Windy City Romance: Boxed Set: Prequel - Book III

by Barbara Lohr

“Great. Let’s keep things moving.” Vaulting to his feet, Warren clapped Logan on the shoulder and walked him to the door. “Seriously, how is everything, Logan?”

  “Fine. Couldn’t be better.” His mouth felt tight. He couldn’t stand pity.

  With a slow nod, Warren gave him the two-handed handshake. “Glad to hear it. Now, have some fun with this project. You deserve it.”

  As he left the office of the CEO, Logan wasn’t thinking about the project or what he “deserved,” as if life were fair. No, his thoughts were on coppery red hair and a woman who’d pretty much told him to loosen up…and with a coffee cup, no less.

  Now they had to work together, and she’d already made her priorities clear. She’d want more of the alternative methods that science couldn’t track or measure. How could he make her see reason? He ran through some discussion points in his mind, the way he had on college debate team. Worked every time.

  ~.~

  Tuesday night, and the Purple Frog was jammed. Logan studied his frosty mug of Amstel lager. Peanut shells crunched underfoot and the place reeked of beer tinged by smoke from ten years ago, like the bar was still exhaling. As he hunkered down, Warren’s directive rang in his ears along with head banger music.

  McKenna had sounded excited when he called and asked to meet about the future of the obstetrics unit. She’d picked the place for the meeting. He hadn’t been in the noisy bar for a long time. Running one finger down the frosty mug, he trained his eyes on the front door. When he caught the gleam of her red hair, he stood and waved. The linen sport jacket he’d thrown on over his blue polo felt warm and out of place. Shrugging out of it, he folded it up on the wooden bench seat and sat down.

  “Sorry I'm late.” Sliding in across from him, McKenna pushed her hair back. A wave of fresh air rolled over him while words bubbled from her like Buckingham Fountain on Chicago’s shoreline. “Had a couple of add-ons. You know how that goes. Taking patients on Tuesday can free up my Wednesdays. But then Wednesdays get busy too.”

  She made his head spin. “Not too long ago I didn't have hours on Wednesdays. The good old days.” He sat back, enjoying the view.

  “So you were one of those, huh?” She gave him a lop-sided grin. “Probably busy golfing and other fun things.”

  Golf and sailing were his two outlets—sometimes alone, not that he liked it. “How did you guess? But now the schedule is getting too backed up with only the three of us to handle it. We’re recruiting. I have a candidate coming in next week.” The recruiters better come through for him. The candidate’s name had sounded familiar, like someone he'd known in prep school. “Golf’s great exercise. Beats going crazy.”

  Tilting her head, she chuckled. “I’d like to see you go crazy.”

  Almost sounded like a challenge. He waved to the waiter, who headed over with a bowl of peanuts. “Are you on call?”

  “Nope. Selena’s got me covered. You?” McKenna wasn't wearing lipstick and somehow that appealed to him.

  “Gary’s on tonight. What would you like to drink?”

  “I’ll have a beer,” she said, glancing at his lager. “Whatever you’re having looks good.”

  “You drink beer?” Most of the women he took out ordered a Cosmo.

  That cute grin flashed again. “Not in a sipping mood so bring it on. I'm parched.”

  “A pitcher please,” he told the waiter.

  Her delicate eyebrows peaked. “Whoa. A pitcher. You're upping the ante?”

  “So, you play poker too, I suppose.” My, she was full of surprises.

  “With five brothers I had no choice.”

  “Warren was telling me you have a large family.”

  She frowned. “You were talking about me?”

  He could kick himself. “Just business. Must be nice to have brothers and sisters.”

  “Crazy is more like it.” Her smile held fond memories. The waiter returned with the pitcher and a mug for McKenna. After Logan filled it, she hoisted the frosty glass like a pro. A beer foam moustache beaded her upper lip and she quickly erased it with the tip of her tongue.

  The heat that unfurled in his chest and headed lower caught him by surprise.

  The music had changed from heavy metal to bluesy jazz, the kind that mellowed him out. But no chance of that after McKenna’s antics with her tongue. Muscles he hadn't used in quite a while leapt to life—like a much-needed wake-up call.

