Ineligible Bachelor (6 page)

“Maybe you two should stay together until then,” Marty suggested as he went back outside.

“Will do.” Logan replied, happy Marty could not possibly see the big smile the suggestion had brought to his face.

Logan aimed the light ahead of him and walked to the staircase, suddenly hoping the power company was overloaded with outages. Shining the beam on the stairs, he took them two at a time. Another bolt of lightning hit just as he reached the top. The urge to see Freddy bathed in white light again made him almost race toward her suite.

“Logan, is that you?” he heard her call out when the beam from the flashlight hit the threshold of her door.

“Yep, unless you’d rather it be one of the crew.”

“I’ve seen the crew. You’re cuter.” Her voice sounded playful to him.

“Really now?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. I didn’t say how much cuter.” She stepped closer to the circle of light. “Was there only one flashlight?”

“Marty from the production crew gave it to me.” He felt disappointment well up inside him with the idea that she only wanted a flashlight from him. He shook the uncharacteristic feeling away with a toss of his shoulders. “He said lightning hit a transformer, and the power company was on the way to fix it.”

“I really don’t want to stand here in the dark and wait for them. Do you think there are some candles downstairs we could use?”

He inched the light up, making sure he didn’t shine it in her eyes. “Probably enough in the dining room alone to light the house. But we could get light back any minute if we’re lucky.”
And if we’re really lucky, not at all tonight,
he silently added.

“Mentioning the dining room made me realize how hungry I am.”

“I would imagine the refrigerator is stocked.” He took her hand and pointed the light toward the staircase. “Let’s forage. But stay close. Neither of us is familiar with this place, and the stairs in the dark may be tricky.”

He kept his eyes on the light guiding them, enjoying the way her small hand fit with his. Slowly, they made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Flashes from the lightning helped them find the refrigerator.

“So what do you want?” he asked, moving the light across the shelves.

He felt her lean against his back when her voice came from over his shoulder. “A little of everything. Stress makes me want to eat.”

His mind zeroed in on the way her body seemed to melt into his. It felt like spontaneous combustion across his back. He had to get her to move away or risk melting the butter he saw on the refrigerator’s second shelf. Resting the flashlight on the counter, he spun around and took her hips with both hands before hoisting her up onto the granite countertop.

“Sit here for a minute. I want to rummage around the kitchen for a minute.”

“And I can’t help you?”

“I need space.”

“By all means then, don’t let me stop you.” He opened and closed drawers, taking quick inventory while she talked. “Tomorrow’s the big day. Your dates are arriving. Are you excited?”

Her voice sounded shaky to him. “I’m more excited about the selection of cheeses I saw in the fridge.”

She shifted on the countertop, and the flashlight fell, rolling to the base of the island in the center of the kitchen. The moving light cast eerie shadows across the room, making it appear as though an 8mm film played.

Logan picked the flashlight up once it stopped moving, but it went out. He whacked it against the palm of his hand. It came on with the third hit, centering Freddy in its soft, artificial light. He hadn’t intended to put her in the spotlight, but he had to admit, she looked great in it.

“I think the battery may be dying.” Not that he cared. The dark could afford him a little more freedom to think about finishing what almost happened upstairs. He raised his eyes and mouthed a prayer of thanks to whatever gods had just smiled on him. The gods of the blind date perhaps. The thought made him chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Freddy asked as his laugh faded. “This all feels pretty creepy to me. Like a scene in one of those Freddy versus Jason movies.”

“This mansion is too nice for a horror setting.”

“Then the pantry should be stocked with munchies.”

He heard her slide off the countertop just as the flashlight flickered again. “Stay put, and let me find the food. You’ve had the fridge door open too long already, and we don’t know how long we’ll be without electricity.”

“By all means.” He handed her the flashlight. “Cook for me.”

“Loosely speaking,” she agreed, aiming the light inside the open doors of the Sub-Zero refrigerator. “Let’s see now. Look. Shrimp cocktail.” She hit him in the chest with the light. “Hold this so I can get the tray out.”

He stood behind her as she reached back into the fridge, the light from the flashlight positioned just right for him to make out the silhouette of her heart-shaped bottom jutting toward him. Her T-shirt had ridden up enough to reveal some skin and the little dimples in the small of her back. Did she even know what a temptation she presented him? His mouth went dry with the thought of running his fingers over what promised to be smooth-as-silk flesh.

He took a sudden step back. What in the world had come over him? Why was he suddenly looking at her as though she were one of the contenders for the date with him?

She turned around, shrimp tray in hand, and his breath caught with how beautiful she looked.

“What are you gawking at?” she asked him.

“I love shrimp.” It was all he could think to say.

“We need to find the silverware and some plates.” She glided past him and slid the tray onto the counter before snatching the flashlight from his hand and rummaging through the drawers and cabinets.

“The flashlight is fading fast,” he said, opening a few drawers himself.

“Maybe we should grab the candelabra from the dining room just in case. One of the thousand drawers in here should have some matches or one of those lighter things.”

“Okay, give me the flashlight, and stay put until I get back.”

“Why can’t I come with you?”

Because I need some time to get the image of your backside out of my head.
He almost said it out loud. “Because I don’t need you tripping and breaking something.”

“’Kay.”

Halfway out of the kitchen he stopped, turned, and shined the light on the tray. “And don’t eat all the shrimp.”

It seemed like Logan had only been gone two seconds when she heard him call out.

