears. Now will you lay off the girls?”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you promise to use this party as an opportunity. There are men out there, Cat. All types of men. Tall and thin, fat and balding, rich and richer. Take your pick.”
A sexy stranger with dark hair and compelling eyes filled her mind. She pushed the thought aside. Before she’d entered this immense house filled with elegant women, she’d believed herself over the painful memories associated with her lower-class upbringing. Just working this party, being surrounded by delicate perfection, brought the painful memories back full force.
Sexual attraction from across a crowded room meant nothing when she and the stranger were obviously worlds apart. “You know the guests here are way out of my league,” she told her friend.
“Only because you think so, not because it’s true. You spend too much time alone.”
Catherine shrugged. “At least the company’s good.”
Nick groaned.
“Is it my fault every guy I’ve dated isn’t the one?” Catherine had yet to meet a man worth risking her heart for. Despite what Nick thought, she certainly wouldn’t find him here.
“You walk away before any guy can prove himself. Take me, for instance.”
She rolled her eyes. “I turned you down when we were sixteen and you survived.” She glanced at her watch. “I promise nothing else will leave this kitchen cold. Back off the help?”
“Consider opening your eyes to the men out there,” he countered.
“I’ll consider it,” she lied. “You’re a prince,” she called over her shoulder, adjusting her bow tie as she ran out of the kitchen.
She darted back outside, dismayed to find the clouds darker and heavier than five minutes before. The storm was rolling in faster than predicted. Winded from her sprint out of the kitchen, she rested her hands on the bar and closed her eyes. She inhaled deep, then exhaled, searching for calm. Too much hinged on getting through the rest of the afternoon without mishap.
A deep masculine drawl captured her attention. “So tell me what put the frown on that beautiful face.” She’d never heard that voice before but her body reacted instantly. She knew who it belonged to. She just didn’t know how in the world to handle him.
CHAPTER TWO
CATHERINE OPENED HER EYES and found herself staring into brown eyes the color of her morning coffee, after she’d added the cream. She forced a confident smile. “What can I get for you?” she asked.
“The specialty of the house. What’s yours?” A sexy near-perfect grin blindsided her and her breath caught in a hitch.
Heavy awareness pulsed through her veins, a delicious accompaniment to the steady beat of the music in the background. Catherine wondered just how many women this man charmed with his good looks alone. Enough to make him dangerous, she thought.
He wore an Italian-cut suit as if he were to the manor born, and when those eyes captured hers, they didn’t let go. Not even loud laughter from across the expanse of the outdoors caused his gaze to slide from hers.
She narrowed her eyes to gauge his preference but she wasn’t a bartender by trade. She was merely substituting for her absent employee. Glancing at this man, she couldn’t begin to guess his drink of choice. And though she could offer an interesting mix of cocktails, the general requests here had been for champagne or Mimosas and, somehow, she couldn’t see him as a delicate-drink kind of guy. “Why don’t you tell me what you had in mind?”
He leaned closer, elbows propped on the edge of the bar. His cologne smelled masculine and expensive, a sensual combination that reminded her of spice, temptation and trouble. “Something to cool me down and take the edge off the heat,” he said.
The clouds had darkened to a stormy gray and a heavy breeze had already begun blowing off the nearby ocean, cutting back on the mugginess and heat. Catherine recognized his words for the come-on they were. Though she wanted to be flattered, she couldn’t help but be disappointed as well.
“A splash of cold water would work just fine,” she muttered. His eyes darkened subtly and she was appalled to realize she’d spoken the words out loud.
He grinned. “I could think of plenty of things that would work better.”
He was too confident…too sexy. For all her bravado, Catherine wasn’t as secure in herself as she liked the world to believe. Life’s harsh realities had taught her not to trust in much—especially a tempting man who had charm and knew how to use it.
She glanced at him warily, deciding not to play. “Then how about a cold beer instead?”
His smile widened. “Now you’re talking.” He walked around the corner of the bar, seating himself on a stool—too close to Catherine’s small work space. The width of a bar top separated them, but it wasn’t much and certainly not enough. And with waitresses walking around passing out champagne off serving trays, the line for drinks had dwindled. She hadn’t had a stray passerby in at least half an hour. They were alone.
