Always A Bridesmaid (Logan's Legacy Revisited)

by Kristin Hardy

  Only to find her gaze pinned to Gil’s.

  His eyes were hot and dark and unwavering. And suddenly it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She couldn’t breathe. She felt light-headed, suddenly dizzy as though the floor had tilted and his gaze were the only thing holding her in place. Everything around her receded. There was only Gil, looking at her and through her and into her.

  The sound of applause broke the spell. Alan and Lisa were kissing, Jillian realized. The ceremony was finished and they were turning to march back up the aisle, hand in hand.

  She glanced back to Gil to see his lips quirk in amusement. The recessional had begun, the bridesmaids and ushers walking forward to pair up, two by two, first Neal and Ariel, then the next pair and the next.

  And then Gil was standing before her, offering his arm.

  “Let the record show that here you are at the altar and here I am, right on time and ready to escort,” he said.

  Jillian laughed and the tension broke. “I appreciate that. I was worried about getting lost.”

  “And me, with no GPS.”

  She laid her hand on his sleeve. “I have faith in your sense of direction.”

  “Outstanding wedding,” he said as they began to walk back up the aisle.

  “It was.” Particularly this part, with his arm strong and steady under her fingers, their steps falling in sync.

  “Outstanding bridesmaids, too,” Gil added. “Especially the first one that came down the aisle. The color of that dress does very nice things for you.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “And you do even nicer things for the dress.”

  “Are you trying to make me blush?” Jillian asked as they passed the rows of people.

  He grinned. “Is it working?”

  “You’re dangerous,” she told him.

  “Me? I’m harmless.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t think you can be trusted for a minute.”

  “I can be trusted for lots of things,” he countered as they reached the top of the aisle.

  “Like what?”

  His lips twitched as they reached the top of the aisle. “Let’s get somewhere a little more private and I’d be happy to demonstrate.”

  “Oh, too bad we’ve got to go to the reception,” Jillian said lightly. “I guess it’ll have to wait.” She was flirting, she realized in giddy wonder.

  “I can be a pretty patient guy when I need to be,” Gil returned.

  And they walked through the front doors of the church into blazing sunlight and the pealing of the church’s carillon.

  The reception was at a lovely courtyard restaurant on the river. The June afternoon was mild enough to make it enjoyable, and if there was any flaw to it, it was that Jillian had been seated on the opposite side of the head table from Gil. That simmering sense of expectation still bubbled, even as she worked her way through appetizer and salad, soup and main course, making polite conversation with her companions, waiting for the moment she’d be free to talk with him again.

  Because she had to admit it, she wanted to. She wanted to talk with him, to laugh with him, to hear his voice, to feel that little shiver in her stomach when she looked into his eyes.

  When Lisa and Alan took the floor for their first dance, Jillian applauded with the rest, but mostly she was trying to manage the rush of anticipation and excitement and nerves. Because something had been set in motion. She had no better way to think about it than that. Something had changed from the night before—or maybe she had changed—and she had no idea what came next.

  Except that she wanted more.

  “All right, let’s have the wedding party out on the floor for their dance,” the band’s lead singer said.

  Jillian stood at the edge of the dance floor. For once in her life, she wasn’t feeling tentative or uneasy or at loose ends. He’d come find her, she knew he would.

  And then she turned and he was there.

  “I think this is my dance,” he said, offering her his hand.

  Jillian stepped forward into his arms. The black fabric of his tux felt soft under her fingertips. She concentrated on that because it was safer than thinking about the way heat bloomed through her from his open hand pressed against her back, because that had her wondering just how that hand would feel smoothing over her skin. She shivered.

  “Cold?” Gil murmured.

  Jillian shook her head. How could she be, when she could feel the heat of his body just inches from hers? And even without that, there was the unsettling slide of his palm over hers, the disconcerting intimacy of having his mouth right at eye level, that delectable mouth that she found herself staring at even as she watched the corners of it turn up.

