Confidential: Expecting! (7 page)

“My start time varies depending on what I’m covering. These days, though, it’s a pretty safe bet I
don’t need to be at my desk till eight. You know, about the time the lonely and unemployed start phoning your show,” she finished on a laugh.

“They need help, too.”

Something in Logan’s tone prompted Mallory to ask, “Is this how you expected your life to turn out when you graduated from medical school?”

“No.”

Silence stretched after his startlingly candid answer. The reporter in her would have pounced on it, following up his admission with half a dozen questions intended to reveal more. But all Mallory said was, “I’m sorry.”

More silence ensued. When she could stand it no longer, she said, “Logan? Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“We’re off the record, you know,” she felt the need to point out. “It’s just the two of us…talking.”

“The two of us.” He still sounded doubtful.

And though part of her wasn’t sure it was the wisest course to take, she further clarified, “Just a man and a woman. Not a potential story and the reporter interested in writing it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“What I just said could make one hell of a story, especially with a nationally syndicated television talk show in the works.” He swore ripely after the words slipped out.

Another exclusive gem and Mallory was privy to it.
But what she asked was, “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

He laughed. “Do you mean a professional? Now that would put your byline on the Herald’s front page. Chicago’s Doctor-in-the-Know seeks counseling over career crisis.”

His comment stung, but even more so, she felt for him. Here was a man who helped thousands with his advice, yet he had nowhere to turn when he needed guidance.

“You know, I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to, Logan. I’m not sure what kind of advice I can offer. Helping people is a little beyond my degree. But I’m a pretty good listener,” she added. “Even when the content of the conversation isn’t for publication.”

“You really mean that.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” He laughed then, though without much humor. “I still can’t believe I told you that.”

“Because I’m a reporter?” Mallory asked, the lead weight returning to her stomach.

“No. Because I’ve never so much as hinted about that to my folks. They’re usually the first people I go to when I need to hash things out.”

What a luxury, she thought, to have parents you could confide in and seek counsel from. “Why haven’t you said something to them, then?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I haven’t wanted to worry them. Besides, they’re so proud of me.”

“But you have to be proud of yourself,” she said
softly. “You have to be happy doing what you’re doing or their pride won’t matter.”

Soft laughter filtered through the line. “And you said you’re not good at this. Maybe you could take a turn guest hosting my show.”

“Nah. Not my thing.” She kicked the sheet to the bottom of the mattress. She was alone in bed, and yet she couldn’t think of a more intimate conversation she’d shared with a man while being horizontal. Heaven knew, last night the pair of them hadn’t spent much time talking. “Logan?”

“Yeah?”

She felt so privileged that he’d told her what he had, and she was determined to show him his trust wasn’t misplaced. “Let’s make things even between us.”

“What do you mean?” he inquired on a sleepy yawn.

“Ask me anything you want to know.”

“Anything?”

He didn’t sound sleepy now. Indeed, his probing tone raised gooseflesh on Mallory’s skin despite the Chicago night’s sweltering heat.

“Yes. Anything.”

“Okay.” He made a humming noise, apparently considering his options. But he didn’t keep her in suspense for long. “Tell me something about you that no one knows.”

“No one?”

“A deep, dark secret. That will make us even.”

“Something no one else knows,” she repeated, thinking. The memory came, rising up from the recesses
of her mind with all the unpleasantness of bile. As such, it nearly gagged her. For a moment she considered telling Logan something else. But honesty demanded honesty. She swallowed and began.

“I told you that I hadn’t seen my dad since my parents divorced. But that’s not true. I ran into him a few years ago.”

“In Chicago?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. We were at O’Hare. I’d been out of town covering a story for the newspaper and I’d just returned home when I spotted him in the baggage claim area at the airport.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, girded her heart. Not that any measure she took did any good. The pain trickled through her system as painful as acid. Three years had passed, but the memory remained fresh. The wound was still festering.

“And?” Logan prompted when she said nothing more.

“He looked the same as I remembered.” She cleared her throat, hoping to make her voice sound more nonchalant. “He had a little more gray at his temples and a few more inches around his waist, but overall he was exactly the same. Tall and imposing and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but the place he was.”

She remembered that look well. He’d worn it during holiday gatherings, during her dance recitals, on those few evenings when he’d been home and she’d asked him to read stories.

Mallory had to swallow again before she could
continue. “I saw him, and even with thirty feet and half a dozen people between us, I knew him at a glance. I guess I must have changed a lot, though.”

“He didn’t recognize you,” Logan guessed.

“No.” It was worse than that, though. “Actually, he thought I was a porter.”

“Aw, Mallory.”

