Southern Hospitality (19 page)

“I’ll take something on account, just for luck,” he murmured and quickly bent his head before she could guess his intent.

His mouth was warm, moist, and possessive. Tory didn’t have time to react to the kiss until he was gone. It had taken only a minute, but it shattered the frozen shell she’d built around her emotions. As Logan walked away, whistling under his breath, she wanted to call him back, demanding an explanation. Suddenly she wanted to confront him about the conflicting feelings that had her off balance when she should be thinking about her business, nothing else.

“Gee, do all the waiters get to kiss the boss,” Gary asked. His muffled groan brought Tory out of her trance.

Starting in surprise and embarrassment, she realized that she was running her fingers over her lips, as if she was savoring Logan’s kiss. She turned to the others to give Gary a withering look, but noticed he was already rubbing his shin. Apparently his wife had already answered his question.

“The only waiter left on board gets to haul the empty boxes and any trash back to the storage closet before the guests come down to dinner,” Tory instructed with a smile. The near disaster had shaken her out of her apathy. Now her mind was clear and focused on the Ferguson party. She’d deal with Logan later. “When you get done with that, I’m sure we’ll find something even more exciting for you to do.”

“What did I do wrong? Were my Yankee manners showing too much?” Logan couldn’t contain his curiosity another minute. Although Abby and Gary had done a thorough critique of the successful evening, including the dessert caper, Tory had been silent during the ride back from the dock. She’d remained mute when they stopped at the Bush’s house, letting him refuse the invitation to stop for coffee. With the Planchet house in sight, he knew he’d waited long enough to find out what caused her silence.

“Nothing. You saved the evening.”

“Why do you sound like that’s a crime?” he asked. What was going on here? Tory couldn’t still be angry about last night, or could she? She’d been subdued most of the evening, long before the dessert crisis occurred. Apparently he’d lost a major battle with his impatience last night.

“Certainly not. Thank you, Logan, for your invaluable help,” she recited, like a child forced to acknowledge a horrible gift from a relative.

“You’re in a strange mood tonight.”

Tory stopped the car by the back of the house. She put the car in park, then turned to look at him as she turned off the ignition. “I’m always in a strange mood after a near disaster.”

“A near disaster that turned into a triumph. Your little dinner was quite a success,” Logan corrected. Tory didn’t bother to answer and opened her door, not waiting for him to assist her. While he scrambled out of his side of the car, he wondered if he would ever understand women, especially this one. “Bodine was quite impressed with your little business. He was singing your praises to everyone within earshot.” She still didn’t say a word, so he decided to just keep talking as he came around the front of the car. “In fact, he gave me a twenty-dollar tip. Am I allowed to keep it?”

“No problem,” she managed, going to the back of the car and opening the tailgate. “Let’s get this stuff unloaded. It’s been a long day.”

He followed her directions, carrying the empty boxes into the kitchen, still trying to interpret her mood. Maybe she was always this down after a job. The preparation and serving could have sapped her energy level, turning her into a zombie. She’d been her usual sparkling self, however, dealing with her clients. At one point, he thought he’d have to warn off one of Bodine’s junior executives when the man spent too much time talking to the owner of Bill of Fare about the food.

“How much work does this usually involve?” he asked, once the boxes were stored in the pantry. Tory was putting away the leftovers, although there wasn’t much left.

“It depends on the complexity of the menu. If it’s a large group like tonight, I usually manage to convince the client to keep it elegant, but simple.” She broke off when Logan reached over to snare a canapé before she covered the plate with plastic wrap. “Sorry, would you like something to eat? I wasn’t hungry, so I forgot to ask.”

He wasn’t ravenous, but if it kept her around he’d eat. “After being tempted all night, I think I might manage a bite or two. Passing out food to other people certainly helps build an appetite.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t taste this before the party,” he managed after munching on a cracker overflowing with salmon mousse. “I wouldn’t have let anyone else have any.”

Tory rewarded his enthusiasm with a smile. She poured them both a cup of coffee and joined him at the oak table. “Remind me not to have you act as a waiter again. It might be counterproductive to business if you refused to serve the guests.”

“You really love what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked. Discussing her business was safe ground, he hoped. Although he’d only experienced catering from the clients’ point of view before tonight, it might also lead to what was bothering her.

“Yes, I do. Don’t you enjoy your work?” She looked intrigued that anyone would pursue a career that they didn’t like. Was that why he treated her business as something frivolous?

“I never really thought about it. H.P.G. is the family business, so I’ve always planned to be part of it,” Logan explained, watching her expression with interest. She seemed more relaxed, more animated, since the ride home. She also gave him something to think about. He’d never considered whether he should like his job. It was simply something he always knew he would do.

“Do you have a plan for your life?” Tory leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. She seemed to be trying to read his mind by memorizing his expression.

“A plan? Nothing concrete,” he managed after a moment’s consideration, distracted by Tory’s sudden avid interest. She seemed to be waiting for his answer with an unnatural expectancy. “I was always going to work for the family firm. I was still in college when my father died, and Preston was out of the country. My grandfather called me into his office and explained what he expected from his only grandson, especially since Preston hadn’t showed any inclination toward starting a family.”

“It’s a little cut-and-dried,” Tory murmured. She lowered her eyelashes, cloaking her expression. She didn’t look up again, more interested in her fingertip tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “Did he pick out a suitable bride for you, too?”

“Not old L.W. He didn’t have much time for women, except as decorations. Herrington men tend to marry late and select women who are an asset to the firm.” He smiled as he remembered Preston’s sudden marriage six years ago, close to his fiftieth birthday, and to everyone’s astonishment. Babs’s dowry consisted of her camera and photographs. “My father was the exception, but I’ve haven’t given it much thought. Maybe we should have put that on my questionnaire.”

