Confidential: Expecting!

Logan leaned toward her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. She pictured his mouth, lips barely an inch from making contact with her earlobe when he whispered, “No comment.”

In spite of herself, Mallory shivered. The man was downright lethal, a straight shot of sex outfitted in a suit that probably cost the equivalent of a month’s worth of her take-home pay. She’d splurged on the black pencil skirt and tan fitted jacket she was wearing, but they were hardly designer label. Clearly, she was in the wrong profession, not that she had any plans to change. She loved her job. Until lately, it had been by far the most satisfying and reliable thing in her life. She intended it to be that way again.

Leaning back in her chair, Mallory smiled at Logan. “I’ll find out eventually, you know. Ferreting out people’s secrets is what I do best.”

“I’d heard that about you,” he replied amiably. “In fact, my agent called to warn me to be on my toes before you came to my office for the interview last week. She said you were a regular pit bull.”

“A pit bull, hmm?” Mallory ran her tongue over her teeth.

“Actually, she called you a rabid pit bull.” Logan chuckled as if to soften the description and added, “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“Offended me?” She exhaled sharply. “Please. I’m flattered by her description.”

“I don’t think she meant it as a compliment.”

“I’m sure she didn’t.” Still Mallory shrugged. “I’ll take it as one, anyway. In my line of work I believe in going for the throat. It’s what yields the best results.”

Her gaze lowered as she said this. Loosen that silk tie and undo the top button at his collar and Logan Bartholomew had one very delicious-looking neck.

“What about outside of work?”

His question startled her from her musings. Mallory’s gaze shot back to his face, where a potent and very male smile greeted her.

“Wh-what do you mean?” She hated that she’d actually stammered like a shy schoolgirl conversing with the football team’s star quarterback.

“What do you do after hours? You know, to unwind?” His expression was just this side of challenging.

“I tend to work late.” Then she went home alone, picking up some takeout on the way to her walk-up half a block from an El stop. Once she’d changed out of her work attire, she usually ate while watching the television before crashing for the night on the queen-size bed in her room. Alone.

“No…boyfriend?” he inquired.

Her eyes narrowed. “Not at the moment.” Though not for two years was closer to reality.

“Hmm.”

“Are you analyzing me, Doctor?” Mallory asked.

“Logan,” he reminded her with an affable grin.

“Yes, but at the moment you’re sounding an awful lot like someone with a degree in psychiatry.”

“Ah.” He grimaced, seemingly for effect. “Sorry about that. A hazard of my profession, I’m afraid. I just find it hard to believe that someone as bright, interesting and, well, attractive as you are isn’t in a serious relationship.”

“Good save.” She said it dryly in the hope of camouflaging the spurt of pleasure she’d experienced upon hearing his compliments.

Bright, interesting, attractive. What woman wouldn’t want to be considered all three, especially by a man who looked like this one?

The servers came around then with their salads and baskets of bread. Mallory selected a hard roll. At their first meeting, Logan’s time had been limited, so she’d only had the opportunity to ask him questions related to the commencement address. Now, under the guise of small talk, she asked him, “What about you? What do you do when you’re not at the radio station?”

“Well, for starters, I like to eat.” He forked up some mixed baby greens that were coated in raspberry vinaigrette.

“Yes, you look it.” Logan was a walking advertisement for physical fitness. If the man looked this good with his clothes on, she could only imagine how he appeared sans his professional attire. The thought had her coughing.

He swatted her back. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she managed. “Never better. You were saying something about eating?”

“I like food. For that reason, I learned how to cook.”

Mallory squinted at him. “Learned how to cook as in learned how to work the microwave oven or learned how to cook as in—”

“I know my way around the kitchen,” he inserted. “For instance, tonight I’m planning to grill a marinated flank steak and then pair it with rice noodles and a simple green salad.”

Her mouth watered. “Just for you?”

“Most likely.”

“I’m impressed.” And she was. “I’ve never gotten much beyond boiling water, which is actually pretty handy considering it’s one of the most important steps in making macaroni and cheese.”

“From a box,” he acknowledged. “There are other ways, you know.”

No, she didn’t know. In her albeit limited experience, all that was necessary was to bring the water to a boil and add the elbow noodles. When they were cooked, she drained the water, drizzled in a quarter cup of milk and stirred in the packet of a dry, cheeselike substance. Voilà. Dinner.

Logan was saying, “I’ve found cooking to be a surprising release for my creative energy.”

She found his admission surprising, as well, but as secrets went, well, news that Chicago’s new favorite son liked to play chef in his off hours wasn’t likely to score Mallory many points with her editor.

So, she asked, “What else do you do in your spare time? I know you don’t frequent the hot night spots.”

She’d checked.

“I’m a little old for that.”

“Thirty-six isn’t exactly ancient.” Especially when it came packaged in broad shoulders, narrow hips and topped off with a full head of gorgeous sandy hair.

The shoulders in question rose. “Night clubs aren’t really my thing.”

They weren’t Mallory’s, either. Sure, she liked to dance, sip a cocktail and have a good time every now and then, but she’d long ago grown out of the meat-market scene so many of the city’s hottest spots promoted. These days when she went out it was usually with a former college roommate for margaritas at a little Mexican restaurant that was one step above dive status.

“So, what is your thing?” she asked.

Logan said nothing for a long moment. Rather, he studied her with a gaze that was both challenging and assessing. Which is why Mallory found herself holding her breath until he finally replied, “I like to sail.”

The air whooshed from her lungs. “Sail. As in boats?” Mallory couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Unless he was going to tell her he kept narcotics in the hold this revelation was as newsworthy as the tidbit about playing chef.

“Is there any other kind?” He was smiling. “My parents had a catamaran when I was a boy. I loved being out on it. So, I bought a thirty-one-footer a few years back. I take her out on Lake Michigan as often as I can. Even so, the season’s just too damn short here.”

Mallory didn’t consider herself to be the romantic sort, yet she had no problem picturing Logan standing on a teak deck, manning the helm of a sailboat as the Chicago skyline grew small at his back and the deep aquamarine waters of the great lake beckoned.