“Flashlight’s dead.”

“Can you find your way back here without tripping over something?” Freddy returned.

“Maybe. Keep talking. I’ll try to retrace my steps exactly.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

Whatever she’d like? Trying not to say what it was she would like proved to be harder than multiple choice on the SATs. She wanted to tell him that maybe they should bail out of this place before Ms. Perfect showed up tomorrow. Maybe instead they could try dating each other. And maybe if he wanted, he could kiss her now.

Yeah, and maybe the moon was really made of green cheese.

She thought about it for a minute more, but what came out of her mouth had nothing to do with what she actually thought.

“So what kind of woman are you looking for?”

She smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead and blamed it on nerves. She really did not want a detailed description of his perfect date.

“What?”

The single word hit her with the force of a category five hurricane. Bad enough she asked him, but now she would actually have to repeat the question. Or lie.

She opted for the lie.

“I asked what kind of candle you are looking for.”

“No, you didn’t. You asked what kind of woman I was looking for.”

The voice was closer. She’d have to think fast.

“Did I? I meant candle.”

“No, I believe you said ‘woman,’ not ‘candle.’”

“Then why did you ask?”

His voice came from right in front of her now. “Because I didn’t think I heard you right.”

On the last word, his body slammed into hers, the contact knocking her off balance. Too far from the counter to reach back for support, she reached out and grabbed on to his shoulders to keep from falling instead. He responded by placing his hands on her hips. The lightning flashed, showing her his wide smile topped by half-lidded eyes.

“Oh,” she muttered, trying to ignore the sheer pleasure of contact with his body. “I guess we really need that candle until the power comes on, after all.”

“Maybe we don’t have light.” He backed her up until her backside touched the countertop. “But we can have some electricity of our own.”

“How can you make jokes at a time like this?”

“What makes you think I’m joking?” His voice sounded husky to her.

He nuzzled her neck. “We’re completely in the dark and at the mercy of the electricity gods. All we can do is feel our way around until the power comes back on.” His hands moved to the rise of her back. “And, so far, I’m liking how it feels.”

She felt his kiss on her cheek. Maybe the idea wasn’t half-bad, she decided.
Carpe diem,
her mind screamed inside her head. And this time she would listen.

She just turned her head toward his kiss when, in the next flash of lightning, she thought she saw someone moving on the patio. Thinking it might be one of the production crew, she stiffened. As much as she had dreamed about being in Logan’s arms, it suddenly felt staged, like a scene in a grade-B movie.

She pushed him away just as she heard a mechanical stutter and then the hum of the air conditioner and the ping of a light coming on—the power restored.

She looked up into his eyes and saw a whole other kind of power there. “I guess the transformer’s working again.”

“Bummer,” he replied, holding her gaze but lowering his hands to his side.

Freddy recognized the uncomfortable body language. She pointed behind him. “I probably should go upstairs and clean up the glass.”

She saw him lower his gaze to the floor before looking back at her. “And I should probably check outside.” He started toward the
double French doors leading outside and then stopped. “Want to come along?”

For a moment, she considered the invitation just to stay near him. But the storm had stopped. Both storms—the one outside and the one between them.

“No, I better get back to my room and clean up the glass before the power goes out again.”

“If it does, stay put. I’ll find you.” Then he disappeared onto the patio.

She watched him until the landscape swallowed him, wondering all the time if she could short out the power again by jamming something into an outlet.

Darn, she wished she had paid more attention in science class sophomore year instead of passing notes to Patt.

“Holy crow, did you get it all?” Marty asked, punching the cameraman holding the infrared camera on the arm. “The bachelor and the evaluator in a lip-lock.”

“They didn’t kiss.”

“A technicality. Nothing some creative editing won’t fix.” He grabbed the camera and rewound the video. “Look. You can’t fit a piece of paper between them.” He rewound it and played it again. “Right here we can fade to black, and let the audience draw their own conclusions.”

“The picture is all green and kind of grainy,” the camera tech commented.

“No one, especially the producer, will care about colors when we edit. The only question will be when to drop this bombshell during the series.”

Marty and the cameraman looked at each other. “Sweeps week,” they said in unison before high-fiving—topped with a chest bump for good measure.

Logan shrugged and stretched his back, trying to shift the annoying feel of the microphone pack clipped to his belt under his tuxedo jacket. Hands clasped waist-level in front of him, he waited at the bottom of the marble steps of the front patio for the first of six limousines scheduled to arrive. Each one held a willing participant in what he could only describe as a reality version of an old matchmaking game show, one that would kick off when the first pair of high heels hit the driveway.

He looked at the sky a moment, gathering his thoughts. The situation did present some interesting possibilities, if he cared to take advantage of them. Six women, all handpicked out of thousands who applied, would be jockeying for his attention over the next few weeks. He imagined a list just as long of bachelors who would do just about anything to be in his shoes, a position even his wildest fantasies had not conjured.

He shifted again, the mike-pack bothering him even more than it had a few minutes ago. Not wanting the cameraman who stood about three feet from him to film him adjusting it, he jostled his shoulders again, getting the contraption to move just enough for it to be tolerable.

But the microphone wasn’t the only thing bugging him. He glanced to his right to a balcony softly illuminated by light from
the room behind it. He knew Freddy was there watching and waiting, too. He wondered if she felt as nervous as he did.

But the edge he felt did not just come because of the show. His strictly male reaction to Freddy had been a surprise—a very pleasant surprise.