by Sally Falcon
She took a step back, going through the motions of judiciously studying the effect, all the while mustering her courage to touch him again. Thankfully, he was standing as still as a mannequin. “Okay, now we need to loosen a few buttons.”
She almost gave a yelp of joy when Logan said, “I’ll do it.”
“Hmmm, pull out the collar just a little, and we’ll see if that does the trick, so to speak,” she quipped and gave him an approving grin. He was being so cooperative that she was beginning to wonder why she’d been nervous about the costume.
Logan didn’t dare answer her, knowing his voice would come out roughened by his suppressed emotions. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand having her undivided attention on his body without doing something about it. He let out his breath in relief when she walked behind him, momentarily taking temptation out of sight.
“Hey!” He whirled around as the touch of a slender finger drew a white-hot line down his spine. His affronted exclamation was met by a delicious giggle.
“Sorry I startled you, but you’re so stiff. Do all Yankees look like they have a poker stuck, um, to their backbones?” Tory asked with widened brown eyes and an unrepentant grin that raised his blood pressure another twenty points.
“I have excellent posture. It’s something to be proud of in Boston,” he replied, adjusting his jacket with a show of dignity that also kept his hands busy when all he wanted to do was grab her and shake her. Or kiss her. Anything that would have her in his arms.
“Oh, Logan, it isn’t your posture. It’s your attitude, I think,” she said gently, as if trying not to hurt his feelings.
“What about my attitude? Would it be better if I slouched, wore suspenders, and scratched my stomach?” As amazing as it seemed, he realized that she hadn’t a clue that she was responsible for his attitude.
“You’re not posing for a portrait every second of the day. You can relax and still stand up straight,” she explained patiently, using her nephew tone again. “Take off the jacket and turn around.”
He started to shrug out of the jacket, hoping they would get this torture over with quickly. Then, with the garment halfway down his arms, he gave her a suspicious look over his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt.”
That’s what you think, lady, he mentally shot back, but he tossed aside the jacket anyway. Tory placed her hands tentatively at the back of his neck and began to knead the stiff muscles. Fatalistically, Logan gave himself up to Tory’s delightful torture, slowly relaxing under her ministrations.
As she worked her way down his back, he knew he was going to die a slow and painful death. The pants of his outfit had been simply snug when he first put them on. They’d become increasingly uncomfortable with Tory’s slim fingers moving freely over his body. He wasn’t going to be able to stand much more and maintain the slender hold on his sanity. Another minute and he’d have Tory beneath him on the oversized cabbage roses in the carpet.
“Don’t move.”
He gladly obeyed. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to without pulling her into his arms, throwing all his noble intentions out the window.
“Now, shake out your arms a little. Very good, Logan. Okay, walk toward me.”
Walk? Can I do that? Yes, yes, I can, he discovered, carefully putting one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t so difficult, if he focused on the fat cherub on the piano just to the right of Tory’s shoulder.
“No, it just won’t do. Logan, you walk like you’re on a bed of nails,” she said, shaking her head and walking toward him clicking her tongue.
Oh, please God, say she isn’t. She is. She’s going to massage my legs. All rational thoughts left him. What happened was going to happen, he decided, looking down at the top of Tory’s head as she knelt at his feet. He might as well enjoy what she was doing. If she did the same thorough job that she’d done on his back, Tory Planchet would be as knowledgeable as his tailor in a matter of minutes. He closed his eyes, knowing a smile was stretching his mouth from ear to ear. Please, sweetheart, don’t stop now.
Victoria, you’re amazing. This is working like a charm, she congratulated herself with complacent satisfaction, her hands working deftly over the taut muscles of Logan’s calf. He was being so cooperative, if a little stiff, and doing nothing to follow-up on his visit to her cottage. Probably thought better of it this morning, she mused, and concentrated on her task. Here’s one unstuffed Yankee to order, and it’s as easy as kneading bread dough.