She reached for one of the eclectic brews handpicked by Judge Montgomery for the occasion and poured the man his drink. Placing the glass on a cocktail napkin, she slid the beer toward him.
“Join me?”
“I’m working,” she said, as she wiped down the already shiny Lucite bar with a damp rag.
“I’ll clear it with the management.”
“I’m the management and I don’t mix business and pleasure.” Especially not when the risk would be greater than the pleasure…and if her tingling nerves and rising anticipation were any indication, she could just imagine how great the pleasure would be.
“Miss…Scotch and soda, if I may interrupt.” The voice came from the opposite end of the bar.
Catherine grabbed on to the excuse and headed for the waiting guest. While she worked, she felt his heavy gaze burn right through her. Then, noticing a problem across the lawn, Catherine ran to avert disaster between her waitress and an intoxicated guest. She was used to the role of overseer and referee. But between the impending rain and the need for things to go well, this party had her completely stressed out.
To make matters worse, Judge Montgomery waylaid her on her way back to the bar. Though Emma led Catherine to believe she was in charge, her son left no doubt he was paying the bills. And he insisted that the waitresses needed to circulate more and that she shouldn’t be fraternizing with the guests. Catherine had to swallow her pride as well as her comeback.
She saw no point in informing the man who would pay for this event that his guest had come on to her. He wouldn’t believe her if she had. Instead she bowed, escaped and got hold of her assistant to warn her to have a quick talk with all the help. Then she ran toward the bar. One thing she knew, she’d be happy when this day was over.
When she returned, her visitor sat in his same spot, arms folded across his broad chest. “You need a break,” he informed her, a scowl on his face. Unfortunately it didn’t do a thing to detract from his good looks.
“A break doesn’t fit into my schedule.”
“You’ve had an overwhelming day.” He darted a glance to where she’d had her discussion with the host of the party. Emma might have employed her services, but Catherine had little doubt it was Judge Montgomery who held court over the world around him.
Her companion then patted a bar stool beside him. “Take a seat and pour your heart out,” he said. “I’m a good listener.” What looked like genuine concern etched his handsome features.
If she let him, he could seduce her with that concern. No doubt that was his goal, yet her body temperature inched higher despite his calculated manners. Or was it his warmth and seductive voice that heated her inside and out? “I think you have our roles reversed. I’m the bartender who’s supposed to have the friendly ear.”
He reached out, touching the silver earrings dangling from her ear. “But I’m not the one in need of a shoulder.”
It was eerie how well he read her, Catherine thought. His strong hand heated her skin. She was in danger of sensual overload. Catherine shut her eyes against the tremor of awareness shooting through her veins. He affected her on more than the physical plane and that made the dynamics between them even more explosive.
She paused a beat. “I appreciate the thought but I shouldn’t fraternize with the guests.”
“You’re doing a great job here. I wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—get to you,” he murmured.
Obviously he understood little about pleasing an employer and paying the bills.
“You’re too old not to realize we all answer to a higher authority,” she said wryly.
“But only when the authority is full of truth and honesty, not hot air,” he said and grinned.
Catherine laughed despite herself. Judge Montgomery had made his displeasure clear. Catherine not only wanted success today, but she also wanted referrals galore. That wouldn’t be happening if she spent the afternoon being verbally seduced by a sexy man way out of her league.
“I’m here to work,” she reminded him.
“You know this party’s a success. Ignore the man,” he suggested. “Why let him tell you what to do?”
“Because he signs my paycheck. Besides,” Catherine said, arching her eyebrow, “he told me to stay away from you. That’s got to be good advice.”
He shook his head. “Cynical is sad.”
He spoke as if he’d read behind the words to her philosophy on life, love and dating in the new millennium. “It’s honest. The only way I know how to be.”
Dark eyes met hers. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured.
He spoke sexy words laced with innuendo, Catherine reminded herself. Nothing more. She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. His nearly black hair had been slicked off his forehead in the latest style. Money and class. He possessed them both.
Behind him milled beautifully dressed women, women immaculately and properly groomed for the world he inhabited. She wondered why this man had chosen to hang out at the bar with the help. He wouldn’t be interested in a woman way out of his social class with a shady family history.
