Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (52 page)

His instincts had been leading him a merry dance ever since that first time he'd met Sally after the baby had crawled under his desk.

Logan shook his head. ‘What's the point of these personality profiles? What do they prove?'

‘That you and Sally complement each other perfectly.'

To his surprise, Logan found this idea incredibly cheering and he realised suddenly that he was grinning. Quickly, he looked away, making an embarrassed, throat-clearing sound. ‘Right…well…er…I know there are other matters we need
to discuss, Janet, but I'm afraid we'll have to deal with them later.'

Without looking back to see her reaction, Logan hurried away.

 

Sally could hear noises coming from downstairs in the kitchen.

She sat up quickly, clutching at the bed sheets and pulling them up to her chin as she listened to footsteps on the tiles, a cupboard door squeaking on its hinge and something banging against a pot. Her heart began a frantic canter. She had been feeling much stronger this morning. She'd had a bath and washed her hair and put fresh linen on her bed, but she was still too feeble to deal with an intruder.

‘Who's there?' Her cry was so weak she was quite sure it wouldn't carry all the way downstairs. Perhaps, if she remained very quiet, the burglar would help himself to whatever he wanted and leave.

No. That wasn't going to happen. The footsteps were coming up the stairs.
Oh, help!

She scanned her bedroom quickly, wondering what on earth she could use as a weapon. She'd intended to go to self-defence classes when she came to Sydney, but she hadn't got around to it yet. Memories of that night with Kyle Francis at the ball filled her head. Those vile masculine hands constraining her, that brutish, repugnant body forcing her down…

Could she escape? Hide under the bed?

‘Sally, don't be frightened. It's only me.'

That was Logan's voice.

Was it really him? Her heart took off like a rocket. How could Logan be here? She felt too shocked to respond. Her hands flew to her hair. She looked terrible! Logan mustn't see her like this.

But it was too late to get tidy—he was already in her
bedroom doorway. And, despite her misery over everything that had happened between them, she feasted her eyes on him and felt a rush of mad joy, swiftly followed by a cold splash of sanity. And then an ache that settled in the hollow around her heart.

Logan was dressed for work in his usual dark business suit, but there were dusty white smudges on his jacket sleeves and his trousers. His shirt collar was undone and the knot of his tie was skewed to a rakish angle, making him look less like a businessman and more like a film star. A terribly worried film star.

‘Hi there,' he said, smiling shyly.

‘Hello.'

What did you say to a lover you'd thrown out three nights ago?

Sally tried again. ‘How did you get in?'

‘I climbed over your back wall.'

Good heavens.
That explained the smudges of whitewash on his clothes. But why on earth had he gone to so much trouble?

Uncomfortably self-conscious and confused, Sally tugged the bed sheet closer to her neck. ‘What—what are you doing here?'

It was an important question, but Logan ignored it. ‘How are you, Sally?'

‘Great.'

He frowned at her. ‘Come on, be truthful.'

‘Well, I'm alive.'

‘You look pale.'

‘You get that with the flu. Why aren't you at work?'

‘I heard you were sick. I had to come.'

He
had
to come? She felt tears threaten and hoped she didn't cry. ‘I suppose everyone's talking about us after Friday night.'

‘Let them talk.' He came into the room, crossing the floor all the way to her bed, and Sally feared she might hyperventilate.

‘You'll get my germs,' she felt compelled to warn him.

Ignoring her again, Logan sat on the edge of her bed and frowned thoughtfully as he placed his hand on her forehead.

Sally flinched at his touch and he flushed, took his hand away quickly and frowned more deeply. ‘Have you been eating?'

‘Not much.' Yesterday she'd crawled downstairs and found a packet of dry crackers and a two litre carton of orange juice. ‘I haven't been very hungry.'

‘I've brought you some chicken soup. It's heating on the stove.'

But why? Nothing about this made sense. Logan had thrown her out of his life and she'd thrown him out of her home and now he was fussing in her kitchen like a nursemaid.

‘That's very kind of you, Logan.'

His dark eyes glowed and he smiled sternly. ‘Don't go away. I'll be back in a minute.'

Heart thumping madly, Sally listened to his footsteps as he went back down the stairs. She heard the sounds of pots and crockery being moved about in the kitchen. She felt light-headed with unexplained happiness and told herself that was
not
sensible. Logan hadn't come here to make her happy. He was in protection mode. He was overriding Friday night's unceremonious eviction and he'd come to boss her around.

