Carly Phillips - Simply Scandalous

Soft hands reached for his collar. Logan let her slip the jacket off his shoulders. If she wanted to play Florence Nightingale, he’d let her. He wasn’t proud that he was taking advantage of her concern. But he doubted he’d have a better chance to catch her with her guard down.

She lowered herself to the floor, her back propped against the wall. “Sit.”

Logan sat beside her.

She turned and began working the sore muscles in his arm with her fingertips. The pressure felt so good he groaned in relief. “That feels great. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell me how we ended up like this. What made you think Emma was in here?” Catherine asked.

He leaned his head backward and focused on the rhythmic motion of her fingers pressing through his shirt and into his skin. “The cocktail waitress who said, ‘Your grandmother is waiting for you by the coat closet.’ Nothing unusual or sinister about that…” Her fingers pushed deep and eased off, caressed and massaged the sore muscle. “Unless you know my grandmother. Mmm. A little deeper.”

She complied. Those fingers worked magic and Logan found himself seduced…by her scent, her touch, by her.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much.” As close to perfect as he could get without lying naked beside her.

“Someone should come looking for us any minute,” she said.

“If you believe that you don’t know my grandmother.”

“Maybe, but there’re plenty of people out there who can handle something as simple as a broken doorknob. The cleaning crew will have no problem fixing the handle.”

“Assuming she asks them to or brings their attention to us, which is doubtful.” He rolled his head to the side and met her gaze. Desire shimmered in her eyes, just as it pummeled inside of him. “We’ve got time.”

“People might want drinks,” she said, but the protest sounded weak.

“Something tells me Emma’s handling things as we speak. Besides, the party was winding down, with the judge holding court, reminding them about the formal breakfast he’s holding in the morning.”

Logan knew this because he’d spent a ridiculous amount of time assuring his father he would not be at the affair, he would not meet with future supporters and he most certainly would not be at the press announcement next Saturday. He’d have preferred to be in the thick of the party watching Catherine. Instead he’d been beating his head against a brick wall, just as he had too often as a child.

And from the stubborn glint in the judge’s eye, he hadn’t accepted Logan’s words. Too bad. The older man couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned.

“You always call your father the judge?” she asked.

When he called him anything at all, Logan thought. “That’s what he is.”

“He’s also your father.”

“Who thinks he rules everyone the same way he does his courtroom.”

“And I always thought any father would be preferable to none at all.”

So, she had no father in her life. Some more insight. He stored the knowledge, sensing it was an important facet of Catherine’s nature, a way to breach her defenses.

“Not always. Don’t get me wrong, he’s been there for us…as long as we toe the line.” That was about to change. Edgar Montgomery might have put up with his son’s erratic behavior, as he called it, but only because he believed he’d gain what he wanted in the end. It wouldn’t happen this time, which just might cause the ultimate family rift.

“Who’s us?” Catherine asked.

“Me and my sister, Grace.”

“I have a sister, too. So tell me what it was like growing up here.” She made a grandiose gesture with one arm. Obviously here meant the Montgomery Estate.

As a general rule, Logan didn’t choose to remember his childhood. He’d already divulged more in this one conversation than he had in the past thirty-one years. Along with the memories came an attached fear he would end up as alone as his old man. No matter how many people his father invited into his home, no matter that his wife trailed his every move, the judge was like an island. He allowed people to get near but never close. Not even his children.

For Catherine, a woman who eyed him and his wealth with obvious suspicion, Logan would dig deep and be honest. “It was lonely,” he admitted.

“That’s sad.” Her hand curled around his and her head eased onto his shoulder.

Stunned, Logan glanced down at their inter twined hands. She’d reached out to him. With the simple truth he’d begun breaching her well-built defenses. Money and status didn’t impress her.

Honesty did. His respect for Catherine rose.

Pulling herself up to her knees, Catherine faced him, eyes wide, her expression curious. “How could you be lonely with so many people around?” she asked.

“Because no one bothered with us kids…except my grandmother.”

Her smile wrapped around his heart. “I like her.”

“So do I.” And he supposed he owed his grandmother for arranging this get-to-know-you session with Catherine, but he’d still give the old lady a blistering lecture for meddling in his life.

Not that it would do any good.

“So tell me how you met my grandmother,” he said.

“At a fund-raiser we catered in Boston. She wanted more hor d’oeuvres and snuck into the kitchen to get them.”

He burst out laughing. “That sounds like Emma.”

Catherine grinned. “I caught her and we started talking. Next thing I knew she’d hired me for the Garden Gala.”

He glanced at Catherine and realized he was extremely glad he’d come. “When she’s not meddling, my grandmother is one smart lady.”

“Because she locked us in here?”

“Because she obviously likes you…and so do I.” His gaze locked with hers. Sensual awareness pulsed thick around them.

He cupped his palms around her cheeks, bringing her within kissing distance…and waited. One hint of refusal and he’d let her go. She shook her head and disappointment welled inside him.

He lowered his hands. Her sudden grip on his wrists stopped him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t kiss you or don’t pull away? Because I don’t play games, Cat. I want you and I know you want me.” The sudden hitch in her breathing proved him right.

“What I want and what’s good for me are two different things,” she whispered.

His mouth brushed hers, deliberately light and excruciatingly slow. He simply tasted her without pushing for more. Her fingers curled into his wrists and a purr escaped her lips. Cat, he thought, recalling his grandmother’s use of the endearment, had just earned her nickname.

His restraint was rewarded. She never broke the kiss or the momentum building between them. With this woman only patience would get him what he desired and he believed she was worth it.

Catherine let sensation take over. Logan’s lips were firm, his touch gentle. His scent enticed her and his kiss held checked passion and a respect she’d rarely felt from a man. Beneath the gentleness was a longing she felt, too. As a ribbon of desire coiled tight in her belly, the need to be with him overwhelmed her.

Without warning, the clatter of metal startled her and she jumped back, breaking their passionate kiss. One that never should have happened. She burrowed into his white shirt, unwilling to face him just yet.

“Sounds like we’re being rescued,” he said.

“Sounds like.” She forced herself to move. Ignoring the steady pounding of her heart, she stood, refusing to meet his gaze. She’d lost her head, succumbed to desire and Lord only knew what would have happened if they hadn’t been rescued.

She started for the door but his light touch on her back stopped her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Cat.”