Southern Hospitality (17 page)

“You definitely need to meet Babs to restore your faith in the institution of marriage,” he commented, taking her arm and leading her toward the cottage. “She’s a photojournalist. Now, she did change her assignments after she got married, so she didn’t end up in Europe when my uncle was assigned to a story in the Philippines. Of course, she only freelances now that Uncle Pres is back in the States for good.”

“That makes sense. You do have to compromise in a relationship, but one person doesn’t have to make all the sacrifices,” Tory decided. Suddenly she stopped on the path to her cottage, realizing where she was. She looked up at Logan in confusion, her face clear in the moonlight. “What are you doing?”

“Walking you home like the courteous gentleman that I am,” he explained, wondering why he hadn’t just gone in the house. The minute he touched her, even an impersonal hand under her elbow, and his hormones started raging out of control. He hadn’t wanted the evening to end just yet, reluctant to break off their conversation.

Now he knew it was a bad idea. The soft breeze coming from the river, a full moon, and not a soul in sight intensified his desire to hold Tory in his arms. There was something intrinsically feminine in the way she moved, no matter what she wore. The simple blouse and skirt she wore clung to her rounded figure, weakening his defenses without any overt signal from Tory.

“Why does it make me nervous that you’re adapting to the southern way so easily?” Tory asked the question reluctantly, unwilling to break the accord between them. But she had to know if he was just playing a game.

“Do I make you nervous? You don’t like it that a Yankee can be adaptable?” Although she couldn’t read his expression, his predatory grin taunted her.

She closed her eyes for a minute, letting his husky voice wash over her. When she opened her eyes, he seemed to be standing closer. “I don’t think I trust you, Logan.”

“Maybe you don’t trust yourself,” he replied, his voice soft and seductive, daring her to deny his statement.

It wasn’t her imagination—the space between them had diminished to less than an inch. Tory began walking backward, one cautious step at a time. Her retreat did little good since Logan matched her step for step, his hand trailing down her arm to clasp her hand.

“Logan, let’s not complicate this anymore than necessary. I’m not going to become involved in an affair that will end when you return to Boston.” Her voice trailed off and the tentative smile with which she tried to lighten the sudden tension in the air faded when Logan moved toward her again. “We need to keep this at the friendship level, plain and simple.”

“Sweetheart, nothing has been simple from the moment I saw you at the airport,” he stated in a low drawl at the same moment Tory’s foot slipped on the flagstones. Logan was more than willing to help her regain her balance, raising his hands to grasp her slender shoulders.

Tory didn’t believe the fission of excitement that raced up her arms the moment her hands made contact with Logan’s chest. After a week of resisting the need to touch him, all she wanted to do for a wild, impulsive moment was melt into the warm shelter of his arms. She wanted to lean forward and press her lips against his chest at his open collar. Involuntarily, she slipped her fingers toward the open triangle, moving her palm against the hair roughened skin, giving into her need for a single, mad moment.

When Logan murmured his approval deep in his throat, she raised her startled eyes to his face. She was lost. His eyes gleamed in the darkness for a brief second before he lowered his mouth to claim her innocently offered lips. If he’d been demanding or rough, she might have pulled away, but he gently nipped at the corners of her mouth With each small nibble her level of arousal increased, making her impatient for him to kiss her fully, deeply, but he continued to torment her.

She had the feeling he was tasting her. The intriguing thought made her open her eyes. Logan was watching her as well. Tory hadn’t experienced anything like this before. He almost seemed to be daring her to take the initiative. She was aware of her hands sliding over the contours of his chest, although she didn’t remember her desire clouded brain making the decision.

As she tangled her fingers in his thick brown hair, Logan finally gave her what she’d been longing for. His mouth slanted over hers, and she parted her lips, willingly accepting the thrust of his tongue. She moved against his lean body to lessen the aching warmth that was beginning to kindle low in her body. The touch of Logan’s hand skimmed a trail of fire down her back before he cupped her buttocks, pulling her against his taut desire.

