To Marry Mckenzie. Кэрол Мортимер

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      The outside catering company of Chef Simon had been taking care of the occasional business lunches Logan had in his boardroom for over a year now, and Logan had always found the other man reasonable to deal with. Although he hadn’t seen this young girl before, so perhaps she was new, and feared losing her job because of those breakages…?

      ‘You could always tell Chef Simon that I broke them,’ he attempted to cajole; weeping women were not his forte!

      Well…not when they were weeping because they were worried or upset, he acknowledged ruefully as he remembered that last meeting with Gloria a couple of weeks ago. The frown deepened on his brow as he recalled the tears she had cried, tears of anger and frustration because he had told her their year-long relationship was over. She had even thrown a vase of flowers at him when he’d refused to change his mind, Logan remembered with distaste.

      ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that,’ the girl instantly refused. ‘Then he would put it on your bill, and that wouldn’t be fair at all.’ She shook her head.

      Fair… It wasn’t a word Logan heard too often, either in business or his personal life. Besides, the cost of a couple of glasses would hardly bankrupt his multimillion-pound, multifaceted company…

      The girl reached up to wipe away the tears staining her face, inadvertently smearing blood over her cheeks instead. ‘Oh, damn,’ she muttered frustratedly as she realised what she had done, searching unsuccessfully in the pockets of her trousers for a tissue.

      ‘You like that word, don’t you?’ Logan murmured, his head tilted as he looked at her properly for the first time.

      She was a tiny little thing, barely reaching up to his shoulders, black trousers and a cream blouse emphasising the slenderness of her body, that shoulder-length bright red hair framing a face that, at first glance, seemed to be covered in freckles. On second glance, he saw the freckles only covered her cheeks and nose; her grey eyes were framed by thick dark lashes, her mouth wide, although unsmiling at the moment, her chin pointed determinedly.

      Not exactly—

      Where had that smile come from? Logan wondered dazedly as he found himself instantly reassessing the opinion he had just formed of this girl’s looks being unremarkable. When she smiled, as she was doing now, those grey eyes became darkly luminous, dimples appeared in the slightly rounded cheeks, her teeth shone white and even in a softly alluring mouth.

      Logan stared at her uncomprehendingly; he felt as if he had just had all the breath knocked out of his body!

      ‘It’s better than a lot of the alternatives,’ she acknowledged. ‘And, while I appreciate your offer concerning the glasses…’ the girl continued to smile, appearing to have no idea of the effect she had just had on him ‘…as you said, it’s not worth getting upset about,’ she dismissed with a shrug.

      ‘Then whatever were you crying about?’ Logan rasped, angry with himself—and her!—for his unprecedented reaction just now.

      The smile faded—and so did Logan’s confusion. He shook his head. The girl was plain, for goodness’ sake; just a load of freckles and smoky grey eyes!

      ‘Well?’ he snapped impatiently.

      She was looking up at him reproachfully with those wide grey eyes now. ‘I—I—I’ve cut myself!’ She held up the damaged finger.

      Logan scowled down at it. ‘It appears to have stopped bleeding.’ Which it had. ‘And it doesn’t look too serious.’ Which it didn’t.

      And, he decided irritably, he had already wasted enough of his afternoon on this situation—whatever it might be!

      ‘I’ll have my secretary bring through a plaster,’ he bit out abruptly. ‘In the meantime, I would suggest you give that finger a wash. And your face,’ he added with an impatient glance at her bloodstained cheek.

      She put a hand up self-consciously to her cheek. ‘I said I’m sorry for disturbing you.’ She frowned, looking on the verge of tears once again.

      She could have no idea how—momentarily!—she had disturbed him!

      ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

      ‘Darcy,’ she said miserably.

      ‘Well, Miss Darcy—’

      ‘Darcy is my first name,’ she corrected, even as she sniffed inelegantly.

      Oh, no, she was going to cry again! And wasn’t Darcy a boy’s name…?

      ‘Your father wanted a son, hmm?’ Logan murmured mockingly.

      Those grey eyes flashed angrily. ‘What he wanted, and what he got, are two entirely different things,’ she clipped.

      ‘It usually is where women are concerned,’ Logan drawled derisively.

      Darcy looked up at him beneath those long, dark lashes. ‘Are you married, Mr McKenzie?’

      Logan’s surprised brows shot up beneath the dark hair that fell lightly over his brow. What did his married state have to do with anything?

      ‘As it happens—no,’ he answered slowly.

      She nodded—as if she had already guessed as much. ‘Women, I’ve invariably found, often respond in character to the men they are involved with. For example—’

      ‘Darcy, I believe you were here to serve a meal and then depart, not to psychoanalyse the client!’ Logan cut in scathingly, his jaw tightly clenched.

      Until a few minutes ago he had been quietly pleased with his day; lunch had been a success, contracts were being drawn up even as he spoke to this young lady, and he had been looking forward to having dinner this evening with a beautiful blonde he had met at a dinner party on Saturday. That sense of well-being had now been lost in an increasing desire to strangle this young woman!

      Darcy looked slightly flustered. ‘I’m so sorry. I—It’s just—I—I’m really not myself today!’ she choked before burying her face in her hands as the tears began to fall once more.

      Logan shook his head dazedly, once again feeling totally out of his depth in the face of the renewed tears. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ he muttered before reaching out and taking her into his arms.

      She felt so tiny as he cradled her against the hardness of his chest, that red hair feeling like silk against his fingers as he absently caressed it, her shoulder-blades so fragile to his touch she was like a little bird—

      What on earth was he doing? This was the waitress who had come to serve lunch, for heaven’s sake! More to the point, anyone could walk in on them and completely misconstrue the situation!

      He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Er—Darcy…?’

      Her only answer to his tentative query was to bury her face even further into his shirt-front, the dampness of the material clinging to his chest now.

      Logan felt totally out of his depth, beginning to wish that someone would come in and interrupt them—whatever construction was put on his actions!

      ‘Here,’ СКАЧАТЬ