To Marry McKenzie

control with effort. 'Logan,' she finally said evenly, 'if I pick up a glass of

wine I am more likely to tip the contents over your head than I am to drink

it!'

This was more like the Darcy he knew and— And what? Logan had no idea

what. But he did know his evening had suddenly taken on a sparkle, the very

air about them seeming to zing with life. One thing he had found about

Darcy: she had never bored him.

Which was extraordinary in itself, because in all of his relationships with

women so far, intimate or otherwise, he had invariably found himself bored

within a few meetings...

'That would be a waste of a good Borolo.' He picked up his glass and toasted

her with it before taking a sip of wine. 'This really is an excellent wine—are

you sure you wouldn't like to join me for a glass?' He quirked dark brows.

'Absolutely positive,' Darcy assured him between clenched teeth. 'I have to

get back to the kitchen. Thanks to you, and your mother, I am absolutely

rushed off my feet this evening!' she muttered grimly.

'Well, I can see that the restaurant is busy,' he murmured with a glance

round at the full tables. 'But surely that's what you want, isn't it? I don't see

how my mother or I are involved?'

'Really?' The SARCASM unmistakable in her tone, Darcy pulled out a chair to

sit opposite him at the table. 'Then I'll explain shall I?' She leaned forward,

silver gaze steady on his face. 'You obviously advised your mother that she

was making a mistake in marrying my father—'

'I—'

'If you will kindly let me finish?' Darcy carefully enunciated each word.

Perhaps he had better; she looked ready to explode. Teasing apart, he really

didn't advise another scene in the restaurant so soon after the last one!

'Thank you,' she accepted scathingly at his nod of agreement. 'On your

advice, your mother broke her engagement to my father. My father, in the

meantime, has decided that he needs a complete break away from

everything. Your mother. Me. The restaurant. Everything,' she repeated

emotionally. 'And so—'

'Are you telling me that your father isn't in the kitchen?' Logan cut in softly.

'That's exactly what I'm telling you.' Darcy nodded firmly.

'Then who—?' Logan shook his head, his gaze narrowed. 'Are you also

saying you're the one that has been producing all the meals this evening?'

She seemed to bristle at his tone, sitting up straighter in her chair. 'Was there

something wrong with your meal?'

'No, not in the least,' he assured her a little amazedly.

In fact, the food had been excellent. He just hadn't realised that Darcy could

cook like that, thought when she'd said she helped her father out in the

kitchen that she probably peeled the vegetables or something. Although

perhaps—he dared a glance at Darcy's set features!—he hadn't better

actually say that...

The fact that Daniel Simon wasn't actually in the kitchen this evening also

explained the maitre d's behaviour earlier. Clearly, although James and the

rest of the staff were doing their best to make it appear otherwise— and

succeeding too, Logan allowed—all was not right in the Chef Simon

kitchen this evening!

'I did tell you I had trained as a cook,' Darcy reminded him stiltedly.

Yes, she had, but he had still thought— 'You're very good,' he

complimented. 'I had no idea it wasn't your father in the kitchen producing

this mouth-watering food.' His scallops had been wonderful, his steak

succulent enough to melt in his mouth.

'That's probably because he helped train me,' she explained tersely.

'He did a good job,' Logan said distractedly. 'But where is he now?'

Darcy sat back, eyes having suddenly darkened to smoky grey, her mouth

trembling slightly as she spoke. 'I have no idea,' she told him shakily. 'He

didn't tell me. And I didn't like to ask.'

Logan stared at her. Twice he opened his mouth tospeak. And twice he

closed it again, without having uttered a word.

Another thing that was unusual about Darcy—she had the power to render

him speechless!

Why didn't Logan say something? Anything!

The shock of seeing Logan in the restaurant this evening had quickly been

superseded by a desire to tell him— again!—exactly what she thought of

him, and what he had done to her family, such as it was. Well, she had done

that. Only to have Logan simply stare across at her with those enigmatic

blue eyes.

This had been the most awful day. That earlier telephone conversation with

Logan. Going to see her father. Only to have him tell her that he just had to

get away for a few days, and would she take over the cooking at the

restaurant while he was away. In the circumstances, what else could she

have said to the latter but yes?

Although she had tried to talk to her father about the situation, sure that