Tall, Dark & Gorgeous: To Marry McKenzie

CHAPTER SIX

LOGAN felt like a murderer returning to the scene of the crime!

Not that Chef Simon, with its warm decor, wonderful smells of cooking food, and efficiently friendly staff, was anything like a scene of carnage and destruction. Logan just felt, as he walked through the restaurant doorway, as if he were entering an arena!

Although, admittedly, it was an arena of his own making!

He had no doubt that Darcy really did hate his guts after their telephone conversation earlier. But he had been the way that he had for a reason.

Except he hadn’t been able to resist coming here this evening, if only to see if Darcy had been reunited with her father. Which had, after all—although she would never see it that way—been the purpose of his telephone call to her earlier…

‘Good evening, Mr McKenzie,’ the maître d’ greeted him warmly. ‘How nice to see you again.’

Coming here to eat twice in one week probably did seem a little excessive, Logan accepted, but his curiosity, he inwardly admitted, had got the better of him.

‘James,’ he said with a nod, after reading the name on the man’s lapel. ‘My secretary telephoned earlier and booked a table for me. For one,’ he added dryly; this eating alone was becoming a habit!

‘She certainly did,’ the maître d’ assured him. ‘The same table as before, if that’s okay with you?’

Why not? He was no more in the mood for company this evening than he had been three days ago!

‘Fine.’ He smiled. ‘And I’ll endeavour to get through the whole evening this time, too,’ he quipped.

The other man waved away his words of apology. ‘Your cousin explained that you had been called away unexpectedly.’

Thank you, Fergus, Logan thought to himself.

‘Is Darcy—Miss Simon in this evening?’ he casually asked the maître d’ once he was seated, a menu placed in front of him.

For a brief moment, the other man’s cheerful efficiency deserted him, but it was quickly brought under control, although his smile, when it came, still seemed to Logan to be slightly strained. ‘She certainly is, Mr McKenzie,’ he confirmed. ‘Would you like me to tell her—?’

‘No! Er—no,’ Logan repeated less harshly. ‘I merely wondered if she was here tonight, that’s all. Thank you,’ he added dismissively.

Darcy was here! Hopefully, everything was all right with her world again.

‘Can I get you something to drink, Mr McKenzie?’ the maître d’ offered politely.

‘Whisky,’ he accepted tersely.

‘Water and ice?’

Why didn’t the man just go away and leave him alone? Logan complained inwardly.

Because now that he was here, seated at this table, he had realised his tactical error!

He could have telephoned and ascertained whether or not Darcy was here this evening; he hadn’t had to subject himself to eating here alone…! To eating here at all!

Not that the food wasn’t excellent; he just had to get through the whole evening now, with Darcy only feet away in the kitchen, knowing that she wouldn’t even give him the time of day if she knew he was in the restaurant. It was not a feeling Logan was familiar with. In the past, he had always been the one to sever any relationship with a woman he had been involved with.

Except he hadn’t been involved with Darcy. Not in that sense, anyway…

So what was he doing here? Damned if he knew!

‘No water or ice,’ he answered the maître d’.

This time Logan made sure he knew exactly what he was ordering: a fish starter, and a steak main course!

He had no doubts, when it arrived, that it was delicious too; he just didn’t taste a mouthful of it! So conscious was he of Darcy working in the kitchen only a short distance away, that every time the kitchen door swung open he couldn’t stop himself casting a furtive glance in that direction.

This was ridiculous!

Why should he feel so uncomfortable? He hadn’t done anything other than tell Darcy what was, after all, the truth. Besides, if she was back working here, she had obviously made amends with her father. She should be thanking him!

Except Logan knew that she wasn’t, that she thought him an unfeeling, selfish brute. Or words to that effect. Why was it, he wondered ruefully, that the person in the middle of a situation, once things had calmed down slightly, always ended up as the target for both sides? Because his mother was no more enamoured of him at the moment than Darcy obviously was. She—

‘What are you doing here?’

So intent had he been on his own thoughts—the penalty for eating alone?—that Logan hadn’t even noticed that Darcy had actually come out of the kitchen, that she had been moving from table to table chatting politely with the diners.

Until, that is, she had obviously spotted him sitting alone at the window table!

Logan placed his knife and fork down on his plate before looking up at her. ‘It isn’t quite what I had in mind when I invited you out to dinner, but it will have to do,’ he admitted.

She was wearing the restaurant uniform of a cream blouse, teamed with a black skirt, her hair once more secured at her nape, her face flushed from her exertions in the kitchen.

