The Bachelor
Marie Ferrarella
Event planner Jenny Hall didn't have time for men. Between organizing a bachelor auction and caring for her son, she barely had time for herself! So she was stunned when her friends pooled together the money at the auction to buy her a date with Eric Logan, billionaire playboy–and Jenny's secret crush since childhood.Even more surprising was Eric's interest in her!Eric was shocked to see how the shy girl he remembered had become a stunning and confident woman. When their dream date turned into a quiet night at home, he couldn't shake his growing attraction to her. And as Eric got to know Jenny, he found himself longing to make her his–forever.
“Why don’t we grab a cup of coffee and discuss what, exactly, you want me to do?”
Eric’s proposition caught Jenny off guard. Oh, if only you knew, she thought. She brought her attention back to the situation at hand.
This was a bad idea. But it wasn’t about her. This was about a bachelor auction for charity and she had to think less like an adolescent with her first crush and more like a mature adult.
A woman who turned to mush while looking into the warm, chocolate-brown eyes she could easily get lost in.
Exercising tremendous self-control, Jenny forced herself to remember what she had to do later that day. “Sounds good to me,” she said, slowly peeling the words off the roof of her mouth one by one.
Jenny looked away from Eric’s smiling face. She had to. There was no other way she could possibly regain the use of her legs.
MARIE FERRARELLA
This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA
Award-winning author has written almost two hundred novels for Silhouette Books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.
Visit her Web site at www.marieferrarella.com.
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
The Bachelor
Marie Ferrarella
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Be a part of
Because birthright has its privileges and family ties run deep.
She had a crush on a billionaire playboy who had no intention of settling down…or so she thought.
Jenny Hall: She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t love Eric Logan. But when her colleagues bought her a dream date with him, she found herself tongue-tied—and wondering how their worlds would connect.
Eric Logan: On a break from his life of fast jets and corporate boardrooms, Eric strutted his stuff at a bachelor auction…and became sweet Jenny Hall’s date for one night. As he entered her world, he realized his bachelor days were numbered!
Who’s the mysterious woman at the bachelor auction? Peter Logan can’t take his eyes off her…and has no idea that this beauty will soon make a serious impression on his heart.
Because birthright has its privileges and family ties run deep.
AVAILABLE JUNE 2010
1.) To Love and Protect by Susan Mallery
2.) Secrets & Seductions by Pamela Toth
3.) Royal Affair by Laurie Paige
4.) For Love and Family by Victoria Pade
AVAILABLE JULY 2010
5.) The Bachelor by Marie Ferrarella
6.) A Precious Gift by Karen Rose Smith
7.) Child of Her Heart by Cheryl St.John
8.) Intimate Surrender by RaeAnne Thayne
AVAILABLE AUGUST 2010
9.) The Secret Heir by Gina Wilkins
10.) The Newlyweds by Elizabeth Bevarly
11.) Right by Her Side by Christie Ridgway
12.) The Homecoming by Anne Marie Winston
AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 2010
13.) The Greatest Risk by Cara Colter
14.) What a Man Needs by Patricia Thayer
15.) Undercover Passion by Raye Morgan
16.) Royal Seduction by Donna Clayton
To the dreamers.
Never give up.
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
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
One
E laine Winthrop Hall hooked her Donna Karanclad arm through her daughter’s, and accompanied her into the living room. Jenny knew her mother was trying hard to keep from commenting on Jenny’s shapeless sweatshirt and her small apartment.
Jenny called the room cozy; her mom called it tiny, pointing out that she had bigger walk-in closets. But square-footage meant nothing to Jenny.
Neither, her mother was always quick to interject, did prestige, breeding and other people’s opinions. People who counted.
Elaine’s perfectly made-up eyes slanted a glance at the small four-year-old boy who sat on the carpet in the middle of the room, silently playing with an imaginary friend. Jenny knew Cole was the reason she’d come to these crammed quarters, to once more try to talk some sense into her “obstinate” daughter’s head.
The woman didn’t have to speak for Jenny to know what was on her mind. It was all fine and good to let your heart rule once in a while, she’d say, but that should involve the matter of men over the height of three feet, not small “anchors” that would only get in the way of the family’s best-laid plans for the future of their only daughter.
Elaine finally spoke, modulating her voice to something that could pass as a stage whisper. “He’s not your problem, Jennifer,” she insisted not for the first time. “He’s not your responsibility.”
It had been a very long, very stressful day, following on the heels of other equally long, equally stressful days. Jenny surprised herself by finding an untapped vein of patience. She always tried to keep an ample supply under the heading of “Mother,” but she’d been pretty certain that she’d exhausted the allotment on their last visit.
Nice to know some of the patience had managed to regenerate itself.
“He is not a problem,” Jenny told her mother softly but firmly. “And he is my responsibility. I gave my word to a dying woman.”
This was not news to her mother. Jenny had already said as much several times over when she’d explained to both of her parents why she was adopting the once sunny child. Jenny studied her mother’s perfectly made-up face, searching for a hint that the milk of human kindness was not a myth, but existed within the breast of the woman she, despite so many shortcomings, really did love.
She tried again. For the umpteenth time. “What would you have me do, Mother, go back on that? Go back on my word? You were the one who taught me to honor my commitments, remember?”
The woman sighed. “To honor them, yes, but you keep this up and you’ll be the one being committed. To an institution.” She glanced again at the little boy and shook her head. “There are places for children like Cole. Lots of people would love to adopt him. He’s still viable.”
“Viable?” Jenny stared at her mother in disbelief. “He’s not a plant, Mother, he’s a little boy. A little boy who’s been through a great deal, who saw his mother die.” What did it take for her mother to finally get it? She was Cole’s last chance. If she couldn’t get through that protective wall he’d constructed around himself, no one could. “You want me to run out on him, too?”
Elaine pressed her lips together. Jenny knew her mother didn’t like coming off as a villainness, but the woman had been shaped by decades of adhering to rules and regulations about what was permissible and proper, all of which prevented her from even leaning toward her daughter’s side.
Casting the boy a glance, the older woman said, “I’m not saying run out on him exactly, just give him to a family. A traditional family.” Jenny knew that her mother had never approved of one-parent families. In Elaine Hall’s world, you began with a husband and wife, then you introduced children into the setting. Anything else was unpardonable. Her mother had nearly had apoplexy when she’d told her about adopting Cole.
“You know, Jenny,” the woman continued, “You’re not SuperWoman.”
Jenny hated having limits applied to her, hated all the rules her mother lived by. They were like something from another century. “Just because you don’t want me to be doesn’t mean it’s not so.”
Elaine paused, looked at her oddly, then shook her head. “You always could confuse me with your rhetoric.”
Jenny grinned. “Call it a self-defense mechanism.” Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d skipped lunch and the dinner hour had already arrived and was in jeopardy of leaving. “If you wanted to browbeat me, Mother, you could have e-mailed.”
Her mother frowned, transforming her attractive face into a weary one. “What I want is for my daughter to find her rightful place in the world.”
Translation, Jenny thought, what her mother deemed to be a rightful place. They were worlds apart when it came to that. Her mother didn’t approve of Jenny’s career, her apartment, her almost monastic lifestyle. Not that the latter had much appeal for her, either, but until they found a way to create more hours in the day, dating and men were just going to have to stay on the back burner.