Knowing she was out of control, she was helpless to stop the waves of pure feeling that sapped her resistance. Aware he was dangerous, the pleasure of rubbing her swollen breasts against the hard wall of Logan’s chest made her forget any need to escape. She wanted to cry out when he broke the kiss, until his mouth trailed across her cheek to the overly sensitized skin below her ear. He was finding pleasure points that she never knew existed before he came into her life.

“Oh, sweetheart, we’re so good together,” he breathed into her ear, the words skating down her spine. “I want you, Tory. I want to feel you moving under me again, making those little sounds deep in your throat just before you cry out my name. We’re so good together.

“Tell me again that you only want to be my friend, sweetheart. Tell me that you won’t be in my bed again before I go back to Boston.”

She wanted him to stop talking. With each word, sanity began to take hold once more, and she became more and more concerned about the danger of what she was doing. Logan shifted slightly, his hands moving between their bodies, his index finger stroking over her collarbone. She liked the sensation on one level of her mind and on another level an alarm was going off, telling her to break away before it was too late.

The heated touch of his hand against her breast caused her to stiffen, suddenly aware of what was happening, what she was allowing to happen without protest. Fear at how vulnerable she was overruled the sensations of desire that had been blinding her to what she was doing.

“Logan, stop. We can’t do this.” Her voice was unsteady, but it strengthened her resolve. She wasn’t going to be a convenient diversion for him during his sojourn to the South. The pain when he left would be too great.

“Tory, what are you saying?” His words were husky with desire. Raising his head, he looked directly into her eyes, his hand poised at the upper swell of her breast.

“We have to stop. Neither one of us is thinking straight. We have nothing in common except a physical attraction.” She gained strength as she explained her reasoning, knowing she’d never admit that she’d been so lost in his embrace she hadn’t remembered why he was there. All that had mattered was the touch of his hands and the taste of his lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with physical attraction. We’re both sane, reasonable adults who know how to handle a relationship. You can’t tell me you don’t want me.”

She flinched at the edge in his voice. Before any softer emotions could overcome her rational mind again, she reached up to pull his hands away from her body. It was still too tempting to give in.

“Tory, we haven’t finished this,” he warned, but he stepped back, allowing her the freedom to move away.

“All I can say is I’m sorry for letting this get out of hand,” she returned, part of her wanting to reach out and comfort him, the other part wanting to run as fast and as far as she could. “I want to be your friend, Logan, that’s all.”

His harsh laugh sent a shiver of apprehension through her. What had she done by surrendering to her emotions?

“There’ll be another time and place, Tory, but not with the same result,” he promised. His back was rigid as he turned to walk back to the house. “We are going to be lovers again.”

All feelings of compassion flew out of her head at the authoritative statement. Now she knew what had brought her to her senses. It had been the underlying arrogance in Logan’s whispered words. She bristled at his conceit. There wasn’t a man on this earth who was going to order her around, telling her that she should be his lover no matter what she might have to say about it.

“Let this be your next lesson in southern etiquette,” she called after his retreating figure. “Try asking instead of demanding.”

She spun on her heels before he could answer, almost afraid he would before she could make her escape. The few steps to the cottage seemed to be endless. With each step she was aware of the man watching her from the end of the walkway. She knew without turning that he’d stopped and was waiting for her to reach the front door.

Logan watched until Tory disappeared inside the cottage. Only then did he slump down on the bench at the end of the walk. He’d never felt as alone in his entire life as he did at this moment. He couldn’t be in more pain if she’d slapped him. What he didn’t understand was why.

He’d felt desire for other women and been told no at times in the past. Tonight, however, he felt physically and emotionally drained. Why was Tory Planchet getting under his skin like this? Had he been hoping his good behavior would win him a reward? Why did his impassioned words to her sound so hollow? The thought of returning to Boston was losing its appeal. Three months in Arkansas wasn’t going to be long enough for him.

