ruggedly attractive in his black dinner suit and snowy white evening shirt,
briefly took her breath away.
Pull yourself together, Darcy, she instructed herself firmly. He might be one
of the handsomest men she had ever set eyes on, but she probably wasn't in
the minority in that opinion. Besides, she doubted he had come here just to
see her. In fact, as she saw the table he sat at was set for two, she was sure he
hadn't!
He was looking out the window as she approached, obviously waiting for
his dinner guest to join him. Good; that meant their own conversation could
be kept to a minimum.
'Mr McKenzie,' she greeted huskily as she stood beside his table.
He turned sharply at the sound of her voice, those blue eyes narrowed as he
looked up at her. 'Darcy,' he greeted smoothly, standing up. 'Join me for a
few minutes.' He indicated the chair opposite his at the table. 'Unless you
would prefer the embarrassment of my handing back your gift in full view
of everyone?' He looked pointedly around the already crowded restaurant,
his brows raised mockingly as he glanced down at the box that rested out of
general view against the leg of his chair.
Darcy sat. Abruptly. Inelegantly. Oh, not because of his threat to embarrass
her. It was the latter part of his statement that stunned her. 'Return it?' she
confirmed.
'Return it,' he repeated harshly. 'Just what did you think—? I don't like your
hair pulled back like that.' He broke off to frown across at her critically. 'It
dulls that bright copper colour to a muddy brown,' he opined
disapprovingly.
Darcy gave a ghost of a smile. 'That bright copper colour was the bane of
my life as I was growing up. I was called Carrots at school,' she explained at
his quizzical expression.
'Kids can be the cruellest creatures in the world,' he agreed. 'I'm sure the
male population, at least, has been more appreciative of the colour since you
reached adulthood.'
Not that she had noticed!
'Maybe,' she conceded dully. 'Mr McKenzie—'
'Logan,' he corrected sternly. 'You can hardly be so formal with a man you're
on intimate enough terms with to present with an expensive silk shirt. In the
right size, too,' he observed harshly.
Darcy moistened dry lips. 'I had a little help with that,' she admitted huskily,
having looked at her father and assessed that he and Logan were about the
same physical build. The size of shirt had been easy after that. It had been
finding the right shop to buy the shirt that had proved more difficult.
Logan's gaze was cold. 'I'm not going to ask from where. Or who!' he
rasped.
Darcy gave him an uncomprehending look. 'If the shirt is the right size,' she
began slowly, 'and it's obviously the right colour, then I don't understand
why you want to return it...?'
'You don't understand!' His expression became grimmer than ever. 'Darcy,
you cannot go around presenting perfect strangers with pure silk shirts,' he
ground out between clenched teeth.
She grinned at that, realising as she did so that it was the first time she had
found anything to really smile about for some time.
Logan eyed her suspiciously. 'And just what is so funny?' he grated.
'The fact that you have already informed me that you aren't a perfect
stranger!' she reminded, her eyes glowing luminously grey.
"I wish you wouldn't do that,' Logan exclaimed, shaking his head.She raised
puzzled brows. 'Do what?'
'Smile.' He looked at her darkly.
It seemed she couldn't win this evening; Daniel Simon told her to smile,
because the customers preferred it. But this customer certainly didn't!
Darcy had no idea why Logan should prefer her not to smile—and wasn't
sure she wanted to know, either! 'Chef Simon likes us to be polite and
friendly with the customers,' she explained frigidly.
Logan studied her. 'And do you always take into account what Chef Simon
likes?'
In truth, she was so angry with him at the moment, she really didn't care
what he did or didn't like!
But Logan McKenzie had been kind to her yesterday, more than kind, and
she owed him a debt of gratitude for the way he had helped her—as well as a
new white silk shirt!
'For instance, do you think he would like the fact that you spent what must
have amounted to a week's wages on buying a shirt for a man you've only
just met?' Logan persisted, the softness of his voice doing nothing to hide his
obvious anger.
She blinked. She hadn't thought about the buying of the shirt in that context
at all—and now that she did, it still made no difference to the fact that she
had ruined this man'^ shirt, and, as such, had to replace it. Even if it had cost
what amounted to a waitress's weekly wages!
Logan sighed heavily. 'What I'm trying to say, and obviously failing to do
so, is that I had no intention of telling Daniel Simon what happened between