She didn’t know what he wanted, but she suspected he found her an interesting diversion. The thought tapped into her deepest fear—that not only was she like her mother, but she’d end up like her as well. Her mother had overdressed, overdone and had always fallen short. Always just been a woman with two daughters and too many responsibilities. A woman alone.
Feeling out of place here didn’t help her frame of mind, merely heightened a fear Catherine normally suppressed. Unlike the wealthy Montgomerys, the Luck family had barely made ends meet, had lived on shop specials. And that was when things were good.
Although she lived a world apart from her roots, Catherine wasn’t foolish enough to think a woman who once wore hand-me-downs and lived in the poorer sections of Boston had anything in common with this elegant and sexy man.
“Well, if you won’t unburden yourself, we can go back to you doing your job. Another drink?” he asked. “Mine’s gone flat.” His deep voice vibrated too close to her ear. An unexpected tremor of excitement shimmied throughout her body.
“So has your routine,” she said and grinned.
“Listen to the woman, sonny boy,” Emma Montgomery said in her cultured voice.
“Go away. You’re ruining my attempt at convincing the lady to give me a chance.”
“Sounded to me like you were failing miserably.”
Catherine laughed aloud.
“Eavesdroppers don’t get the whole story. She was on the verge of agreeing to go for a drink when the party ended.”
“I was?”
He stretched his arm over the back of the chair.
“You were.” His fingertips brushed her shoulder and she trembled. One drink. She met his heavy gaze and wondered, why not?
“I always knew my grandson had good taste.”
The older woman’s words provided the answer.
It was one thing to have a drink with a good-looking guy, another to form illusions about a man who belonged to a family as wealthy as the Montgomerys. They would never accept her. Not on a bet. Not even if Emma Montgomery demanded it…and Catherine couldn’t help doubting whether Emma would be as gracious toward Catherine regarding her grandson as she had been regarding business. She now under stood Judge Montgomery’s stern warning and obvious disdain. He didn’t want her anywhere near his son.
Emma patted her hand. “Lovely party, Catherine. You exceeded my expectations.”
A little while ago, Catherine would have agreed. After the last ten minutes, she had to wonder. And if there was anything Catherine hated, it was self-doubt and self-pity. She had to get away from these people before she lost the one thing she treasured: her faith in herself. Hardwon faith.
She swallowed over the lump in her throat and glanced at her watch. Almost over. “I have to get back to work.”
“You mean you don’t want my company after all?” His eyes clouded. A wounded little boy look graced his chiseled features. If she wasn’t careful, she’d believe she’d hurt his feelings. But the most she’d possibly offended was his pride. Protecting her heart was worth the sacrifice.
She watched Emma Montgomery’s retreating, regal form. His grandmother. Catherine shook her head, disappointed. She turned back to the privileged son. “I’m not sure what you’re after, but I can’t provide it.”
“Cut me some slack. Company’s all I’m looking for. Your company.”
She narrowed her eyes and she tried to gauge his sincerity. His gaze, once steady on her face, had slipped to her thigh. She glanced down. The hem of her miniskirt had bent up, exposing an expanse of skin hidden beneath the sheer black stockings. It wasn’t much, but she’d revealed more than she’d wanted Prince Charming to see.
Company, her Aunt Fanny. She looked like an easy mark. Regret surged through her—it wasn’t strong enough to douse the flame of desire he’d ignited, but she wasn’t about to get burned. Or let him see he’d flustered her.
She left the skirt hem alone. “Sorry, I have other plans.”
He shrugged and raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Okay. But you can’t deny me another drink.”
Because she was being paid to do the honors. She didn’t appreciate the reminder. She shrugged. “I can’t discriminate. It’s my job.”
“You wound me.”
“You’ll live.” She sounded too breathless for her own liking. Yet he was right. She couldn’t turn him away. Worse, she didn’t want to.
But the sooner she gave him his drink, the sooner he’d be on his way. He wouldn’t hang around her the rest of the afternoon being shot down. No matter how much she wished otherwise. “Okay, hotshot, tell me what I can get you.”