Suddenly he was too tired to deal with all the confusing thoughts that were chasing around in his brain. He would do things her way for now, taking it slow and easy. They would play a waiting game. But all the while she was teaching him her brand of living, he would know one important fact: Tory Planchet would be in his bed again.

Chapter Eight

“So, how’s everything going with your gorgeous houseguest?” Abby Bush asked Tory from across the kitchen as she smoothed plastic wrap over a tray of shrimp puffs. They’d been working for four hours on the preparations for the Ferguson party and were almost done.

The question broke through Tory’s concentration while she pressed the last cream-cheese rosette for the border around the salmon mousse. The jelled creation was now circled by a garland of rosettes that ended in a gigantic blob. Tory summed up the final product in one succinct word.

“Oh, not so good I see,” Abby commented, crossing the room and peering over Tory’s shoulder to inspect the damage.

“This party is going to be a disaster, I just know it. Nothing is going right today,” Tory announced before tossing the cheese press in the mixing bowl and leaning back against the counter. A tendril of hair fell over her forehead, but with cheesy fingers she could only push at it with the back of her wrist. “So far, we’ve broken three of our best wine glasses, dumped a quart of fresh strawberries on the floor, and now we have a salmon with a goiter. With such an auspicious start, I don’t think things are going to improve.”

“Relax, for heaven’s sake. You weren’t this nervous for your first catering job. We’ve just had a few minor setbacks,” the blond corrected, then pitched a towel across the counter that Tory easily caught. “You’ve been saying we needed to replace the glasses, most of the strawberries were salvageable, and a spatula will give the salmon a face-lift.”

“Do you have to be so agreeable? I was the one who broke the glasses, dumped the strawberries, and trashed the salmon.” Tory gave a disgusted sigh and draped the dish towel over her shoulder. With another sigh, she pushed herself up to sit on the counter. “Let’s take a break before I destroy anything else.”

“Does this mean we get to eat the pecan tart remnants? Huh, huh, can we, Mom, can we, please?”

Tory couldn’t keep from smiling at the tall blond down on her knees with her hands clasped in front of her, a pleading look on her oval face. “How many tarts did you break on purpose when you took them out of the tins?”

“You’re accusing me of sabotaging the dessert? I’m crushed,” the other woman protested as she jumped to her feet. She skipped over to the table and picked up the plate with the tart fragments. Looking back over her shoulder, she confessed, “Only two or three, maybe four. You want ice tea or milk with these?”

“Ice tea, fool.”

Tory leaned her head back against the cabinet while the other woman rummaged in the refrigerator, knowing Abby was kidding about the vandalism. She was even more meticulous about waste than Tory.

“Mmmmm, are we fantastic cooks, or what?” Abby exclaimed a few minutes later, munching on a piece of pecan tart. When Tory didn’t answer, she continued, “It’s really nice of Arnette to loan us her kitchen during the transition, but I can’t wait to get back into the old routine. There’s something unsettling about working in a strange kitchen.”

“Nice try, but that isn’t why I’ve suddenly turned into a klutzy cook,” Tory said dryly, licking the last crumb from her lips. “Not only will we be entertaining the cream of the Little Rock banking community tonight, we’ll be under the scrutiny of—What was it you called him? My gorgeous houseguest?”

“Logan is coming tonight?” Although Abby tried to keep her voice level, her raised eyebrows and rounded brown eyes gave away her curiosity. “Don’t tell me he won’t let you out of his sight? I thought Gary was the only one with an inferiority complex.”

“Logan seems to be intrigued by a ride on the
Spirit.
But what’s this about Gary? Since when does one of the brightest lawyers in the attorney general’s office have an inferiority complex?” She must have misunderstood Abby. Gary Bush was extremely outgoing, and possessed enough self-confidence for a half dozen people.