Fiancé at Her Fingertips (25 page)

“Hey, Tarzan. Aren’t you supposed to beat on your chest?” Suzi chimed in.

Debra curled her upper lip. “He prefers to beat on defenseless women.” She sniffed.

“Ha! You’re about as defenseless as a piranha in a goldfish tank,” Logan remarked.

“I’m going back to get my witness names,” Debra said. “There are laws against assault.”

Logan grabbed her. “There are also laws against harassment and stalking, or need I remind you?” he asked.

Debra pulled her arm free. “That’s quite unnecessary. You remind me every chance you get.” She glared at him.

He glared back.

“Well, children, what do you suggest we do?” Clay stepped forward. “Anyone else in favor of calling it a night? I’ve had about as much fun as I can stand for one day,” he said. “All in favor say ‘aye.’”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Nay.” Logan frowned. That couldn’t be his voice casting the lone dissenting vote.

“What the hell do you mean, nay?” Clay asked.

“I feel like dancing,” Logan blurted.

“Dancing? What the hell—”

“Seeing those Chiclets in there doing the cha-cha gave me the urge to dance,” he insisted, wondering if he was the only one who thought he’d gone over the edge. He glanced at Debra. She looked like she was biting her cheek to keep from laughing. He cursed. “Forget it,” he said. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“Somehow, I never would have guessed you for the Fred Astaire type, Logan,” Clay teased. “But give me a minute and let me visualize and see if I pick up anything with Ginger Rogers. Nope. Nothing. Hmmm. Maybe if I picture you in a sarong with a bowl of fruit on your head doing the samba.”

“Shut up, Clay,” Logan said, and shoved a hand through his hair. This whole double-date thing had been a terrible mistake. He should have butted out, let Clay take Debra to that damned orgy film, and kept his nose out of it. But he hadn’t. Some unholy compulsion had prompted him to stick his big wazoo in, and now that he was here with her, well, he didn’t want the evening to end. How the dev        il did he begin to explain that after his attempts all week to rid himself of her altogether? How could he make sense of something even he didn’t understand?

“What do you say, Debra?” Clay asked.

She hesitated. “Uh, the last time I was on a dance floor was less than memorable, but I guess I’m up for a little music.” She looked at Logan. “If you’re still game.”

Logan grinned.

Clay grunted. “A friend of mine owns a dinner club on the east side,” Clay said. “I’m sure he can squeeze us into a corner somewhere. And, no, you won’t follow me in your car, Debra,” Clay said. “I know for a fact that you’re dying to ride in the BMW,” he teased. “Cataldo’s on Fifth,” Clay informed Logan. “See you two youngsters there,” he said, and took Debra’s arm.

“I’m not sure we’re dressed for the east side,” Logan remarked. “I was thinking more along the lines of oldies night at the Jubilee.”

“Too noisy,” Clay rejected. “Besides, I want to dance, not hop around like a baby on hot sand.” He directed Debra to the BMW. “Your chariot awaits, my dear,” he said.

“Chariot, my ass,” Logan grumbled, having to almost lift Suzi up into his four-by-four, even with the running boards. “Who the hell does he think he is, Ben Hur?”

“Very likely,” Suzi said as he jumped into the Suburban next to her. “Very, very likely.”

Logan cursed, determined to stick to the Beemer like bug guts on his Suburban’s windshield.

Logan noted with suspicion his friend’s arm draped over the back of Debra’s chair. Clay Sinclair’s reputation where women were concerned left a hell of a lot to be desired. The rich, powerful miracle worker who could turn a faltering company into a Fortune 500 candidate also turned an awful lot of female heads. He generally had some tall, gorgeous blonde on his arm. Logan took a long draw of his beer.
Hell
. What was he saying? Clay
did
have a tall, gorgeous blonde on his arm.