LOGAN DOUBTED SHE WANTED to hear his real desire. Especially since it involved them both in a horizontal position with their naked bodies crushed together in a sweaty tangle beneath the sheets. Or in the pool cabana behind the bar.
“Hurry up. I need to refill the serving trays with champagne,” she whispered.
Her warm breath tickled his ear. Her scent, an intoxicating oriental blend of spices, heated the rest of his senses. The mix of perfumes emanating from the guests had grown heavy hours ago, hanging on the damp humid air. But Catherine’s stood out, sexy and unique, like the lady herself.
His gaze dropped to her thigh. When she’d bristled the first time, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t look again. But the hint of skin and the promise of what lay beneath was too much for a man to take.
She headed behind the bar, to obvious safety. Tapping her fingers impatiently against the top, she said, “I’m waiting.”
“Patience,” he murmured. “I want to make sure I get what I want.” He had one shot at capturing her interest, at making her want to get to know him as badly as he wanted to know her.
“More likely you want an excuse to linger. What I don’t know is why.” Her green eyes shimmered with curiosity.
Which, Logan decided, was better than disgust or disinterest. He wanted to linger, all right. To sit here and drink in her blond beauty and sassy mouth. Logan eyed her warily, then reminded himself she may be female, but she wasn’t a mind reader.
She might sense that he wanted more than her company—and she was right. But as much as he desired her, it was too soon for that to be an issue.
He’d have to take it slow. “What I want is something special,” he said thinking aloud. “More than a plain old beer.” He glanced down at her hands, noticing the blunt nails and clear polish for the first time. No fancy frills, colors or artifice to this woman, he thought and was more than pleased. He leaned over the edge of the bar. “I want you to create magic,” he said in a deep voice he barely recognized.
“You’re too old to believe in magic, buster.”
If the magic had left her life, he wanted to be the one to restore her faith. Bizarre how quickly she’d gotten to him, but after years of bland women and uninteresting relationships, Logan recognized a gem when he saw one.
“I’m old enough to know what I want, but not too old for you.”
“Want to bet?”
“I’m a gambling man.” He reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. The tiny silver pendants hanging from her earlobe were intriguing. A delicate contrast to her sharp tongue and prickly exterior. He lowered his hand, letting his fingers trail down her soft cheek.
She sucked in a startled breath, then coughed into her hand. “Don’t read too much into that. I swallowed wrong.”
He laughed. “You’re hell on a man’s ego.” Not that he believed her professed disinterest. The rapid flutter of a pulse beating in her neck and the flush of pink that stained her neck and cheeks betrayed her.
“All in a day’s work.” She smiled.
The flash of white teeth revealed two dimples on either side of her luscious lips. He vowed to taste that smile before the night was out.
“Speak or scram,” Catherine said. “What do you want, Mr. Montgomery?”
Time was running out. He glanced into her eyes before leaning close and whispering in her ear.
TO MAKE YOUR DREAMS come true. A thrill spun its way through her veins. At least fifty guests and party favors later, and she still couldn’t suppress the tremor of excitement Logan’s words brought. Thanks to his husky tone, she knew what he desired, but the sincerity in his eyes made her want to believe he meant more than a cheap fling. Yet after those heart-stealing words, he’d stood, reminded her she had other guests waiting and left, walking through the double doors and into the Montgomery mansion. He’d never looked back.
Her instincts had been right. He’d seen her as an interesting diversion. When she hadn’t proved easy, he couldn’t be bothered with the chase. She shrugged. No big deal. Hadn’t she already backed off herself?
So why was the disappointment so lingering?
She had no doubt Logan Montgomery was a man capable of fulfilling every fantasy she’d imagined and some she probably hadn’t. Just the thought of him made her body hum with a sexual awareness she couldn’t mistake. Oh, he’d be good and she’d enjoy herself, but this was a man capable of getting inside her soul.
They weren’t meant to happen. Not without someone getting hurt. She being the someone who came to mind. One reckless night wasn’t worth a sacrifice in self-worth.
And he obviously wasn’t interested in pursuing more.
Over the next hour, the clouds darkened and the guests began a slow trickling out of the estate. The budget on this party had enabled her to splurge on everything, including cleanup, and the crew was waiting to take over. The woman they’d hired as manager would supervise the next shift. By this evening, no remnants of the party would remain. Catherine had no reason to stay.
