by Jackie Braun
“I don’t mind. It’s a nice surprise.”
“Do you have any plans for this evening?”
She didn’t, but even if she had, they would have escaped her now. She couldn’t seem to think when he was looking at her like that, all interested and sexy.
“None that I can think of. Why?”
“Good. I thought I’d take you to a jazz club.”
Though she couldn’t have said why, that brought Mallory up short. “You like jazz?”
“No, but you do. So…” He shrugged, as if that explained everything, and in a way it did.
Heaven help her, Mallory wanted to kiss him right then as they stood on the sidewalk in front of the Herald. To hell with the purpose-driven professionals and camera-toting tourists who were streaming around them. She couldn’t think of another man—her father included—who’d put what she liked, what she wanted ahead of his own needs or preferences.
“Thank you.”
His brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For…the good time I’m going to have this evening,” she said. “Would it be okay if we swing by my apartment first so I can change clothes?”
She had on an ivory linen suit that was wrinkled from a full day of wear, and her feet were begging to be freed from a pair of peep-toe pumps that required a little more breaking in to be comfortable. This wasn’t what one wore to a club, especially when Logan was clad in denim jeans, Italian loafers and a short-sleeved shirt whose tails he’d left untucked.
“No problem, though I really like those heels. They do sinful things for your legs.” He took a step toward her, close enough that there was no mistaking the interest brewing in his eyes.
“You think so?”
“Oh, yeah.”
The outside world melted away, just as it had when they’d held each other on the dance floor…and later in her apartment.
“Then you should see me in stilettos,” she announced boldly, bluntly and with just a hint of challenge.
“Something to look forward to.” His words and the smoldering expression that accompanied them caused Mallory’s breath to catch. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?” The question had her blinking.
“To go.” He smiled knowingly. “My car’s parked just down the street.”
“Lead the way.”
The Swing Shop was small, dark and smoky. It drew an eclectic crowd—college students, couples young and old, tourists, suit-wearing businessmen and even interns and residents from the nearby hospital, who were still outfitted in scrubs.
Everyone was equal here. At the French restaurant up the block a discreetly passed tip might garner a better table or less time spent on the waiting list, but at the Swing Shop seating was first-come, first-served. Patrons who hoped to get a table came early, often right from work when their day ended. And they tended to stay late, buying drinks and ordering the kitchen’s greasy offerings as their feet tapped and their bodies swayed to wailing saxophones and weeping coronets.
Yes, getting a seat was tricky, but a little aggressive maneuvering through the crowd helped. That’s why as soon as Mallory spied an older couple rising from a table near the stage, she elbowed her way past two legal-eagle types and a plus-size woman wearing an I Love Chicago T-shirt to plant her beer on the scuffed Formica. Logan caught up with her a couple of minutes and half a dozen pardon-mes later.
“That was amazing.” He lowered himself into the chair opposite hers. “Professional football players running for a game-winning touchdown could take tips from you.”
Mallory merely shrugged. “You know the saying—he who hesitates is lost.”
He chuckled. “I take it you’ve been here before.”
“This club is one of my favorites.”
“And I thought I was going to be treating you to a new experience.”
“That’s sweet.” And it was.
“This is my first time coming here,” Logan confessed.
She stifled her laughter. “Yes. I thought that might be the case when you stood at the door and politely held it open for the large party of tourists who entered just behind us.” She glanced meaningfully in the direction of a boisterous bunch of middle-aged women who’d pushed together three of the club’s highly prized tables to accommodate their party, not all of whom had arrived yet.
“Now that we have a table, do you want to order something to eat?” he asked.
Mallory crinkled her nose. “The food’s not really all that good here, but I tell you what, if you can make do with an appetizer or two until the main attraction finishes, dinner will be on me.”
“Do I get to pick the place?” His brows bobbed.
“It sounds like you might have somewhere in mind.”
“I might.” He pulled a plastic-coated menu from between the salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table. After a cursory glance, he asked, “Do nachos work for you?”
Mallory grinned, enjoying the fact that even though Logan possessed the skill of a gourmet chef, he harbored no prejudice against more pedestrian fare. “Heavy on the jalapeños, hold the onions.”
“Got it.” He raised his hand to catch the attention of a harried-looking waitress.
They stayed three hours and might have remained longer if Mallory’s stomach hadn’t protested. She’d switched to coffee after her second glass of wine, since it seemed to be going right to her head. And she couldn’t bring herself to eat another bite of nachos. She was already regretting her heavy-on-the-jalapeños request.
Outside, the night air had cooled considerably from the afternoon high temperature of nearly ninety degrees, but with the heat still radiating from the sidewalk, the change was negligible, especially since Mallory was with Logan and even the casual way he clasped her hand in his had her feeling feverish.
“You said something about treating me to a meal,” he reminded her as they made their way to his car.
“Yes, I did. What are you in the mood for?” she asked.
He stopped walking, turned and her question took on a whole new meaning.
“You.”