Or was it anger at seeing him here?

Probably, he acknowledged self-derisively. Well, if she was surprised to see him here, he had been thrown a little himself by having her suddenly appearing beside his table in this way!

‘I hope you aren’t about to make another scene in your father’s restaurant, Darcy,’ he taunted mockingly at her continued silence. ‘Two in one week just isn’t on, you know,’ he went on. ‘People will start coming here for the “cabaret” rather than the food if that’s the case!’ He looked up at her with assessing blue eyes.

She drew in a sharp breath, seeming to be having difficulty keeping her temper in check.

But obviously also knowing Logan was right about her not making a scene…!

‘No, I’m not about to make a scene,’ she finally replied. ‘I merely asked what you’re doing here,’ she repeated in measured tones—although her eyes told a different story, flashing that dangerous silver colour.

‘I would imagine the same as everyone else,’ he said casually, looking about them pointedly to the tables full of chattering diners. ‘Eating!’

Her hands clenched at her sides. ‘But why here?’ she demanded. ‘Or did you simply come to gloat?’

‘Smile, Darcy,’ he advised softly. ‘People are beginning to stare.’

‘Let them,’ she dismissed hardly. ‘Contrary to what you and my father both seem to think, I am not a Cheshire cat who smiles on demand!’

Logan looked at her consideringly. ‘I would have said, with that copper-coloured hair, that you resemble a fox rather than a cat—Cheshire, or any other kind!’

‘Logan—’

‘Well, that’s promising, at least,’ he drawled. ‘I was expecting you to call me something much worse than my first name,’ he explained as she frowned questioningly.

And it was promising. After the way their telephone conversation had ended earlier, he had winced at some of the things she might say to him when—or if—they ever met again. Logan was pretty okay in those circumstances!

‘Do you have a few minutes?’ he requested mildly. ‘I thought you might like to join me for a glass of wine,’ he explained as her sceptical expression deepened.

‘Join you—!’ She looked ready to explode, bringing her temper back under control with effort. ‘Logan,’ she finally said evenly, ‘if I pick up a glass of wine I am more likely to tip the contents over your head than I am to drink it!’

This was more like the Darcy he knew and—And what? Logan had no idea what. But he did know his evening had suddenly taken on a sparkle, the very air about them seeming to zing with life. One thing he had found about Darcy: she had never bored him.

Which was extraordinary in itself, because in all of his relationships with women so far, intimate or otherwise, he had invariably found himself bored within a few meetings…

‘That would be a waste of a good Borolo.’ He picked up his glass and toasted her with it before taking a sip of wine. ‘This really is an excellent wine—are you sure you wouldn’t like to join me for a glass?’ He quirked dark brows.

‘Absolutely positive,’ Darcy assured him between clenched teeth. ‘I have to get back to the kitchen. Thanks to you, and your mother, I am absolutely rushed off my feet this evening!’ she muttered grimly.

‘Well, I can see that the restaurant is busy,’ he murmured with a glance round at the full tables. ‘But surely that’s what you want, isn’t it? I don’t see how my mother or I are involved?’

‘Really?’ The sarcasm unmistakable in her tone, Darcy pulled out a chair to sit opposite him at the table. ‘Then I’ll explain shall I?’ She leaned forward, silver gaze steady on his face. ‘You obviously advised your mother that she was making a mistake in marrying my father—’

‘I—’

‘If you will kindly let me finish?’ Darcy carefully enunciated each word.

Perhaps he had better; she looked ready to explode. Teasing apart, he really didn’t advise another scene in the restaurant so soon after the last one!

‘Thank you,’ she accepted scathingly at his nod of agreement. ‘On your advice, your mother broke her engagement to my father. My father, in the meantime, has decided that he needs a complete break away from everything. Your mother. Me. The restaurant. Everything,’ she repeated emotionally. ‘And so—’

‘Are you telling me that your father isn’t in the kitchen?’ Logan cut in softly.

‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you.’ Darcy nodded firmly.

‘Then who—?’ Logan shook his head, his gaze narrowed. ‘Are you also saying you’re the one that has been producing all the meals this evening?’

She seemed to bristle at his tone, sitting up straighter in her chair. ‘Was there something wrong with your meal?’

‘No, not in the least,’ he assured her a little amazedly.