  She raised her chin and found herself looking into his amused eyes.

  “How am I doing?” he asked.

  “Arthur Murray would be proud.”

  “Wait until I trot out my really smooth moves,” he said.

  “Is the world ready for that?”

  “Come on, live life on the edge.”

  “How do you know I don’t already?” she challenged. “I might be a daredevil.”

  “Running with scissors? Mixing whites with colors?”

  “Skydiving,” she countered. “Hang gliding. Bungee jumping.”

  “Bungee jumping?”

  “Bungee jumping,” she said triumphantly.

  “Then this ought to feel familiar.”

  And before she knew what he was about, he’d tightened his hand at her waist and bent her backward into a deep dip.

  A chorus of whoops erupted from the crowd around the dance floor. Jillian’s heart hammered madly. He was bent over her, against her, pressing her tightly to him. And for a breathless, whirling instant, his mouth was almost touching hers.

  Then he was standing her up again and bowing to the sounds of applause.

  The edge, Jillian thought breathlessly, was getting closer by the moment.

  The reception was over and the evening sky darkened to velvet black as Jillian and Gil walked out to the parking lot together. It was the first time she could remember that she’d danced until her feet ached. Now, she dangled her shoes from one hand and walked barefoot over the smooth pavement.

  “So let me know if you want to go on tour with our dance-and-dip act,” Gil told her.

  “I’ll have to take a look at my bungee jumping schedule,” she said, stopping beside her car.

  “You do that.”

  “Keep your smooth moves dusted off.”

  “Always do. You never know when you might need them.” He studied her mouth. “You know, just because the wedding’s over doesn’t mean we have to go home. You want to go somewhere, get a drink?”

  The idea appealed and alarmed. Taking a chance on him suddenly seemed like a far greater risk than merely jumping off a high platform. Yet the sense of anticipation that she’d felt all day suddenly intensified. “I’d like to but I’m meeting my brother and his family for breakfast early tomorrow.”

  “Lucky brother. Maybe some other time, then.”

  She swallowed. “I’d like that.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes locked on hers. “So would I. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you?”

  She patted her small, beaded evening bag. “I don’t have a pen or anything. Do you have something to write on?”

  He shook his head. “Say it. I’ll remember.”

  “You have a photographic memory?”

  “For the important things.” He reached out to trace his fingertips along her jaw.

  Adrenaline surged through her. Her entire body, every nerve, every sense was immediately focused on that one place that his fingers touched. Warm, as they traced over her skin, just rough enough to give her gooseflesh. Her lips parted, seeking air.

  “So tell me.” Gil leaned in closer.

  “Tell you?” she said blankly.

  “Your number. You tell me and I’ll repeat it.”

  Jillian moiste
ned her lips. “Two, two, five.”

  “Two, two, five.” His gaze was hypnotic, overwhelming.

  “Nine, three,” she managed. Her heart thudded in her chest.

  “Nine, three,” he echoed.

  Jillian hardly noticed when his arms slipped around her. “Two, one,” she whispered. She could feel herself trembling. She caught a breath and found herself inhaling his air.

  “Two, one,” he murmured, his lips almost touching hers.

  And then he kissed her.

  Jillian had been kissed before. She knew what it was like to have a man’s mouth on hers. It had never been anything like this. It had never set her entire body humming with pleasure. It had never made her forget everything around her, exist only for the mindless wonder of mouth on mouth.

  Warm and wonderful and wicked, the kiss flowed through her with the delicious decadence of the most sinful dessert she could imagine. His mouth was softer than she’d expected, and clever, so clever, touching, tasting, tempting her lips to part. Her head fell back, her eyes fluttered shut and she clutched at his shoulders to keep her balance as his taste overwhelmed her.

  She’d imagined how it would be with him, how his mouth would feel on hers. But nothing had prepared her for the overwhelming immediacy, for the tempting slide of tongue that had her knees weakening as desire flowed through her like some intoxicating drug that only had her wanting more. When she made a small, involuntary noise, she felt Gil’s mouth curve against hers. His arms tightened around her, she could feel his body harden.