Jenny tried to keep her voice cheerful. “News flash, I have.”
“What?” Elaine fisted her hands at her waist and forgot all about her stage whisper. Cole looked her way and she dropped her voice an octave. “In that awful legal aid firm, housed in a building with faulty electrical wiring and bad plumbing?”
Trust her mother to hone in on the bad points. But the firm had to be where the poor people were, not in some upscale building in the best part of Portland. “We took the landlord to court over that,” she informed her mother, then added proudly, “and won.”
“What is wrong with being a lawyer in a respectable, well-known firm? What’s wrong with trying to make money?”
Jenny straightened the newspaper she’d left in disarray that morning. Other than that, nothing was out of place in the apartment. Cole was in preschool most of the day. When Sandra, her baby-sitter brought him home, Cole rarely touched any of the toys Jenny had bought for him. They remained in the toy box, leaving her nothing to tidy up now. She was forced to look at her mother as she fought the good fight and tried to remind herself that she wasn’t ten years old anymore.
“Nothing is wrong with making money,” she replied. “I’m trying to make it for my clients.”
Elaine’s frown deepened. “I meant for yourself.”
“I don’t need much money.” Leaving Cole in the living room, she moved into the kitchen, several steps away, and began getting out dishes in anticipation of calling out for a pizza. Her mother had arrived just as she was about to dial the phone, postponing the order. “Haven’t you heard, Mother? The best things in life are free.”
Elaine scoffed. “It wasn’t true when Al Jolson sang it, and it’s not true now.” A note of desperation entered the woman’s voice. “This is breaking my heart, Jennifer. You’re wasting your talent and your life.”
Jenny felt sorry for her mother. They were never going to see eye to eye about this. “My life, Mother, my talent.”
Elaine closed her eyes, momentarily retreating. “Your brother told me this was a waste of time.”
At the mention of Jordan, Jenny grinned again. She needed to get in touch with him and soon. “My brother, at times, is wise beyond his years.” She thought of a way to usher her mother out without resorting to anything physical. “Want to stay for dinner? I was just about to order a pizza.”
Elaine cringed. A pizza had yet to ever cross her perfectly shaped lips. “I have an engagement.”
This time it was Jenny who hooked her arm through her mother’s and very gently escorted her toward the door. “Of course you do. Don’t let me keep you from it.” Separating herself from her mother, she opened the door. “Your mission was a failure, Mother, but it was nice seeing you.”
Crossing the threshold, Elaine paused long enough to turn around and shake her head. “Do you realize that there are girls who would kill to have your background and opportunities?”
And if she didn’t, Jenny thought, there was her mother to remind her. Endlessly. To her credit, she didn’t roll her eyes. “By all means, Mother, give it to one of them before someone gets hurt.”
Elaine drew herself up. “Everything isn’t a joke, Jennifer.”
“No,” she admitted, although heaven knew both her parents could do with a little more humor in their lives, “but if you smile, you can get through anything.” She leaned forward and brushed a dutiful kiss against her mother’s cheek. “Smile once in a while, Mother. It keeps the lines at bay.” And then, straightening, Jenny took pity on her mother. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m chairing the annual bachelor auction again for the Parents Adoption Network. Some of your society ladies are bound to be there, drooling over the eligible studs who’ll be parading around.”
Elaine’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be vulgar, Jennifer. A lady doesn’t drool.”
Jenny held up an index finger, begging to differ. “A lady doesn’t let anyone see her drool,” she corrected with a grin.
In the face of undeniable defeat, Elaine squared her shoulders, a determined soldier to the end. “You are impossible.”
Jenny cocked her head. “Yes, but I love you and you’ve got another one at home to work your magic on.”
“Jordan doesn’t live at home, Jennifer. He hasn’t for years now. You know that.”
Her mother had always been a stickler for precision. “Figure of speech, Mother,” she said as she began to close the door.
Elaine stopped her for one last-minute order. “Eat something.”
Jenny held up her right hand, taking a solemn oath. “The moment they deliver it,” she promised, then closed the door quickly just in case her mother changed her mind and found something else to criticize. She leaned against it, looking out toward the living room and Cole. “That woman spreads joy whenever she goes.” She sighed, straightening, then walked into the living room. “She doesn’t mean anything by it, Cole. She’s really got a good heart. It’s just hard to find under all those layers of designer clothes and jewels.”
She glanced through the window. It faced the parking area and she could see her mother getting into her car, assisted by the chauffeur. Jenny tried to remember if she’d ever seen her mother actually driving a car, but couldn’t.
“It’s true what they say, you know, the rich are different from you and me.” She nodded as if the boy had responded. It was something she did each evening in the hopes that someday she could coax more than a word or two at a time out of him. A precocious little boy, he’d talked all day long—until his mother had died. “Right, I know what you’re thinking. That I’m one of them, but I’m not. You can’t hold the accident of birth against me, you know. I didn’t ask to be part of the elite and I got out as soon as I could.”
Which was true. She never felt as if she fit into her parents’ world, not really. The girls her mother wanted her to socialize with were so shallow, so vapid. She had more of an affinity for the people she was trying to help, but she didn’t quite fit in their world, either. Jenny sighed quietly. There were times that she felt like a fish with feet. She could swim in one world and walk in the other, but fit in neither.
“The privileged think just that—that it’s a privilege for anyone else to look upon them. They don’t realize that floating from cocktail party to cocktail party around the world doesn’t lead you to discover the true meaning of life.”
Cole merely went on playing with his imaginary friend as if she hadn’t said anything at all, but she tried to convince herself that the sound of her voice was comforting to him somehow. She remembered the boy he had been until six months ago, a bright, sunny child who laughed all the time. But he had been very attached to Rachel and her death had hit him very hard.
Almost right after the funeral, when the death had finally sunk in, he withdrew from the world. He hardly spoke at all, but he screamed in his nightmares, calling for Rachel, pitifully sobbing out “Mommy” over and over again.
She would rush into his room and hold him until he’d fallen back asleep again, her own heart breaking. Someday, Jenny promised herself, someday, she was going to reach him. Until then, she would go on being there for Cole.
Jenny glanced at the kitchen table where the file she’d brought home lay spread out, covering every square inch of surface. She was in the middle of a court battle on behalf of Miguel Ortiz. If she won, it would go a long way to easing the man’s life. It would never, barring a miracle, put him back on his feet again, or free him from the endless pain he’d been subjected to ever since a highly respected and highly inebriated surgeon had worked less than magic on his spine, but it would pay for Miguel’s bills and allow the man to regain some measure of self-respect.
They were getting closer to the end now. For the last five weeks, she’d done nothing but eat, sleep and breathe the case, but she needed to steal a little time for herself. And she could think of nothing better than creating a tiny island of time where she could share herself with the one person who truly mattered to her. Cole.
Bending over, she gathered the towhead into her arms and drew him close as she stood up again. Jenny kissed the top of the boy’s head.
“Don’t you worry about what the Wicked Witch of the West said. I’ll always be here to take care of you. You and me against the world, kid, right?” He raised his head to look at her with Rachel’s soft green eyes, his expression never changing. “Of course right,” she murmured softly. “C’mon, we’ll order that pizza and then I’ll read you a story. I think we both need to unwind after that surprise visit.”
