Authors: Jennifer Probst
He nodded. “I know. I won’t ask about your past. You can tell me when the time is right.”
“What do you want?”
“An honest chance. Stop fighting me and yourself. And I’ll try to give you what you need.” He shook his head in mock humor. “Not that I know how good I am with this. I’m more the Type-A personality. Not your normal sensitive millennium man.”
She laughed. “It’s okay. I realized that immediately.”
“Do you believe me about the dossier?”
She looked him in the eye. Chandler was amazed at the simple answer she uttered automatically. “Yes.” Her gut said he gave her the truth. All he asked for was time. She’d never experienced such complicated emotions with a man before, and if she walked away she’d always regret. She’d learned long ago not to live life with regrets. “Yes, I believe you,” she repeated.
A gentle smile curved his lips, the one she’d seen when he spoke with the elderly residents. “Good. Now we can get down to business.”
“What business?”
“Getting to know me.” He settled back in the chair. “Ask your questions.”
She bit her lip to stop from laughing at his efficient demeanor. “Hmmm, somehow I didn’t think getting to know each other would be like a business meeting.”
“Best way to learn about a person. Direct questions and answers. What do you want to know?”
She smothered a giggle. The opportunity to ask anything was too tempting to ignore so she tried to pick a good one. “Are you into sports?”
He snorted as if disgusted with such an easy question. “Racquetball and skiing. Hate football. And I’m not afraid to admit I’m a Mets fan. Gotta love the underdogs, even if they haven’t won a World Series since 1986. Next.”
She wrinkled her nose and thought hard. “First girlfriend. Tell me about her.”
“Sally Demarco. Went to the junior prom together. Dumped me for a football player.”
“Is that why you hate football?”
“Very cute. Next question.”
“Favorite color?”
“Blue. Not too loud and not too fashionable.”
“Interesting. Favorite meal?”
“Anything I don’t have to cook. Come on, ask me a real question.”
“Why do you come here every Sunday?”
That threw him for a moment. Then he grinned like he was proud of her. “Good one. I like to visit with older people. It’s amazing how much you learn by their stories.”
She waited for more but he seemed to be finished. Slowly, she reached out and took his hand. Startled, he watched her interlace all five fingers with his. She smiled. The warmth of her flesh against his made a shudder wrack his body. “Now tell me the truth,” she said softly.
Chandler watched the demons dance within the depths of his eyes, fighting to get out. “When my mother got sick, I didn’t have enough money to take care of her. We had no insurance. Private care centers were too expensive, and I couldn’t spend all day with her. She had nowhere to go except for the state nursing home.”
She winced when she imagined the horrors of a little boy trying to make the right decisions for his mother. “You had no other family to help?”
“Nope. Mom was an only child. My father had taken off years ago and wouldn’t have helped anyway.”
“What happened?”
“She died there. I was at school. I went to visit her in the afternoon and her bed was already occupied. They never even called the school, just let me find out when I got there. Told me it was some kind of mix up and they were truly sorry.” He shook his head as if to clear the memory. “Anyway, the place was a horror. I decided I’d make a safe home for people with no money to go. Like a private institution, but with no pressure of funding.”
She blinked. “Logan, did you build this?”
“Yes. This is what I couldn’t do for my mother when she was around. But every time I see a person here smile, or thank me, or meet one of their families, it’s all worth it.”
Sudden tears burned behind her eyelids. “You didn’t name it after yourself?”
He shrugged. “I hate that stuff. I don’t want to be a picture on the wall as founder, and my mother wouldn’t want that either. I want to be involved with every person here.” He looked disgusted with himself. “Oh, hell, now I sound like a wimp. Just like Jim said.”
She laughed and lowered her forehead to their clasped hands. One tear ran down her cheek and splashed against his wrist. His fingers tightened around hers. “You make me crazy, Logan Grant,” she muttered. “Before you know it, we’re going to discover behind that Type A personality lies a true millennium man. Sensitivity and all.”
“Don’t let the rumor get around.” She raised her head and smiled. He smiled back. “Want a complete tour?”
“I’d love it.”
“Just watch out when I introduce you to Mr. Baxter. He likes to pinch ladies’ backsides.”
“That’s okay. Men deserve a thrill now and then.”
“Not that kind of thrill. One look at your butt and he’ll drop dead of a heart attack.”
She laughed. “Thanks for the complement.”
He leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. One finger trailed down her cheek. “Thanks for giving me a shot.”
Electricity crackled between them. Sexual awareness burned hot, taking away her breath. He sensed the connection and dropped his hand to allow her the space. Chandler fought for composure, fought the need to hurl herself into his arms and let him take her for another ride of pure pleasure. She regained control, then nodded.
Logan smiled as if he knew her thoughts. Then he led her outside.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Why are you—”
“I tried to—”
They both stopped at once and laughed together. Logan moved further into the conference room. Chandler shifted her feet. Her eyes roved over his figure, and she knew a silly grin tugged at her lips. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, haunted by erotic images dancing behind her closed eyelids that kept her from sleep. Now, with him standing before her, she felt like a teenager seeing her boyfriend after a night of heavy necking. “What were you going to say?” She fought the impulse to pull his head toward her for a long, passionate kiss.
His gaze focused on her mouth. “No, I interrupted you. Ladies first.”
