LITMIR.BIZ

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with more than a little help from you, that your mother is of the same opinion. How dare you presume—?’

      ‘Stop right there, Darcy,’ Logan told her firmly.

      ‘I most certainly will not,’ she retorted angrily. ‘You made it perfectly obvious that you were not happy about my father marrying your mother—’

      ‘As obvious as you did that you weren’t happy about my mother marrying your father. Now we’ve both got our wish, so what are you complaining about? You’ve won, Darcy,’ he taunted. ‘Defeated the dragon. In fact, she’s turned tail and run!’

      Except Darcy didn’t feel as if she had won anything—she felt terrible! Not that she had changed her opinion about the older woman’s unsuitability for her father, she had just realised—with blinding clarity!—that she didn’t have the right to decide those things for another person, least of all her father.

      ‘I think you’re an unfeeling brute,’ she told Logan indignantly.

      ‘Because I won’t pretend to be upset about all this?’ he scorned.

      ‘Because you’re a selfish swine!’ she returned forcefully.

      ‘Does that mean you won’t be having dinner with me this evening?’ he queried wryly.

      ‘Not this evening, or ever!’ she cried. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go out.’

      ‘To see your father?’

      ‘Mind your own damned business!’ she shouted, before slamming down the telephone receiver.

      He was a brute. An unfeeling swine. Didn’t he care that his mother was probably as unhappy at the broken engagement as her father no doubt was? Obviously not. He was just glad his mother’s engagement to—in his eyes!—a totally unsuitable man was at an end.

      Well, they would see about that!

      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

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