Logan released her hand, but only so he could use both of his to frame her face. His hands were big. His palms warm even to her heated skin. Though she was probably being ridiculous, she thought she could feel the calluses he’d earned tending to his boat.
He’d kissed her before, done much more than that. But each encounter had struck her as something new, unique. As she had before, she lost herself in his embrace, sucked under and in no hurry to resurface.
The kiss might have lasted seconds or it might have lasted several minutes. Mallory had no clue. Slowly she became aware of the traffic passing, of horns blasting in the distance and of snippets of the conversations from the people walking by them.
She was pressed up against Logan, her body flush with his, making her fully aware of his reaction to the contact. His breathing was heavy and ragged. The hands still bracketing her face trembled. Mallory wasn’t one given to public displays. She couldn’t seem to help herself around Logan.
“Food is the last thing on my mind after that,” he murmured. “You?”
“Who needs to eat?”
He chuckled, but then turned serious. “I want you, Mallory.”
“That was obvious,” she replied. “I want you, too.”
Suddenly, though, she wanted more than sex. Though they had been together for barely a handful of dates, she found herself yearning for a long-term, committed relationship. The kind she’d never had with a man. The kind she’d stopped believing in when her father had packed his bags and gone.
“Where is this heading?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Logan blinked. In the scant glow of the streetlights she watched his expression turn guarded.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted after an excruciatingly long pause. “I like you a lot, Mallory. That much you should know by now. But if you’re asking for promises…I don’t know that I can make them.”
&n
bsp; Now or ever? Thankfully she managed to keep that question to herself. She lifted her shoulders in a negligent shrug.
“No need for promises, Logan. This is what it is.” She forced herself to smile and added in a seductive whisper, “And I plan to enjoy every moment of it.”
She’d hoped that would be the end of it, but now he was frowning. “What exactly is this?”
Words were her refuge and, at times, a trusted defense mechanism. They failed Mallory now, though, leaving her to babble incoherently before she finally managed to say, “I don’t know, but we’re good together.”
“The sexual chemistry, you mean?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.” Only it wasn’t. Not completely. And she couldn’t help wondering why that suddenly bothered her so much. “You probably studied stuff like that when you were getting your degree.”
Logan massaged his forehead. Not that he could recall, and God knew he was trying to remember. He was a man of science, but some things defied academic explanation. His intense, over-the-top physical reaction to Mallory was one such thing.
He lifted one hand but stopped before his fingers made contact with her cheek. “That’s got to be why I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”
Her eyes widened and her lips curved. The traces of vulnerability she’d tried to disguise with bravado vanished. “You haven’t been able to get me out of your head?”
“Don’t look so damned pleased,” he muttered, even though she didn’t look pleased. Rather, she appeared to be surprised. And hopeful? “I’ve never had this response to a woman before.”
“Never?” It wasn’t only her expression that held bafflement this time. Her tone was ripe with it.
Recalling the way she’d reacted before the charity event when he’d complimented her appearance, Logan gave in to the temptation to touch her and framed her face with his hands. “In addition to thinking you’re gorgeous—and don’t try to argue with me this time,” he added when her mouth opened, presumably to do just that. “I find you incredibly sexy, Mallory.”
She didn’t argue. She didn’t so much as blink, even when he leaned down and kissed her lightly on her lips. She studied him with dark, watchful eyes. The woman who had a well-earned reputation for being shrewd and intuitive only looked vulnerable now.
“Are we going to stand out here on the street all night or are you going to take me home and make love to me?”
Logan chuckled at her question. Okay, maybe she wasn’t completely vulnerable.
“Let’s go.”
His car was half a block up the street. With a press of the key fob, the lights flashed and the doors unlocked. When they reached it, Logan opened Mallory’s for her, as was his habit. As they drove, she was quiet.
“Is something wrong?” Logan asked.
“No. Not really.” She smiled at him. “You’re always opening doors for me, even my car door. You’re a gentleman.”
“My mother’s doing.”
“Then I like your mother.”
His laughter rumbled low. “That makes two of us.” He sobered. “You sound surprised, about me being a gentleman, I mean.”
“I’ve never dated anyone quite like you.”
“Why?”
His question had her shrugging. “I don’t know. I just…haven’t.”
As Logan maneuvered the car through traffic, he commented, “You know, it’s funny how a lot of people confuse basic courtesy with being condescending. I open your door as a sign of respect. I suppose you could do the same for me. Either way, it’s not a gesture intended to display dominance.”
“No.”
He cast a glance sideways when they reached a red light. “You’d be pretty damned hard to dominate, anyway. You’re too strong-willed for that and far too outspoken.”
She smiled. “Is that how you see me?”
“More or less.” Logan nodded. The light changed and he returned his attention to the road. It was a moment before he glanced sideways again and asked, “How do you see yourself?”
“I don’t know.” She fussed with her hands in her lap. “But I’ve been called worse things than strong and outspoken. In fact, I’d consider both as compliments.”
