Tall, Dark & Gorgeous: To Marry McKenzie

‘Logan—darling!’

He cringed as, having finally spotted him standing at the back of the restaurant, Margaret Fraser swept across the room to envelop him in one of her theatrical greetings, her perfume overwhelming as she kissed him on both cheeks.

‘And Fergus, too,’ she recognised warmly, bestowing a similar greeting on him.

Logan watched her dispassionately as she kissed Fergus. Delicately tiny, her shoulder-length hair gleaming like ebony, her hourglass figure shown to perfection in a little black dress—that Logan knew would have cost a small fortune!—the beauty of her face completely unlined, deep blue eyes fringed by thick dark lashes.

There was no doubt that Margaret Fraser was a stunningly beautiful woman. Or, that she was the last person Logan wished to see here this evening!

‘Darcy, Logan,’ Fergus reminded him, once he’d surfaced from the actress’s embrace.

Margaret Fraser gave them both a quizzical frown. ‘Darcy…?’ she echoed lightly.

Logan’s mouth twisted. ‘The young woman who insulted you as you came in,’ he reminded her dryly.

‘Oh, that Darcy.’ She nodded vaguely.

‘Will you just go, Logan?’ Fergus urged in measured tones.

Gladly, Logan decided, nodding dismissively before striding out of the restaurant in search of Darcy.

It didn’t take him too long; she hadn’t gone very far. She was leaning against the wall outside, her slender body convulsed by desolate sobs.

After her earlier outburst, Logan had no doubt that Margaret Fraser was somehow involved in the desolation of those tears…!

The question was—how?

How could he? How could he! And with that awful woman too.

Oh, there was no doubting Margaret Fraser was beautiful enough. But the woman had been married twice already, had announced engagements to other men as many times. How could he even be thinking of marrying—?

‘Darcy…?’

She froze at the sound of Logan’s voice behind her. She had been so upset when she’d stormed out of the restaurant that she hadn’t even noticed him. She doubted the same could be said for her own dramatic exit!

She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks before turn-ing to face him. ‘Mr McKenzie,’ she greeted shakily, unable to meet that piercingly probing gaze.

His mouth quirked humourlessly. ‘This doesn’t seem to be your night, does it?’ he sympathised.

He could have no idea! She had thought the disagreement with him in the restaurant was bad enough, but the conversation in the kitchen that had followed had been even worse. And, then, to come face to face with that woman as she’d stormed out—!

‘Here,’ Logan encouraged gently, holding out a snowy white handkerchief to her.

She gave a watery smile. ‘I’ve only just returned the last one you lent me,’ she reminded self-derisively, making no effort to take the handkerchief.

‘Which I’ve just left in the restaurant,’ Logan realised. ‘Never mind, my cousin will probably return it to me later,’ he mused.

So the other man had been his cousin, Darcy noted, which obviously accounted for that strong resemblance between them.

‘Take it, Darcy.’ Logan continued to hold the handkerchief out to her. ‘Your mascara has run,’ he observed.

Darcy took the handkerchief with muttered thanks, mopping self-consciously at her eyes—before she remembered that she wasn’t wearing mascara, that she hadn’t worn any make-up this evening; the heat in the kitchen tended to make it cake! ‘Very funny,’ she replied, her smile rueful.

‘That’s better.’ Logan nodded his approval of her half-smile. ‘I’m sure—whatever it is—that it can’t be that bad…?’ He bent his head to smile back at her teasingly.

Darcy’s own humour faded. ‘Worse!’ she said with feeling, giving an involuntary shiver. ‘You can have no idea.’ She shook her head, her expression bleak.

Logan tilted his head, dark brows raised questioningly. ‘Want to talk about it?’

Did she? In one way, definitely no! In another way…it might be quite nice to share this with someone. But was Logan McKenzie, a man she hardly knew, the right someone…?

Probably not, she acknowledged. But if she didn’t talk to someone about this soon, she was going to burst! Besides, she had no intention of returning to the restaurant this evening…

She gave a heavy sigh, coming to a decision. ‘Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?’

‘Darcy! This is so sudden.’ Logan pretended to reel from the suggestion.

‘I said coffee, Logan—er—Mr McKenzie—’ She broke off, blushing at her own familiarity with a man who was, after all, a customer of Chef Simon. Although, in the circumstances, the formality of ‘Mr McKenzie’ did seem slightly ridiculous!

‘Logan will do,’ he assured her, obviously of the same opinion.

She nodded, her cheeks still feeling hot. ‘And I was suggesting we go to a coffee bar, not my home!’ she explained defensively.

‘Aren’t I a little overdressed for a coffee bar?’ Logan looked down at his dinner clothes.

Of course he was, Darcy realised belatedly. But going to her home really was out of the question. After the heated accusations that had been made in the kitchen earlier, the last thing she needed was for Daniel Simon to return home and find her there with Logan McKenzie!

‘We could always go to my apartment,’ Logan suggested, his gaze narrowed, seeming to have read some of the indecision on her face. If not the reason for it!

Go to his apartment…! ‘I’m sure you can’t really be interested in hearing all this,’ she burst out. ‘I think it might be better if I just went home and—and slept on the whole thing. My mother always told me that things never look so black in the morning,’ she went on with forced brightness, knowing this particular situation was going to get worse, not better.

‘And my nanny always told me that a problem shared is a problem halved,’ Logan came back dryly.

His nanny, not his mother, Darcy noted. But, then, he obviously came from a wealthy background, the sort where the children were cared for by a nanny. Nevertheless, it was very sad if, as it seemed, Logan had had a closer relationship with his nanny than with his own mother. Darcy’s own childhood had been spent being cosseted and loved by a mother who had always been there for her. She had been dead just over a year now, and Darcy still missed her deeply.

‘Maybe,’ she conceded huskily. ‘But my mother also warned me about the danger of going to the home of a man I don’t really know.’

‘My nanny warned me of the same thing where women are concerned,’ Logan drawled, taking a firm hold of her arm, at the same time hailing a passing taxi. ‘But I’ll risk it if you will!’

For the second time in their acquaintance—despite the fact that she was deeply upset, and that she could see no solution to ending this particular misery—Darcy laughed.

Logan froze in the act of helping her into the back of the waiting taxi. ‘I thought I asked you not to do that,’ he ground out, his jaw clenched.

Darcy blinked up at him dazedly, shaking her head. ‘I don’t understand—’

‘Never mind,’ Logan replied tersely, climbing into the back of the taxi to sit beside her before leaning forward and giving the driver his address.

He really was a complete stranger to her, Darcy decided during the drive to his apartment, Logan gloweringly silent beside her, one glance at his grimly set features enough to stop any attempt at conversation on her part, either.