  It exhilarated.

  And it terrified. Without warning, her throat began to tighten up. Suddenly, she felt the old familiar panic, the one that had always dogged her, beginning to stir. Before she could protest, though, Gil released her. And then he was just smiling down at her and the panic was receding.

  “Two, two, five, nine, three, two, one,” he repeated and leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. “I’ll call you.”

  “If you get any more pregnant, Eric’s going to have to rent a moving van to get you to the hospital,” Jillian said to her sister-in-law, Jenny Logan, as they sat out on the back deck of the couple’s house.

  “Don’t I know it. These Logan men are healthy individuals.” Jenny leaned back on her chaise and rubbed one hand over her belly. “Why wasn’t I smart enough to be attracted to a short man?”

  “She keeps staring at me like it’s my fault,” Eric complained.

  “Well, you were a part of the proceedings,” Jenny pointed out.

  “I had cooperation,” he said. “Some very enthusiastic cooperation, as I recall.”

  “Too much information, guys,” Jillian put in.

  “Cole, you come away from that fence,” Jenny directed her six-year-old adopted son.

  Eric took two quick steps and hoisted the boy into the air before the rottweiler on the other side of the fence bounded up, barking. “Living life on the edge, my man.”

  “I can walk,” Cole argued, squirming.

  “No way,” Eric said, tucking the boy under his arm as if he was a newspaper and tickling him until Cole giggled delightedly.

  “So how was your wedding last night?” Jenny asked, a contented smile on her face. “Another dress for the horror museum?”

  “No. Beautiful dress. Beautiful wedding. And…”

  And a stupefyingly wonderful, all-time champion kiss.

  Jenny gave her an interested look. “And?” she prompted.

  “Nothing.” Jillian flushed.

  Eric was moving Cole through the air like Superman. “Look at Auntie Jillian turn tomato-red,” he said.

  “Tomato-red,” Cole echoed gleefully.

  “Nothing, eh?” Jenny observed. “I don’t suppose this nothing happened to be a wedding guest, did he?”

  “I think I hear the timer going off on the pastries,” Jillian interrupted, hopping up.

  “I’ll help.” Eric followed her into the house.

  “You’re going to have to answer my question sooner or later,” Jenny called through the kitchen window.

  Jillian pulled out the tray of bakery brioche and muffins she’d set to warm in the oven. “I can’t hear you.”

  “You might as well give in,” Eric advised as he poured coffee from the press pot into three mugs. “She’s an expert at cross-examination.”

  That was the problem with a large family, Jillian thought. Nothing could ever remain a secret for long—sooner or later everything got out.

  “He’s just a man I met,” she said offhandedly as she carried out the platter along with plates and napkins, Eric following.

  “Not just a man,” Jenny observed. “You like him.”

  “Okay, I like him. But it was just bridal-party stuff at the wedding. Who knows what’ll come of it?”

  “Do you want something to?” Jenny reached for the coffee mug Eric had set down before her.

  “I want—”

  “Cake!” Cole demanded, running up.

  “Compromise,” Eric said, handing him a mug of hot cocoa and a blueberry muffin.

  “Hot chocolate!” Happily, Cole settled in with his muffin and drink.

  “Gee, I didn’t get any chocolate,” Jenny said.

  “Don’t be so sure.” Eric settled back with the paper.

  Jenny took a sip. “Mocha!” she exclaimed. “Do you know how much I adore you?”

  “Feel free to remind me,” Eric said as he flipped open the paper.

  Jillian shook her head at the Gazette. “You know, I’m torn every time I see that rag,” she pronounced, breaking the little ball off the top of her brioche. “Half of me wants to burn it and the other half is desperately curious to pick it up to see if they’ve printed any new trash about Robbie.” As if driving him away hadn’t been enough.

  “Don’t give yourself ulcers over it,” Eric said. “That first story was a little strong but they’ve been better since.”

