To Marry McKenzie

Why didn't the man just go away and leave him alone? Logan complained

inwardly.

Because now that he was here, seated at this table, he had realised his

tactical error!

He could have telephoned and ascertained whether or not Darcy was here

this evening; he hadn't had to subject himself to eating here alone...! To

eating here at all!

Not that the food wasn't excellent; he just had to get through the whole

evening now, with Darcy only feet away in the kitchen, knowing that she

wouldn't even give him the time of day if she knew he was in the restaurant.

It was not a feeling Logan was familiar with. In the past, he had always been

the one to sever any relationship with a woman he had been involved with.

Except he hadn't been involved with Darcy. Not in that sense, anyway...

So what was he doing here? Damned if he knew!

'No water or ice,' he answered the maitre d'.

This time Logan made sure he knew exactly what he was ordering: a fish

starter, and a steak main course!

He had no doubts, when it arrived, that it was delicious too; he just didn't

taste a mouthful of it! So conscious was he of Darcy working in the kitchen

only a short distance away, that every time the kitchen door swung open he

couldn't stop himself casting a furtive glance in that direction.

This was ridiculous!

Why should he feel so uncomfortable? He hadn't done anything other than

tell Darcy what was, after all, the truth. Besides, if she was back working

here, she had obviously made amends with her father. She should be

thanking him!

Except Logan knew that she wasn't, that she thought him an unfeeling,

selfish brute. Or words to that effect. Why was it, he wondered ruefully, that

the person in the middle of a situation, once things had calmed down

slightly, always ended up as the target for both sides? Because his mother

was no more enamoured of him at the moment than Darcy obviously was.

She—

'What are you doing here?'

So intent had he been on his own thoughts—the penalty for eating

alone?—that Logan hadn't even noticed that Darcy had actually come out of

the kitchen, that she had been moving from table to table chatting politely

with the diners.

Until, that is, she had obviously spotted him sitting alone at the window

table!

Logan placed his knife and fork down on his plate before looking up at her.

'It isn't quite what I had in mind when I invited you out to dinner, but it will

have to do,' he admitted.

She was wearing the restaurant uniform of a cream blouse, teamed with a

black skirt, her hair once more secured at her nape, her face flushed from

her exertions in the kitchen.

Or was it anger at seeing him here?

Probably, he acknowledged self-derisively. Well, if she was surprised to see

him here, he had been thrown a little himself by having her suddenly

appearing beside his table in this way!

'I hope you aren't about to make another scene in your father's restaurant,

Darcy,' he taunted mockingly at her continued silence. 'Two in one week

just isn't on, you know,' he went on. 'People will start coming here for the

"cabaret" rather than the food if that's the case!' He looked up at her with

assessing blue eyes.

She drew in a sharp breath, seeming to be having difficulty keeping her

temper in check.

But obviously also knowing Logan was right about her not making a

scene...!

'No, I'm not about to make a scene,' she finally replied. 'I merely asked what

you're doing here,' she repeated in measured tones—although her eyes told

a different story, flashing that dangerous silver colour.

'I would imagine the same as everyone else,' he said casually, looking about

them pointedly to the tables full of chattering diners. 'Eating!'

Her hands clenched at her sides. 'But why here?' she demanded. 'Or did you

simply come to gloat?'

'Smile, Darcy,' he advised softly. 'People are beginning to stare.'

'Let them,' she dismissed hardly. 'Contrary to what you and my father both

seem to think, I am not a Cheshire cat who smiles on demand!'

Logan looked at her consideringly. 'I would have said, with that

copper-coloured hair, that you resemble a fox rather than a cat—Cheshire,

or any other kind!'

'Logan—'

'Well, that's promising, at least,' he drawled. 'I was expecting you to call me

something much worse than my first name,' he explained as she frowned

questioningly.

And it was promising. After the way their telephone conversation had ended

earlier, he had winced at some of the things she might say to him when—or

if—they ever met again. Logan was pretty okay in those circumstances!

'Do you have a few minutes?' he requested mildly. 'I thought you might like

to join me for a glass of wine,' he explained as her sceptical expression

deepened.

'Join you—!' She looked ready to explode, bringing her temper back under