Southern Hospitality (15 page)

“Just how is Arkansas supposed to help your…condition?” she asked hesitantly. The conversation about their lovemaking might have been safer after all, she decided after a moment’s consideration.

“My uncle thinks that exposure to your family is a step in the right direction. He’s made a living codicil to his will that keeps me out of H.P.G., if I don’t come home cured.” Logan grimaced at the statement, and picked up a sausage biscuit almost without realizing it. He took a bite and seemed surprised that he liked it. “Your father is to act as my guardian, overseeing my progress.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t run screaming back to the airport the minute you laid eyes on T.L.”

“I gave it some thought,” he admitted with a slight smile, “but Herringtons are made of stern stock. We persevere under the most arduous conditions; it’s our Pilgrim heritage.”

The level look he gave Tory reminded her of how the conversation began. Damn, he was persistent. He’d met her condition and expected her to honor her part of the bargain. She wasn’t about to sacrifice herself to a quicky affair to help Logan mark time in Arkansas.

“Don’t get your hopes up, mister. I’m not going to jump back into bed with you to help you prove that you’re human,” she said boldly, not trying to sugar coat her refusal. “I don’t indulge in short-term affairs. What happened the other night was an accident. I can’t explain it any better, but it won’t happen again.

“I’ll be glad to help you meet Preston’s stipulations, but only if you keep your hands to yourself. I won’t be your lover, but if you need a friend, I’ll be glad to help.” She took refuge in eating the rest of her breakfast.

Her speech had been perfect—rational and adult. Still congratulating herself, she took a sip of coffee.

“Fat chance.”

She almost spewed coffee all over the table and at Logan and his muttered words.

His smile was almost feral. Tory knew she wasn’t going to like what else he had to say, and she didn’t.

“My sweet, innocent Tory,” he began, giving her a condescending, pitying look that she wanted to slap off his face. “There’s a chemistry between us that has nothing to do with friendship. I can’t be in the same room with you for more than a half hour without wanting to make love to you, and I think you feel the same. Do you really think you can stay out of my bed during the next few months?”

She didn’t dare answer him. She couldn’t trust herself to open her mouth to deny or confirm anything. Her temper was heating up, but she wasn’t sure exactly why she was angry. Was it his arrogant disregard for her feelings, or the shiver of excitement she felt under his heated gaze? If it was possible, she’d hitchhike back to Little Rock. That couldn’t be any more dangerous than close confinement with Logan for the next four hours.

“Okay, play it safe for now. I’ll try to be the little gentleman, but don’t be surprised if I suddenly make a grab for you. Even Bostonians have been known to crack under extreme pressure.” All signs of hurt and confusion were gone from Logan’s face. His slate-blue gaze was lovingly moving over her face and upper body. The sparkle of amusement was what made her uncomfortable, not the masculine appreciation in his look.

“Just pay the bill, Logan,” she muttered, tossing down her napkin and standing up. The rumble of raised voices could be heard from behind the closed kitchen door. Myrna’s voice was louder and more forceful than Milt’s. “I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes. I think I need to get a few pointers from Myrna on how to handle a man.”

Logan’s delighted laughter rang in her ears as she walked toward the restroom. Let him laugh now, she thought with a disgruntled sniff, but he wouldn’t find her so amusing when she got done helping with his cure. Slapping her hand against the restroom door, she began formulating just the right treatment for transforming a preppy android into a human being.

Chapter Seven

“Hmmmm.”

“Ah-hah.”

“Ooohhh.”

“Mmmmmm.”

Tory’s murmurings echoed around the interior of the gazebo, and Logan knew he wasn’t going to be able to stand it much longer. For two days he’d been on his best behavior, playing by Tory’s rules, but not for much longer. There was only so much a man could take.

Over breakfast Tory announced her brilliant idea on how to help him become more human for Preston. She was going to give him a quiz on his lifestyle. Like a fool he’d agreed. The dumbest moment in his life, except for confessing why he’d come to Arkansas.

