LOGAN (The Innerworld Affairs Series, Book 5)

by Marilyn Campbell

  She slipped out of bed, made a quick visit to the bathroom and put on the aqua caftan. Thinking Logan might need to use the bathroom while she was asleep, she had tried sleeping in the caftan for modesty's sake, but her legs had immediately gotten twisted in the yards of material. The satiny chemise and pants were not as prudish, but they were much more comfortable.

  Following her nose, she found Logan at the stove with his back to her, stirring something in a frying pan. He was wearing only the loose-fitting slacks from the farm, obviously having decided against the pink caftan. The pants were hanging dangerously low on his hips and she had the most wicked urge to give them a yank the rest of the way.

  There was probably some law in this culture against a man going shirtless, especially a man built like Logan. She thought it best not to mention it though, lest he think she was bothered by his display of muscles.

  "Something smells wonderful," she said mainly to alert him to her presence. When he didn't turn around, she tried again. "I see you didn't waste any time learning your way around the kitchen." Still no response. "Logan! Do I really have to order you to talk to me?"

  He turned to get a jar out of the cabinet and was momentarily surprised to see her standing in the doorway. Removing two small discs from his ears, he asked, "Did you say something?"

  She came closer to look at the little circles of plastic he had set on the counter.

  "They're sound remotes for the entertainment center. I was listening to the news." He went back to stirring a strange-looking green concoction in the pan.

  "What are you making that smells so good?" She couldn't help but notice that each time she came near, he took a step away. He really was carrying this a bit too far, she thought.

  "Breakfast. You requested a full meal but you weren't specific. I hope this will do. I think it's supposed to be like an omelet."

  "You think?"

  He almost smiled. "They don't eat eggs here, or animal meat either. They seem to be strict vegans."

  "How did you figure that out?"

  "I just did what any new houseman on the block would do. I went next door and met our neighbor."

  "Logan, you didn't! We were told to limit our contact with the natives."

  He shrugged. "It was a choice between asking one of those natives for help or starving to death. Don't worry. Vance, the houseman, was the only one home and he took pity on me. Showed me how to dig recipes out of the manager and gave me some basic instructions. You'd like him—Oh, I almost forgot. No fraternizing between sexes." He scooped the hot, fluffy mixture onto two plates and placed one on the table where there was already a glass of juice, napkin and flatware.

  She sat down and waited for him to bring the other plate to the table. Instead he began eating at the counter. That's when she realized he had set only one place at the table. "This is ridiculous. Come over here and sit down."

  "A man is not supposed to sit at the same table with—"

  "Stop it!"

  "—a woman." He ate another forkful of food.

  "All right. But a houseman has to obey his mistress's orders, and I order you to sit here and eat with me... at every meal."

  With exaggerated slowness he carried his breakfast to the opposite side of the table from where she was sitting.

  "Now what are you doing?" she demanded.

  "Practicing. Remember, we men are supposed to look drugged. That was the other reason I wanted to make friends with Vance. I'm studying him."

  At least that made sense, she thought. "That reminds me, you don't have to worry about what you eat or drink here. Men are given their antidote in a concentrated dosage once a month." She took a taste of her food. "This is very good... whatever it is. Sort of a quiche-omelet-soufflé. It's hard to believe there are no eggs in it though."

  As they both ate, she tried to keep her eyes downcast as he was doing, but her gaze kept creeping across the table. Again she was uncomfortably aware of how her familiarity with the male physique did not immunize her against the effect Logan's body had on her senses. "Did you, uh, spill something on your shirt?"

  He glanced down at his chest, as though he'd forgotten it was bare. "No. I just hand washed it and it hasn't dried yet."

  "You could have put on the pink caftan. I bet you'd be darling in it." She was satisfied to get a sneering glance from him. At least he'd looked her in the eye for a second. "We both need clothing. Let's go see what the manager has to offer."