“I’m glad. You should. But that’s not an answer, Mallory. How do you see yourself?”
She laughed.
“I’m serious. I’d really like to know.”
“Okay. I see myself as determined.”
“Come on,” he challenged. “You can do better than that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with determination,” she returned, sounding slightly defensive.
“You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with it.” God knew, determination was probably what had seen Mallory through her rough childhood and into a much brighter future. “But surely you can come up with more adjectives than that.”
“I’m hardworking,” she told him.
Logan blew out a breath, unimpressed. “That’s just another label for the same thing. Is that the best you can do?”
“It’s enough. It should be enough.” Her voice rose.
He reached over for one of her hands. “I haven’t known you very long, Mallory, and already I see so much more than that. You sell yourself short.”
Even in the dimly lit car he could see her throat work. “Well, do tell.”
He wasn’t offended by her attempt at sarcasm. He squeezed the hand he still held in his. “No. It’s for you to see. Not for me to tell you. It won’t have the same impact then. And before you accuse me of analyzing you, how about we change the subject?”
“Okay.” She blew out a breath, clearly trying to rally. Determined. Yes, she was definitely that. “So, what do you think of jazz?”
“I like it.”
“You sound a little surprised.”
“I am. Maybe it was the live performance tonight or the company.” He flashed her a grin. “But I really enjoyed myself. I may have to go out and buy a jazz CD. Or you could lend me a couple of yours until I’m sure I like the genre?”
“Maybe,” she allowed.
They reached her apartment building. Logan found a parking spot half a block past the front entrance and pulled the car to the curb. Switching off the ignition, he turned to her and asked, “So, are you still mad at me?”
“Mad? Why would I be mad?” But she crossed her arms over her chest. He thought he saw a flicker of challenge in her expression.
He played along. Nodding, he said, “You are, but you know, this could be a blessing in disguise.”
Mallory’s brow crinkled. “How do you figure that, Doc?”
“Everyone knows that make-up sex is the best kind.” He waited a moment before bobbing his eyebrows.
Mallory didn’t so much as smile.
“You look skeptical.”
And a little amused. Her lips had begun to twitch despite her effort to remain stoic. “I may need some convincing,” she said.
Logan opened his car door and came around to her side. As he helped her out, he said, “Come on, then. Let’s get started.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“SO, WHO is he?” Vicki Storm asked.
Their drinks, tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa had just arrived at their table at Tia Lenore when Mallory’s best friend and former college roommate asked the question. Vicki wasn’t one to beat around the bush. It was one of the things Mallory liked about the other woman, but she didn’t appreciate it tonight. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she hadn’t told her friend about Logan.
“Who is who?”
“The man who has kept you so busy that you’ve skipped not one but two of our margarita dates? And tonight doesn’t really count as a margarita night, either.” Her friend’s nose wrinkled. “You’re drinking plain old water.”
“I didn’t feel like tequila tonight.” The truth was, salsa was low on her list, too. She’d been battling a bad case of indigestion for the past week.
When silence ensued, Vicki followed up with an impat
ient, “Well?”
Vicki worked as an interior designer, decorating the palatial penthouses and estates of some of the area’s wealthiest people. She was good at her profession. Downright gifted, in fact. But Mallory still thought the woman should have gone into journalism. She’d make one hell of a reporter. Or a formidable interrogator with the Chicago police department.
“His name is Logan, okay?”
“Does he have a last name or is this some sort of kinky Internet thing?”
The moment of truth had arrived. “It’s Bartholomew.”
“Logan Bartholomew.” Her friend’s eyes widened then. “As in the hunky radio doctor?”
“That’s the one.” Mallory couldn’t help the smug smile that accompanied her words.
“There’s an ad promoting his show at my El stop. Is he as gorgeous in person or was he Photoshopped to male perfection?”
“He’s that good-looking.” It came out a near sigh.
Vicki whistled between her teeth. “Well, no wonder you’ve fallen off the radar. When did this happen? How? Where? Why? Etcetera. And don’t even think about skimping on the details,” her friend warned, taking a chip from the basket in the center of their table to dip in the salsa.
“We’ve been seeing each other for about six weeks,” Mallory began, using her index finger to follow the path of a bead of condensation on the outside of her glass of ice water.
“Uh-oh.”
She glanced up sharply. “What?”
“It’s serious, isn’t it?”
“We’re just dating.” Mallory attempted a shrug.
Vicki appeared unconvinced. “So, tell me about this famous hunk you’re just dating.”
No doubt her friend was regretting her offer when, half an hour later, Mallory ended her monologue. She hadn’t been able to help herself. Nor had she been able to prevent smiling.
It was no surprise when Vicki plunked back in her seat on an oath. “I think I need another drink. I’ve never heard you go on about a guy the way you do this one.”
Mallory folded her arms. “Gee, sorry if I’ve bored you.”
“You know you haven’t. Sadly, given the state of my love life lately, listening to yours is more exciting.” Her friend sighed again.