She shifted on her knees and moved her hands higher, frowning when Logan tightened up the second she touched his knee. Maybe he’s ticklish there, she decided, and continued to work on the problem area until he suddenly groaned. Immediately, she stopped pressing her fingers against the sensitive spot, wondering if she’d hurt him as she tipped back her head to look up. It was a very long way up Logan’s lean body.
“I’m sorry, did that hur—” Tory didn’t have to finish the question. The fatuous grin on the man’s face told her that she hadn’t hurt him. Mortification at her naiveté froze her in place, although she could feel her entire body flushing a brilliant red that probably perfectly matched the decor of the sitting room. Her mind was working too well, while her body was at a dead stop.
She’d never been so embarrassed in her entire life, or felt so stupid. Her brain was screaming, Get up, you silly twit, and her fingers were attached to the man’s thigh as if they’d been smeared with epoxy. If she moved her head ever so slightly to the— No, she wasn’t going to even think it.
“Did you want to try the other leg?”
Logan’s husky question thankfully brought life back to Tory’s legs. In a split second, she backed up without caring that she undoubtedly looked like a crab as she shuffled backward on her knees. Logan’s smile and the lazy, sensual message in his hazy-blue gaze made her wonder if she’d ever be able to speak again. She’d just spent the last few minutes feeling up a man without even realizing it; a man who had propositioned her last night after only knowing her for twelve hours. He’d never believe that she hadn’t been aware of what she was doing. She was thirty years old and had been kneeling at his feet like a slave girl offering her services.
She refused to look at him, getting up and walking over to the open box that Logan had placed on the ottoman. She fiddled unnecessarily with the tissue paper liner until her restless fingers came into contact with the magic book she’d picked up at the library.
“There’s something else you need to do before the party tonight,” she said quietly, still not looking at him. He was exactly where she’d left him, staring a hole in her back, judging from the discomfort between her shoulder blades. “You’ll have to perform a magic trick before you can eat dessert tonight, or take the consequences. Find a trick in this book and practice it. We’ll leave at six-thirty.”
“Tory, we’re going to talk about this.” His smoky voice came from directly beside her, his hand snaking out to pull the book out of her hand. He dropped it onto the ottoman and snared her wrist with his other hand, neatly turning her into his arms. “Nothing’s changed since last night, except that I want you more now than ever.”
The last words were whispered against her lips. Tory had a glimpse of his hazy-blue eyes igniting into diamond fire before lowering her lashes. It was her last coherent thought. While Logan had been gentle the night before, today he was staking a claim. His lips and tongue branding her, swamping her mind as his arms pulled her snugly into his lean, taut body.
There wasn’t any doubt that he desired her as one hand curved around her buttocks, luring her into the cradle of his thighs with a kneading motion. A smoldering ache began low in her body in response to his growing desire. She moved against him instinctively, not sure in her mind if it was to escape or to satisfy her own yearning. Tory knew she shouldn’t be in his arms, but her hands didn’t agree, moving to circle his neck.
Settling at the nape of his neck, her fingers re
peated the same massage that they had long minutes before. At Logan’s groan of appreciation, she pressed closer, but the movement only intensified her need. Her body was assailed by thousands of unfamiliar sensations, her blood hot, but sending shivers of desire from head to toe. She knew she’d passed the danger point as her tongue tangled with Logan’s in a passionate duet.
Unable to withstand the devastation of his kiss any longer, she tore her mouth away from his. Her breath came in shallow gasps, making it impossible to speak as she gazed up into the angular face of the man who had turned her world upside down in less than twenty-four hours. When he made a slight movement, she pressed her hands against his shoulders to keep him from kissing her again.
“Please, don’t say a word,” she managed in a hoarse whisper. “This can’t be real, Logan. I won’t let it be real.”
He began to speak, but she forestalled him, placing her fingers on his lips. The gesture was almost her undoing, feeling the warm, moist skin against the pads of her unsteady fingers. “This has to stop. I refuse to become involved with another man like you.”
