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“Sounds nice,” she said in a voice just this side of wispy. Good Lord, what was wrong with her?
“It is. Especially first thing in morning. There’s nothing like sitting on deck, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the sun crest the horizon.”
Mallory swallowed. Focus, she coached herself, when her mind threatened to meander a second time. “You make it sound like you sleep on your boat.”
“I’ve been known to. It’s peaceful out there, you know? None of the city noise. Only lapping water and the occasional cry of gulls.”
She thought about the El train that rumbled past her apartment at regular intervals. As far as she was concerned, what he spoke of was heaven. That was before she pictured him clad in…hmm…what did the good doctor wear to bed? That question brought another one to mind.
“Do you sleep there alone?” When his brows rose, she amended her query. “Who do you go sailing with?”
Logan’s laughter rumbled, deep and rich, dancing up her spine like a flat stone skipping over water. “Are you asking if I’m involved with someone?”
She cleared her throat, kept her tone reporter-neutral. “A lot of single women who read the Herald are dying to know just how eligible of a bachelor you are.”
“It’s that damned poll.”
“Yes,” she said dryly. “Every man in Chicago wishes he were so lucky as to find his name on it.”
“Do I have you to thank for my…providence?” he inquired.
Mallory shook her head. “I wasn’t part of the Lifestyles team then.”
He was undeterred. “But are you one of them? You know, the voters, those women interested in my personal life?”
“Not a voter, no. But you bet I am interested in your personal life.” She pulled a pen and slim notepad from the purse hanging over the back of her chair. “So?”
Some of the good humor leaked out of Logan’s expression when he said, “I didn’t realize that you were sent to this luncheon to cover me.”
Was that censure she spied in his gaze or disappointment? Mallory didn’t like seeing either one, but neither was she willing to back down. “Rabid pit bull,” Logan’s agent had called her. Well, she’d earned the reputation for a reason.
“Sorry. Hazard of my profession. And I can’t help thinking you make a far more interesting story than the winner of this year’s Action Award.” She tilted her head in the direction of the head table. “You’re a local celebrity, Logan. Homegrown, selfmade and very successful. You’re also a bit mysterious. Other than where you earned your degree and some of your vital statistics, not much is known about you.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “I like my privacy.”
“Yes, and readers like to invade it.” Mallory angled her head to one side. “It’s good public relations to toss them a bone every now and then. You know, since they’re the ones who tune in to your radio program and all.” Going for the jugular, she added, “In a very real sense, you could say you owe your success to them.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” A smile spread slowly across his face. Lethal, Mallory thought again, as her hormones popped around inside her like the numbered balls in a bingo machine. She found herself actually leaning toward him, drawn the way a moth is to a flame. And so it came as little surprise when heat began to spiral through her.
“Well?” Was that her voice that sounded so breathless, so damned eager?
“I’m not…in a relationship.”
She moistened her lips, leaned back. “Ah.”
What exactly did that mean? Men, she knew firsthand, defined relationships differently than women did.
“Any other questions?” Logan asked.
Mallory had dozens of them, and the man, her prime-rib ticket to workplace redemption, was offering her the opportunity to ask them. Unfortunately, with him looking at her in that assessing way, her mind had gone blank. She shook her head slowly, thankful when their entrees arrived and saved her from appearing tongue-tied, which, for the first time in her professional life, she was.
They ate their rubber chicken and overcooked rice pilaf in virtual silence; all the while Mallory recalled his mention of grilled marinated flank steak. It was almost a relief when the servers cleared away their plates and the award program began. Except that, as the president of the women’s club blathered on about the recipient’s many virtues, from the corner of her eye, Mallory spied Logan watching her.
What on earth was he thinking?
Logan studied Mallory. He’d meant it when he’d told her she was bright, interesting and attractive.
Attractive. Hell, she was downright lovely with all that rich brown hair framing an oval face that was dominated by the most amazing pair of big dark eyes he’d ever seen. Despite her physical beauty, it was her personality that captivated him. He liked smart women. The smarter the better. Add in pretty and, well, it was a lethal combination as far as he was concerned. Mallory certainly hit the mark. That in itself was a problem.
