To Marry McKenzie

have to be so friendly with the staff?'

Hurt flared in her eyes at the unwarranted rebuke, making them appear

almost silver. 'Good manners cost you nothing, Logan,' she returned

briskly. 'Besides, why should I ruin his day, just because mine isn't turning

out to be so brilliant?'

'Thanks,' Logan said sarcastically.

Darcy sighed. Why was she even bothering to go through with this?

Because she was still angry? Or because she wanted to see just how far

Logan was willing to go in this charade? The latter, probably, she

acknowledged heavily. But this whole situation was grating on her already

frayed emotions.

'Logan, exactly what is it you want from me?' she demanded suddenly,

giving up all pretence now of this being a pleasant lunch together. Not that

it had ever been that in the first place—on either side!

Logan looked startled by the question, eyeing her warily. 'What do you

mean?'

She pursed her lips, her expression scathing. 'Stop treating me like an idiot,

Logan,' she bit out disgustedly. 'I mean, what do you, Margaret Fraser's

son, want from me?' she challenged, her eyes gleaming silver once again.

She hadn't been able to believe it this morning when, in the heat of their

argument, her father had told her exactly who and what Logan McKenzie

was, demanding to know what the two of them were plotting together.

At th€ time, she had even been too numbed by her father's revelation to

defend herself properly against those accusations...

Logan McKenzie was the son of that—that woman?

Incredible as it seemed to her, it appeared that was exactly what he was.

The actress looked barely in her thirties herself, and yet she had a son aged

in his mid-thirties. And her son was Logan McKenzie...

Darcy had thought him so understanding yesterday evening. Hey, she had

even thanked him for being so kind to her!

He had kissed her too. Worse, she had kissed him back...!

But she now realised Logan had had his own reasons for being so nice to

her, and those reasons involved his mother!

She felt so stupid now when she thought of all she had said to him, all the

things she had confided in him.

But most of all, she was angry. Furiously so. Which was the reason she had

decided to continue with the arrangement of meeting Logan for lunch today;

she wanted the pleasure of telling him to his face exactly what she thought

of him!

'Well?' she challenged again at his continued silence, her expression

mutinous.

He drew in a ragged breath. 'I'm not sure I know what to say...' he finally

admitted.

Darcy bridled. 'An apology might not be amiss! What on earth you hoped to

achieve by not telling me the truth from the beginning, I have no idea, but I

can assure you that whatever it was you have failed miserably; nothing you

could do or say would ever convince me to accept your mother marrying my

father!'

She was breathing hard in her agitation, more angry with Logan McKenzie

now than she was with her father. At least her father had been honest with

her.

Logan frowned darkly. 'Let me assure you, Darcy,' he began, 'I am no more

enamoured by the idea of the two of them marrying than you are. Until you

told me about their plans, I had no idea it was even a possibility!'

She didn't believe him. He had to be fighting his mother's corner. Besides,

if what he claimed were really the case, once he'd become aware of the

engagement, aware of her own aversion to the relationship, he had had

plenty of opportunity to tell her the truth about his own relationship to

Margaret Fraser. If he had wanted to. Which he obviously hadn't.

Although, she did remember he had assured her that he didn't believe any

marriage between the older couple would ever take place...

'My father, a mere restaurant owner, isn't good enough for your mother, is

that it?' she retorted as the idea suddenly occurred to her, remembering

that painting on the wall in Logan's apartment of the castle that was the

Scottish family home. The home where Margaret Fraser had probably

been brought up.

Logan waved the waiter away impatiently as the young man would have

brought their meals to the table. 'Darcy—'

'That is it, isn't it?' she accused incredulously as the idea began to take

hold. 'Exactly who do you think you are? More to the point, who do you

think your mother is? Because from where I'm standing, she's nothing

more than a—'

'Darcy!' Logan's voice was icily cold now, his expression glacial. 'There's

nothing you could say about my mother that I haven't already said or

thought of her myself. But that doesn't mean I'm willing to sit quietly by

while someone else is rude and insulting about her!'

Darcy glared at him. 'In that case, you must spend most of your life

getting into fights or arguing with people; I haven't met a single person