Mr. Hall Takes a Bride

by Marie Ferrarella

  Her eyes swept over him, stopping just above his hipline. It didn’t stop her imagination from going further.

  “And didn’t keep walking,” she concluded.

  “No.” He couldn’t gauge her voice. Was she asking questions, or was there an accusation building? “Is any of what happened last night coming back to you?” He was specifically hoping for the part where she had thrown herself at him. There was no tactful way to make a reference to that. And besides, he still felt he was to blame despite everything.

  It was coming back. In flashing bits and pieces, like the view through a kaleidoscope that was swiftly rolling down a hill. And then, suddenly, it all came back to her in its entirety.

  Sarajane’s mouth dropped opened and she looked at him. Oh, how could she? How could she? “I threw myself at you.”

  Jordan shrugged carelessly, trying to divert the blame. “More or less,” he allowed. “I did try to stop you.”

  Sarajane was trying very hard not to look at him. But it was an utterly losing battle. The man did have a magnificent physique. Warmth began to spread through her with long, probing fingers, reaching out to every part of her.

  Embarrassed by what she was feeling, she said, “Obviously not hard enough.”

  “No,” he agreed. “Not hard enough.” His eyes swept over her face. “But no court in the world would convict me of that one.”

  She had no idea why that statement should make her feel as warm as it did. Or why, given the circumstances, all she could think of was not getting into her clothes and putting all this behind her, but of making love with Jordan, this time so she could remember every detail clearly.

  “Maybe yes, maybe no,” she allowed, slipping back down on the bed as she made the pronouncement. “What we need to do is go over the evidence, very carefully, just in case we can find a loophole.”

  He had never known, Jordan thought as he slid down beside her in the bed and took her into his arms, that background research could be nearly so satisfying or entertaining.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The night of lovemaking with Sarajane did not wipe out the sting of his first courtroom loss, but Jordan had to admit that it certainly helped soften it. Although no one would have ever accused him of being a monk, he felt as if he’d just been going through the motions this last year or so.

  That feeling had been absent last night.

  And this morning.

  Making love with Sarajane had been a unique experience. Instead of leaving him satisfied, it had left him wanting more. He hadn’t felt that way since he’d first been initiated into this wondrous world of sex and women.

  He finally left her at six to go to his own apartment to shower and change. When he saw her again at eight, at the agency, he felt like a high-school kid reacting to his first crush. The trip back through time was exhilarating.

  As long as he didn’t think outside the box, or beyond the following Friday. Because the Monday after that was the day when he would revert back to being a high-priced attorney affiliated with a prestigious law firm. He would be back in his world and Sarajane would remain here, in hers. Given what his life had been like before he stepped through Advocate Aid’s doors, he knew that there was little to no chance of their being together or even having their paths cross.

  But until then, he decided abruptly as a trail of Sarajane’s perfume drifted toward him as she moved past his desk, there was no reason why they couldn’t enjoy one another.

  The man at his desk who was baring his soul to him stopped for a breath. Jordan held up his hand, signaling a momentary break. Catching hold of Sarajane’s wrist, he drew her attention to him. “Are you free for dinner?”

  Lost in thoughts that had much more to do with him than the folders she was carrying back to her desk, Sarajane looked at him with a slightly bemused expression on her face. Time had a way of getting lost here. “It’s only eleven-thirty. That’s more like lunch.”

  “Tonight,” Jordan clarified. “Are you up for dinner tonight?”

  The bemused expression gave way to a warm smile. Something stirred inside his chest. He was too old, too experienced to feel this way. And yet, he did, he thought in amazement.

  “Sure.” Sarajane thought for a moment. There was this fancy recipe she’d been wanting to try. Cooking for just herself always felt like a waste, but now that Jordan was coming over, she had the perfect excuse. “I can stop at the grocery store on the way home—”

  Jordan was shaking his head before she finished. He wanted to wow her. To make up for last night by wining and dining her properly. And then, perhaps, the rest would take care of itself, he added silently. The knot in his stomach tightened in anticipation.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of taking you out to a restaurant.” He knew just the one—if he could wangle a reservation. Chez Pierre was usually booked solid weeks in advance, but the owner owed him a favor. The man’s daughter had been facing a shoplifting charge and he had not only successfully gotten her off, but had had the charge expunged from her record as well. The man told him he was in his debt for life. Jordan figured a table for two was a reasonable exchange.

  Her smile widened. This would give her a chance to wear that slinky black dress she kept in the back of her closet. “Sounds great,” she told Jordan.

  The man at Jordan’s desk squirmed. “Can we get back to my case now, please? I’ve got to get back to work soon.”

  “Absolutely,” Jordan answered cheerfully. Funny how her smile made him feel lighter than air, he thought, doing his best to turn his attention back to a feud over a bulldog.

  “Hey, hey, hey, what do you thinking you’re doing?” Eric Logan asked sharply as he crossed the master bedroom in record time, presenting himself directly in front of the king-sized bed he shared with his wife.

  Jenny swung her legs out from beneath the covers, digging her knuckles into the mattress for support. Her whole world had shrunk to this bed and she was swiftly growing to hate it.