Logan had met her kind once before, years ago. He’d fallen hard at the time, so hard he’d almost made it to the altar, ready and willing to promise his undying love and devotion. A month before their nuptials, however, his fiancée had called off the wedding. Felicia had claimed to need time and space. She’d needed to think, to reflect. What became clear was she hadn’t needed him. She married someone else.
It had been nearly a decade since then. Logan had heard from her only once, just after her wedding. She’d sent him a letter, the postmark read Portland, Oregon. In the brief note, she’d asked him to forgive her, but even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t. She’d included no forwarding address or phone number. He’d taken the hint. He’d been wary of commitment ever since.
That didn’t mean he didn’t like women or spending time with them. It just meant he didn’t let things progress into anything serious.
He glanced over at Mallory. She was scribbling down notes, seemingly absorbed in the award recipient’s less-than-exciting speech. As he watched her, his interest, among other things, was definitely piqued.
Rabid pit bull.
Logan’s agent had been adamant that he should steer clear of this particular reporter. Mallory had a reputation for ruining people, Nina Lowman insisted. Maybe it was the masochist in him that considered her reputation a challenge. Besides, he could handle himself around reporters. He’d been doing it enough since his radio call-in program had staked out the top spot in the ratings.
So, as the luncheon wrapped up, Logan leaned over to Mallory and asked, “Since turnabout is fair play, I have a question for you.”
“Oh?”
“What are you doing later this afternoon?”
She blinked, before her eyes narrowed. Why was it he found her suspicion sexy?
“Filing a story. Why?”
“How long will that take?”
“For this?” Her lips twisted, showing her distaste. It wasn’t the first time he wondered why a reporter with her reputation had been sent to cover a minor story. “I need a couple of quotes from the winner, a quote from someone on the award committee and to tap out a couple of paragraphs summing up why the winner was selected.”
“In other words, you could write it in your sleep,” he concluded.
She rewarded his blunt assessment with a smile. “Once I do a couple of brief interviews it should take me half an hour, tops. Why?”
Logan was playing with fire, which wasn’t like him. While he liked challenges, he wasn’t one to take unnecessary risks. Still, he heard himself ask, “Have you ever seen the city from the water?”
“No,” she said slowly.
“Well, if you want to, I dock my sailboat, the Tangled Sheets, at the yacht club. I’m planning to take her out around five.”
Something flashed in her dark eyes. Interest? Excitement? Briefly he wondered whether it was the reporter or the woman responsible for whatever emotion it was. To his surprise, he found he didn’t care.
“Which yacht club?” she asked.
Logan wasn’t willing to make it too easy for her. So he stood and, giving her a salute, walked backward a few steps toward the exit.
Just before turning he called, “You’re a reporter, Mallory. If you really want to meet me, you’ll figure it out.”
Chapter Two
DESPITE changing into a lightweight blouse and a pair of cropped trousers, Mallory was wilting in the late-afternoon heat by the time she arrived at Logan’s slip at the Chicago Yacht Club. It didn’t help that she’d nearly jogged the half-dozen blocks from the El stop. She had a car, but she often found public transportation less of a hassle than trying to find a place to park.
After leaving the luncheon, she’d hurried through her story, filing it after only a cursory second read and a run of her computer’s spellchecker. It wasn’t like her to rush, especially for a man. But then Logan was far more than that to her. He was a story.
Her story took her breath away when she caught sight of him standing with his feet planted shoulder-width apart on the deck of a sailboat. Behind him sunlight reflected off the smooth, aquamarine surface of the lake, making him look like something straight out of a fantasy.
His back was to her, a cell phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, so she took her time studying him. He’d changed his clothing, too. Instead of the pricy suit he’d worn earlier, he was attired in a short-sleeved shirt that showed off a pair of muscled arms and casual tan slacks that fit nicely across a very fine and firm-looking butt. Mallory fanned herself. Damned heat. Though it was only June, the mercury had to be pushing one hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade.