In her heart, she knew her mother meant well. For that matter, both of her parents did. But there was no way she was going to give up any part of her life. She loved being a champion for people who had all but lost hope. And she loved Cole. More than anything, she wanted to be a mother to him.
If there was a part of her life that didn’t feel quite right, that felt as if there was something missing, like a supportive prince to turn to in times when her spirits flagged and she desperately needed bolstering, well, whose life was perfect anyway? Hers was close to it as far as she was concerned, and that was enough.
Juggling the child and the phone, she placed her call to the local pizza parlor. On a first-name basis with most of the people who worked there, she asked Angelo for an extra large pizza with extra cheese and three kinds of meat. He promised to deliver it within the half hour.
“There,” she told Cole, hanging up, “that should hold us.”
Going to the small bookcase in the corner, she selected a book she knew was a favorite of Cole’s and sat down in the oversized recliner. She took a moment to nestle Cole on her lap and then started reading.
Slowly, the tension began to drain out of her.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Jordan Hall urged his best friend, Eric Logan.
He had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the rhythmic whack of the handball as it bounced against the far wall in the exclusive gym where they both had a membership. He and Eric were evenly matched and he had to concentrate in order not to lose the game. Not an easy feat when he was preoccupied with subtly laying the foundations of a plan.
He’d come up with the plan after getting off the phone with his mother. Elaine Hall had been bewailing the fact that, when Jennifer finally ventured out into the arena to which she had been born, it had to be for a deplorable bachelor auction.
“Of course it’s for charity and that’s all well and good,” his mother had said to him, “but when is that sister of yours ever going to think about finding a suitable match for herself and finally settle down the way she’s supposed to?”
It was the same refrain that his mother harassed him with. The same one, he knew, that Eric’s mother, Leslie, occasionally played for him. Ordinarily, it would have gone in one ear and out the other, like a good many of the other one-way conversations his mother had had with him, except that this one had struck a chord. It had melded with one other piece of information in his brain that he was fairly certain no one else was privy to. He knew for a fact that Jenny had once had a major crush on Eric.
For all he knew, she still might.
In any event, the thought of the upcoming bachelor auction had led him to formulate an idea. Jenny was always about work and had completely forgotten how to play. In his less than humble opinion, his sister was in serious need of play. And he wanted to deliver it to her.
This was phase one.
“Fun,” Eric snorted as he returned the serve, sending the ball slamming against the wall and then directly at Jordan. “Being paraded like a piece of meat in front of a room full of bored, aging society matrons with checkbooks is your idea of fun?”
“No, being paraded in front of the daughters of bored, aging society matrons with checkbooks of their own is fun,” Jordan corrected, leaping up to reach the ball and send it shooting back toward the wall. “I’ve taken part in one of these auctions before. Trust me, it’s for a very good cause and it fulfills your charity quota for at least six months.”
A charity quota was the last thing Eric felt he needed to fill. “I gave at the office,” he quipped, returning the serve. Despite the glove, his palm stung as he made contact.
They both knew his comeback was true. Everyone in Eric’s family was dedicated, in varying degrees, to the concept of charity. Although Eric himself was seen as the carefree one in the family, a charming, desirable, eligible bachelor who was part of the vast Logan Corporation, a company that had long been near the top of the computer empire thanks to certain innovations and technology they’d developed, he was as serious about doing his part for charity as the rest, just not as visible about it. But Jordan knew that his friend had an affinity for the underdog and secretly did what he could to help things along.
That gave his best friend something in common with Jenny, Jordan thought. And he was counting on that to pave the way for an evening his little sister both deserved and wouldn’t soon forget.
First, however, he needed to get Eric there.
“Give a little more,” Jordan coaxed, his voice straining. He’d almost lost that last serve and struggled to recover it.
Sweat was pouring into Eric’s sweatband. The terry cloth fabric felt as if it was glued to his forehead. He went long, captured the ball and sent it hurtling back to the wall.
“Why the sudden interest in my participation in this beefcake extravaganza?”
“My sister’s chairing it.” Jordan sneaked a side glance at Eric, but the latter’s expression gave no indication that he even remembered Jenny. That could have just been his involvement in the game, since Eric always played to win. “And I thought I’d be a good big brother and recruit a few men for her. Besides,” he said with a grin, “misery loves company.”
With one mighty whack, Eric sent the ball flying over Jordan’s shoulder. Triumph surged through his veins. The point was his.
Sports was the only field in which he allowed his natural sense of competition to emerge. God knew it wasn’t at work. There his older brother Peter was the fair-haired boy, the company CEO to his department VP now that their father had retired. He’d become thoroughly convinced that Peter never slept. His older brother was there in the morning when Eric arrived at the office and remained there long after he went home.
Eric supposed that part of the deal was that Peter felt that he had to try twice as hard because he was adopted. The bottom line was that Peter achieved a tremendous amount and consequently left him looking as if he were standing still. If he was the insecure kind, this would have sent him running to the nearest therapist’s couch, but he had a healthy sense of self that allowed him to view Peter’s efforts as being good for the family, not reflecting badly on him.
If anything, it made him worry about his older brother. He felt as if Peter was allowing life to pass him by.
“Okay, I’ll sign on. On one condition.” He served the ball, then immediately braced himself for its return. “You talk Peter into it, too. He’s the one who needs to get out, to unwind.”
There was no hesitation on Jordan’s part. “Sure, Peter’d be a great addition to the stable.” Jordan grinned, thinking of the serious man as he sent the ball flying. “Why don’t you broach it with him first, though?”
“Me?” Eric echoed. Missing the ball, he muttered a curse under his breath. Then, with the ball out of play, he stopped for a second to catch his breath. “You’re the pimp.”
Picking up a bottle of water, Jordan stopped to drink before answering. “This isn’t pimping.” He wiped his forehead. “This is strictly aboveboard. You take the lady—”
“Who paid for my services,” Eric was quick to point out.
“Who donated a great deal of money to a worthy charity for the pleasure of your company,” Jordan corrected. Then he started again. “You take the lady out for the evening and show her a good time. That doesn’t include warming any sheets.” Jordan paused, knowing he couldn’t come across like a choirboy without raising Eric’s suspicions. “Unless, of course, you want to.”
“What I want is never an issue. It’s what the lady wants that counts,” Eric told him with a touch of innocence that was a tad less than convincing.
Jordan was well aware of Eric’s reputation as a heartthrob. “And you always make them want exactly what you want,” he finished.
Eric took a deep breath, getting ready for another set. “Whatever you say.”
Jordan bounced the ball once on the gym floor, then looked at Eric. “Then it’s a yes?”
Eric shrugged. “Sure, why not? And I’ll see about Peter.” He gave Jordan a penetrating look. “You are in on this, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” With that, Jordan served the ball with enthusiasm.
Phase one was complete, he thought. Now he needed to go on to phase two.
Two
J enny threw back two extra-strength aspirins, washed them down with water and fervently hoped that they would live up to at least half of their advertising hype. Otherwise, she was ready to surrender now. Death by headache.
It was the kind of morning created by tiny devils gleefully working overtime in the bowels of hell. As far as she saw, there was no other plausible explanation why, when she was such a good person, everything that could go wrong today had. One right after the other.
