To Marry McKenzie

of days she could never remember being at odds with her father about

anything. As far as she was concerned, it was all Margaret Fraser's fault!

But it was partly because of that argument with her father that she had been

late changing into her figure-fitting navy-blue dress in readiness for joining

Logan for lunch. Partly...

Logan hadn't left the restaurant!

She could easily see him as she entered the room, sitting at a window table.

Very much as he had done last night. Except a lot had happened since she'd

spoken to him at Chef Simon yesterday evening!

Logan was looking as arrogantly handsome as ever in a grey suit,

and—unless she was mistaken—the white silk shirt she had sent to him

yesterday...

He stood up as she was shown to the table, Darcy noting several female

heads turning in their direction as he did so. No doubt those women had

been wondering—as she had last night—who would be joining this

attractive man for lunch; she doubted any of them had expected him to be

interested in a mousy little thing like her!

Ordinarily they would be right...

'Darcy!' Logan greeted warmly now, indicating for the wine waiter to pour

her some of the white wine he had obviously ordered while he'd waited for

her to arrive. 'Unless you have to work this afternoon?' He quirked dark

brows across the table at Darcy.

'I am, at the moment, what I believe is known in acting circles as "resting",'

Darcy answered brittlely.

Logan gave her a sharp look. 'I wouldn't know,' he said dismissively.

'Neither does my father,' she scorned. 'But I have a feeling, when he marries

Margaret Fraser, that he will very quickly find out!'

'Shouldn't that be if he marries her?' Logan replied hardly.

'Not according to my father,' Darcy muttered with remembered bitterness.

'Presumably, by your earlier remark, you're no longer working for him?'

Logan queried.

'We've decided that a parting of the ways—in all areas of our lives—is

probably for the best. Nice shirt,' she added dryly, looking at the snowy

white garment.

'Damn the shirt,' Logan came back. 'No, I didn't mean that the way it

sounded,' he continued a little less fiercely. 'It's a beautiful shirt. And I don't

think I ever thanked you for it,' he admitted awkwardly.

Perhaps he wasn't a man who was used to accepting presents. Probably

more used to giving them, Darcy decided.

'You're welcome.' She nodded. 'What made you change your mind about

keeping it?' she enquired as she picked up the menu and began looking

down the food on offer.

'The fact that you had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to get it for me,' he

said quietly.

'I see.'

'Darcy—'

'Have you tried the lasagne here?' She looked over the top of the menu at

him. 'I believe it's supposed to be delicious.'

'Darcy, I'm trying to talk to you,' Logan said wearily.

She raised auburn brows. 'I thought you invited me out to lunch?'

'I did,' he returned sharply. 'Because we need to talk.'

'And not eat,' she replied understandingly, closing her menu and putting it

down on the table-top. 'Talk away,' she invited.

Logan paused. 'You seem different today somehow,' he said eventually.

'Do I?' she returned in that same brittle voice. 'Perhaps we should put that

down to the fact that I'm a little—upset, that my father and I are no longer

even speaking to each other because of his decision to marry a woman I

can't even begin to like!'

Her voice broke slightly over the last. To her inner annoyance. She was

rather tired of appearing immature and emotional in front of this man. In

fact, she was more than tired of it!

'It will all sort itself out, Darcy,' Logan told her gently, reaching out to put

his hand over one of hers.

She looked across at him with cool grey eyes. 'You seem very sure of that?'

'I am.'

'How can you be?'

His hand squeezed hers slightly. 'Because I—'

'May I take your order now, sir? Madam?' The waiter stood expectantly

beside their table.

'No, you—' Logan broke off his angry retort, drawing in a deep, controlling

breath, before turning to Darcy. 'Are you ready to order?'

She smiled up at the waiter to make up for Logan's previous terseness.

'Lasagne and a green salad, please,' she ordered—but wasn't absolutely sure

she would be around long enough to eat it!

'I'll have the same,' Logan announced.

'Would you like any water with your meal—?'

'No, we wouldn't,' Logan interrupted the man gratingly, glaring up at him

with icy blue eyes.

'Thank you.' Darcy smiled up at the young man again, receiving a grateful

grin in return before he left in the direction of the kitchen.

Logan removed his hand abruptly from covering hers. 'I realise that until a

few hours ago you were a waitress yourself,' he said harshly. 'But do you