  When she tried to clear her place, he growled at her, so she left him alone to clean up the kitchen. Surely by the end of the day he'd stop being so unreasonable about strictly obeying the laws when they were alone. She would simply have to push a little harder to make him see the silliness of it.

  While she waited for him to join her in the main room, she decided to let some sunlight in. As Brianne had instructed, she said, "Shutters open."

  Instantly what had appeared to be a solid wall folded back, accordion-style, to reveal the city outside. Tarla had to touch the wall of clear glass to assure herself that a barrier was actually there. One side of the floor-to-ceiling window opened onto a balcony that ran the entire length of the apartment.

  "Logan! Come here, quick!"

  He was at her side on the balcony in a flash, the urgency in her voice overriding his intentions to keep his movements at a snail's pace.

  "Look. There's still no second sun today. Why do you think that is?"

  Relief that she was fine rushed through him. Fortunately, she was too intent on the view to notice his concern or relief. "I thought Geoffrey's idea about it being an orbiting moon sounded reasonable."

  "Remind me to ask Brianne."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She ignored his sarcastic tone and took a deep breath as she continued to admire the view of the city. "After the conditions on the farm, would you have ever thought this was on the other side of the wall? I thought it looked incredible at night, but now it's... it's... I can't even think of a good word. I hadn't realized how badly I missed home."

  "Home? Since when did Baltimore ever look like this?" He wondered at the dot of dark pink that appeared on her cheekbones.

  "Uh, yes, home. You know, a, uh, city, as opposed to the Manchurian front lines." She quickly turned her face back to the view. "I wonder if Robin and the others have taken a look outside yet."

  He didn't think she needed a response. Besides, all his concentration was focused on remaining at arm's length from her, when what he was dying to do was wrap her in his arms and absorb every last drop of pleasure she was experiencing.

  "I know we probably should stay inside, but I can't do it. We've got to take a walk after we do our shopping. Okay?" She turned and raised her gaze to his.

  With tremendous effort he made himself look at the view. "It isn't right to ask my permission to do something. Remember that."

  "I was not asking your permission. I was asking you if you'd—Oh, never mind." For a moment she'd forgotten they weren't two friends who could take a walk and enjoy the sights together. "Let's just go get our purchase order in before it's too late to have it delivered."

  It took only a few minutes on the manager's purchasing network to learn that men had the option of wearing simply-styled caftans or the two piece outfits they'd worn on the farm. There was only a choice of pastel colors, probably more to be pleasing to the mistress's eye, and weight of material for warmth. The women's wardrobe selection was expanded to include a variety of embellishments, such as appliques and trims. However, the basic item was still a caftan, which Tarla found to be unwieldy. She wondered if she could get away with wearing a small-sized man's pants outfit. Perhaps later, after they were no longer a curiosity to Heart's natives, she could afford to be a little eccentric.

  Though Logan had done a fine job making breakfast using ingredients on hand, they agreed that they should also order some prepared meals. A trip to the public marketplace would also be best put off for a later date.

  Delivery of their purchases was sc
heduled for early that evening.

  Tarla barely had a chance to think about her next diversion when her door chime sounded. She started to get up but Logan barked at her.

  "Sit!"

  She bristled at his using a one-word command as though she were his trained dog. As he opened the door however, Tarla could see how right he had been to insist on playing butler—two unknown women were standing in the doorway. Their shocked gasps and expressions of dismay when they noticed his naked, hairy chest had Tarla up and improvising in a heartbeat.

  "You foolish man!" she scolded, mimicking the mistress from the Mother Knows Best show. "When I told you one of your duties was to answer the door, I did not mean you should stop in the middle of dressing to do it! Don't you have any common sense at all? Now go back to the other room and put your robe on before I'm forced to punish you."

  Logan's head had remained bowed through her tirade, but as he slowly moved away from her, he let her see his gritted teeth. She knew she'd gone a bit overboard but he deserved that for snarling at her.

