“Hi, yourself.” Logan turned from where he’d been scrounging through the refrigerator and his breath caught in his throat.
Blond hair that had been tied up in a knot above her head now curled in damp strands around her makeup-free face. Her skin was nearly flawless, fair and translucent, touched by an endearing pink flush on her cheeks. The curves that had been so obvious earlier were now hidden by soft cotton. She’d had to roll the sleeves more than a few times and the elasti
c bottom of each pant leg. The effect was a startling blend of sweetness and vulnerability, two words he hadn’t associated with this woman before now.
He’d seen her dressed for work. He’d seen her wet and disheveled from a run in the rain. And though he’d found her more desirable with each transformation, this one left him speechless. Because the soft and approachable woman wearing his clothes, standing in his kitchen, touched his heart.
“Can I help?” she asked. “I know my way around the kitchen.”
“I think you proved that at the party earlier,” he said, studying her. “You’re special, Cat. Or you wouldn’t be here.”
A blush rose to her cheeks. “Cut that out before you embarrass me.”
“A woman who doesn’t go looking for compliments. Now that’s unusual.”
She shrugged. “Sounds to me like you know the wrong women.”
“But at least I’ve found the right one. Now, I know catering is your business. How did you get the hands-on experience behind the scenes as well?”
She pushed up the rolled sleeves only to have them fall down again. “I have years of restaurant experience behind me, and I’m not talking just washing dishes.”
“We have all night for you to fill me in. Why don’t you sit and let me handle things?”
Catherine shrugged and headed for a chair by the kitchen table. “You can cook. I’m impressed.”
“I hate to disillusion you, but I have no choice.” He reached inside the refrigerator and came out with a covered casserole dish. “This lasagna is the best Emma’s chef can prepare,” he said with a laugh.
Catherine laid a hand over her heart. “You’re destroying my fantasies.”
He shook his head, then walked over to where she sat. Bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, he leaned so close he could taste her—if he chose. Sensing she was not yet ready, he refrained. “I’m not going to destroy your fantasies, Cat. I’m going to make them come true.”
Before she could blink, he rose and strode back to the lasagna on the counter. Distance gave him a chance to cool off before he acted against common sense and blew things for sure.
“At least you have Emma. She makes sure you don’t starve,” Catherine said.
“Embarrassing to admit, but yes. What do you know about the public defender’s office hours?” he asked as he took the foil wrap off the casserole dish.
“Not much.”
“Then let me fill you in.” Details of his own life might encourage her to reveal facts of her own, and Logan wanted to know everything about her. “I’m on call three nights a week and one weekend a month for courtroom duty. When I’m not there or at the office, I’m bringing home files to work on. There’s not much free time for cooking, and I like to eat.” He shrugged. “I may turn my back on plenty of Montgomery family rituals, but I’d never turn away a free meal,” he said with a grin.
“I’ll remember that.” An intriguing gleam lit her green eyes. She rested her chin on her hands. “It’s nice you have Emma to look out for you.”
“You’re right.” He placed the casserole inside the microwave, his only concession to new appliances when he’d moved in.
“So, with hours like that, tell me why you’d choose the public defender’s office.”
“As opposed to some high-powered law firm in Boston?” he asked, the edge in his voice unmistakable. “One that helps institutions, not people? One the judge handpicked based on reputation?” His father would have pulled whatever strings possible to settle Logan into a position of power and prestige, regardless of what Logan wanted out of his life and career. As a result, Logan couldn’t hide the disgust he felt for the direction the judge wanted his son’s career to take.
At his biting tone, she stiffened in her chair. “I meant as opposed to single practice, or in-house counsel. Or maybe setting up a stand on the street and giving advice out for a quarter. Clearly I hit a nerve.”
“In a word, yes.” He cursed his inability to cover his frustration with his father and hated that he’d taken it out on her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take my issues with my father out on you.”
Her expression softened. “I didn’t mean to tread on sensitive ground. Or to insult you. I’m just surprised at the road you’ve taken.”
“Tell me something. What’s the real reason my career choice surprises you? Is it because you can’t picture me helping the downtrodden or because anyone with the name Montgomery should be a self-serving snob?” He joined her at the wooden table.
Reaching his hand across the Formica top, he opened his fist palm-upward in a silent signal for her to place her hand in his. “I wouldn’t judge you based on appearances,” he said.