On the barest wisp of a breeze, Logan’s side of the conversation floated to her.
“You don’t need to worry…No. Really. Do you know the saying ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?” His laughter rumbled deep and rich before he continued. “Exactly…Yeah, I’ll call you.”
He said goodbye and flipped his phone closed. As soon as he turned and spotted Mallory, male interest lit up his eyes and a flush of embarrassment stained his cheeks.
He coughed. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Obviously.”
His flush deepened.
Mallory could have pretended not to have overheard anything. That would have been the polite thing to do. But she was a reporter, which meant curiosity trumped politeness.
“So, which one am I?” When he frowned, she added helpfully, “Friend or enemy?”
She gave him credit. Logan pulled out of his flaming, death spiral with amazing speed and agility. But then, he was a veteran of talk radio and live broadcasts, which meant he was good at thinking on his feet.
Walking to the rail, he asked, “Which one do you consider yourself?”
“Ah. Very clever, turning the question around. Is that what they teach you to do in psychiatry school?”
“Among other things,” he allowed.
Whatever remained of his embarrassment had evaporated completely by the time his hand clasped Mallory’s to help her aboard. His palm was warm against hers, pleasantly so despite the heat. It seemed a shame when he removed it, though she supposed it would have been awkward if he had continued the contact.
“So,” she said, filling in the silence.
“So.” One side of his mouth lifted, but he backed up a step, and she liked knowing that she could keep him as off balance as he made her. Tucking his hands into the front pockets of his trousers, he said, “I wasn’t sure you were coming or that you’d be able to find me.”
Though the city had more than one yacht club, it hadn’t taken much effort. His boat was registered. Besides, the Chicago Yacht Club, which dated to the late eighteen hundreds, was exclusive. It seemed the most likely spot for an up-and-coming celebrity who cherished his privacy.
Mallory nodded toward the bottle of red wine that was open and breathing on a small table topside. “I’d say you knew that I would.”
He shrugged. “I was hopeful. Besides, I was banking on your journalistic instincts.”
“I bank on them, too, since they rarely fail me.”
“Should I be nervous?”
“You tell me,” she replied.
“I guess that depends on why you’re here.”
“I was invited,” she reminded him.
“So you were.”
In truth, Mallory was still perplexed by
Logan’s spontaneous offer of an afternoon sail. It was one of the reasons she’d come. What exactly did the man have in mind?
“Why?” The question rent the silence with all the delicacy of a gull’s cry.
“Excuse me?”
“Why did you invite me?”
“Well, that’s blunt.” He chuckled.
Mallory shrugged. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” With an index finger, he tapped his cell phone. “You know, my agent wanted to know the answer to that very question, too.”
“What did you tell her, besides not to worry?”
His brows furrowed. “Actually, I didn’t have an answer for her.”
“Besides the friends-and-enemies adage,” Mallory remarked.
“Besides that,” he agreed. “So, why did you come? And, yes, I’m turning the question around.”
“Curiosity,” she replied honestly. “How could I decline when I find you so intriguing?”
“I’m flattered, I think. Especially if that’s the woman speaking rather than the reporter.”
“They’re one and the same, remember?”
Logan’s gaze intensified. “Are you sure about that?”
She was, or at least she had been until he’d pinned her with that stare and baldly asked. The boat moved under her feet, a slight rolling motion that reminded her of the water bed she’d had as a teenager. She’d slept like a baby back then. These days she was lucky to snatch a few hours of uninterrupted slumber before her eyes snapped open and her mind began clicking away like a slide projector, flashing the items on her current to-do list at work along with the goals related to her long-range career plans.
“I’d love a glass of that wine,” she said, opting to change the subject.
“I wouldn’t mind some myself.” As he poured it, he said, “How exactly did you find me? I only ask so I can prevent others from doing the same.”