Her alarm failed to go off, and for one of the few rare mornings of her life, she’d overslept. Then the toaster emitted flames instead of toast. That, luckily, had been handled by the fire extinguisher she’d had the presence of mind to keep in her cupboard. Cole’s baby-sitter, a woman who thrived on punctuality and took pride in being early, was late. To top it off, her less than reliable car decided that it’d had enough of the distributor cap—the one her mechanic had put in just last month—and burned a hole through it.
Needless to say, that left her without a means of transportation to use in order to get to her downtown office. There wasn’t even time to see about getting the evil car towed to her mechanic’s shop. Telling herself she wasn’t going to have a nervous breakdown, she just left the vehicle parked in the carport and hurried back to her apartment to call a taxi.
When she’d arrived at her office, there were a pile of messages already on her desk, threatening to breed if left unread. And her appointments were backing up.
On mornings like this that life of leisure her mother kept advocating began to sound awfully tempting.
Still waiting for the aspirins to kick in and do their magic, Jenny was only one third through her pile of messages and in between the battalion of clients when the secretary she shared with the other attorneys who made up Advocate Aid, Inc.—a title she’d come up with because it was short and to the point, unlike her life—called out across the communal space they all shared.
“Line three’s for you, Jenny.”
Jenny cringed. She felt as if an anvil had just been dropped on top of her head. There was such a thing as physically and mentally reaching a limit and she had well surpassed hers. She’d stayed up last night to work on the Ortiz case, but then one of Cole’s nightmares had brought her rushing to his side. She’d remained there, consoling him, until he’d fallen asleep.
Unfortunately, so had she.
Slumbering in Cole’s undersized junior bed while assuming a position made popular by early Christian martyrs had given her a phenomenal crick in her neck. One that refused to go away even when bombarded with an extra three minutes worth of hot water in the shower.
She rubbed it now, telling herself that this, too, shall pass, as she called back, “Tell them I died.”
“Really?”
She’d forgotten that Betty was a woman who took you at your word. Literally. She was completely devoid of any sense of humor, droll or otherwise.
“No,” Jenny sighed, “not really.”
Rotating her neck from side to side, she picked up the receiver. As she placed it to her ear, Jenny struggled with the sinking feeling that she was going to regret not sticking to her original instruction.
Trying to sound as cheerful as she could under the circumstances, she said, “Hello, this is Jennifer Hall.”
“Mother called me last night.”
Tension temporarily slid out of her body as she recognized her brother’s voice. Jordan represented a moment’s respite from her otherwise miserable day. “My condolences.”
She heard him chuckle before he continued. “She said that you were chairing that fund-raising bachelor auction again.”
Undoubtedly her mother had probably said a lot of other things, as well, about the situation, bemoaning the fact that once again, the daughter she’d raised for great things and adoring men was once more on the sidelines. Camille in her deathbed scene definitely had nothing on her mother. Mingling amid men had always come easy for her mother. The woman didn’t understand that not everyone was granted that gift.
“Those that can, do. Those that can’t, auction,” Jenny replied glibly.
Her brother surprised her with the serious note in his voice. “Don’t knock yourself down, Jenny. The only reason you’re not out there every night is because you choose not to be.”
“Right.” Never mind the fact that she was plain, she thought, and that no one without some grievance to file would give her the time of day, much less the time of her life.
The natives along the wall were getting restless and she had several people to see before she could leave for court. “Listen, Jordy, I’d love to talk, but—”
He got to the crux of his call, or at least, the beginning of it. “I’ve called to volunteer my services for the auction.”
Again she was surprised. She scribbled her brother’s name on the side of her blotter with a note about the bachelor auction. One thing that went right today. Maybe it would start a trend.
“Fantastic, Jordy. This means I don’t have to badger you.” Although she was only going to turn to him if she couldn’t get anyone else. She knew that this was not high on Jordan’s list of favorite things to do.
“No, but you might have to do a little persuading with the two other candidates I lined up for you.”
That stopped her cold. “Oh?”
Intrigued, she turned her swivel chair away from the lineup against the far wall. She didn’t exactly have time for this now, but she was going to have to make time later. The auction was less than two weeks away and she still needed more bodies to fill the quota. Especially since Emerson Davis just dropped out due to a sudden marriage that no one but the bartender who’d kept refilling Emerson’s glass in the Vegas club saw coming.
Still, she knew when to be cautious. “Exactly who did you ‘line up’ for me?”
“Peter Logan and his brother.” Peter Logan had two brothers as well as two sisters. Jordan paused significantly, as if waiting for a drumroll, before he finally said, “Eric.”
Eric.
Beautiful Eric.
Eric with the soulful brown eyes and thick, luscious brown hair. Eric who still, after all these years, popped up in her dreams just often enough to remind her that she had never quite gotten over that crush she’d had on him all those years ago.
Everyone had an impossible dream. Eric was hers. But dreams, Jenny had learned, did not arbitrarily come true, especially if you did nothing to make them come true. And she, un-swanlike as she was, had kept her distance from Eric Logan. The man was accustomed to drop-dead gorgeous women, a label she knew in her heart would never be applied to her, not even by a myopic, tender-hearted man.
She felt herself growing warm at the mere sound of Eric’s name. She really hoped that a blush wasn’t working its way up her neck to her face, although it probably was, if that look from the man seated against the wall, waiting to speak to her, was any indication.
“Jenny? Are you there?” Jordan asked as the silence stretched out between them.
She cleared her throat, silently calling herself a dunce. “You, um, you talked to them?”
“I talked to Peter. He suggested Eric join us, and thought that an appeal from you might cinch the deal.”
“Appeal to Eric,” she repeated as if in a trance.
“You might.”
And then she laughed. “Yeah, right.”
The next moment, she came to her senses and realized she’d taken that in the wrong context. God knew she would have given her right arm to appeal to Eric, but she wasn’t his type. She had far more of a chance of winning the Kentucky Derby than she had of appealing to Eric.
There was silence again and she was quick to remedy it. “You’re his best friend, Jordan. You talk to him.”
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because, as his best friend, Eric wouldn’t be uncomfortable saying no to me. But he won’t say no to you. Especially since his parents have donated a considerable amount of money to your cause as well as to the Children’s Connection,” he told her, mentioning the name of the adoption organization associated with both Portland General Hospital and PAN itself. “He just needs a little convincing.”
She knew all about the Logans’ generosity, as well as what Eric did and didn’t do. She made it a point to keep tabs on him, even if he was completely unattainable. “And you think I can do that.”
“Hey, you’re the chairlady. I can’t do all your work for you. Besides, you’re the one who can argue the ears off an Indian Elephant.”
She supposed that was a compliment, although she’d had better. “Lovely image.”
“You’ll find him at Logan Corporation. I know he’s free this afternoon about one.” Jordan paused. “He’s expecting you.”
She was due in court by three o’clock. That gave her a small margin of time if she juggled it right and had lunch at her desk.
So what else was new?
Jenny felt her heart hammering as she echoed incredulously, “He’s expecting me?”
“Uh-huh. I told Eric that you might drop by to try to convince him to jump on the bandwagon, so to speak.”
Jenny felt her mouth becoming completely dry. That was because all the moisture in her body had suddenly rerouted itself straight to her hands and then condensed there.
She heard herself saying with more than a little disbelief, “Then I guess one o’clock it is.”
“Great. Talk to you about the details later.”
