Fiancé at Her Fingertips (11 page)

Debra clicked on the light to the first bedroom. It was one of three and had been converted into a den or home office. An impressive executive desk dominated the room. There was a computer and fax/printer/scanner in an area near the desk. Two heavy oak bookshelves were filled with impressive leather-bound copies of the State of Illinois Criminal Code, Rules of Civil Procedure, Illinois Rules of Court, the State Motor Vehicle Code, United States Federal Statutes, as well as the state and federal tax codes.

Debra took a seat behind the desk in the black leather office chair and contemplated the computer. Should she or shouldn’t she? Was snooping on Logan’s hard drive going
too far? She noticed the blinking light on Logan’s answering machine. Okay, this opportunity was way too good to resist. She reached out and hit the play button.

Beep
. “Logan, this is Frances. I wanted to say thank-you for fixing my kitchen light. If I’d waited for that lazy building super, I’d still be in the dark. Thanks again, dearie. I owe you a nice chicken-and-noodle supper.”

Beep
. “Logan, this is Catrina. I have to talk to you. Please call me as soon as you get in.”
Beep
.

Catrina. Wasn’t that the woman Logan accused Debra of having her nose out of joint over? Something about a divorce? Debra pushed the play button and listened to the second message again, finding herself irritated by the husky, feminine tone of the caller. Debra blinked. Why should she care that Logan Alexander had received a message from an ex-girlfriend? How did that concern her? Concern? Who said she was concerned? She wasn’t concerned. Not in the least. Why would she be?

Debra opened the desk drawers and discovered nothing more telling than an ample supply of Alexander Chevrolet pens. She turned back to the computer, switched it on, and tried in vain for the next thirty minutes to come up with the password that would get her past his privacy service. Admitting defeat, she shut the computer down and glanced at her watch. She’d better shake a leg and finish casing the joint.

Debra poked her head in the next room, a small guest bedroom, by all appearances, and checked out the sparse furnishings. She shut the door and moved to the master bedroom. She lingered in the doorway, hesitant to enter the room where her hocus-pocus honey laid his head at night. Summoning her courage, she peeked around the corner. Butterflies tickled Debra’s stomach. A king-size bed took center stage. The room, decorated in a Southwestern color scheme, was large, comfortable and—Debra wrinkled her nose—immaculate. She took a tentative step toward the bed, then stopped.

No. No way. She was not going to do it. She’d seen it on
TV too many times: the too-stupid-to-live heroine, a young woman—all right, in her case, a not-so-young woman—on her own in a strange man’s home for some inexplicable but pathetically predictable reason lies down on the fellow’s bed, falls asleep, and when she wakes up, she either finds the fellow in question looming over her with a meat cleaver in hand, or discovers him buck-naked in bed next to her.

Debra let out a quivering breath. This was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about a buck-naked Logan Alexander. What was she saying? No time or place was right for thinking of a buck-naked Lawyer Logan! And she wasn’t going near that bed!

Debra skirted the furniture in question and entered the bathroom, impressed by the Jacuzzi in the master bath. She returned to the bedroom and spent way too much time appreciating the spaciousness of the walk-in closet that rivaled her bedroom for floor space.

Disappointed that her search had revealed nothing illuminating, Debra switched the closet light off. She looked around the master bedroom one more time to ensure that she hadn’t missed something significant. A framed picture on the bedside table against the opposite wall drew her attention. Her eyes narrowed. She took a step toward the bed. And another.

Her lips grew dry. She reached the bed and crawled on her hands and knees across it toward the gold-framed picture, her eyes focused on the photograph. She gasped. She grabbed the picture and brought it to eve level.
Oh, my God!
It was her! In all her camera-hating, nonphotogenic glory. Where had Lawyer Logan gotten it? She searched the background for clues. Green. Lots of green. Green grass. Green trees. She had on a white sleeveless tank top and an Oaks visor.

The Oaks! The photo had been taken at the country club. When? She shook her head. Why couldn’t she remember?

The ominous sound of a lock being manipulated and a door opening sent gooseflesh the length of her body. She froze.

“Hello? Are you here?”

Debra’s last feeble hope vanished when she put a face to the voice.

The master was home.