She edged past the few remaining guests and slipped into the wide entryway that led to the coatroom in the foyer. Yellow and white satin wrapped around the circular staircase in the corner and draped like border paper high on the walls. More than once, she cringed as her sneakered feet squeaked against the freshly waxed marble floor. She entered the closet that was larger than the room she’d shared with her sister growing up and hit the light switch on the wall.
Despite the ominous clouds, the day had started off with potential and the closet was empty of jackets and coats. Catherine’s rain slicker, brought more out of foresight than need, stood out in the empty room.
“Gran!”
Catherine turned at the sound of the deep, compelling voice in time to see Logan glance inside the walk-in closet. “Gran!” he called once more. “Is that you?”
“Not unless this party has aged me more than I thought,” Catherine said from the back recesses of the room.
He continued his path straight toward her. “Not a chance.” His gaze settled on her face, intense and focused. “Beauty and a smart mouth—you’re a lethal combination.”
She chose to detour around that remark. “I thought you already left.” She curled her hand around the soft plastic of her coat, as if a solid grip would keep her safe from her rioting hormones and a sexy man.
“Keeping tabs on me?” he asked with a cocky grin.
“Guest awareness is part of my job.”
“Seems to me hiding behind your job is part of your job.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, although she already knew. Logan had obviously seen through her feigned disinterest.
He walked up beside her. His masculine scent tantalized and seduced. A swirling ribbon of desire unfurled in her belly and reached straight to her core.
“I meant every time I try to get close, you scurry behind the job description. Do I scare you, Cat?” His voice lowered a dangerous, seductive octave.
His gaze never wavered. Warm eyes she could drown in locked and held with hers. Did he scare her? More than he could imagine.
“Because that’s the last thing I want.”
“Then what do you want, Mr. Montgomery?”
He laughed deep in his throat. “Semantics won’t keep me at a distance. It’s Logan.”
“I…”
“Say it.”
She licked her dry lips. His gaze followed the movement. “Logan,” she murmured more to appease him than to become more intimate.
“Nice. Now as I was saying…I want to erase that cynicism from those beautiful green eyes. I want to make your dreams come true.”
His words struck Catherine in her heart. Unfortunately she still didn’t believe he saw her as more than an interesting diversion from the more cultured, more beautifully dressed women at the party. Women who would trip over themselves for a chance at landing one of the state’s most eligible bachelors.
“You want a good time,” she said.
He had the audacity to grin. “That, too.”
She wanted to give in to that handsome face and easy smile, which meant she had to get out of here, to her empty apartment where safety and reality would reassert themselves.
“Logan,” she said, not wanting to give him further reason to believe he affected her. “I think…”
A loud thud cut her off as the closet door slammed shut behind them. She jumped at the unexpected sound.
“Hold that thought.” He touched her lips with one finger. Heat traveled between her mouth and his skin.
A shiver took hold. Desire? Fear? Probably both. Though she liked to flirt, she’d never reacted to a man with such carnal, sensual awareness before.
Before she could think further, he strode to the door and jiggled the door handle. The muted sound of metal hitting the marble floor sounded from outside. He muttered a curse.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing as long as you aren’t claustrophobic.” He held the doorknob aloft in his hand. “Looks like the old lady has her own agenda. Not that I mind.”
An uncomfortable feeling arose in the pit of her stomach. “What are you saying?” She eyed the doorknob in his hand and shook her head.
He banged on the door with his fist. “Open up, Gran.”
“What’s your hurry? The company’s good and the way things look, you’ve got plenty of time. I’ve got to find someone in this house who understands hardware. I think I did serious damage,” she called back. The click of heels on the floor sounded as Emma Montgomery walked away.
“She didn’t,” Catherine said, glaring at the door through narrowed eyes. She wasn’t claustrophobic but she disliked the feeling of being trapped. Especially with this man.
“She did.” Logan shrugged. “Sorry. She tends to get carried away.”
“She?”
“You wouldn’t be suggesting I set you up?” Disbelief and humor lit his gaze. “I’m interested, not desperate. I can get my woman without Gran’s help.”
“Your woman?” She swallowed a laugh. “That has a Neanderthal sound to it.”