He didn’t like to think of Debra in that way, packaged to some man’s specifications like some damned model airplane set or a particular sweetmeat offered up to an Eastern pasha. He preferred to think of her as, well, mysterious and unique. And funny. Between Debra and her friend Suzi, Logan couldn’t remember laughing so much as he had in the last hour, even when he was pretending to be perturbed. Debra Daniels was a riddle, no doubt about it. By rights, looking the way she did, she should be married and have a couple of kids by now. But her friend was picky when it came to men, Suzi had said. Logan should be honored that she’d picked him above all others, Suzi told him.

Logan’s eyes rested on the tanned, laughing face with the twin dimples. The longer he watched her, the more he was convinced that perhaps Suzi was right.

“This is so much nicer than watching a movie, Clay,” Debra was saying. “Thank you for pulling some strings to get
us in. I’ve never been here before, although I’ve heard a lot about it.”

Hell
, Logan thought. He could pull strings, too, given the opportunity.

“I’m glad you approve, Debra,” Logan’s friend said, and smiled down at Debra, his fingers resting on her upper arm. “Your wish is my command. Would you care for something a bit stronger than that diet soda you’re nursing?”

Logan fancied that she colored a bit before she responded.

“Oh, no, this is fine, Clay. You see, I don’t do alcohol well. I’m a real lightweight.” Logan sensed she was choosing her words carefully, something she was not accustomed to doing.

“Oh? What happens? Do you get silly or argumentative? Sleepy or frisky? If I ply you with alcohol, will you throw yourself at me?” Clay teased.

She smiled. “More than likely I’d throw up on your shoes,” she said. “But only after dancing the bunny hop.”

She looked over at Logan as if to elicit a response from him. Hell, what could he offer on the subject of the bunny hop? He’d never bunny hopped in his life.

“I’m not known for my bunny hop,” Clay said, “but I do know my way around the dance floor. Would you care to take a chance?”

She laughed. “What the hay,” she said. “Columbus took one, didn’t he?” She stood and gave her hand to Clay.

“Excuse us, won’t you, old man?” Clay nodded to Suzi. “Munchkin.”

Logan brooded as his best friend led Debra to the dance floor and took her in his arms. They made a striking couple. Clay was dark and dramatic, Debra tall, blond, and beautiful.

“Did you hear that? He did it again. He called me munchkin. You’re a lawyer. Isn’t there some kind of law against that? I’m his employee, for crying out loud, and as such I am entitled to common courtesy and a little respect. Who’s looking out for my rights? Who’s going to defend the little guy? Who the hell am I talking to?” A wadded-up
napkin hit Logan in the nose. “You haven’t been listening. I could be psychologically scarred for life if I decided to take that personally, you know. But since I know the real reason you’re so distracted, I won’t beat up on myself.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan asked, trying to divide his attention between his date and the couple on the dance floor, who, in his opinion, were dancing way too close for two people who hadn’t met before this morning.

“I’ve seen the way you look at my friend, Lawyer Logan, and it is not the look of a man who is being victimized by a crazed stalker or a clever con.”

Logan glanced over at her. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean I don’t want my friend caught in the clutches of that Don Juan of corporate buyouts over there. I’ve heard about his reputation with women, that he changes them almost as often as he changes his underwear. I don’t want to see my best friend become another tall blonde filing through Clay Sinclair’s revolving door. But a woman can take only so much rejection before she begins to feel unwanted and unappealing and she turns to a man who flatters her, appreciates her, makes her feel special and desirable, wanted and loved.”

Logan gave Suzi his full attention. “You sound as though you speak from personal experience,” he observed.

She shrugged her small shoulders. “This is not about me. This is about Debra. And you. Maybe. I’m still not convinced you’re worthy of her, but between you and that restructuring Romeo over there, you’re the lesser of two evils.”

Logan grinned. “With that laudable recommendation, how can I sit here and rest on my laurels?” he asked, and stood. “Shall we join them on the dance floor, Ms. Stratford?”