She stepped out of his arms, which loosened at her accusing words. Without a word, she turned and left the room. Tears stung her eyes as she walked out the back door. She knew they were a combination of her emotional reaction to Logan and anger at herself. He’d spelled trouble from the moment he’d stepped into her life, and she wasn’t about to let him see her cry.
He wouldn’t know that she rarely cried, except when frustrated or extremely angry. Right now, both emotions warred inside her. She was angry at her own stupidity in allowing him to kiss her again. The frustration came from her fear that it would happen again if she spent any time with the damned desirable, exciting man.
“Victoria, you have more sense than that,” she stated firmly as she reached the stone walkway to her cottage. “This is one opinionated, arrogant man. You made that mistake once in your life. Logan Herrington is just another Reed Callahan.”
The sound of her former fiancé’s name on her lips checked her tears. She wasn’t going to get involved with another man who would undoubtedly try to rule her life. She had enough of that from blood relatives without welcoming Logan Herrington with open arms. She needed a sensitive, quiet man who would let her live her own life.
From now on, there wouldn’t be any physical contact with the man. She was simply her father’s stand-in, and if possible, she would introduce Logan to every available woman at the Bush’s party, just to insure her safety. He was probably looking for a diversion to relieve his boredom while he was here, and she wasn’t going to be his amusement.
The sound of a car horn broke into her dark thoughts just as her hand closed on the latch to the front door. Looking over her shoulder, she swore under her breath. Arnette was back from the grocery store, and the truck was blocking the steps. Logan had clouded her mind so much, she’d forgotten to move the vehicle.
“Where’s a good chaperone when you need one,” she grumbled, turning to retrace her steps. She had to go back for the truck and help unload the groceries. Before she took two steps, Logan came out the back door and down the steps. Tory knew that he saw her immediately. She shivered in reaction as if his sensitive fingers were moving over her body again. That made up her mind. She turned back to the cottage, leaving Logan to assist Arnette. Later, when the coast was clear, she’d retrieve her costume box from the truck.
Chapter Four
“So, is it your first lover’s quarrel, darlin’? You can tell ole Trevor, can’t ya?”
Tory gave her brother a withering look that should have singed the big, floppy ears on his head. The Bush’s party was in full swing. Everyone was showing each other magic tricks, whether they knew what they were doing or not. Trust Trevor to notice that his sister and her guest were conspicuous by their lack of participation, and on opposite sides of the huge game room, Tory thought. Right now, he looked harmless enough as he made a glutton of himself on a huge piece of her chocolate cheesecake, but it wouldn’t last. She was tempted to smear it all over the white vest and pants of his magician’s rabbit costume.
“Buzz off, Eugene,” she muttered, quickly regressing to their childhood, and retaliating to his teasing by using his hated middle name. Involuntarily, her gaze strayed across the room to where Logan stood. Like her, he remained a little apart from the mayhem around him.
“Ah, so there is trouble in Eden?” Trevor returned, unconcerned by her show of temper. “Come on, tell big brother all your problems. I know some truckers who’d be happy to break one or two of his legs in defense of my sister’s honor.”
Tory groaned and took her eyes away from the commanding figure across the room. She turned to meet her brother’s gaze. His expression was concerned, in spite of his bantering tone. She gave him a slight smile to reassure him that nothing was wrong. “Fool.”
“Yeah, well, I was just checking since he has such strange hours for dropping by.” Trevor looked almost embarrassed that she’d caught him out, although he’d stood by her before during some emotional upheavals, including her breakup with Reed. “We can’t have no stranger comin’ into town, messin’ with our women folk and gettin’ away with it, now can we?”