Ye gods, she
was
trapped in a B movie!

Debra tossed the picture at the nightstand. She missed and it fell to the floor. She lunged headfirst over the side of the bed to retrieve it when a voice from the doorway halted her clumsy progress.

“I’ve had dreams of this moment,” Logan Alexander remarked. “Vivid dreams. Explicit dreams. Scandalous dreams.”

Debra rolled back onto the bed and squeezed her eyes shut, praying that this was yet another manifestation of a serious psychological affliction—her own. When she summoned the courage to open her eyes and take a peek, she discovered Lawyer Logan’s too-gorgeous-to-be-wasted-on-a-man vivid blue eyes so near she could detect the dilation of his pupils.

And, oh, buddy, were they dilated.

Her prayer for deliverance from her delusions had apparently been placed on hold in heaven again. Okay, who was she kidding? God wasn’t taking her calls anymore.

“Yes, indeed, this is my fantasy in living, breathing color,” Logan said, and he placed a hand on either side of Debra’s prone body. She sank deep into the mattress. “With a few minor alterations, of course,” he added.

“Uh, starting with a different woman, I hope.” Debra’s voice quavered as she racked her boondoggled brain to come up with a legitimate explanation for why on earth she was draped all over Lawyer Logan’s king-size bed, uninvited, in the middle of the workday.

Logan shook his head. “Same woman.” He toyed with the top button of her white-and-khaki-striped blouse. “Less clothing.”

Debra’s eyes widened, and she tried to gauge whether he was serious or teasing. She wanted to sit up, but the fool mattress beneath her was as uncompromising as the fool man on top of her.

“A lot less clothing,” he said again, and flicked open two of Debra’s blouse buttons before she realized what his impertinent fingers were up to.

She slapped at his hand. “Stop that!” She struggled for some rather magnificent small talk to divert Logan while she crafted a believable reason for being there. “I’m on my lunch break!” Oh, now, that was brilliant.

Logan nodded. “I could use a Snickers about now,” he remarked. To her horror he brought his lips to her ear and nibbled the lobe, his tongue and lips beginning a foray down her neck and to the open front of her blouse.

“Stop that!” Debra shrieked again, and wondered if it was simply her imagination or did her voice sound a tad less convincing?

Logan gave her lobe one last tug with his teeth and looked down at her. “Debra Josephine Daniels,” he said, his voice husky and deep, his warm breath against her face. “You have no idea how happy I am to find you here.” Debra detected a wistful quality in his voice she’d never noted before. Or maybe she’d simply schooled herself to ignore it.

With Logan’s lower body in such close proximity to hers, Debra would have to be made of straw not to realize how delighted he was to have found her in his bed, very aware of the telltale is-that-a-sock-in-your-pants-or-are-you-just-glad-to-see-me bulge in Lawyer Logan’s pinstripes. Considering such compelling evidence, she would have to say Logan was very happy to see her. Extremely happy to see her. Astronomically happy to see her!

She wet her lips. “Aren’t you, uh, a little surprised to find me here?” she thought to ask, wondering what construction
he placed on finding her in his home and in his bed. By rights he ought to be angry. Even outraged. Unless…

A niggling, recurrent fear gripped her. How close did this retail Romeo imagine they’d been? He’d already convinced himself, not to mention her family, that they were a woo-some twosome. Did his little courtship fantasy extend to—
gulp
—sexual intimacy? She shivered. Heaven help her. She was trapped in Frankenstein’s laboratory, and the lab experiment was at the controls.

Logan smiled. “I must admit I am surprised to find you here.” Logan brushed a curl from her face and cupped her cheek. “When I called your office, they told me you had taken several hours of personal time. So, what personal business are you tending to, my dear?”

Oh, only an insignificant, piddly thing known as breaking and
entering
.

“I, uh, I had some errands to run, things to pick up, the odd task to perform…”…a
partments to burgle. Is
burgle
even a word?

Logan took hold of her chin and looked into her eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hiding something, Debra. I’m a lawyer, remember, sweetheart? It’s my job to get to the bottom of things.” He reached beneath her to squeeze her buttocks. “And I take my job very seriously.”

Debra recognized the Lord-a’mighty-I-feel-my-tempe rature-rising signs from the heat in Lawyer Logan’s eyes. It screamed
inferno
.