She allowed him to pull her to her feet. Then she groaned.

“What is it, Suzi? What’s the matter?”

Her face looked like she’d been force-fed night crawlers, followed by a sour-milk chaser.

“I’m going to be stuck with the tyrant for the eve ning, aren’t I?” she said. “You know, if this works out between you and my friend, you will owe me your firstborn,” she said.

Logan chuckled and led her to the dance floor. “You’re counting your chickens,” he said, and pulled her into his arms.

“I’m counting on
you
,” she corrected, and proceeded to lead him around the dance floor.

Debra’s eyes followed her best friend and her best friend’s date as they approached the dance floor. Debra had watched them earlier at the table, deep in conversation. Seeing them dance together, Suzi tucked under Logan’s arm, her head resting near his heart, brought back memories of seeing Catrina much the same way. Debra’s jealousy of earlier that evening eroded, and hopelessness, tinged with overwhelming anguish, took its place.

He was never going to forgive her. The little “who’s Logan” charade he’d concocted was his way of demonstrating that it was over. Her family and friends had, no doubt, been convinced it was a hilarious joke, but Debra had to face facts: She would never be a part of Logan Alexander’s life again. He would never let her be. He was disillusioned with her. He was letting go of the past. He was moving on to shorter but less weedy pastures. Debra blinked.
Oh, my
gawd!
He was cutting in!

As he tapped Clay on the shoulder, she felt a tingle course through her at the thought of being held in his arms again. The last time they’d danced she’d fought the attraction she felt for him, convinced he was some wacko intent on murder and mayhem. She’d ached to be in his arms in Chicago, but he had turned his back on her and walked away.

She frowned. Who would she find holding her this time? The man who was crazy about her or the man who was making her crazy? Debra bit her lip to stop her body from shaking.

She still had no clue how he’d made the quantum leap from a gift-wrapped gag-gift guy to living, breathing reality,
but in that mysterious place deep inside where judgments were made and feelings were born, Debra was convinced that nothing was lost and everything gained in Lawyer Logan’s miraculous materialization.

“I’m cutting in, old man.” Logan put a firm hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Suzi went to powder her nose. Says she’s not much of a dancer, so if you’d keep her company at our table, I’d appreciate it.”

Clay didn’t bother to try to hide his annoyance at the task he’d been assigned. “You okay with this, Debra?” he asked, irritating Logan with his implication that she might prefer Clay’s company to his.

To Logan’s relief, Debra gave a short nod.

“Try not to tread on her feet, will you? She’s wearing sandals, and you might cripple her.”

Logan frowned at Clay’s departing back. “My friend.” He shook his head.

She came into his arms, her body rigid and erect. She held herself away from him in a manner very different from the way she’d danced with Clay.

“Did I hear you say Suzi told you she wasn’t much of a dancer?” she asked him. “That’s very weird. You name it, she took it. Jazz, ballet, tap, folk, ballroom. She had great aspirations to become a ballerina, until she stopped growing—in the sixth grade.”

Logan grinned. “I admit to taking some rather liberal poetic license with her words. Actually, she told me she would rather have every hair of her head individually plucked with tweezers and her legs shaved with a potato peeler than have to dance with that ‘chief executive orangutan.’”

Debra smiled, and Logan was fascinated by the tiny dimples that appeared in each smooth, velvety cheek.

“I always thought Suzi would grow up to be one of those stand-up comediennes who make a living insulting people. You can imagine how surprised I was when she pursued a serious profession.”

Logan smiled at her and wondered why he hadn’t realized how comfortable it was to have a woman in his arms who didn’t create chaos with his lower back. As a matter of fact, if she’d quit holding him at arm’s length, he’d wager she’d fit quite nicely.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Logan asked, and took advantage of her surprise at his question to pull her closer.

“Me? Oh, I guess I’ve always wanted to do something where I could help people, although I know that sounds clichéd. Social work was an obvious choice, and psych was a reasonable complement.”