He knew he said something wrong as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Tory stiffened, then abruptly got to her feet.

“What about you? Is there a master plan for Tory Planchet’s life?”

“Not really, just building a successful business.”
Hopefully I’m better at that than my love life,
she told herself, noting that her hand was shaking as she put her cup and saucer in the sink. “I’m not in any hurry to get married.”

What else could she say when she’d fallen in love with a man whose family had a history of marriages of convenience? No wonder he could be so clinical when he talked about having an affair. She’d promised to teach Logan to be more human, but she really wanted to know if he could learn to love. She was undoubtedly setting herself up for more heartache by trying.

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Logan commented, his husky voice much closer than she anticipated. She hadn’t heard him get up from the table and cross the room.

She waited to turn away from the sink until he placed his dishes on the counter. She’d known he was close, but not standing directly behind her. The heat from his body reached out to her, tempting her to link her arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to hers. Her mind was at war with her body.

Shaking her head, she knew she was too tired to be dealing with Logan. She’d been assailed by ambiguous emotions all day, trying to analyze and re-analyze her emotions. Tonight on the
Spirit
proved that she couldn’t mix her personal and professional life without courting disaster.

Logan’s hands framed her face in a warm caress, his thumbs feathering over her cheekbones. She gripped the edge of the counter to keep her hands at her sides. One look into his smoky-blue eyes almost broke her resolve.

“Do I get my reward for rescuing the dessert?” he murmured, searching her face for the answer, waiting for her to respond.

She wet her lips, unable to move away, still trapped by his heated gaze. Dreading and anticipating his kiss as his head lowered, the slam of the back door closing caused her to jerk in reaction.

“Have I interrupted something interesting?” T.L. asked from the kitchen doorway, his voice echoing around the tension filled room. His twinkling eyes took in every detail of the close conjunction of the two occupants. “If I did, I’ll just go upstairs quietly, and you can pretend I was never here.”

“No one could ever pretend you weren’t around, Daddy,” Tory stated in exasperation at the interested look on T.L.’s face. Her relief at her father’s return was mixed with dread at what he’d say next. Taking the coward’s way out, she quickly decided to leave before the situation turned embarrassing.

“I’m glad to see you, but it’s been a long day,” she announced, walking quickly to the door. Giving T.L. a hasty kiss on the cheek, she waved vaguely in Logan’s direction. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Before either of them could speak, she was out the door. As she ran across the lawn, she wondered if a thirty-year-old woman ever considered running away from home. That might be the only solution to her current problems. She’d leave Abby in charge of the shops, and find a place to hide until Logan went back to Boston. Once he was gone, she could pick up the remnants of her life and pretend that this interlude never happened.

She knew the plan was ridiculous by the time she reached her cottage. A Planchet didn’t run away from their problems, no matter how attractive the solution might seem. But being separated from Logan might help. She needed some breathing space. Maybe she would come to her senses without Logan’s disturbing presence.

T.L. was back, so she could concentrate on Bill of Fare. After a few days, she could test her resolve, determine if she was in love or simply infatuated. If it was the former, she’d just have to take the rest of Logan’s visit one day at a time and hope she survived.

Chapter Nine

The sound of a car door slamming reached Logan’s sensitive ears as he sat in the gazebo, but he didn’t look up. He kept his eyes fixed on the screen of the portable computer he’d purchased the previous day. Even if the new arrival was Tory, it didn’t matter. She’d been avoiding him for three days, leaving him at the mercy of her father, just as she had Saturday night in the kitchen.

T.L. hadn’t said a word about the scene he interrupted, yet. Logan was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just another strange situation that Tory had managed for him. How many men his age were worried about getting lectured by his lover’s father? He grimaced at his wishful thinking. Did one night in her arms make them lovers?

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

His fingers skidded over the keyboard and left a trail of garbage on the screen. Tory was standing only a few feet away from him. Taking his time, he saved the file and turned off the computer before he looked at her. He knew it was childish, but she didn’t have to have the upper hand all the time.
 
Besides, he was the one who’d played chess, and lost, to T.L. for the past three nights.

“Hello.” The greeting was the best he could manage. For the past seventy-two hours he’d only seen her from a distance, and in his dreams. She always seemed to be leaving when he was arriving—whether it was a room, the house, or the property. He’d decided to wait, allowing her a little freedom, even if he was making himself miserable. Why was she seeking his company now?

“Is that your new toy? Trevor said the two of you went to every computer store in town yesterday.”

She looked wonderful, and he greedily drank in the sight of her. Her smile went straight to his heart, making him wonder what, or who, caused the excitement that seemed to radiate from her. Although she was leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed, she seemed to have a precarious hold on her nonchalant pose. Her cotton slacks and tailored blouse didn’t give a hint as to where she’d been.

“Yes, that’s my new toy,” he admitted, his smile a little hesitant. He didn’t want to break the spell. Tory was here, she was talking to him, and maybe he could tempt his impatience with the situation for at least five minutes. “Preston called yesterday for a progress report on my articles. He wants the first one by next week, so I charged this little beauty to the company.”

“How is he?”

Logan knew by her softened tone that she knew about his uncle’s illness. He’d learned more about T.L. and Preston’s relationship over the past few days, so he wasn’t surprised. It was strange to talk to someone about Preston’s illness. No one at home discussed it by Preston’s order. “He’s getting by, one day at a time. Of course, I only have his word for it. I wrote a long letter to Babs earlier this week to get the facts.”