  “I’m blowing this Popsicle stand,” she announced with bravado. She was so weary of resting she could have screamed. “And getting up before I forget how to use my legs.”

  Eric patiently tucked her legs back under the covers, foiling her attempts to flee what she had come to regard as her soft prison.

  “You won’t forget, Jen,” he assured her. “I have faith in you. Doctor said complete bed rest, remember?”

  Rolling her eyes, she bit back an exasperated retort. “How can I forget? You and everyone else you hired to keep tabs on me keep reminding me.” She looked up at him, a pleading look in her eyes. “Eric, I can’t live like this any more.”

  It had only been a couple of weeks. Less, he thought, calculating the actual time lapsed. “It’s just for a few months, honey.” He took her hand in his. Funny how he had never realized how fragile she was. When he thought about the possibility that he could lose her, he could hardly breathe. “Trust me, this’ll be over in no time. You’ll be looking back and wondering why you didn’t just enjoy having nothing to do.”

  Her expression told him that would never happen. “I wasn’t made to do nothing,” she insisted. She looked around at all the things spread out on the bed that were meant to divert her. She was surrounded by books, her laptop, the newspaper, and all she wanted to do was put them in an orderly stack and get on with her life. “Eric, I’m going crazy.”

  “I could pick up some new books for you on my way home,” he offered. That went over like a lead balloon. “Books on tape, video games, DVDs—you name it, I’ll bring it.”

  She only wanted one thing. “Let me get up and go back to my life.” She knew Eric meant well. He’d even hired a nanny to watch Cole. The woman was lovely, but she just wanted to be there with Cole herself. Wanted to get back to doing something useful and meaningful instead of growing roots into a mattress.

  The love of her life shook his head. “No can do, honey.” Sitting down beside her on the bed, Eric kissed the top of her head and slipped
his arm around her shoulders. He caressed the swell of her stomach with his other hand. “That’s an important little passenger you’re carrying around with you. You don’t want to risk anything happening to the baby, do you?”

  “No.” Jenny looked back at the article that had set her off this morning. “But I’m thinking of other babies.”

  He laughed. That was his Jenny, always planning ahead. “Let’s have this one first, honey, and then we’ll talk.”

  She stared at him for a moment, and then realized that he thought she meant having more babies of their own. “No, I mean the babies at the Children’s Connection. Just look at this.”

  Incensed, she pulled over a section of the Gazette and held it up for him. The story was on page three, where it had been running for the last two weeks. How many different ways were there to say the same thing? And why did the reporters feel they had to drag up past scandals? Why couldn’t they give the organization a break after all the good that it had done?

  “The media is beating this thing about Robbie to death.” She tossed the paper aside like the gossip rag she felt it was. “All the good work that your family’s done is being undone just like that.” She pressed her lips together to keep the more heated words back. The baby didn’t need to be privy to that. Still, when she thought of what was being said and done in the name of journalism she could hardly stand it. “Did you know that Robbie resigned?” Her heart ached for her oldest brother-in-law. “That place meant the world to him.”

  They were alike that way, she and Robbie. Both felt a certain degree of affection for the organization that allowed so many childless couples to have the family they always longed for.

  Anger flickered in her eyes. “If he resigned, it was because he was hounded into doing it. All this bad publicity could ruin the organization,” she lamented. “And then where would all those people go? And what about the children?”

  Eric held his hands up to stop her before she really got wound up. “You’re preaching to the choir, honey.”

  He took the paper from her and glanced at the story she was referring to. Frowning, he tossed the paper aside, purposely out of Jenny’s reach. As angry as he was for what this was doing to the brother he felt deserved better after all he’d been through, he was more concerned about his wife. She didn’t need this kind of hype upsetting her. He paused for a moment, casting about for a way to handle this.

  “Maybe they could do with the services of a good public relations firm,” he said, thinking out loud. Jenny lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “That’s perfect. Do you know any PR firms?”

  Funny she should mention that, he thought. “I know of one. My cousin LJ runs a very successful PR firm in New York City.”

  Jenny’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. She thought she’d met his entire family, but this was a new name on her. “You have a cousin LJ? You never mentioned him.”

  “I have a whole mess of cousins I never mentioned,” he told her. He supposed now was as good a time as any to tell her. “Six to be exact.” He saw her eyes widen even more. “LJ, Ryan who’s an architect, Jake, a doctor and Scott, a private investigator. There’s also Suzie and Janet.”

  “Suzie and Janet,” she echoed.

  He nodded. “They’re my half-cousins, I guess. They belong to Lawrence’s second wife, Abigail. His first wife, Lisanne, died about ten years ago.”

  Jenny did her best to assimilate the information flowing her way. They’d been married for three years. Why hadn’t he ever mentioned these people before? And why hadn’t they been at the wedding? “Where’ve you been hiding them?”