“Ah, yes.”

Logan threw down his sandwich, kicked back his chair, and reached across the table to snatch the three pieces of paper that she was reading. This nonsense had gone far enough. Tory tried to grab the papers back, but he held them out of reach, his height and the round, metal table hampering her attempts.

“Watch it, you’re going to spill the ice tea,” Logan warned above the sound of rattling dishes, before steadying the pitcher with his free hand. His rescue didn’t stop him from keeping the papers out of her flailing hands.

Perhaps now that he had her attention he could break through the impersonal reserve she’d assumed since their return from Oklahoma. Her attitude was grating on his nerves more than anything else. She claimed she was going to be his friend, but he was tired of being treated like an inanimate object studied under a microscope. He almost wished she wasn’t speaking to him again—that showed some emotional involvement—instead of this impersonal niceness.

“Give it back, then. I haven’t finished checking your answers,” she complained. After another fruitless try, she sat down abruptly and folded her arms over her chest.

“You’ve been reading this rag for a half hour, hemming and hawing and smirking,” he shot back. With deliberate movements, he bent to pick up his chair and sat down slowly, keeping his eyes on Tory every second. “If I’d known you were a closet Sigmund Freud, I’d never have agreed to this. What is this? Bait-a-Yankee week? And to think I was beginning to enjoy my visit to Arkansas.”

“You’re just over sensitive about this. I was simply studying your answers for a thorough analysis.” She glared at him, thrusting out her lower lip.

Lord, she wants me to think of her as a friend, and all I want to do is kiss her,
Logan groaned to himself, focusing on the rounded curve of her pouting lip.
I’m furious with her, but I still want to make love to her.
Somehow, although she was dressed in a cotton T-shirt and jeans, he was struck again by the impression that she should be wearing lace and ribbons. “I am not over sensitive; I’m impatient and bad tempered. Didn’t your thorough analysis tell you that?”

“It’s nothing to brag about. What you need to do is learn how to relax,” she stated smugly. Dropping her militant pose, she reached for her chicken salad sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before she continued. “I think that might be the point Preston was trying to make in sending you here. A little rest and relaxation, you know. Learning to be a little more laid back.”

“I might consider wearing suspenders, nothing garish, but I draw the line at a cap. I don’t wear hats.” Yes, things were progressing fairly well, he decided. Tory’s face was flushed and her eyes gleaming with life again. She was starting to forget her mannequin-like pose in the heat of discussion.

“What are you talking about?” Tory’s forehead creased slightly as she frowned in confusion.

“When you said laid back, T.L. rocking on the back porch immediately came to mind. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a full-fledged southerner,” Logan returned, giving her a doleful smile. “I’d never be able to hold my head up at the club.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything that drastic, so you can preserve your image. But you do need to adjust your thinking a little.” She pushed her plate to the center of the table and leaned her elbows on the table. Cupping her chin in her palms, she studied him for a minute. “That list you have in a death grip was very revealing.”

Logan looked down in surprise at the papers that were still clutched in his fist. He laid them on the table, pressing out the wrinkles with the palm of his hand. The action kept him from thinking about Tory’s cleavage, suddenly more prominent at the top of her scoop-necked T-shirt as she leaned forward. He had to keep his mind on the business at hand, not on remembering how Tory looked without a stitch of clothing, or how the satin texture of her skin felt under his hand. His dreams had been haunted by her for two nights, and the smell of jasmine perfume was driving him nuts.

Clearing his throat unnecessarily, he asked, “Just what did you discover, Dr. Freud?”

“Cute, Logan. You don’t do anything for fun. Every activity is work oriented, either at the office or at social functions. You spend more than forty hours a week at the office,” she explained, starting to count off the activities on her fingers. “You go to the theater or the opera, but it’s for fund-raising projects. Every dinner you’ve listed is with your mother or uncle with his wife along, again for H.P.G. functions or charity. Your dates seem to be business associates or relatives of business associates. The only recreational activity seems to be your health club. And you’re worried about holding your head up there?”