  She leaned closer, as if sharing dark secrets. “It was insane, all those kids, but I wouldn't trade them for the world.” Her eyes got this faraway look, like she was remembering boisterous Christmas mornings and graduations with her family cheering wildly in the audience.

  Enough of that. He regrouped. “So, I suppose you have tons of nephews and nieces.”

  “Kirkpatricks reproduce like rabbits. Most of us, anyway.” Rubbing her upper arms briskly with her hands, she shivered.

  He shot to his feet. “Air conditioning’s too high in here. Here, take my jacket.” Shaking it out, he swung it around her delicate shoulders.

  “Thanks, Logan. It was great to get your call,” she continued after he’d slid back into the booth. When she tossed her head, a mischievous wave of hair fell over one eye. McKenna pushed it back but too late. That vampy image was going to stay with him and he welcomed it. No personal life, anyway. Tonight, he felt relaxed and energized. The air seemed to crackle with electricity. Crunching a fistful of peanuts, he popped one in his mouth and got back on topic.

  “As I said on the phone, the rumor is true about the Foundation,” he began. “They would like to fund an obstetrics project. Warren asked me for input and I mentioned both the OR renovation or your LDRP suggestion.”

  “That’s great, Logan.” But she sounded wary.

  “Warren suggested we call our group together, both physicians and midwives, and arrive at consensus. Shouldn’t take much, right?” Looking at her pursed lips, Logan decided that might be wishful thinking.

  McKenna took a deep gulp of beer, leaving another foamy moustache. “Consensus, huh? Should be interesting.” Her tongue reached out and traced her lips. His mouth went dry.

  “He’d like us…ah, like us to present to the Foundation Board in a couple of weeks, so we have to get on this.”

  Her fingers traced the upper rim of her mug. Watching her hand, he felt a light tingle in his chest.

  As if she’d touched him. As if he’d liked it. A lot.

  “Gotta get moving on this one, I guess.” She looked to him for agreement.

  “I totally agree.”

  “Who should be on the committee?”

  Reeling in his wandering mind, he pulled his thoughts together. When was the last time he’d felt this distracted? For a few minutes, they discussed department staff. “Once we decide on our direction, Marketing will help us tee up the presentation, but we probably won't get to that level of detail at this point. We need a basic model and some numbers to put—”

  The soft coolness of McKenna’s palm on his forearm silenced him. “Sorry, Logan, but I'm starving. It's been a long day and I forgot to eat lunch.”

  “Sorry. And here I am, blabbing away.” Grabbing menus, he handed one to her.

  As she pored over the list, his jacket slipped off taking one shoulder of her deep V-neck with it. She didn’t bother to tug her sweater into place. Reminded him of a robe, worn to the breakfast table before they tumbled back into bed.

  The thought brought another surge of heat. Flipping open the menu, Logan scanned the list. “Good God, you could get atherosclerosis just looking at this menu.”

  Her robust laugh was followed by, “You are such a hoot.”

  Thank God their waiter arrived.

  “Let's see. Think I'll have the Burger Bacado with…” She looked up and met the waiter’s eyes. He seemed mesmerized by her tawny lashes. Or maybe it was the neckline of her green sweater. McKenna was generously endowed. With a smile that said you-naughty-boy, she yanked her top up. Not that the move hid much. “You have swe
et potato fries, right?” There was that cute nose crinkle again.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The waiter lifted his eyes for one moment and then dove back into her cleavage like he was cramming for a Human Physiology exam.

  “Great. I’ll have the Burger Bacado and sweet potato fries.” Beaming up at the waiter, she tucked the menu back behind the napkin dispenser.

  With considerably less interest, the young man turned to Logan. “I'll have the veggie burger with coleslaw,” he said. “Is the slaw fresh every day?’

  The waiter blinked. “Yeah, sure. The bags come in every day, I guess.”

  Right. Logan liked his produce fresh. After the waiter left, the panting of Donna Summers cloaked their conversation. Just what he needed.

  McKenna took another swig of her beer then leaned forward. “Now back to business. How should we approach this meeting? What do you want me to bring?”