She wasn’t sure if her brother was referring to the details involved in his taking part in the auction, or the details of what was probably going to prove to be her latest mortifying experience, but she didn’t have the opportunity to ask. Jordan had hung up.
Gripping both sides of the desk, she rose from behind it on shaky legs that had suddenly been rented out to someone else. In a gait she knew had to approximate that of Frankenstein’s monster as he took his first unattended steps, she began to cross to the hall.
“Hey, your next appointment is here,” Betty hissed to her as Jenny strode past the younger woman’s cluttered desk.
Jenny didn’t even spare Betty a look. She couldn’t. Moving her head to the left or right might carry dangerous consequences with it.
“Tell them I’ll be right back.”
Getting accustomed to her new wooden legs, Jenny quickened her steps as she hurried to the bathroom. To throw up.
For a second after she exited the cab, Jenny stood on the curb, looking up at the tall edifice before her. The building that was owned by and housed the Logan Corporation. With effort, she gathered together the last drops of her courage. She needed all the help she could get.
Despite her last appointment running over, she’d made it to the Logan Corporation building with a few minutes to spare.
All the way over to the shining thirty-story edifice she had practiced what she was going to say to Eric once she was alone with him. But, unlike when she was preparing to deliver summations in court, no amount of rehearsal seemed to improve her performance. The moment she went through her arguments, they melted from her brain like lone snowflakes out on a June sidewalk.
He was just a man, she told herself as she rode up the elevator to his floor. Two legs, two arms, one body in between to hold the limbs together. Beneath his tanned skin he had the same skeletal structure as millions of other men.
But oh, that skin, Jenny caught herself thinking. And growing warmer.
This thinking was going to get her nowhere. Worse, if she wasn’t careful, it would lose the auction a potential and incredibly desirable bachelor. The fewer bachelors, the less money would be raised. Any fool could see that having Eric Logan on the block would raise the organization a very pretty penny.
There were no two ways about it. She had to think of him as just another body.
Focus, focus, she ordered herself as she stepped off the elevator and walked down the hallway to the inner sanctum that was the gateway to his office.
His office lay just behind the massive double doors. As the VP of Marketing & Sales for the Logan Corporation, Eric occupied an impressive suite. She had no doubts that the entire staff of Advocate Aid, Inc. could easily fit into it with room to spare, desks and all.
She presented herself to the keeper of the gate. “I’m Jennifer Hall. Mr. Logan is expecting me.”
Unlike Betty, who came to work in jeans that had seen a better century, the woman she addressed looked as if she had been forged out of a mold that was labeled: Perfect Secretary.
The woman smiled distantly but politely, then checked a list before her.
“Yes, he is,” she replied coolly. “If you’ll come this way.” Rising to her feet, the secretary led the way back. She knocked on the door, then turned the knob, opening the door just wide enough to allow Jenny to slip through. “Ms. Hall to see you, sir.”
Nodding her thanks to the woman, Jenny crossed the threshold. When the door closed again behind her, Jenny concentrated on not sinking to the floor in a heap.
She looked like the personification of efficiency, Eric thought as he rose to his feet to greet Jenny. Every light brown hair was pulled back and in place, except for one wayward wisp at her right temple that seemed to have rebelliously disengaged itself from the rest.
It made her look more human, he thought, his eyes sweeping over the rest of her. Jordan’s sister was wearing a light gray suit that appeared just large enough to hide her figure.
Was there a figure beneath all that, or was she shapeless?
Didn’t matter one way or another. He reminded himself that this was his best friend’s sister and not another conquest to be won over. This was strictly business, not pleasure. If anything, he was doing a favor for a friend. A friend to whom he’d ultimately lost a handball game to yesterday.
“Sit down.” He gestured toward the comfortable chair before his desk.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
The words were uttered slowly, distinctly. She wasn’t enunciating so much as trying to work around a tongue that felt as if it had swollen to three times its normal size. Sitting, she leaned her briefcase against the back of the desk and placed her hands on either armrest, praying she wouldn’t leave damp streaks on them. Her palms felt as if they were more than one half water.
Taking a deep breath, she launched into her campaign, fervently hoping she wouldn’t sound like a blithering idiot to him.
“I realize that your time is precious, Eric—” She could call him Eric, couldn’t she? After all, they did go way back, technically. “But this is a very worthy cause.” Her palms grew damper, her speech rate increased. “Since 1989, PAN—that’s the Parent Adoption Network—has been able to help—”
Was she trying to convince him? he wondered. He was under the impression, after talking to Jordan, that this was a done deal. “Yes.”
The single word pulled her up short. She felt like someone slamming on the brake and skidding back and forth along the road, trying not to hit something. “Yes?”
Was there something he wasn’t getting? Or had Jordan failed to tell her that he had agreed to this? “Yes, I’ll be part of the bachelor auction. That’s what you were leading up to, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” She blew out a breath, her mind a sudden blank with nothing available in the immediate area with which to fill it. She flushed. “Wow, that certainly takes the wind out of my sails.”
He found pink was an appealing color on her. Maybe she wasn’t quite as plain as how she first came across. Jenny did have beautiful blue eyes. “Why? Didn’t you want me to say yes?”
“Yes.” She liked the sound of that word in her ear, the taste of it on her tongue. Yes… There were so many scenarios she wanted Eric and herself to agree on….
Yanking herself out of her mental revelry, she tried to backtrack. She wasn’t going to suffer death by headache today. No, if she was going to die today, it was going to be death by sheer idiocy. “I mean, I’ve been looking for the right words to persuade you, practicing speeches.” Because Eric was looking at her so intently, she flushed again. She tried not to contemplate what was going through his mind. “The cabby must have thought I was crazy.”
“Cabby?”
Jenny nodded. “I had to take a cab to get here. Actually, I had to take a cab to get anywhere today. My car died.” She felt her tongue tangling more and more and waved a hand at her words. She’d gone off on a tangent again. It was what happened when her brain wasn’t operating properly. “Never mind, you don’t want to hear about that.”
Eric smiled at her. Jenny found her knees dissolving like sugar cubes in a hot cup of coffee. Any second now she was going to turn into a complete puddle.
“I’ve been subjected to worse things,” he confided. Glancing over at his day planner, Eric made a decision. “Why don’t we grab a cup of coffee somewhere and talk over exactly what you want me to do?”
Oh, if you only knew. Jenny grabbed her thoughts before they could bolt from the corral and go off running.
This was a bad idea, she thought.
Her confidence didn’t come into play in this arena the way it did when she was in the courtroom. There she was completely prepared, knew her case’s strengths, its weaknesses. Here, the only weakness she was acutely aware of was her own.
This wasn’t about her, Jenny upbraided herself. This was about charity. She had to stop thinking like an adolescent and start thinking and behaving like the mature twenty-six-year-old woman she was. A twenty-six-year-old woman who was a damn good attorney and had graduated at the top of her class within a highly competitive academic forum.
A twenty-six-year old woman-slash-attorney who was turning into mush while looking up into warm chocolate-brown eyes that reminded her of her favorite pudding.
Enough.
Exercising tremendous self-control, Jenny forced herself to think practically, not an easy matter under the circumstances. She had to be in court by three, which meant she needed to be inside a cab by two-fifteen. That in turn meant calling a cab by one forty-five. Since it was a little after one o’clock now, that gave her approximately forty-five minutes.