He shrugged. “I kind of liked it.”
“You would. So how about breaking down the door, Tarzan?”
“If I give it a shot, will you have that drink with me?”
“You wouldn’t stoop to using your grandmother, but bribery is okay?”
“Is that a yes?”
She believed he had nothing to do with their current predicament. The eccentric older woman would definitely pull a stunt like this. The only question was why. She certainly couldn’t think Catherine was an acceptable choice for her grandson, nor could she believe Logan incapable of getting his own dates.
Speaking of dates, she had a decision to make. The closet, which had seemed so large when she’d first entered, was shrinking by the minute. She couldn’t breathe without inhaling the scent of spice and man, an erotic combination that stole her breath and threatened to take her sanity next. One drink in a public place was much safer than hanging out alone with him now.
She glanced at his handsome face and forced a casual shrug. “One drink,” she agreed.
She hoped she didn’t live to regret those two little words.
CHAPTER THREE
RELIEF AT HER ACCEPTANCE warred with the steady beat of desire pounding inside him. “Should I be flattered that you accepted?” Logan asked. “Or insulted you want out of here so badly?”
“Neither. I accepted because I’m thirsty. Now give it your best shot.”
He wouldn’t have an inflated ego as long as Catherine was around. Logan was honest enough to admit he wanted her by his side for a long while. Long enough to get to know the cautious woman with the sassy mouth.
He needed time, but time freely given, not under duress. He eyed the door and slugged it as hard as he could with his shoulder. His bad shoulder. Hell, after years of college baseball, both shoulders were bad and this one rebelled against his attempted escape. It rolled in the socket and he groaned in pain.
Catherine was by his side in an instant. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” he muttered through gritted teeth. He counted to ten and waited for the pain to subside. Since it often popped out in his sleep, Logan was used to the routine. Slowly the shoulder numbed as the pain eased.
Soft hands reached for his collar. Logan let her slip the jacket off his shoulders. If she wanted to play Florence Nightingale, he’d let her. He wasn’t proud that he was taking advantage of her concern. But he doubted he’d have a better chance to catch her with her guard down.
She lowered herself to the floor, her back propped against the wall. “Sit.”
Logan sat beside her.
She turned and began working the sore muscles in his arm with her fingertips. The pressure felt so good he groaned in relief. “That feels great. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now tell me how we ended up like this. What made you think Emma was in here?” Catherine asked.
He leaned his head backward and focused on the rhythmic motion of her fingers pressing through his shirt and into his skin. “The cocktail waitress who said, ‘Your grandmother is waiting for you by the coat closet.’ Nothing unusual or sinister about that…” Her fingers pushed deep and eased off, caressed and massaged the sore muscle. “Unless you know my grandmother. Mmm. A little deeper.”
She complied. Those fingers worked magic and Logan found himself seduced…by her scent, her touch, by her.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much.” As close to perfect as he could get without lying naked beside her.
“Someone should come looking for us any minute,” she said.
“If you believe that you don’t know my grandmother.”
“Maybe, but there’re plenty of people out there who can handle something as simple as a broken doorknob. The cleaning crew will have no problem fixing the handle.”
“Assuming she asks them to or brings their attention to us, which is doubtful.” He rolled his head to the side and met her gaze. Desire shimmered in her eyes, just as it pummeled inside of him. “We’ve got time.”
“People might want drinks,” she said, but the protest sounded weak.
“Something tells me Emma’s handling things as we speak. Besides, the party was winding down, with the judge holding court, reminding them about the formal breakfast he’s holding in the morning.”
Logan knew this because he’d spent a ridiculous amount of time assuring his father he would not be at the affair, he would not meet with future supporters and he most certainly would not be at the press announcement next Saturday. He’d have preferred to be in the thick of the party watching Catherine. Instead he’d been beating his head against a brick wall, just as he had too often as a child.
And from the stubborn glint in the judge’s eye, he hadn’t accepted Logan’s words. Too bad. The older man couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned.
“You always call your father the judge?” she asked.
When he called him anything at all, Logan thought. “That’s what he is.”
“He’s also your father.”
“Who thinks he rules everyone the same way he does his courtroom.”