  “I was planning on gathering some research. You might want to do that too. You know, just the facts.”

  Her auburn brows had arched and he had to chuckle. His grandmother often teased him about his preoccupation with “the finer points,” as she put it. “Too much detail?”

  Head tilting, McKenna grew serious. Two little lines bracketed her mouth, as if straining from the weight of her luscious lips. “Your patients respect your attention to detail. Certainly you know that, Logan. And your empathy,” she added.

  “Attention to detail.” The words felt like a prison sentence, but he managed a wry smile. “Guess that about wraps me up in a book.”

  Her greenish eyes softened to moss. “It's a good book.”

  Wasn’t that the biggest turn-on he’d ever heard?

  “I've been reading about your fertility clinic,” McKenna continued. “You bring hope to a lot of women. That’s huge.”

  Usually compliments sounded contrived and left him cold. Hers didn’t. “We're recruiting so I can spend more time developing the clinic. You might say it’s my passion.”

  “Everyone should have one…passion, that is.” Her green eyes burned almost blue.

  Sucking in a slow breath, he was relieved to see their waiter approaching. The scent of grilled burgers reminded him that he was hungry. “Ketchup?” he asked, lifting the red container.

  “Yes, please.”

  Lifting the top of her hamburger bun after he handed her the ketchup, McKenna swirled a red stream over her sweet potato fries and then doused the burger like she was putting out a fire. Eyes sparkling, she took a generous bite and began to chew with slow appreciation. Was that her or Donna Summers groaning?

  He was toast. Logan reached for his beer.

  Between fries she said, “You know, I’ve heard that how a person eats tells you how they make love. What do you think?” She glanced at him, all wide-eyed and innocent.

  Choking, he spewed droplets of beer onto the table and grabbed a napkin. “I really haven't thought about it.” Now he could think of nothing else. Had she noticed that he’d edged his coleslaw to the side of his plate? Nothing fresh about it. And how he did like fresh.

  “Just hypothetical, of course, but I was talking about this with some girlfriends.” Her voice had almost taken on a clinical note—like they were discussing the difference between a vaginal delivery versus a C-section. Her fingers dallied with her fries, eyes gauging his response from lowered lashes.

  She was playing with him.

  Time to turn the tables. “Did you come up with anything?” Why was he so mesmerized by the faint pattern of freckles on her hands? She lifted a fry to her mouth and ran it along her lips before devouring it.

  He had to remind himself to chew. Chew or choke to death.

  Tawny eyelashes fluttering, she gave grave consideration to swirling the next fry in her ketchup. Then she wagged it at him provocatively. For him, french fries would never be the same. “Obstetrics and gynecology have their roots in human sexuality, right? In your opinion, does our enjoyment of food indicate our enjoyment of, well, other sensual pursuits?”

  He’d lost her with “human sexuality.” Head swimming, he waved to the waiter. His thighs zinged as if burned by a laser gone wild.

  “I really hadn’t thought about it,” he croaked. McKenna was grinning when the waiter arrived. “Water, please.”

  When had he lost control of this meeting?

  Her lips closed over another fry, a small comma of ketchup escaping from one corner of her mouth. Her tongue made short work of that.

  “You really are outrageous,” he breathed. Good God. Did I say that out loud?

  Smiling, she continued her sexy, mind-numbing chewing. But McKenna didn’t seem to know it was sexy. At least, he didn’t think she did. That in itself was a turn-on.

  Finally, the waiter returned, and Logan downed the glass of cold water in three gulps.

  “So, tell me about your family,” she said, changing the topic. “Siblings?”

  “Sadly, no.” He easily slipped into words that had served him well through the years. “Only son of Isabel Montclair and William Castle. My father, an orthopedic surgeon, suffered an untimely death in a ski accident when I was only four. Six months later my mother married the first in a succession of replacements, while my grandmother took over the childrearing. Currently Mom lives in Monte Carlo with a man whose name, I believe, is Guido. Number five.”

  “Whoa. I am so sorry.” McKenna looked stricken.