  "Please excuse him," Tarla said to the women. "He's very new to his position."

  The embarrassed flush on their faces began to fade as the younger of the two said, "Yes, of course. We understand. In fact that is why we're here. We heard quite a few new people moved in during the night and we wanted to be the first to welcome you and offer any assistance you might need."

  Beneath the gracious words, Tarla clearly heard the voice of a very snoopy female who wanted to be the first with fresh gossip to share. "Please come in," she replied just as graciously and waved them into the room. "I'm Tarla."

  Again the younger visitor spoke. "And I'm Reva. This is my mother, Syracuse. We're temporarily staying on the first floor while some work is being done on our home."

  Tarla observed the rather elegant way they seated themselves and arranged their caftans, and attempted to imitate them. "May I offer you a cup of tea?"

  "That would be very nice," Reva said.

  "Logan!" Tarla called toward the bedroom. "What is taking you so long? Come out here and attend to my guests."

  As he sluggishly dragged himself into the room wearing the pink caftan, Tarla had to cover her mouth and pretend to be coughing to smother the giggles. He looked positively hilarious... and as dangerous as a man can look in a long pink robe.

  "My, my," Syracuse said. "That cough is an unhealthy symptom. You must make a visit to the sanatorium as soon as possible."

  "I could show you the way," Reva offered brightly.

  Tarla cleared her throat and avoided looking at Logan again. "Thank you. I don't think it's anything to fuss about, but I'll let you know if it gets worse. Logan, my guests and I would like some tea. Let's see if you can manage that without burning yourself or breaking anything."

  She could practically feel the frustration spewing from him, but the satisfied expressions on her visitors' faces confirmed that they were both behaving in an acceptable manner. She had no doubt however, Logan's shirtless debut would be talked about for days.

  "However will you manage with only the one bed and bath?" Reva asked. "This size unit is usually leased out to women visiting without a servant."

  Tarla sighed as if she was terribly put out by the arrangement. "It was the only thing available on such short notice, and as you can imagine, it's going to be difficult enough training him without having to deal with a lack of privacy." She sighed loudly again. "But we'll all manage somehow."

  Reva and Syracuse were as practiced at posing veiled questions as an Innerworld tracker, but Tarla felt fairly certain she wasn't saying or doing anything that might jeopardize their situation. Thankfully, Logan remained out of sight most of the time, for she couldn't look at him in that get-up and keep a straight face.

  Also, very thankfully, the interrogation session was interrupted by more visitors.

  "Logan!" Tarla called again. "Don't pretend you didn't hear the door, you lazy man."

  Logan shuffled from the bedroom to the door. The only thing he did swiftly was put his finger to his lips as soon as he saw that it was Robin and Geoffrey.

  As required, Geoffrey entered several feet behind Robin. His head was obediently bowed and he was wearing the same pink caftan as Logan. For some reason though, Tarla didn't think he looked nearly as funny as Logan.

  Tarla introduced her guests to Robin and was vastly relieved when Reva and her mother said they had to leave—probably to spread the tale of having seen the primitives at close range.

  "Whew!" Robin said with a heavy exhale as she flopped down on a cushion. "We came over here to escape the two that descended on us. I guess we really are going to have to be on our toes every minute."

  Logan's smirk at Tarla shouted I told you so, without having to say it aloud.

  She was humble enough to admit that his assertion hadn't been entirely ridiculous. "Logan suggested we practice acceptable behavior by never acting as we normally would, even in private, but I really don't think that's necessary."

  "I agree with Logan," Geoffrey said so quickly that he had to have been thinking the same thing for a while.

  "You do?" Robin asked with a pout.

  "Yes, I do," he replied seriously. "Consider how those women who came to visit us reacted to your being in pants."