“After I tapped on his shoulder, he turned and smiled. But before I could even say, ‘Hi, Dad,’ he handed me a couple of bucks and pointed to his bags.” What started as a laugh ended in a sob. “He expected me to load them on the cart I’d just rented for my own luggage.”

“What did you do?”

Even after three years, shame washed through her. Thankfully, anger followed swiftly on its heels. “I should have told him to go to hell, but I was a little too stunned.”

“He deserved no less, you know.” Logan said it with such conviction that it lessened some of her remaining heartache.

“He had three bags, two of them well over the weight limit. Mom always said he didn’t know how to pack light. You know, in addition to being a lousy father, that day he proved he’s also a lousy tipper. Three stinking bucks.” She snorted. “He should have paid me triple that for the near hernia I suffered.”

“Did you ever tell him who you were?” Logan asked.

“Nah.” Though Logan wasn’t there to see her, Mallory shook her head. “It was too humiliating, espe
cially since I’d already loaded his luggage and he’d handed me the tip.”

“What about your mother? Did you tell her?” he asked.

“And give Maude another reason to gripe to me about him? Nah.” Mallory ran a hand over her cheeks, surprised to find them damp from tears. She hadn’t cried over her father in years, not even after the O’Hare incident. She hadn’t thought herself capable of tears any longer where the man was concerned.

“You chose to protect her,” Logan said.

She didn’t view her actions as altruistic. “He did it to me, Logan. He didn’t do it to my mom.”

“But she would have commiserated and understood.”

“No. Our relationship isn’t like that. My mother never would have let me hear the end of it.”

“I’m sorry.” After a moment of silence, he added, “Thanks for sharing that.”

“You know, it felt good,” she admitted. “Maybe there’s something to therapy.”

“I’m not sure I’d classify this as an actual session,” Logan began. “But it felt good to tell you what I did, too.” He snorted out a laugh then. “And it was a good reminder, too, since I’m always telling my listeners that it’s not healthy to bottle up their emotions.”

“Do as I say, not as I do?”

“I guess you’re right.” His tone was rueful. “But no longer. Nothing gets resolved that way.”

“You have to face things, don’t you?” she said.

“Yes. You do.”

Cradling the phone to her ear, Mallory rolled to her side and caught sight of the clock. “Oh, my God, Logan. It’s nearly one o’clock.”

“I know.”

“I really should let you get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. If you hang up now, I’ll just lie here awake.” She heard his breath hiss through the line a moment before he asked, “Stay with me, Mallory?”

“Okay. I won’t go anywhere.” Cradling the phone to her ear, she turned on her side, and though he was far away, she felt him beside her, filling up a vast emptiness she hadn’t even been aware existed.

M
ALLORY
wasn’t sure how she would feel during her next face-to-face encounter with Logan. Excited? Embarrassed? Both? She’d bared her body to him and then a little bit of her soul. They’d spent two nights together, and though miles had separated them during the second one, it had been every bit as intimate as the first. She’d never felt closer to anyone than she’d been with him during those long hours they’d spent talking in hushed tones and sharing secrets until just before the morning sun turned the horizon pink.

When it came right down to it, she and Logan barely knew each other. Yet he already seemed to understand her far better than anyone else. And that was why she knew a moment of uncertainty the following afternoon when she spied him standing outside the
Herald
as she walked out the building’s grand front entrance.

“Hello, Mallory.”

“Logan.”

The strap of the bag carrying her laptop slipped down
her arm. The computer would have crashed to the sidewalk had he not rushed forward to grab it.

She tried to keep a foolish smile corralled as she inquired, “What are you doing here?”

“Besides rescuing your computer, you mean?”

“Yeah, besides that. Thanks, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” When she held out her hand for the heavy bag, he looped the strap over his shoulder instead. “I wanted to see you.”

That foolish smile unfurled. She ducked her head in an effort to get it under control.

“I probably should have called, rather than just showing up at your workplace.”

“I don’t mind. It’s a nice surprise.”

“Do you have any plans for this evening?”

She didn’t, but even if she had, they would have escaped her now. She couldn’t seem to think when he was looking at her like that, all interested and sexy.

“None that I can think of. Why?”

“Good. I thought I’d take you to a jazz club.”

Though she couldn’t have said why, that brought Mallory up short. “You like jazz?”

“No, but you do. So…” He shrugged, as if that explained everything, and in a way it did.

Heaven help her, Mallory wanted to kiss him right then as they stood on the sidewalk in front of the
Herald
. To hell with the purpose-driven professionals and camera-toting tourists who were streaming around them. She couldn’t think of another man—her father
included—who’d put what she liked, what she wanted ahead of his own needs or preferences.

“Thank you.”

His brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For…the good time I’m going to have this evening,” she said. “Would it be okay if we swing by my apartment first so I can change clothes?”