Forty-five minutes to bask in Eric Logan’s smile and try very, very hard not to behave like a living brain donor. It was a challenge.
“Sounds good to me.” She slowly peeled the words off the roof of her mouth one by one.
The next moment, Jenny looked away from the even wider smile that was now gracing Eric’s lips. She had to. She knew she wasn’t about to regain the use of her knees any other way.
Three
T he coffee shop turned out to be just around the corner from the Logan Corporation. There were tables outside the shop for those who felt like facing the brisk early December afternoon. In deference to the weather, Eric selected one inside for them. It was close to the window so that they still had a good view of all the foot traffic on the busy thoroughfare.
Eric waited until they were both seated and facing each other across a small, round oak table before he said anything beyond asking her what kind of coffee she felt like having.
He watched her take a delicate sip. Jordan’s sister had nice features, he decided, but someone needed to introduce her to makeup.
Still, he knew a great many women who, deprived of their paints, powders and brushes, looked far less attractive than Jenny did. There was something to be said for that.
“So, is this what you do?” Eric asked.
With Eric so close, at times brushing against her in this crowd, it was all Jenny could do to focus on what he was saying, to put one foot in front of the other and keep walking. Thinking was out of the question, so she hit on the first thing that came to her mind.
“You mean badger men?”
He laughed and though it was dangerous to her newly returning sanity, she allowed herself to absorb the rich sound and bask in it for a moment before, once again, reminding herself that this was not about her long-standing infatuation with Eric, it was about the charity.
Ah, but charity begins at home, a tiny voice whispered, and wouldn’t you like to take him home?
Jenny shifted in her seat, as if to physically get away from the thought that neatly tucked itself under the heading of impossible dreams.
“No,” Eric said, “I meant fund-raising.”
Holding her gaily decorated cup in both hands, she stared into the light chocolate liquid, making a deliberate effort to avoid his eyes. If she looked into them, she knew she could easily get lost. And without a lifeline or compass to guide her, she might never be able to find her way back.
“No,” she replied, raising her voice above the murmuring din. “I’m an attorney.”
Eric cocked his head and looked at her, as if absorbing the information and trying to apply it to her. “Really.”
It sounded as if it was half a question, half a statement uttered in disbelief. Obviously her big brother didn’t talk to Eric about her. Not that she would have expected him to, she supposed. When handsome men in their prime got together, siblings were probably the last things they talked about.
From some automatic pilot region that was usually tapped into only when her mother was around, Jenny felt her backbone stiffening.
“Yes, really.”
She saw amusement curving his mouth. Did he find lawyers amusing, or just the idea of her being one?
“Which firm?” he asked.
“Advocate Aid, Inc.” There was a touch of pride in her voice as she told him. They were an incredibly small group, numbering four now that Russell had bailed on them. But they were a proud group nonetheless.
Eric really hadn’t expected that. He’d thought that Jennifer’s father’s connections would have placed her in some highbrow law firm, the way they had Jordan. He tried picturing her in less than affluent surroundings and came up short.
“Why?”
Jenny’s back became ramrod straight. This she was accustomed to. Being challenged. For a moment, she forgot that a glance from Eric Logan’s soft brown eyes could melt steel pins at a hundred paces. Her protective nature came out, the same nature that allowed her to champion so many of the championless people who came her way, looking upon her as their last chance.
“Because they need someone on their side a lot more than the people who come to Jordan’s firm do.”
Eric wondered if this was something she truly believed in, or just something she felt she should be giving lip service to. So many men and women involved in charities only did so by remote control. They kept their hearts completely out of the affair.
Because the noise level was rising, he leaned forward across the table. “So you’re saying the poor need more justice than the rich?”
It felt as if his face was inches from hers. She could feel his breath along her skin. Could feel the inside of her body coiling, ready to spring. Not that she ever would. She was too terrified to make a move.
It took her a second to find her voice. “No, I’m saying the poor are just as much entitled to it as the rich and because they’re poor, they don’t get it.”
His eyes held hers. She had nice eyes, he thought. Sincere eyes. He began to believe her. Or at least believe that she believed herself. “Except for you.”
He was smiling again. Was that indulgence? Gas? Or something more meaningful?
She struggled not to sink into his expression. “I’m not the Lone Crusader here. There are others, although not nearly enough.” The sigh escaped her before she realized it had been hovering in the wings.
The last time he’d heard anyone sigh like that, it was the man next to him at the blackjack table. The man had lost ten thousand dollars at a single turn of the cards. “That sounded pretty intense. Care to elaborate?”
Before she knew it, Jenny found herself doing just that.
Eric, she realized, had the ability to draw words out of her despite the fact that they had to get past a blank mind and a thick tongue. She concluded that the man was nothing short of a magician. The kind who pulled on a single scarf only to draw out another and another while the audience looked on in awe.
But maybe he was just being polite. She didn’t want to bore him with details. “It’s just gotten a little harder since Russell left.”
“Russell?”
She nodded. Since he hadn’t yawned or had his attention drawn away by the voluptuous redhead who was unabashedly staring at him from across the room, Jenny continued.
“Russell Riley. He was one of the founders of Advocate Aid, Inc.” Russell had been the one to recruit her, straight out of law school. The ink hadn’t dried yet on her diploma when he’d told her about the fledgling law firm that he and his friends had put together so that they could practice “real” law as he’d put it. “He just up and quit one day.”
A wry smile played on her lips as she recalled the scene in her head. Recalled progressing from guarded amusement when she thought Russell was kidding, to disbelief, to utter sorrow. And finally to anger because he was deserting them after getting her so caught up in the concept.
“He said he’d had enough of tilting at windmills. That the windmills had won and he was taking an offer from a firm that could actually help him pay his bills at the end of the month.” She supposed she couldn’t fault the man. After all, she had never been in that position herself. Maybe she would have thought differently if it was a matter of choosing between paying her rent and eating that week.
Finished with his espresso, Eric toyed with the empty cup, his eyes on her. “Don’t you ever feel that way?”
“My bills are paid at the end of the month.” At times, the admission almost embarrassed her. It was what separated her from the people she was trying to help. They were poor and she was far from it, even if she didn’t take a cent from her parents. That was because of the inheritance. “I had a very generous grandmother who left me more than enough money in her will.”
Eric shook his head. One strand of brown hair fell into his eyes and she had to curve her fingers into her palms to keep from reaching out and sweeping the strand back into place. “No, I meant tired of tilting at windmills.”
She smiled. “Sometimes.” She was unaware that exhilaration entered her voice. But he wasn’t. “But then, those wonderful times when the windmills lose—and they do lose—make it all worth it. So does the expression on the face of my client, a person who thought no one cared and that he was doomed to be the one that everyone else stepped on.” Forgetting who she was talking to for a moment, she warmed to her subject, to her unending quest. “I deal in hope and there’s no greater high than to see it actually take root and spread.”
She realized that he’d gotten quiet. Not bored, just quiet. He was looking at her as if she was saying something he was actually interested in.
Also his gift, she thought.
She’d heard women say that Eric Logan could instantly make them feel as if they were the only ones in a room crowded with people. It was true. The coffee shop he’d brought her to was fairly full with a post-lunch crowd milking the last minutes of their break before returning to whatever they had to return to. She’d seen more than one woman look Eric’s way as they walked past table after full table. Attractive women sitting across from attractive men.