“And I always thought any father would be preferable to none at all.”
So, she had no father in her life. Some more insight. He stored the knowledge, sensing it was an important facet of Catherine’s nature, a way to breach her defenses.
“Not always. Don’t get me wrong, he’s been there for us…as long as we toe the line.” That was about to change. Edgar Montgomery might have put up with his son’s erratic behavior, as he called it, but only because he believed he’d gain what he wanted in the end. It wouldn’t happen this time, which just might cause the ultimate family rift.
“Who’s us?” Catherine asked.
“Me and my sister, Grace.”
“I have a sister, too. So tell me what it was like growing up here.” She made a grandiose gesture with one arm. Obviously here meant the Montgomery Estate.
As a general rule, Logan didn’t choose to remember his childhood. He’d already divulged more in this one conversation than he had in the past thirty-one years. Along with the memories came an attached fear he would end up as alone as his old man. No matter how many people his father invited into his home, no matter that his wife trailed his every move, the judge was like an island. He allowed people to get near but never close. Not even his children.
For Catherine, a woman who eyed him and his wealth with obvious suspicion, Logan would dig deep and be honest. “It was lonely,” he admitted.
“That’s sad.” Her hand curled around his and her head eased onto his shoulder.
Stunned, Logan glanced down at their inter twined hands. She’d reached out to him. With the simple truth he’d begun breaching her well-built defenses. Money and status didn’t impress her.
Honesty did. His respect for Catherine rose.
Pulling herself up to her knees, Catherine faced him, eyes wide, her expression curious. “How could you be lonely with so many people around?” she asked.
“Because no one bothered with us kids…except my grandmother.”
Her smile wrapped around his heart. “I like her.”
“So do I.” And he supposed he owed his grandmother for arranging this get-to-know-you session with Catherine, but he’d still give the old lady a blistering lecture for meddling in his life.
Not that it would do any good.
“So tell me how you met my grandmother,” he said.
“At a fund-raiser we catered in Boston. She wanted more hor d’oeuvres and snuck into the kitchen to get them.”
He burst out laughing. “That sounds like Emma.”
Catherine grinned. “I caught her and we started talking. Next thing I knew she’d hired me for the Garden Gala.”
He glanced at Catherine and realized he was extremely glad he’d come. “When she’s not meddling, my grandmother is one smart lady.”
“Because she locked us in here?”
“Because she obviously likes you…and so do I.” His gaze locked with hers. Sensual awareness pulsed thick around them.
He cupped his palms around her cheeks, bringing her within kissing distance…and waited. One hint of refusal and he’d let her go. She shook her head and disappointment welled inside him.
He lowered his hands. Her sudden grip on his wrists stopped him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t kiss you or don’t pull away? Because I don’t play games, Cat. I want you and I know you want me.” The sudden hitch in her breathing proved him right.
“What I want and what’s good for me are two different things,” she whispered.
His mouth brushed hers, deliberately light and excruciatingly slow. He simply tasted her without pushing for more. Her fingers curled into his wrists and a purr escaped her lips. Cat, he thought, recalling his grandmother’s use of the endearment, had just earned her nickname.
His restraint was rewarded. She never broke the kiss or the momentum building between them. With this woman only patience would get him what he desired and he believed she was worth it.
Catherine let sensation take over. Logan’s lips were firm, his touch gentle. His scent enticed her and his kiss held checked passion and a respect she’d rarely felt from a man. Beneath the gentleness was a longing she felt, too. As a ribbon of desire coiled tight in her belly, the need to be with him overwhelmed her.
Without warning, the clatter of metal startled her and she jumped back, breaking their passionate kiss. One that never should have happened. She burrowed into his white shirt, unwilling to face him just yet.
“Sounds like we’re being rescued,” he said.
“Sounds like.” She forced herself to move. Ignoring the steady pounding of her heart, she stood, refusing to meet his gaze. She’d lost her head, succumbed to desire and Lord only knew what would have happened if they hadn’t been rescued.
She started for the door but his light touch on her back stopped her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Cat.”
“Who said I did?” she asked defensively. “One kiss isn’t such a big deal.”
He raised an eyebrow. “One kiss?”
“Unless you can’t count.”