She had on an ivory linen suit that was wrinkled from a full day of wear, and her feet were begging to be freed from a pair of peep-toe pumps that required a little more breaking in to be comfortable. This wasn’t what one wore to a club, especially when Logan was clad in denim jeans, Italian loafers and a short-sleeved shirt whose tails he’d left untucked.

“No problem, though I really like those heels. They do sinful things for your legs.” He took a step toward her, close enough that there was no mistaking the interest brewing in his eyes.

“You think so?”

“Oh, yeah.”

The outside world melted away, just as it had when they’d held each other on the dance floor…and later in her apartment.

“Then you should see me in stilettos,” she announced boldly, bluntly and with just a hint of challenge.

“Something to look forward to.” His words and the smoldering expression that accompanied them caused Mallory’s breath to catch. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?” The question had her blinking.

“To go.” He smiled knowingly. “My car’s parked just down the street.”

“Lead the way.”

The Swing Shop was small, dark and smoky. It drew an eclectic crowd—college students, couples young and old, tourists, suit-wearing businessmen and even interns and residents from the nearby hospital, who were still outfitted in scrubs.

Everyone was equal here. At the French restaurant up the block a discreetly passed tip might garner a better table or less time spent on the waiting list, but at the Swing Shop seating was first-come, first-served. Patrons who hoped to get a table came early, often right from work when their day ended. And they tended to stay late, buying drinks and ordering the kitchen’s greasy offerings as their feet tapped and their bodies swayed to wailing saxophones and weeping coronets.

Yes, getting a seat was tricky, but a little aggressive maneuvering through the crowd helped. That’s why as soon as Mallory spied an older couple rising from a table near the stage, she elbowed her way past two legal-eagle types and a plus-size woman wearing an I Love Chicago T-shirt to plant her beer on the scuffed Formica. Logan caught up with her a couple of minutes and half a dozen
pardon-me
s later.

“That was amazing.” He lowered himself into the chair opposite hers. “Professional football players running for a game-winning touchdown could take tips from you.”

Mallory merely shrugged. “You know the saying—he who hesitates is lost.”

He chuckled. “I take it you’ve been here before.”

“This club is one of my favorites.”

“And I thought I was going to be treating you to a new experience.”

“That’s sweet.” And it was.

“This is my first time coming here,” Logan confessed.

She stifled her laughter. “Yes. I thought that might be the case when you stood at the door and politely held it open for the large party of tourists who entered just behind us.” She glanced meaningfully in the direction of a boisterous bunch of middle-aged women who’d pushed together three of the club’s highly prized tables to accommodate their party, not all of whom had arrived yet.

“Now that we have a table, do you want to order something to eat?” he asked.

Mallory crinkled her nose. “The food’s not really all that good here, but I tell you what, if you can make do with an appetizer or two until the main attraction finishes, dinner will be on me.”

“Do I get to pick the place?” His brows bobbed.

“It sounds like you might have somewhere in mind.”

“I might.” He pulled a plastic-coated menu from between the salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table. After a cursory glance, he asked, “Do nachos work for you?”

Mallory grinned, enjoying the fact that even though
Logan possessed the skill of a gourmet chef, he harbored no prejudice against more pedestrian fare. “Heavy on the jalapeños, hold the onions.”

“Got it.” He raised his hand to catch the attention of a harried-looking waitress.

They stayed three hours and might have remained longer if Mallory’s stomach hadn’t protested. She’d switched to coffee after her second glass of wine, since it seemed to be going right to her head. And she couldn’t bring herself to eat another bite of nachos. She was already regretting her heavy-on-the-jalapeños request.

Outside, the night air had cooled considerably from the afternoon high temperature of nearly ninety degrees, but with the heat still radiating from the sidewalk, the change was negligible, especially since Mallory was with Logan and even the casual way he clasped her hand in his had her feeling feverish.

“You said something about treating me to a meal,” he reminded her as they made their way to his car.

“Yes, I did. What are you in the mood for?” she asked.

He stopped walking, turned and her question took on a whole new meaning.

“You.”

Logan released her hand, but only so he could use both of his to frame her face. His hands were big. His palms warm even to her heated skin. Though she was probably being ridiculous, she thought she could feel the calluses he’d earned tending to his boat.

He’d kissed her before, done much more than that.
But each encounter had struck her as something new, unique. As she had before, she lost herself in his embrace, sucked under and in no hurry to resurface.

The kiss might have lasted seconds or it might have lasted several minutes. Mallory had no clue. Slowly she became aware of the traffic passing, of horns blasting in the distance and of snippets of the conversations from the people walking by them.