“That’s right. You majored in social work.”

“I told you that.”

Logan nodded. “Right.” He did not want this conversation taking any bizarre twists and turns now. He needed to stick to safe subjects.

“I see you’re wearing khaki again.” She smiled up at him. “Is that a good idea?”

Logan laughed. “I like to live dangerously. Tempt fate, and all that.”

The small orchestra had struck up a classic Patsy Cline tune, and the words to the song tugged at Logan.

“Crazy” was right.

Debra let him pull her into his arms as he had wanted to do since he’d seen her standing outside the movie theater in the short dress that called attention to her long, sleek legs and toned, graceful arms. He corrected himself. Hell, he’d been heading for this day since the moment she’d sidetracked Mickey and offered herself to him in his office.

“
Take me. I’m yours
,” she’d said. Even then, the effect on him had been devastating. And now? Now, when he still wasn’t sure what bizarre little thoughts were racing around in that beautiful head of hers, he realized he trusted her. He trusted her feelings for him. Without reservation. Without hesitation. Without a doubt. And he was beginning to trust his feelings for her.

Logan inhaled the light, fresh scent of peaches he would forevermore associate with this woman. He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her fingertips and kept her hand pressed to his chest.

Many songs later, Logan’s dance partner spoke. “I suppose we should be getting back to Suzi and Clay,” she said, and Logan was pleased at the reluctance he read in her voice.

“They’re gone,” Logan whispered in her ear. “They left three songs back.”

She grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch. “I had no idea it was so late! Why on earth did they leave without telling us?”

“I bribed your friend,” Logan admitted with a sigh. “And let me tell you, Suzi doesn’t come cheap when it comes to spending time with the tyrant.” He grinned.

“What did you have to promise her?” Debra asked.

Logan sighed again. “I had to promise her free legal representation whenever and wherever she might need it, a place on my staff should I ever hold political office, my firstborn, and, oh, yes, she was very insistent on this one: one happy ending for her very best friend,” he finished.

Debra’s lips quivered, and she looked up at him with an expression akin to amazement. In that moment it would have taken a company of armed militia to prevent him from kissing her. Since no soldiers appeared, Logan put his lips on hers and began to fulfill one promise.

Several breathless minutes later, Logan reluctantly pulled his mouth from hers. “It looks like they’re getting ready to close up shop for the night,” he said, keeping her in the circle of his arms. “You ready to go?”

“Yes. We should be going,” she said, but made no move to leave his embrace.

“I think I need one for the road,” Logan told her.

“Last call is over,” she pointed out. “They won’t serve you.”

“I wasn’t talking about a drink, Investigator Daniels.” Then he took her right earlobe between his teeth and took a deep breath, reveling in her unique and heady scent before
he moved to her mouth and took it in a long, hungry, seeking kiss.

After they picked up her car, Logan insisted on following Debra home. She put her auto in the tiny garage, and Logan followed her up the porch stairs to the front door. She was nervous as a student driver behind the wheel for the first time and had trouble getting her key to fit in the lock.

“Darn it, this blasted key.”

“Here.” Logan took the object from her. “Let me help.”

Debra prayed Logan didn’t notice that the key was damp from her sweaty palms.
Good heavens
. You’d think she’d never brought a man to her home before.

She did a quick calculation and realized that the last time she’d had a man at her house was months ago, when she’d had the roof shingled by Ronny the roofer. No wonder she was one step removed from terror-stricken. The last time she’d had any kind of physical intimacy with anyone other than Logan—and that hadn’t gone too far—was defensive tactics and nightstick instruction from Trooper Thomas, just before they’d broken up. She had to hand it to Trooper Thomas: He’d had a way with that nightstick of his. She gave a nervous giggle at the direction of her thoughts.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asked, and opened the door a crack. He handed over the key, and Debra winced when he wiped his palm on his pants.