  Gaze dropping, he swirled the warm beer left in the bottom of his mug. “In many ways, I've been very fortunate. My grandmother has been the backbone of our family since my grandfather’s death. She lives in River Forest. In her early eighties, she still plays golf.” His lovely but eccentric grandmother had spunk, kind of like McKenna.

  “River Forest? We’re almost neighbors.”

  “I like the West Side.” He smiled, remembering racing his new Corvette down Division Street at two in the morning when he was a junior in high school. His grandmother had not been happy to get that call from the police.

  “Sounds like you two have a great relationship.” McKenna’s eyes softened.

  “The best. She’s a great lady and I didn’t always make life easy for her.”

  “Doesn’t she still come to the opening of new units? You know, as widow of our founder?”

  “You’ve done your homework.” Not many of the staff realized that he had Montclair blood. “Yes, my grandmother keeps up a family presence.”

  “And you’re divorced?” McKenna continued.

  “Three years ago, no children.”

  But he wasn't about to carve out any more personal information and was relieved when his pager went off. Just Gary about one of their patients being admitted, but the break in conversation bought him time. He texted his partner the necessary information. The return to work restored a sense of calm. Not that he didn’t enjoy being rattled by McKenna. The banter took him back to college, before his life had gone south. Seconds later, he took care of the bill, although McKenna had grabbed for it.

  “Business expense.” He tugged it out of her fingers.

  With a shrug, she slung her purse over one shoulder. They pushed through the crowd and headed for the door.

  “Thursday okay? Early meeting, say seven or so?” he asked, enjoying her curves pressed against his body. “I'll have Tamara, our receptionist, check with the other staff members.”

  “Sure, seven is fine. I’ll rally the troops.” She was so close he could smell the onion from her burger. An underlying scent teased him, and he inhaled. Peaches. She smelled like onions and peaches. What a tasty combination.

  The evening air bathed his face as he pushed the door open. He wanted to walk the three blocks to the lake and dive in. Since it was May, he didn’t have to brace against the eye-searing wind that often sliced through the tall Chicago buildings.

  The street lamp set McKenna’s hair on fire as she threw her head back. “Thanks for dinner, Dr. Cas—”

  “Logan.”

  “Logan.” She held t
he final “n” in his name, and his gaze clung to her lips as she slipped his jacket off and handed it to him.

  “Hey, you guys. Small world, huh?” Griff Ramsey barreled toward them, his arm around a scrub nurse Logan had seen around the OR. Another hot blonde.

  A question burned in Griff’s eyes but Logan ignored it. “Business meeting,” he threw out.

  “Right, me too,” Griff tossed back, grabbing the door and his date. “Have fun now, you two.”

  For a second, McKenna looked stunned. Then she laughed and lifted one shoulder. “Seems like we may have some explaining to do.”

  Obviously, she was a woman who didn’t care what other people thought.

  “Night, Logan.” Her voice carried on the early summer air as she backed away.

  “Can I walk you to your car?”

  “No need. I lucked out.” She pointed to an orange jeep parked at the curb. “Guy was leaving when I got here.”

  “Lucky break.”

  They waved good-bye, and he nearly walked into a parking meter when he turned. Setting off for the garage, he broke into an easy jog. By the time he reached his car on the top floor of a parking garage, their meeting had replayed in his mind at least four times.

  ~.~

  The next day, clinic was crazy for McKenna. Since Mirandah Masterson had her twin girls two months earlier, she’d been sending her pregnant North Shore friends to For Women, not that McKenna was complaining. By the time clinic hours were wrapping up, McKenna felt exhausted. While checking her watch, she caught sight of Selena in the hall. With a quick wave, she moved into her office and Selena followed. “Busy day?” McKenna asked.

  Selena stifled a yawn. “Had a late night with Andi Lewis but all went well. After two boys, their little girl is beautiful. Photo’s up on the Wall of Pride.” The bulletin board in their waiting area was filled with the ruddy faces of newborns cuddled by pleased parents. Those photos were McKenna’s real paycheck.

  She plopped into her desk chair, and Selena took the wing chair across from her. “I'll have to check it out. Had an interesting meeting with Logan Castle last night.” Keeping her tone casual wasn’t easy. She’d kind of pushed the envelope with the head of their department.