But then, Eric was in a class all his own. He had a certain something. Magnetism, she thought it was called.
It could have been called Oscar for all she knew, Jenny thought. The only thing she was certain of was that it still had a deep effect on her.
He was smiling at her, really smiling. Not indulgently, the way a person did when they pasted on a smile and counted off the minutes until someone was through talking to them, but genuinely.
Or was that only wishful thinking on her part? “What?” she finally asked.
Eric sobered ever so slightly. He didn’t want her thinking he was laughing at her. “It’s just that Jordan never mentioned any of this. The only time he talked about you was to say you were chairing some charitable event. I had no idea Jordan’s little sister had turned into Joan of Arc.”
Self-consciousness returned in droves. Once again she was that little girl in the living room with two left shoes on. It had taken her years to live that down. Her mother kept it in her arsenal, ready to pull out at a moment’s notice.
“Did I just sound too pompous?”
He read her expression quickly and with regret. In his opinion, there weren’t enough true do-gooders in the world. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound as if I was poking fun at you, I was just impressed. My parents would have been, too. They believe very strongly in the concept of giving back.”
A light turned on inside of her, burning brightly. He was impressed. Eric Logan was impressed with her. Never mind that it was for something she did as routinely as breathing, he’d taken notice of her. She felt lighter than air.
“It’s not so much a matter of giving back as it is just trying to balance the odds.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that.”
“It wasn’t a tangent,” Eric protested. “As I remember, I asked you a question.”
She tried not to flush and mentally upbraided herself for her reaction when she did.
What was it about the way the man spoke, looked, hell, breathed, that negated all her schooling, all her thoughts, everything inside her head and gave her the IQ of a dull button?
“The question you should be asking is about the fund-raiser.”
Then, as if he had done just that, Jenny went on to give him the date, time and location of the affair. The Portland Hilton had graciously donated one of their larger ballrooms for the evening in exchange for the publicity the fund-raiser was guaranteed to generate in the local newspapers. She’d already made a point to release the story to the Herald and the Tribune, making sure there would be follow-ups on the night of the event. Sleep these days came at a high premium.
She watched Eric jot down the information and held her breath as he went through his PalmPilot and made sure he had no conflicting engagement. To her relief and minor disbelief, he didn’t.
So far, so good.
“I’ll need you there at least half an hour before the auction starts,” she told him as he closed his Palm-Pilot and tucked it away into the breast pocket of his Armani jacket.
“Will you, now?”
Jenny knew the teasing words were uttered just in fun, but she felt them slide down her spine like the warm, caressing fingers of a lover. Or what she imagined the warm, caressing fingers of a lover would feel like, never having had the firsthand experience herself.
It took effort not to shiver as the sensation danced through her.
From some unknown source, she discovered an iota of saliva and husbanded it before swallowing to relieve a throat that was suddenly so parched, it made the Mojave Desert look like a rain forest.
“I mean we need you there earlier so we can go over the order you’ll all be in and what you want me to say when I introduce you to the bidders.”
“I have to write my own intro?” He hadn’t thought of that. Listing his accomplishments wasn’t something he was accustomed to.
Jenny thought of last year. A great many of the men who were auctioned off had very clear ideas about what she should say about them before the bidding began. “A lot of the bachelors like doing that.”
Eric shrugged carelessly. “Why don’t you take care of that?” he suggested. In his estimation, she looked a little stunned. “Say anything you want to say.”
How about “I love you”?
Jenny blinked with a jolt, as startled by the unbidden thought as she knew he would have been had she said it out loud.
Eric interpreted her reaction to be to his words, not some thought that had suddenly occurred to her. “What, no good?”
She tried to suck in a breath as covertly as possible. “No, that’ll be fine. I think I know enough about you to make an intelligent presentation.” Striving to look anywhere but at his face, she glanced down at her wrist. And saw her watch. The numbers registered and she groaned. “Oh, God.”
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up at him, fighting a growing panic. She was going to be late. This was just par for today. “It’s two o’clock.”
“And just what time did your fairy godmother tell you to be back?” he teased. He didn’t exactly know why, but everything about Jenny made him think of Cinderella. “Do your clothes start disappearing now, changing into tatters?”
With her thoughts scattering in two directions at once, his words made no sense to her. She absolutely hated being late. She pictured poor Miguel and his family waiting for her in the long courthouse hallway, thinking that she had deserted them. “What?” She began rummaging through her purse for her cell phone, praying that the battery hadn’t been struck dead by some fluke of nature. “No. I mean, I’m due in court at three.”
Taking her wrist, he turned it slightly so he could read the face on her watch, as well. “That still gives you an hour.”
She could feel her skin throbbing where his thumb and forefinger had touched it. “Yes, but I need to call a cab and if there’s traffic—”
He placed his hand over hers to curtail the stream of words he saw coming. Unable to quite read it, Eric found himself curious about the look that leaped into her eyes.
“Why don’t I drive you to court?”
The casual offer had air rushing out of her lungs like helium from a punctured balloon. “What?”
Was it his imagination, or did she look flustered? “Why don’t I drive you to court?” he repeated, then grinned. “That would solve your problem, wouldn’t it?”
All but for the lobotomy his smile was threatening to perform on her brain. She ran the tip of her dry tongue along her drier lips.
“Don’t you have to get back to the office?” she asked hoarsely.
It had been a full, if unproductive morning. “All of today’s crises have been safely averted,” he informed her. “And if a new one crops up, Peter’ll handle it.” He thought of his older brother, shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone. His father couldn’t have asked for a better son to run the company if he had had him made to order. “Peter always handles it.”
Was that a note of sibling rivalry she detected? No, if that were the case, then Eric would have been anxious to get back into the arena. It was more as if he was acknowledging the lines that had been drawn.
“Peter’s very conscientious.” It wasn’t really a guess. Jordan had told her as much.
“That he is,” Eric agreed. “To a fault.” He remembered the way Jenny had come into his office, armed with rhetoric he hadn’t allowed her to unleash. “He’s the one you may have to talk into doing this auction.”
She finished her coffee and crumpled her cup. It was a nervous habit. “Jordan’s done handling that for me.”
He nodded, taking in the information. “Wise choice. Jordan can talk the sun into not setting.” His eyes shifted to her face. Had he just unintentionally insulted her? “No offense to you intended.”
She didn’t follow him. “Offense?”
“I didn’t mean you couldn’t persuade Peter if you wanted to. I’m sure you can be very persuasive if you want to be.”
There it was again, that thousand-watt smile. Even when it was turned down a notch, it completely undid her.
Talk, damn it, Jenny, talk. Answer the man.
She couldn’t just continue to sit here and blush like some single-celled idiot, she told herself. She said the only thing she truthfully could. “I win more cases than I lose.”
It took him a second to remember she was a lawyer. “You mean in court.”
Was he trying to tell her that it didn’t work that way in the world beyond the hallowed halls of justice? “Yes, but—”
He wasn’t completely sure why, but he suddenly had a yen to see her in action for himself. “Would you mind if I came with you?”
“Where?” And then she realized what he was saying. Her eyes widened in surprise and unease. “You mean into court?”