She was pressed up against Logan, her body flush with his, making her fully aware of his reaction to the contact. His breathing was heavy and ragged. The hands still bracketing her face trembled. Mallory wasn’t one given to public displays. She couldn’t seem to help herself around Logan.

“Food is the last thing on my mind after that,” he murmured. “You?”

“Who needs to eat?”

He chuckled, but then turned serious. “I want you, Mallory.”

“That was obvious,” she replied. “I want you, too.”

Suddenly, though, she wanted more than sex. Though they had been together for barely a handful of dates, she found herself yearning for a long-term, committed relationship. The kind she’d never had with a man. The kind she’d stopped believing in when her father had packed his bags and gone.

“Where is this heading?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Logan blinked. In the scant glow of the streetlights she watched his expression turn guarded.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted after an excruciatingly long pause. “I like you a lot, Mallory. That much you should know by now. But if you’re asking for promises…I don’t know that I can make them.”

Now or ever? Thankfully she managed to keep that question to herself. She lifted her shoulders in a negligent shrug.

“No need for promises, Logan. This is what it is.” She forced herself to smile and added in a seductive whisper, “And I plan to enjoy every moment of it.”

She’d hoped that would be the end of it, but now he was frowning. “What exactly
is
this?”

Words were her refuge and, at times, a trusted defense mechanism. They failed Mallory now, though, leaving her to babble incoherently before she finally managed to say, “I don’t know, but we’re good together.”

“The sexual chemistry, you mean?”

“Yes. That’s what I mean.” Only it wasn’t. Not completely. And she couldn’t help wondering why that suddenly bothered her so much. “You probably studied stuff like that when you were getting your degree.”

Logan massaged his forehead. Not that he could recall, and God knew he was trying to remember. He was a man of science, but some things defied academic explanation. His intense, over-the-top physical reaction to Mallory was one such thing.

He lifted one hand but stopped before his fingers made contact with her cheek. “That’s got to be why I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”

Her eyes widened and her lips curved. The traces of
vulnerability she’d tried to disguise with bravado vanished. “You haven’t been able to get me out of your head?”

“Don’t look so damned pleased,” he muttered, even though she didn’t look pleased. Rather, she appeared to be surprised. And hopeful? “I’ve never had this response to a woman before.”

“Never?” It wasn’t only her expression that held bafflement this time. Her tone was ripe with it.

Recalling the way she’d reacted before the charity event when he’d complimented her appearance, Logan gave in to the temptation to touch her and framed her face with his hands. “In addition to thinking you’re gorgeous—and don’t try to argue with me this time,” he added when her mouth opened, presumably to do just that. “I find you incredibly sexy, Mallory.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t so much as blink, even when he leaned down and kissed her lightly on her lips. She studied him with dark, watchful eyes. The woman who had a well-earned reputation for being shrewd and intuitive only looked vulnerable now.

“Are we going to stand out here on the street all night or are you going to take me home and make love to me?”

Logan chuckled at her question. Okay, maybe she wasn’t
completely
vulnerable.

“Let’s go.”

His car was half a block up the street. With a press of the key fob, the lights flashed and the doors unlocked. When they reached it, Logan opened Mallory’s for her, as was his habit. As they drove, she was quiet.

“Is something wrong?” Logan asked.

“No. Not really.” She smiled at him. “You’re always opening doors for me, even my car door. You’re a gentleman.”

“My mother’s doing.”

“Then I like your mother.”

His laughter rumbled low. “That makes two of us.” He sobered. “You sound surprised, about me being a gentleman, I mean.”

“I’ve never dated anyone quite like you.”

“Why?”

His question had her shrugging. “I don’t know. I just…haven’t.”

As Logan maneuvered the car through traffic, he commented, “You know, it’s funny how a lot of people confuse basic courtesy with being condescending. I open your door as a sign of respect. I suppose you could do the same for me. Either way, it’s not a gesture intended to display dominance.”

“No.”

He cast a glance sideways when they reached a red light. “You’d be pretty damned hard to dominate, anyway. You’re too strong-willed for that and far too outspoken.”

She smiled. “Is that how you see me?”

“More or less.” Logan nodded. The light changed and he returned his attention to the road. It was a moment before he glanced sideways again and asked, “How do you see yourself?”

“I don’t know.” She fussed with her hands in her lap.
“But I’ve been called worse things than strong and outspoken. In fact, I’d consider both as compliments.”

“I’m glad. You should. But that’s not an answer, Mallory. How do you see yourself?”

She laughed.

“I’m serious. I’d really like to know.”

“Okay. I see myself as determined.”

“Come on,” he challenged. “You can do better than that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with determination,” she returned, sounding slightly defensive.

“You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with it.” God knew, determination was probably what had seen Mallory through her rough childhood and into a much brighter future. “But surely you can come up with more adjectives than that.”