His poor impersonation of T.L. doing Gary Cooper brought a genuine smile to Tory’s lips, and she felt a twinge of guilt that he was trying so hard to cheer her up, even if he had an ulterior motive. Her ill humor was as much her own fault as anything Logan Herrington had done, probably more. She was an independent woman with a mind of her own. A woman who shouldn’t allow a kiss to turn her backbone to the consistency of overcooked grits.
She and Logan barely exchanged more than a half dozen words on the way to the party. While she pretended to keep her attention on her driving, Logan had been caught up in his own thoughts. The ten-minute drive had been as tense as their drive from the airport.
“Spare me the macho male routine, Trev, and quit raiding Daddy’s B-western tape collection. It’s affecting your brain,” Tory said, giving him an exaggerated look of disdain. “Humble just doesn’t look right on the Planchet bone structure.”
“Okay, but don’t think I’m going to let this drop. I expect the full story on our visitor from the North, sooner or later.” All his usual humor was gone from the assessing look he gave her.
“Down, boy. You’re making more out of this than necessary.” Tory laughed at his almost villainous look, as if he really would have someone break a few of Logan’s bones. “I’m an adult, remember? I know how to handle an arrogant male and a Yankee who just happens to come all in one package.”
“That’s pretty close to throwing a lit match in a box of dynamite,” Trevor agreed. He relaxed again, his wide smile flashing back into place. Almost on reflex, he reached up to rub the bridge of his nose over the spot it had first been broken by his little sister. “Maybe I should warn Logan about what can happen instead. I was only ten years old when you took me on, and I think ole Reed is still trying to get beer out of his ears from the night you ended your engagement.”
“I never could take orders very well, but your nose was an accident, even though you’ll never let me forget it,” she returned indignantly. Trevor just grinned at her. “Now, Reed got what he deserved. Besides, the pitcher of beer was only half full. He just needed to learn that women don’t take kindly to being treated like peasants, unless he can find some bimbo that believes his barefoot-and-pregnant philosophy.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything you say, ma’am.”
“Turkey. You’d better save that for the next time Arnette finds fault, which will probably be the minute you set foot in the house, or when you find some woman who’s crazy enough to take you seriously.” She gave him a nasty smile, anticipating her brother’s eventual downfall. Then she looked across the room, her gaze immediately meeting Logan’s steady regard. She didn’t know how long he’d been watching her, but her entire body was suddenly suffused with a warmth that set off tiny sparks along her spine.
Ru
thlessly, she ignored those traitorous feelings. She’d behaved like a coward long enough. He was arrogant and overbearing and demanding. But that didn’t excuse her behavior, or the fact she’d taken the easy way out by ignoring him, leaving him to his own devices at the party. She’d been taught to be gracious even in the most difficult circumstances. Abandoning Logan in a room full of strangers wasn’t something she was proud of doing. It certainly didn’t prove anything about her will power either, if she resisted him simply by avoiding him.
“Well, big brother, while you feed your face, I have to go rescue our guest from annihilation by an angry husband.”
“Can I sell tickets?” Trevor asked with an eager grin. “This could be a major event.”
“I know a few truckers myself, Trev, old boy. Remember Dwayne and Little Otis?” Tory returned, giving him a challenging look by raising a single eyebrow. “For that crack, you’re going to go pry Button Mainwairing off Logan’s chest.”
“Uh-oh, she’s on the prowl again,” he murmured as he followed the direction of Tory’s unconscious glare. The twice-divorced, raven-haired woman had just slithered up to Logan. “You’ll owe me big for this one, Tory. Although I guess I don’t have to worry about you that much since Curtiss and Logan are going to Oklahoma in about thirty-six hours.”
“Oklahoma?” Tory couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“The Cherokee Challenge at Grove, remember? Curtiss is going to give Logan a preview of rally racing before the Arkansas Traveler,” Trevor explained, emphasizing each word as a taunting smile spread over his lips again. “Maybe I should start taking advice from this guy, instead of planning to beat him to a pulp. He’s only been here two days, and he’s already got you—”