The musky scent of his aftershave drifted in the air and teased her senses. “Why are you here so early? I thought you had a big meeting.”
He took a step forward and reached out to grasp a stray tendril of hair. Slowly, he wrapped the silky strand around his finger. “The meeting was rescheduled. I can’t make class tonight.”
She fought to keep the disappointment from showing and nodded her head. “Oh, sure, I understand.”
He released the lock of hair and trailed his fingers down the line of her jaw toward the wildly beating pulse at her neck. “I tried to call you this morning but I got your voice mail.”
“I had an early class. I didn’t sleep well, so I decided I might as well get up and do some work.” The moment the lack of sleep admission left her lips Chandler felt heat rush to her cheeks. Logan pounced.
“Didn’t sleep?” He gave a lazy smile. “Any particular reason?”
She cursed his sexy good looks and his damn confidence. Yesterday had been perfect. They played a rousing poker game, ate lunch with the residents, and took a stroll around the lake. He showed her a different side to his personality, a softness, and when the day ended he walked her to the car with a polite kiss good-bye.
His eyes told her he wanted to strip her naked and make love to her. His body told her he remembered every intimate detail and would claim her soon—when the time was right. Somehow, his polite kiss only made her fire burn hotter.
She wondered how many “morning-afters” had he gone through in his life? Was he used to putting a woman at ease and setting her up for the next time? Was it all just a bunch of bedroom games after all? He was way out of her league. Women probably threw themselves at him on a daily basis, all of them sexually experienced and quite capable of clever repartee after an encounter.
“No particular reason.” She tried to look unconcerned by the hand gliding down her throat to hover at the top of her breasts. Already, her body began to melt under his touch. Her nipples thrust toward the material of her sweat suit in bold demand. “I got caught up in an old movie. It ended after midnight.”
He laughed. “Liar,” he taunted. “You were up all night imagining what it would have been like if I made love to you.” He leaned over. His warm breath rushed over her lips. “You wondered what it would be like if I thrust deeply inside your body, over and over, until you were part of me.”
Chandler trembled. She wanted everything he described. “Yes,” she said, halfway terrified of the intense feelings she had.
Satisfaction carved out his features. He cupped her face with his hands and lowered his mouth. “Then kiss me. Let me show you how much I want the same thing.”
His lips covered hers. He sipped from her mouth lovingly, and slid his tongue between her lips to touch hers, imitating the merging their bodies would do. With a low moan, she opened and invited him in, shaken by the sweetness of the kiss.
He pulled away and smiled down at her. “Can we have dinner after my meeting?” he asked.
“I can’t. I’m meeting Harry for dinner.”
“Cancel.”
She sighed at his dark scowl. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not going to let you bully me! I told you Harry is a friend and nothing more. He needs to talk and I can’t let him down.”
He studied the stubborn tilt to her chin. “Is he gay?”
“No!”
“Girlfriend? Wife?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t trust him. He wants to be more than your friend. I know how men work.”
She took a deep breath. “Most of the conversation tonight will center around the woman he’s had a crush on for months. He hasn’t been able to get up the nerve to ask her out yet.”
“Who is she?”
She tried to keep the smile from her voice. “Her name is Rachael. She’s a stenographer who does a lot of work for McKenzie & Tetenbaum. Harry’s had a crush on her since she started, but he’s afraid she isn’t interested.”
He digested that, his face stony. “I still don’t like it.”
“I’m going, Logan. You’re going to have to trust me.”
For a while he didn’t speak. Then he reached for her. He dragged her against him and kissed her with combined frustration and hunger. Chandler surrendered, recognizing his need to assert control over the situation.
Breathless, she waited for his response when the embrace ended. A shutter dropped over his face. His hands clenched into tight fists. Knowing he had no choice but to accept her decision, Chandler waited for him to admit his uneasy feelings but concede defeat.
“I’ll call you tonight at nine thirty. That should give you two plenty of time to catch up and return home.” His tone held a firm warning. “Be waiting for my call or take the consequences.” He turned and strode out of the room and left her gaping at his back. By the time she recovered her power of speech, he was gone.
So much for compromise.
Cursing fluently under her breath, she stomped over to the easel and dragged it to the front of the room to set up her display of nutritional charts. The man was impossible. As soon as she started to think he could learn to be fair and open-minded in a relationship, he pulled a stunt like this. Demanding she be available for his call? Caveman tactics that should be extinct. He actually thought every woman he met would meekly accept the ground rules he threw out, grateful for the honor of being involved with the mighty Logan Grant.
Well, this yoga teacher would show him a lesson or two.
“Chandler?”
She shook off her thoughts and turned at the sound of a voice in the doorway. Jim Chrisetta hovered in the entrance of the conference room, a tall, lanky figure with dark hair and serious brown eyes. He always seemed to be the most somber in the group, taking her instructions as intensely as he did his financial sheets. They had spoken a few times and she’d been impressed with the responsibility he felt toward his wife and daughter. But Chandler knew responsibility sometimes took a drain on one’s own energy and left a person vulnerable to the stresses of life. She only hoped Logan recognized the sensitivity in Jim and saved his job.
With a bright smile, she waved him in. “Come on over, I was just setting up for class. Boy, do you have an exciting night ahead. By the time you leave, you’ll know everything about the fat contained in food, the benefits of vegetables, and how to discipline yourself not to have that second piece of chocolate cake.”