In fact, the food had been excellent. He just hadn’t real-ised that Darcy could cook like that, thought when she’d said she helped her father out in the kitchen that she probably peeled the vegetables or something. Although perhaps—he dared a glance at Darcy’s set features!—he hadn’t better actually say that…

The fact that Daniel Simon wasn’t actually in the kitchen this evening also explained the maître d’s behaviour earlier. Clearly, although James and the rest of the staff were doing their best to make it appear otherwise—and succeeding too, Logan allowed—all was not right in the Chef Simon kitchen this evening!

‘I did tell you I had trained as a cook,’ Darcy reminded him stiltedly.

Yes, she had, but he had still thought—‘You’re very good,’ he complimented. ‘I had no idea it wasn’t your father in the kitchen producing this mouth-watering food.’ His scallops had been wonderful, his steak succulent enough to melt in his mouth.

‘That’s probably because he helped train me,’ she explained tersely.

‘He did a good job,’ Logan said distractedly. ‘But where is he now?’

Darcy sat back, eyes having suddenly darkened to smoky grey, her mouth trembling slightly as she spoke. ‘I have no idea,’ she told him shakily. ‘He didn’t tell me. And I didn’t like to ask.’

Logan stared at her. Twice he opened his mouth to speak. And twice he closed it again, without having uttered a word.

Another thing that was unusual about Darcy—she had the power to render him speechless!

Why didn’t Logan say something? Anything!

The shock of seeing Logan in the restaurant this evening had quickly been superseded by a desire to tell him—again!—exactly what she thought of him, and what he had done to her family, such as it was. Well, she had done that. Only to have Logan simply stare across at her with those enigmatic blue eyes.

This had been the most awful day. That earlier telephone conversation with Logan. Going to see her father. Only to have him tell her that he just had to get away for a few days, and would she take over the cooking at the restaurant while he was away. In the circumstances, what else could she have said to the latter but yes?

Although she had tried to talk to her father about the situation, sure that going away at this time would solve nothing. But he’d remained adamant that was what he was going to do, and nothing Darcy could say would persuade him otherwise.

And so she had agreed, in his absence, to take over the restaurant. But that didn’t mean she was at all happy about this situation.

Or the part Logan McKenzie had played in it!

‘Well, why don’t you say something?’ she finally snapped, the tension becoming unbearable.

Logan grimaced. ‘I’m not sure I know what to say.’

‘That must be a first!’ she scorned.

He looked at her reprovingly. ‘Insulting me isn’t going to help this situation, Darcy,’ he admonished.

‘Perhaps not—but it makes me feel better!’ she told him forcefully.

‘I don’t doubt that. But it isn’t going to bring your father back. From wherever it is he’s gone to lick his wounds.’

‘Wounds that your mother inflicted on him!’ Darcy accused defensively, her cheeks flushed fiery-red now. ‘She’s the first woman he’s really looked at since my mother died, and she’s just thrown his love back in his face as if it meant nothing to her!’

Logan gave her a considering look. ‘Shouldn’t you have thought of that before you threw your ultimatum at him?’

‘I didn’t—’

‘Giving up your job with him here, moving out of the family home, isn’t issuing him with an ultimatum: her or me?’ Logan reasoned softly.

The flush in her cheeks faded until they were deathly white, her eyes, a dark smoky grey, the only colour left in her face. ‘I merely—merely—’ She broke off, her bottom lip trembling so badly she couldn’t speak any more. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she muttered, before getting up and making her way blindly back to the kitchen, relieved when she heard the door swing shut behind her, tears falling hotly down her cheeks now, waving away the concerned gestures of the other staff working in the kitchen.

But she didn’t feel quite so relieved when she felt strong arms move about her, pulling her in to the hardness of what she easily recognised as Logan’s chest. He had followed her!

‘This is becoming too much of a habit,’ he said ruefully a few seconds later as a white handkerchief appeared in front of her face.

Darcy took the handkerchief, her sobs subsiding as she mopped up the tears.

She had tried all evening not to think about her father, and the reason he had gone away, but when Logan had spoken of it just now she had known he was right. Her father hadn’t just gone away to escape from his heartbreak at his broken engagement, he had gone away to get away from her too!

And she had taken the easy option and turned her anger at herself round on Logan…

Okay, so he wasn’t exactly in favour of the marriage, either, but Darcy doubted very much that he was in a position to order his mother to break her engagement to Darcy’s father. No, Margaret Fraser had made that decision all on her own. Much as she hated to admit it, Darcy’s aversion to the marriage might just have had something to do with that decision…

‘Darcy—Oops!’ One of the waitresses stood awkwardly just inside the kitchen, grimacing slightly as she saw Darcy in Logan’s arms, and the way the kitchen staff studiously avoided looking at them. ‘I’m sorry for interrupting,’ the girl said uncomfortably. ‘Table number ten liked your creamed spinach so much they wondered if they could have some more,’ she explained.