“Listen, Lawyer Logan. Logan. Mr. Alexander,” Debra stammered. “We have to talk. I need answers, assurances—”

“Anything, sweetheart. Anything,” he said.

Debra pointed at her picture. “That. Where did you get it?”

He smiled and reached over and picked up the photo. “All right, so I took your picture. I know how much you hate having your picture taken, and knew I’d never get one from you voluntarily, so I snapped one or two when you weren’t aware of it.”

“One or two?”

“One or two rolls.”

“One or two rolls?”

“Or three or four. I have to say, for a beautiful woman you’re sure not very photogenic. Of course, that might have more to do with that pickle puss you get whenever you have to pose for a picture.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your grandmother’s words. She was at your folks’ house when I visited your dad the other day. And, by the way, he invited me to your cousin’s upcoming wedding. Your mother pulled out some of the family photo albums.”

“What?”

“Talk about your mug shots!” He grinned.

Debra broke out in a cold sweat. “Mug shot? Wh-what do you mean, mug shot?”

“Your senior picture, of course,” Logan replied. “I’ve seen better driver’s license photos.” He handed her the frame. “That was the best of the bunch. It was either that or the mug shot.”

She frowned. Was there a compliment in there somewhere?

“I do have something I’ve been wanting to show you for some time,” Debra admitted. “Now is as good a time as any.”

Logan gripped her shoulders. “Oh, darling, I’ve waited so long!”

“Not that, you fool!” Debra scrambled to her side and grabbed her wallet. She flipped it open to the billfold section, where she’d slipped the wallet-size photo of Lawyer Logan, back when she’d wanted to convince everyone he was the real thing. She shoved the picture at him. “Explain that,” she challenged.

“Okay, so I’m photogenic and you’re not. I’ll admit it poses a dilemma for engagement and wedding photos, but it’s not insurmountable.”

“Get serious, will you? Where do you think I got that photo?”

“Let me take a wild guess. You bought it.”

“I bought it,” she said. “And do you know where I bought it?”

“At the mall.”

“I bought it at the mall.” She frowned. “You know?”

“Of course I know. I was with you when you dropped the film off at the one-hour print place. You had a coupon.”

“A coupon?”

He stroked her cheek. “I do like a thrifty woman.”

“I did not pick this picture up at a one-hour film place.”

“I know. I did. You got sidetracked by some old friend from school, and I picked the prints up for you. Which, by the way, you never reimbursed me for, so technically that’s my picture.”

Debra blew a long, loud, exasperated breath that fanned her bangs. “Don’t you want to know how I got into your apartment?”

“I’m more interested in what got you into my bed.”

“I am not
in
your bed. I’m
on
your bed. And I got into your apartment by using this.” She brandished his apartment key and waited for the explosion and accusation.

“Of course you did, sweetheart. I couldn’t expect you to pick the lock, now, could I?”

Debra cringed, thinking that if she hadn’t had the key, she might well have resorted to some amateur lock picking. “But don’t you want to know how I got your house key?” she asked him.

One eyebrow rose. “Debra, I know how you got my house key.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re not angry?”

“Angry? Why should I be angry? I was delighted.”

“Delighted? But I took it!”

“I wasn’t sure you would.”

“You weren’t sure?”

“I had hopes, though. High hopes.”

“You hoped I would take your key?”

“Very much. And I was hoping you’d use it. Often.”

“You were?”

“Of course. It’s a positive sign.”

“How could such a thing be positive?”

“It’s a sign that our relationship is progressing. As is the fact that you’re now reclining on my bed.”

“But I took your key. And I used it. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

He touched her cheek. “It means a lot to me, sweetheart. It means you’re committing.”

Okay
. Someone here needed to be committed. Debra just wasn’t sure who.

“Listen, this is a mistake.” Debra tried to sit up. “I should never have come here like this. I know better. I wasn’t raised like this. It’s wrong. Tacky. Sleazy.”

Lawyer Logan put his hands on her shoulders and glided tanned, lean fingers up and down her arms. “Does that feel wrong, Debra?” he asked. His hand caressed her taut midsection. “Or that? Does that make you feel sleazy or tacky?”