  “Sure. Now they want a comment from him. Now that he’s gone. Or maybe they’re just sniffing around for a new story.”

  “They don’t really have to. The tabloids have kind of taken it over.”

  And it drove Jillian nuts. One day Robbie had been there, the next he’d been gone without a word. One letter, no phone calls. Five weeks. She shook her head. “It’s driving Nancy to distraction, especially since he’s supposed to be checking in with his parole officer.”

  “I don’t know how she’s managing. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if Eric just disappeared like that,” Jenny said. “I’d be worried out of my mind.”

  “She is. I just keep hoping it’ll all die down, but fat chance.” Jillian leaned back in her chair, staring at the paper that hid Eric. “It’s just one story after another after anoth—” Suddenly, she froze, staring at the banner. The Portland Gazette, it read. And on the line below, in fancy script, A Blazon Media Company.

  A Blazon Media company.

  “What’s wrong?” Jenny asked, frowning. “You look like you’d seen a ghost.”

  “Eric, can I have the front page for a minute?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The front page. Just for a minute. Here, you can have the sports section.” She took the opening section with shaking hands. “Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered.

  “You mind telling me what’s going on?” Eric asked.

  “Nothing.” It didn’t mean anything, she told herself as she turned back to the editorial page, the part that carried the masthead. Just because Blazon owned the paper didn’t mean Gil worked for the Gazette. He could do any one of a number of things. Maybe he was in corporate, maybe he was in radio. Maybe he handled their Internet properties.

  Or maybe, just maybe, he was the managing editor for the metro section of the Gazette.

  “I’m going to strangle him,” Jillian said.

  Chapter Four

  He was staring into space again, Gil realized with a start. Looking aimlessly out the window at the lights along the Willamette River. And seeing a pair of w
hiskey-colored eyes, for the umpteenth time since he’d watched Jillian Logan drive away on Saturday night.

  It wasn’t like him to let a woman get into his head like this. Sure, he’d been attracted before. He’d even been wildly in lust a few times. Love? Not really his thing. He did better with like. He was one of those guys who liked women through and through, the way they looked, the way they smelled, the way they walked and talked and dressed and blushed. The way they were all different. He liked taking them out, he liked taking them to bed.

  And he liked having his life to himself after it was over.

  So why did he have Jillian Logan stuck in his head? He kept remembering that husky laugh of hers, that way she had of staying two steps ahead of him, of keeping him on his toes the way almost nobody did. And those soft little gasps she’d made when they were kissing, her hand curled into the front of his shirt as though she couldn’t get enough. Those soft little gasps that had kept him thinking quite a lot about what was underneath that pretty purple dress of hers. If it had just been him and her somewhere private, he might have started to find out.

  But it wasn’t just him and her, that was the problem. She was Jillian Logan, the sister of Robbie Logan of the Children’s Connection scandal. And he was the city editor of the Gazette. Alan had warned him of that going into the wedding, Gil reminded himself. He’d known ahead of time to keep his distance.

  He just hadn’t been able to help himself.

  So now he had a fine mess on his hands. He was the editor of the paper that had outed Robbie Logan and touched off a media firestorm. Considering how protective Jillian had been over Lisa when Gil had missed the rehearsal, he had a pretty good idea that she was going to be seriously ticked when she found out.

  Add to that the fact that he’d told her he was with Blazon Media instead of the paper, which only made it look as though he was trying to hide it. That was far from the case, but how would she know?

  Letting out a long breath, Gil drummed his fingers on the arm of his couch. He had to be straight with her, that was all there was to it. If he wanted to see where things between them could go, he had to come clean. He’d take her out to dinner, somewhere with good wine and quiet music and lay it all out for her. She’d be angry at first, maybe—okay, definitely—but once she’d had some time to think about it, there was a good chance she’d get past it. After all, the paper was only doing its job, reporting the facts. The public had a right to know. Gil believed that through and through.