  “Not me—” he was quick to explain “—my dad. He has this younger brother, Lawrence, they haven’t talked for thirty years—”

  She found that hard to believe. Terrance Logan had always been so kind to her. “But your father’s such a nice man—”

  “No argument.” In an odd sort of way, one had nothing to do with the other as far as his father was concerned. “The way I heard it, Uncle Lawrence and Dad had the usual typical sibling rivalry when they were kids. My dad was the one who wound up inheriting the Logan Corporation and he was a bit of a stickler when it came to the business, always finding fault with the way Lawrence did things. My dad lived and breathed the company in the early days. Lawrence believed in the stop-and-smell-the-roses philosophy.

  “They grew further apart. Lawrence went his own way and became a psychologist. He made it big with a self-help book in the eighties—The Most Important Thing,” he recalled the title for her.

  Jenny nodded. The book sounded vaguely familiar, one of those bestsellers that enters into the public’s consciousness and remains there. “I think I’ve heard of that.”

  He nodded. “A lot of people have. It was about finding meaning in your life outside of the ordinary materialistic trappings. It did very well. Trouble was, one of the examples Lawrence used to personify the kind of driven life he was demonizing turned out to be a not-too-fictionalized version of my father.

  “Dad saw it as an indictment of everything he’d accomplished. They had a huge falling-out over the book and haven’t spoken since, although Lawrence tried to establish contact with my Dad when Robbie was found. But my father wouldn’t hear of it.” Eric sighed. He had a great deal of respect for his father and all that he had accomplished, but he was aware of the man’s shortcomings as well. “He can be very stubborn when it comes to his pride.”

  You learn something every day, Jenny thought. “So it would seem.” Since there was no sense in dwelling on the past, she focused on the immediate problem. “You think this LJ will talk to you?”

  He was pretty certain that there’d be no difficulty in reestablishing a connection. “We’ve been in contact over the years. Mom didn’t think we should be cut off from an entire branch of the family just because of Dad’s pride. Of course, Dad doesn’t know about this—”

  Jenny laughed. “How about that? Intrigue, right here under my nose.”

  Eric couldn’t resist touching the tip of her nose. “More like an upscale soap opera,” he amended.

  “So you’ll call him?” she asked eagerly. She knew she’d feel a lot better if something was done to help out the Children’s Connection. She’d still be bedridden, but at least things would be getting done. “This secret cousin of yours?”

  Eric rose to his feet again. “Right after I get to work.”

  She knew he had a way of getting distracted. “Promise?” she pressed.

  He looked down at her pointedly. “If you promise to stay put.”

  She’d known that was coming. “I promise.”

  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, he just knew how antsy she felt. “Dorothy will tell me if you try to make a break for it.” Dorothy was the housekeeper he had hired the day he discovered Jenny was pregnant.

  She shook her head, resigned. “Snitches, under my own roof.”

  He placed a hand affectionately on her shoulder. “Everyone just worries about you, Jen.”

  “Go. Call.” Jenny waved him out of the room.

  Eric stopped only long enough to quickly kiss her goodbye and then he was gone.

  True to his word, as soon as he walked into his office, Eric instructed his assistant to look up LJ’s PR firm in New York City.

  Less than an hour after he’d made Jenny privy to the so-called black-sheep side of his family tree, Eric was on the phone, talking to his oldest cousin. After a few minutes of small talk and catching up, he got down to business and told LJ the reason for the unexpected phone call.

  Eric pulled no punches and told him everything that had been going on with the agency. The mix-up with the embryos, the fact that black-market-baby trafficking had been suspected, etc. He left nothing out.

  “I know this might be kind of awkward for you because the Children’s Connection is very dear to my mother and both my parents have given a great deal of money to the organization over the years. If you don’t want to take this on because o
f personal reasons, just say the word. I’ll understand. All I ask is a decent referral.”

  “No referral necessary,” LJ assured him in his easy voice. “The personal problems exist between your father and mine, not you and me. This is the twenty-first century and the Hatfields and the McCoys are just a legend in some forgotten history book. There’s no need to carry on a blood feud.” Eric heard his cousin laugh quietly at the term. “Bottom line, turning the public’s opinion around about the agency sounds like one hell of a challenge and I have always lived for challenges. How soon do you need me out there?”

  Eric laughed. This was turning out to be almost too easy for words. “How soon can you be here?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line and Eric thought he heard the sound of LJ typing on a keyboard. His cousin was back on the line in less than two minutes. “I’ve got a few things to see to first. How does Monday sound?”

  Eric had been prepared for a lot longer lag than that. “Monday’s great.”

  “Okay, then it’s a deal. Monday it is. I’ll get back to you once my assistant has my travel plans in place.”

  If only all his problems were that easily taken care of, Eric thought. “I really appreciate this, LJ.”

  “Hey, we’re family, right? No matter what the old men say.” LJ sounded as if he genuinely believed what he was saying. “See you soon.”

  “Soon,” Eric echoed and smiled to himself as he hung up the receiver. Wait until he called Jenny with this. That should put the sparkle back in her eyes. At least temporarily.

  Sarajane sighed. This day seemed to drag on forever. She thought that last person who had brought her plight to Jordan would never leave. She’d monopolized him for almost two hours. Every time it looked as if the woman was winding up, she brought out another crumpled piece of paper to show him, another issue about her eviction that she felt needed addressing. She became very agitated as she talked about the wrongs she’d endured.