Debra’s mouth went dry as a freshly powdered baby’s behind. “Listen, Lawyer Logan…Logan, I’ve made a colossal boo-boo here. I’ve redefined the term ‘poor judgment.’ I’m sure you’re a very fine fellow, with the exception of one or two minor little glitches in the area of the cerebrum or cerebellum. I’m sure you’ve either convinced yourself this little masquerade is a harmless hoot or you’ve short-circuited to the extent that you’ve deluded yourself into believing that you and I are…well, that you and I are—”

“In bed together?”

“We are not in bed together. We are
on
bed together!”

“Semantics.” Logan drew alongside Debra and propped his head on his hand and observed her. “Listen, sweetheart, if you’re looking for a rational explanation for how a self-proclaimed attorney-hating, politician-punishing couch potato and a fitness-conscious litigator with a political agenda got together, I can’t help you. Maybe someone up there likes
us. Call it destiny. Preordained. Credit it to karma, dharma, or the position of the stars. Owe it to divine intervention. Hell, call it pure dumb luck, but don’t discount, discredit, or deny that something very special exists between us. How we got to this point is of little consequence. It’s where we go from here that matters. We’ve been brought together for a reason, Debra, and I believe it’s for a damned good reason.”

Debra fell back on the bed, shocked by Logan’s vehemence. He was serious. Totally serious. About her. Debra Josephine Daniels. The Debra Josephine Daniels who prided herself on her pragmatism and levelheaded approach to life—the same Debra Daniels who suddenly found herself caring less and less about the fantastic fluke that brought this handsome Houdini into her life and more and more about the reality of having him there. She let her eyes travel over his so-fine features one by one, content to look and not touch. Lord, he was a good-looking devil.

Okay. Get real, Debra
, she told herself. There had to be a catch. No matter how currently benevolent the Fates or what alignment the stars were in, and regardless of the state of her auras or chakras, she would never, ever be the lucky recipient of such a prize. Why, she’d never won a thing in her life. Wait. She took that back. She’d once won a purple-spotted, hot-pink stuffed snake at a carnival sideshow by throwing rings at pop bottles. But this? Well, this was an off-the-charts, out-of-this-world, Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes extravaganza.

She searched Lawyer Logan’s dreamy blue eyes for answers, and what she saw gave her cornstarch mouth all over again.

“You’re so sweet, I could eat you up, do you know that?” Logan said.

“I’m not.” She shook her head back and forth. “I’m not sweet at all. I can be downright rude at times. A regular shrew, I’m told. Ask anyone who knows me. I’ve got such a mouth on me—”

“I’d rather judge for myself,” Logan said, and dipped his head to catch her lips in a kiss that was sweet in its simplicity, yet sensual in its search for submission.

Debra stoically counseled herself not to respond to the counselor’s sojourn for truth. She advised herself to ignore the wet, velvety texture of his tongue as it slid over parted lips that she had strictly forbidden to open. She urged a neutral stance when Logan’s tongue slid into her mouth to explore the moist recesses and to tempt her own tongue into an erotic dance. She admonished herself to reject the sublime sensations that gripped her when his hands made short shrift of her remaining blouse buttons and kneaded her suddenly sensitive breasts through her bra. She convinced herself to remain rigid when his hand dipped inside the waistband of her slacks to cup the moist heat he found there.

Debra’s arms reached for her fictional fiancé, who seemed to feel very, very real at the moment. She whimpered into his mouth.

So much for following her own counsel.

“God, you taste so good, sweetheart,” Logan whispered. “So damned good. I want to touch you, honey. Everywhere.”

Logan yanked his shirt off, and a button fell between Debra’s breasts. She giggled. This was crazy. She guided his mouth back to hers. This was getting out of hand. She ran shaking hands over Logan’s hard, muscled chest and flicked his nipples. The counselor groaned and deepened an already smokin’ kiss.

If this all turned out to be just a product of a coma-induced dream state, Debra decided, she’d better not wake up until the danged credits rolled!

“I want to see you, Debra Josephine Daniels. Touch you. All of you,” Logan said, and dropped his head to her breast and began to suckle her though the thin material of her brassiere. Debra moaned and cradled his head, arching her back for closer contact.