Logan glared across the room at the poor girl. ‘Tell table number ten that—’

‘No, it’s all right, Logan,’ Darcy interrupted his angry reply, pulling out of his arms to turn and smile at the waitress. ‘Give me a couple of minutes, okay?’ she encouraged before turning back to Logan. ‘I really do have to get on with this now. I—’

‘I’ll go back and finish my meal,’ Logan told her. ‘Then I’ll wait and take you home afterwards,’ he stated determinedly.

She had to admit, she didn’t exactly relish returning to her father’s empty house, having moved back there earlier this evening, deciding it would be fairer to her grandmother, now that she was to take over at the restaurant, if she wasn’t arriving back at all hours of the day and night. But the alternative of having Logan accompany her home wasn’t exactly appealing either!

‘This isn’t a subject for negotiation, Darcy,’ he told her firmly as he obviously saw the doubt in her expression. ‘We still have things we need to talk about.’

She hadn’t intended negotiating; she had been going to say a very firm no thank you to his suggestion. But one look at his determinedly set features and she knew she would be wasting her time. And time wasn’t something she had to waste this evening!

She nodded. ‘I should be finished here by about twelve-thirty.’

‘Fine,’ he accepted briskly before turning on his heel and returning to the main restaurant.

Darcy drew in a deep breath before turning to smile at the four members of staff who helped out in the kitchen each evening. ‘The show’s over, folks,’ she told them. ‘And we have a restaurant to run,’ she added.

But she couldn’t exactly say her mind was on what she was doing for the rest of the evening, conscious of the fact that Logan was waiting to take her home. Her concentration wasn’t helped by the fact that, at eleven o’clock, Logan, his meal obviously over, came through to the kitchen, making himself comfortable on a stool at the back of the room.

Everyone else working in the kitchen had already gone home for the evening by this time, Darcy just dealing with late desserts, doing most of the clearing away herself too.

Logan didn’t say a word, but Darcy was conscious the whole time of his brooding presence at the back of the room.

‘I shouldn’t be much longer,’ she told him awkwardly, just after midnight, the last customers gone from the restaurant now, most of the staff too, just the night’s takings to deal with.

‘Take your time,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Except back to her home with her! To talk, he’d said. But what else did they have to say to each other? She was coming to accept they weren’t exactly on different sides in this situation—but they certainly weren’t on the same side, either!

Much as she wished she didn’t, she still remembered the way he had kissed her three days ago.

More to the point, she remembered the way she had kissed him, too!

CHAPTER SEVEN

LOGAN remained deliberately silent during the drive to Darcy’s home, appreciating the fact that she was tired from her hectic evening’s work. He also didn’t like the fact that she looked so exhausted. In fact, he felt more than a little angry towards her father for leaving her in the lurch in this way. It was his restaurant; he had no right just going off like this and leaving everything to Darcy!

‘Can I get you a coffee?’ she offered once they had reached her home, switching on the lights as she led the way to the kitchen at the back of the house.

‘No, you can’t,’ Logan answered decisively. ‘You can sit there—’ he suited his actions to his words, gently pushing her down into one of the pine kitchen chairs that stood around the table ‘—while I make you a cup of coffee. You’ve waited on people enough already this evening,’ he told her as he began to search through the cupboards for the makings of the coffee. ‘I had no idea there was so much hard work involved in running a restaurant,’ he admitted, as he put the kettle on to boil.

Darcy gave a strained smile. ‘Normally there would be two chefs in the kitchen each evening, but it was David’s—the other chef—night off, and—’

‘With your father’s disappearing trick, you were left to carry the whole load,’ Logan finished for her.

‘Actually, I was going to say—and I didn’t feel it was fair to David to ask him to come in and do an extra evening,’ Darcy corrected.

‘I don’t think it fair of your father to just go away and leave everything to you like this, either,’ Logan told her crossly. ‘It’s a broken engagement, not the end of the world!’ He placed a steaming coffee in front of Darcy before sitting down at the table himself to sip at his own cup.

She looked across at him consideringly for several long seconds. ‘Have you ever been in love, Logan?’

He sat back, unable to hide his surprise at the intimacy of her question. No one had ever asked him a question as personal as this before, not even Fergus and Brice, and goodness knew, they were as close to him as two brothers!

‘Have you?’ he finally came back defensively.