“That’s crazy,” he shot back, ignoring her caustic jibe. When Tory simply raised her eyebrows and pointed to the list, he was forced to pick up the rumpled papers. He looked at his answers from her point of view. Galling as it might be, he had to admit she was right. How had his life become so dull?

“Okay, let’s take another tack,” Tory announced after a few minutes. “If you were in an elevator with three other people, a man and two women, what would you do when the doors opened?”

“Is this one of those trick questions? You’re not going to ask me about the color of a bear passing the window, or who lies in the house next door to Mr. Green, are you?”

“Pardon?” Tory gave him a quizzical look, then seemed to understand his question. “Oh, those silly logic problems. No, this is just idle curiosity from my experiences visiting the North.”

Logan stood up and began pacing in the small space allowed by the octagon structure. This was something important to Tory, so he had to be careful with his answer. She had the strangest thought pattern of any woman he’d ever encountered. Others had questioned him about when the Herrington family settled in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, or the exact net worth of H.P.G. in round figures. The elevator question was definitely a new approach, or was it?

“Well, I’d get out of the elevator, if it was on the floor I wanted,” he finally managed, almost making it sound like a question.

“Uh-huh.” Tory nodded slowly, seeming to analyze this bit of trivia the same way she had his list of answers. “Okay, if you saw that a person had a flat tire near you in a parking lot, what would you do?”

“Feel sorry for them I suppose,” he answered, still hesitant. He couldn’t figure out where she was heading, but he wasn’t about to admit he’d never changed a tire in his life and wouldn’t know what to do if he had such a problem.

“Uh-huh.” The little furrows in Tory’s forehead deepened as the corners of her mobile mouth dipped downward.

“Is there a reason behind all this?” Logan felt compelled to ask at this negative omen. The conversation was completely out of control. He wasn’t used to being the one ill at ease. He was accustomed to having the upper hand, being in control.

“I was curious about the difference in attitudes between your environment and mine.” She gave a careless shrug that made him feel more restless, and he continued his pacing.

“I get the impression that you weren’t suitably impressed,” he remarked, trying to appear nonchalant. This obsession she had about the difference between North and South didn’t bode well for furthering their relationship. He had to show her it was ridiculous.

Tory shrugged again, tilting her head to the side to watch his restless strides. “It’s nothing personal. I was simply testing a theory. Hardly anyone in the North seems to hold doors open anymore, as well as forgetting a few other niceties while they’re rushing around at hyper-speed. Everyone’s too preoccupied with their own business to take the time to remember common courtesy. Do you know that last week when I had a flat tire downtown, three men I’d never met before argued over who was going to change my tire for me?

“How nice.” He gave her what he thought was a noncommittal smile, but it had Tory looking at him strangely. He clenched his jaw, hoping she wouldn’t notice the telltale sign of his precarious control. No one questioned a Herrington’s upbringing, especially an opinionated young woman who went out of her way to find fault with anything that came from above the Mason-Dixon line. After all, his family was eating off crystal and china while her ancestors were probably still scouring the woods for beavers and raccoons as fashionable attire.

“Aren’t you being a little judgmental about someone you’ve known for a short time? I could make a few sweeping accusations about you, with the same limited knowledge,” he finally managed in a suppressed growl, wondering how one woman could make him experience desire and anger at the same time. He glared at her for good measure, standing at his full height with his hands on his hips.

“Such as?” Tory asked with a mixture of confidence and wariness in her expression that told Logan he’d finally shaken her out of her earlier mood. Schooling his features to maintain a placid expression, he continued, “You live rent free on your father’s property, drive a succession of borrowed classic cars, and seem to have plenty of spare time on your hands. What do you think I would assume from all that, Ms. Planchet?”