Just the same, it was wonderful to see him.

He was back as quickly as he'd promised, bearing a wooden tray with a large white bowl filled with soup, a silver soup spoon and a pink gingham napkin, all of which he must have found in her kitchen. He put everything on her dressing table, came to her bedside again and smiled down at her. ‘Let's rearrange these pillows so you can sit up comfortably.'

It had to be the flu that made her so dreadfully tearful. She
couldn't bear Logan's kindness, but she mustn't cry. As he fetched her tray, she swiped at her eyes and drew in a long, deep, steadying breath, then let it out very slowly.

‘Now—' he sat on the edge of her bed, far too close to her, and his dark eyes were heartbreakingly gorgeous as he lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips ‘—try some of this.'

Sally protested, ‘I don't expect you to feed me.' But she knew her hands were shaking and she couldn't manage the soup without spilling it on the bedclothes.

Logan tilted a spoonful into her mouth. The soup was light and delicious and slipped down easily. It tasted wholesome and nourishing and Sally quickly found that she was starving.

He fed her carefully and patiently, with the tenderest smile in his lovely dark eyes.

‘This is wonderful,' she said between mouthfuls. ‘It doesn't taste like soup out of a can.'

‘That's possibly because it's not soup out of a can.'

‘Did your housekeeper make it?'

He shook his head and smiled. ‘I woke Michel.'

‘Your chef friend? You woke him? Logan, you shouldn't have.'

He shrugged. ‘It was high time he got up.'

‘But he works long hours at night.'

‘Stop fretting, Sally. Once I explained that it was
you
who needed this soup, Michel couldn't have been more helpful. We both have videophones, so he was able to give me step by step instructions without setting a toe out of bed.'

‘So you made this soup?' Her voice echoed her surprise.

He tried to shrug nonchalantly, but Sally could see that he was rather proud of his efforts. She ate some more, enjoying succulent pieces of chicken, carrot and celery and light traces of herbs. ‘I feel as if I'm getting better already.'

It wasn't quite true. She actually felt dizzy. She had no idea
why Logan was being so kind. He'd told her once that he never made romantic gestures, but didn't he understand that his kindness now was more touching, more upsetting than any bouquet of roses?

Tears threatened to spill again, but she ate her way stolidly to the bottom of the bowl. Logan took the tray and set it back on the dressing table.

‘There's plenty more,' he said as he returned once again to sit on the edge of her bed.

‘I couldn't eat any more just now, but thank you so much for that. You'll pass on my thanks to Michel, won't you?'

He nodded and reached for her hands, enclosing them in his. Her impulse was to pull them away. She and Logan had broken up. But something about the soft light in his eyes prevented her from moving.

He said, ‘Michel was over-the-top excited about your soup.'

‘Really? Why?'

‘You know what he's like. When he realised I was taking food to your sick bed, he started rattling on about catering for my wedding.'

Zap!
Sally's poor heart almost shot out of the window. She felt the sudden threat of tears and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut to hold them back. ‘What a weird thing to say.'

‘Not so very weird. Just romantic.'

‘I suppose Michel knows he's going to have to wait five years? At least he'll have plenty of time to refine the menu.'

‘Perhaps not.'

Was she delirious?

Not daring to open her eyes, Sally sank back against the pillows and lay very still. Her head was fuzzy and she knew she was terribly confused. Why was Logan talking about weddings and caterers who didn't have to wait and—?

‘Sally, look at me.'

No. She couldn't. If she opened her eyes, her tears might spill and she couldn't bear that humiliation.

‘Sally, darling.'

Darling?
Her eyes shot open.

Logan's smile was terribly worried and his eyes were shining with a suspicious dampness. He swallowed. ‘I want you to know that acting on the best advice available, I've binned the five-year plan.'

‘Who—' Sally swallowed to get rid of the strangled feeling in her throat ‘—who told you to do that?'

‘A little bird pointed out some important home truths.'

‘I don't understand. What are you saying?'

‘A very brave little golden Finch pointed out that I was an ostrich with my head in the sand, avoiding the truth.'

‘The truth?'

‘Yes, the truth that you, Sally, are without question the most wonderful woman I have ever met and I can't imagine trying to face life without you.'

Miraculously, all at once, the hollow pain around her heart began to ease.

‘I should have told you this on Friday night after the ball,' Logan said, ‘but I stuffed up and did the exact opposite.'