He laughed at her expression. “I don’t think the bailiff will let me listen against the door.” And then he saw a look that was akin to horror cross her face. “Unless having me there will throw you a curve,” he qualified. “I wouldn’t want you jeopardizing the case just because I’ve decided to go touring—”
Damn it, get a hold of yourself before he thinks you’re some weak-kneed loon.
Never mind that she was.
There was absolutely no reason for her heart to suddenly start pounding like this, not unless she was having a genuine heart attack. C’mon, c’mon, you’re made of sterner stuff than this.
A few weeks ago, she’d argued in front of a judge who routinely spit nails and chewed up lawyers for a snack. And she’d won. If she could do that, certainly she could survive having the most gorgeous man in God’s creation sitting in her courtroom, watching her plead a case, she reasoned.
If she kept Miguel’s face uppermost in her mind, she’d be all right, she told herself. And, after all, this was about what amounted to the rest of a man’s life. If she lost, the quality of that life promised to be unbearably low. It was up to her to raise it, to show Miguel Ortiz that not everyone was going to ignore him and the plight he found himself in.
Taking a breath, she found her voice. “No, having you there won’t jeopardize the case.” She jumped on the first excuse that came to her. “I just thought that you might be bored.”
Eric looked at her, that same sensual smile she knew she was never going to become immune to spreading over his generous lips.
“I have a feeling that boredom isn’t going to enter into the picture.”
Taking her elbow, he escorted her from the now crowded coffee shop and out onto the curb. Jenny felt as if she was floating and wondered if her feet actually touched the pavement.
They headed back to Logan Corporation’s building and its underground parking where his Ferrari was patiently waiting. He aimed his key ring at it and disarmed the alarm. “How strong is your case?”
“Very strong.”
She didn’t add that it was because of her endless digging that the case had shaped up the way it had. Every single spare moment after hours that wasn’t earmarked for Cole had been spent interviewing people, gathering information and compiling a case against both the surgeon, Dr. Wilson Turner, and the hospital that had neglected to police the derelict physician.
Because of her tireless efforts, she’d discovered that many in the tight Portland medical community thought Turner was a disaster waiting to happen.
And he had happened to Miguel Ortiz.
“Then this should be interesting,” Eric told her as he held the passenger side door open for her.
What would be interesting, she thought as she got into the vehicle, was whether or not she still remembered how to speak once they finally arrived at the courthouse.
Exposure to the virus, she thought, slanting a glance toward Eric as he started up the car, did not breed immunity.
It only intensified the fever.
Four
E ric negotiated through the early-afternoon traffic in the same manner he negotiated through life, skillfully slipping in and out of any available space and making good time. They made it to the courthouse with ten minutes to spare.
“Jordan didn’t tell me you drove on the NASCAR circuit,” Jenny commented as she got out.
He flashed her what she’d come to think of as a million-dollar grin.
“Just taking advantage of the opportunities, Jen.” He aimed his key ring at the vehicle, arming the security device. It squeaked in response. “You did want to get here on time, right?”
Jen. He’d called her Jen. No one called her Jen. It made her feel impossibly sophisticated and on top of things.
For about a second and a half, until he took her arm and escorted her to the electronic courthouse doors.
Having him within ten feet of her did some very strange things to her synapses. Having him touch her, even through clothing, all but short-circuited them. Remembering her name was a challenge.
“It’s on the second floor,” she told him as she held her briefcase open for the guard to check.
They took the escalator up because it was faster than waiting for an elevator. She was acutely aware that he was standing on the step behind her. The fragrance of his cologne made her grab onto her mind before it took off on the wings of fantasy.
Miguel Ortiz and his wife and daughter were already waiting for her. Jenny saw the refurbished wheelchair she’d managed to procure for the man, replacing the wobbly secondhand one he’d been using when he’d first brought the case to her.
The surgeon they were suing had put Miguel in that chair. Permanently.
It had begun as a simple case of a man being injured at his place of work. Something that happened every day somewhere in the country and was usually temporary. Working at the loading dock of one of the country’s more well-known overnight shipping companies, Miguel had hurt his back and neck on the job. After three months of futile visits to various HMO physicians, Miguel was referred to Dr. Wilson Turner, a noted orthopedic surgeon who had been with the HMO only a year. At the time, no one had known that Turner had lost his license in another state. Turner told Miguel that he needed a simple operation to correct the disc problem. One the surgeon had assured Miguel he could do with his eyes shut.
Which was almost the way he’d performed the surgery. It was later discovered that Turner had managed to chip the bone, lodging a sliver into Miguel’s spine. Miguel had emerged from the operation unable to move either one of his legs and was in terrible agony every single moment he was awake.
It took several more operations, done by someone who Miguel’s insurance deemed to be “outside the system” to get him to where his pain was bearable. But there was no reversing the ultimate damage done as a result of Turner’s incompetence. Miguel was disabled.
Stopping before the threesome, Jenny greeted each one warmly.
Alma Ortiz, Miguel’s sixteen-year-old daughter, took a deep breath, as if bracing herself for the afternoon that lay before them. “This is pretty much it, isn’t it?”
There had been investigations, miles of paperwork and scores of interviews. She’d flown to Utah to get firsthand information about the surgeon’s license being revoked and paid for the flight out of her own pocket. And now they were down to the wire.
“Yes, it is. Unless they turn us down,” she qualified. Jenny saw the look of disappointment descending over the girl’s face. “But then we have several ways to go.” She slipped her arm around the girl’s slim shoulders, giving her a quick hug. “I’m not giving up until your dad’s set for life, okay?” She looked at the couple before her, humbled by the trust she saw there.
Rosa Ortiz’s command of the English language was limited, far more so than her husband’s. But both reacted to the confident look in Jenny’s eyes. They nodded in response.
And then, curiously, they shifted their gaze to just beyond her shoulder.
Jenny suddenly realized that for a few moments there, she’d completely forgotten that Eric was with her. Embarrassed, she turned toward him.
“Eric, this is Mr. and Mrs. Ortiz,” she gestured toward the couple, “and their daughter, Alma. This is Eric Logan.”
Eric leaned forward, first shaking Miguel’s hand and then that of his wife and daughter.
Miguel’s dark eyes shifted from Jenny’s face to Eric’s and then back again. He raised a dark eyebrow. “Su novio?”
At the speed of light, Jenny’s complexion turned from white to a deep pink. “No, no,” she uttered emphatically, afraid that Eric understood Spanish. “Eric’s just a friend.”
Unconsciously resting his hand on her waist, Eric leaned into her. He liked the shade of pink he saw creeping up her cheeks again. Pretending he didn’t speak Spanish, he asked, “What did he just ask?”
Stop touching me, Eric. I can’t think if you’re touching me.
“I asked her if you were her intended,” Miguel replied. Then, obviously not satisfied with the word he’d used, he looked at his daughter for help.
“Fiancé,” Alma supplied.
The word did nothing to help Jenny’s skin tone return to normal.
Taking pity on her, Eric explained, “I’m her brother’s best friend.” Then he leaned over and whispered into Jenny’s ear, “Pink looks good on you.”
His warm breath sizzled against her skin. Her embarrassment deepened.
Jenny struggled to focus, to somehow shut out Eric’s presence. To shut out the feel of his breath on her skin, his whisper in her ear. It was like trying to suck up smoke with a vacuum cleaner.
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