A slight grin tugged at his lips. “Neither one of us came up for air, so I’ll give you that one.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “A real gentleman wouldn’t have mentioned that.”
“Whoever said I was a gentleman?” He touched the pad of his thumb to her lower lip.
Her entire body shook in reaction. She wrapped her arms around her waist but the effort at self-protection came too late.
“I started it, Cat, and I wish I could say I was sorry. But I won’t.”
With that statement, he preceded her to the door. She stared at his retreating back and wondered how things had gotten so out of hand. She glanced down at her shaking hands and closed her eyes against the unfulfilled sexual energy still pulsing through her.
She wished lust was all she felt for Logan Montgomery.
Sex was purely physical and easy to leave behind. Logan wasn’t. She’d seen the real man beneath the power suit and playboy charm. She’d caught a glimpse of a lonely little boy growing up in a mausoleum, much like she’d been a lonely child in a tenement apartment. Class differences had vanished. To make matters worse, she’d discovered she liked him. Really liked him. Somewhere between walking into this closet and walking out, he had begun to matter. Knowing the inevitable conclusion, the truth chilled her deep inside.
She stared beyond Logan’s broad shoulders to the closet door and listened to the sounds of rescue. Seconds later the hinges were off and the entire door had been removed. Without glancing in his direction again, she slid past him and headed for safety. The bright glare of the crystal chandelier hit her hard and she blinked until her eyes adjusted.
Catherine glanced around.
“She wouldn’t dare show her face now.” Logan’s voice sounded from behind her.
It didn’t surprise her that he’d read her mind.
“Gran’s probably upstairs hiding,” he said.
While he turned to thank their rescuers—the cleaning crew, as she had predicted—she pulled herself together. By the time he’d returned to her, she was composed again. Until she caught a glimpse of the makeup stain on the once white collar of his dress shirt.
She cleared her throat. “Well.”
He grinned. “Well.”
“Goodbye.” Feeling ridiculous, she held out her hand.
His warm fingers wrapped around hers. “Not so fast, Cat.” Her heart tripped at the shortened name. “You’re forgetting something,” he said.
“Such as?”
“You owe me a drink and I’d have sworn you were a woman of your word.”
Bantering and sparring. Now she was back on familiar ground. Her tension eased. “You didn’t get us out of there,” she reminded him.
“And I didn’t have to. I said I’d give that door a shot and I did.” He rubbed his shoulder as a reminder and a blatant attempt to induce guilt.
He was right. Semantics, as he’d called them earlier, had indeed tripped her up. She owed him one drink, but thank the good Lord, it wouldn’t be now. At least she’d have a chance to regroup and firmly remind herself that whatever was going on between them was just a fluke.
She glanced down at her work uniform. “I’d rather not go anywhere dressed like this.”
“You look good to me.” Warm eyes met hers and he extended his hand. “Come with me. You can trust me, Cat.”
She stared into those seductive brown eyes. Trust him? She nearly laughed aloud. Hadn’t her father said the same thing to her mother the night before he’d walked out for good? If Catherine agreed, would she end up seduced and abandoned the next day? And why was a tiny voice in her head shouting this man was worth the risk?
What was it about good-looking men that made them think they could have the world at their feet with raw sex appeal alone? She eyed him warily. “I can’t go anywhere with you. The company van is parked outside—I can’t leave it here.”
“Bet you it’s not. Double or nothing. If I’m wrong, you’re free to go. If I’m right, it’s drinks and dinner.”
She had him this time. “That’s a safe enough bet.” She patted the outside pockets of her black skirt, then dipped her hand inside. She dangled the van’s keys in midair. Five more minutes in his company then she’d be on her way home.
Later she’d deal with the lingering disappointment and sexual humming that still teased her senses. Later, she’d ponder the unfairness of fate, throwing a perfect man into her less than perfect life.
Later. When she was alone.
“Truck or no truck. Time to find out.” Logan reached out. He made a grab for the keys, but captured her hand instead.
His fingers wrapped around hers. Warm and trusting. The words came to her in a rush. She shook her head. Sexual awareness had to be short-circuiting her brain. Why else would a woman who’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall into a man’s trap, be thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about someone so far out of reach?
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