The mere mention of that terrible night made her shudder. ‘I didn't help. I threw you out.'

‘I deserved it, Sally. I thought I was being honest with you, protecting you. But I was being totally dishonest about how I really feel. When I was standing out on the street, I knew that I was losing you and I couldn't bear it.'

Yes, she'd seen the loss in his eyes and it had nearly killed her.

‘It was the worst night of my life,' Logan said.

‘Mine, too.'

‘I came around early the next day and knocked on your
door. I telephoned a couple of times. I drove past your house countless times, but there were no signs of life, so I assumed you'd taken off for the weekend. I was petrified when you didn't turn up at work this morning. I was sure I'd lost you.'

‘Poor thing.' Reaching up, Sally touched his face with her fingertips, savoured the masculine rasp of the skin on his jaw. ‘There's no need to look so worried.'

He smiled crookedly, then drew her into his arms and kissed her beautifully.

‘I hope I don't give you the flu.'

His lips were warm as he nuzzled her neck just below her ear. ‘If I catch the flu, you can look after me.'

‘I'd love to.'

He kissed her again. And again.

And again.

W
ITH
his white shirtsleeves rolled up and a long apron loosely tied about his hips, Logan stood at the stove in Sally's kitchen and stirred a mint sauce while he kept an eye on steaming peas. He'd taken quite a liking to this cooking caper.

A wintry wind whistled outside, knocking at the windows and buffeting the doors, and he hoped the forecast rain held off until their guests arrived and were safely inside. Hattie, Carissa and Geoff, Sally's brother, Steve, and his wife were all due any minute now.

Everything was ready. Sally had set the table in the dining room with the best silver and china and she'd done clever things with flowers and candles so that the room looked enchanting and perfect for their first dinner party.

Now she was upstairs, touching up her lipstick and tidying her hair. For a wistful moment Logan pictured her up there, applying colour to her soft lips, tweaking a golden curl, spraying scent on her wrists and her cleavage.

He closed his eyes as desire pounded through him.
Easy, man. Keep your mind in the kitchen.

Here in the kitchen, the air was warm and fragrant with the scent of roasting lamb and rosemary and sizzling potatoes. Copper-shaded lights warmed the whitewashed walls and ter
racotta tiles and picked up the honeyed tones of the timber cupboards. With the wind roaring outside, everything in this room looked especially cosy tonight.

Logan was glad that he and Sally had finally decided to live here rather than in his penthouse. They'd spent the past six months dividing their time between both places and it had been fun for a while, but it was good to be settled.

He liked the sense of permanence the decision had brought. Besides, Sally was very emotionally attached to this house and they were renting out his penthouse for an outrageous sum.

Everything was working out amazingly well. In spite of ditching his five-year plan, his business was going from strength to strength. He'd tried to coax Sally into taking his PA's position, but she'd vetoed that idea. In the end, he'd known she was wise to leave Blackcorp and get a new job in Chloe's favourite art gallery.

Now, they both shared an interest in his business but, at the end of the working day, they came to each other as lovers rather than co-workers.

Life with Sally was, as Logan had always suspected, incredibly romantic and an enormous adventure.

‘Oh, no! That apron has to go. It makes you look far too sexy.'

At the sound of Sally's voice Logan spun around. She was wearing a cream silk blouse with black velvet trousers and she'd done something with her hair to make it look sophisticated, yet casual and utterly gorgeous.

He grinned at her. ‘You look good enough to eat.'

‘I'm afraid fiancées aren't on the menu tonight.' She smiled as she waved her left hand at him, making the solitaire diamond flash and sparkle. ‘Just roast lamb, followed by poached pears with Mascarpone.'

‘But I can have you for hors d'oeuvres.'

‘Of course you can.' Laughing, she crossed the kitchen and wound her arms about his neck. Her slender curves pressed close and she touched her lips to his jaw and a soft groan escaped him. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. With Sally in his arms, he feared he'd be in no fit state to greet their guests.

‘I hope they don't stay too late tonight,' she said, grinning cheekily. ‘I can't wait to tell our families the wonderful news about our wedding, but by the end of this evening I'll be desperate to be alone with you.'

They shared a smile, a private and intimate smile, brimming with promise, and Logan gathered her close again.

Two nights ago, right here in this kitchen, this wonderful woman had agreed to marry him. Now he created havoc with her lipstick just as the front doorbell rang.