  Robin made a face and explained to Tarla and Logan. "I didn't think I was committing a crime, but apparently the hospital scrubs we wore on the farm are only appropriate for men in the city. We're supposed to stick with these circus tents." She pulled the aqua caftan away from her body to demonstrate her point. "It was strongly recommended that our men be instructed to wear their robes when they go outdoors, however. The pants are only for inside, private wear to make doing their chores easier. They don't approve of any clothing that might reveal the shape of the body for either men or women."

  "Geez!" Tarla said, shaking her head. "What an upside-down, inside-out world this is."

  "I don't wish to belittle your sense of frustration, Tarla," Geoffrey said with a frown. "But we are the ones being forced to wear pink nightgowns."

  The giggle Tarla had previously suppressed threatened to bubble out again, until she caught a glimpse of the thunderclouds in Logan's eyes. Robin also managed to hold her amusement to a muffled snicker.

  "I'm sorry," Tarla said. "It's not that funny. Maybe we should pay a visit to all of our people this afternoon and reinforce the seriousness of our situation."

  Logan had been quietly brooding but he thought of a better way to handle it. "More than likely everyone else has also been visited, or will be soon, by nosy neighbors. Call them to come here so we can all share anything new we've picked up. Make sure you remind them what to wear and how to behave on their way. There's no telling how many busybodies are peeking through their windows."

  Tarla noted that he wasn't having any trouble being his usual take-charge self in front of Geoffrey. She wasn't sure which way he annoyed her more—domineering or subservient. Following the instructions Brianne had given, she called the other apartments and summoned the group together.

  As Logan had guessed, almost everyone had been officially welcomed to the city by a friendly neighbor then pumped for information. Occasionally they had learned a tidbit in return. Logan was the only one who had dared to make contact with another houseman, but the others agreed that it might be useful to establish a friendship with another servant if the opportunity arose.

  "Just remember one thing," Tarla warned sternly. "Under no circumstances can you risk revealing that you are not medicated or that you're performing any services different from theirs. The way the women checked us out, I think we should assume they'd try to get their servants to pass on anything they see or hear as well. Some of them may just be curious. But others may be opponents to Parisia's defense plan, looking for a reason to urge Parliament to reverse its decision. Without that plan we all go back to the farm indefinitely."

  When the delivery woman arrived with Tarla's order, the group returned to
their individual apartments to collect their deliveries as well. Geoffrey and Robin returned a short while later to share dinner with Tarla and Logan.

  Much to both women's irritation, the men insisted on practicing their servant roles despite Tarla and Robin begging them to put it off for an hour. It seemed to Tarla that both men were more bent on aggravating their partners than becoming accustomed to the new rules.

  By the time they'd finished eating and Logan and Geoffrey had everything cleaned up, Tarla retaliated.

  "I want to take a walk around the block before it gets dark," she said to Robin. "Would you like to come?"

  Robin shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

  Tarla turned to Logan and put on her regal air. "You will accompany us... at the proper distance of course."

  She saw Logan's jaw clench and waited for him to balk at having to parade outside in a robe. Then she'd have him! He couldn't play the servant only when it was his preference. Unfortunately, he deduced the same thing. Taking a deep breath, he went to the door and held it open for her.

  Robin's slow smile showed she was on board with Tarla's plan. With a smirk and a crook of her finger, she ordered, "You too, Geoffrey."

  Logan's continued stubbornness pushed Tarla into dragging out the walk much longer than she had originally intended, in spite of the fact that curious eyes observed their progress every step of the way. It was Robin who eventually took pity on Geoffrey and brought the walk to an end.

  The moment Tarla and Logan were alone in the apartment, she knew she'd made a serious mistake. He was absolutely fuming! Her stomach squeezed into a knot of anxiety. How could she have forgotten how dangerous he was? He wasn't a kitten to tease with a piece of yarn. He was a full-grown panther.

  And he was stalking her.

  "Now, Logan," she said, trying to conceal her fear as she backed away from him, "it's your own fault. I mean, I probably went too far—"

  "Probably?" His voice was eerily soft. "Too far? You paraded us halfway back to Earth."