With infuriating calm, Janet left her chair and came to stand next to him. Arms folded comfortably, she slid him a shrewd sideways glance. ‘Am I right in guessing that my blind date strategy grew into something bigger?’
‘What blind date? What are you talking about?’
‘At the team-building workshop. When I paired you with Sally.’
Puzzled, he shook his head. So much had happened since that workshop, he’d almost forgotten it. But it was the first occasion he and Sally had spent time together. He’d told her then that he couldn’t dance and everything else had unfolded from there.
If they hadn’t been paired off, none of the rest would have happened. He’d be free of this torment now. But he would have missed the joy of knowing Sally, the bliss of making love to her.
Janet’s eyes lost their amused sparkle. In all seriousness, she said, ‘I knew you and Sally would be good for each other.’
Logan’s chest squeezed so tightly it hurt him to breathe. ‘How did you work that out?’
‘I’ve seen your personality profiles.’ Janet spoke as if the answer was obvious. ‘Sally’s an extroverted feeling type, which means she’s tactful, friendly, but a little too sensitive. And you’re an introverted thinker. You’re logical and organised, but disinclined to trust your instincts.’
Instincts?
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.’