Tender Loving Care Read online

  He laughed. If she was that kind of woman, he wouldn’t be standing here wanting her. Another paradox of the universe. But then wanting what one could not have was a problem as old as man. If he couldn’t have the real thing, maybe a substitute would do.

  Logan walked purposefully back to his study and found his address book. Flipping the pages as he walked down the hall, he scanned the list. Too tall, too boring, too easy, too…

  He hesitated outside Melissa’s room. The bed was neatly made, and he’d bet his life that the bathroom was equally tidy. A small crystal bottle on the dresser caught his attention. Moving closer, he glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to be caught. But the hallway was empty.

  The cut glass was devoid of designer labels. It was heavy and looked old and expensive. Funny, Melissa didn’t strike him as the type to collect antiques. Maybe it had belonged to that grandmother she’d cared so much about.

  He pulled off the cap and inhaled the subtle fragrance of her perfume. Memories washed over him—when he’d first come home from the hospital and she’d practically carried him to his bed; the feel of her body under his the night they’d kissed; the way she’d watched the squirrel in the park.

  He placed the bottle back on the dresser and swore under his breath. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Did he need to make the same mistake again? Women couldn’t be trusted. They chose not to be loyal…or faithful. The last thing he needed was some doe-eyed innocent destroying his carefully constructed world. All he wanted was sex and he knew just where to get it.

  He sat on Melissa’s bed and dialed the phone.

  “Hello?” a soft, feminine voice answered.

  “Jackie? It’s Logan. How are you?”

  “Logan, this is a surprise. Where have you been hiding all summer?”

  “I, ah, had an accident and I’ve only been back at work about a month.”

  “I’d heard. Didn’t you get my flowers?”

  Logan reached up to loosen his tie, then realized he wasn’t wearing one. He’d received over a dozen bouquets, none of which he’d been able to see. “Ah, sure. They were lovely.”

  “I’m glad you called, Logan. I’m having a few people over for dinner tonight. I could use a man…to make an eighth.” Her voice implied he’d be making more than that.

  It was the reason he’d called, he reminded himself. So why was he suddenly so reluctant to say yes? “Jackie, I’d…” His gaze fell on the crystal bottle. Damn Melissa all to hell. “I’d love to, but I promised Wendi we’d spend time together.”

  “Oh.” Jackie sighed. “If you’re sure.”

  “Yes.” He was sure. He was sure he was going crazy.

  Time for a few laps in the pool, he thought as he hung up the phone. Like about a hundred.

  Melissa paused beside the display of blouses. A frilly pink one with lace where the sleeves should have been cried Wendi. Refusing to think how much the designer boutique could charge for a yard and a half of cotton, she set it on the counter and handed the girl her credit card.

  Since the day Wendi had come home crying from camp, their relationship had changed. She’d been hurt by the girl’s harsh words and Wendi, in turn, had been wounded by the pain she’d inflicted. The realization of vulnerability had exposed a growing affection between them. It had only been twenty-four hours, but she missed the little brat, almost as much as she missed Logan.

  Her small apartment, once a refuge, now echoed with loneliness. She glanced at her watch. It was only three. The earliest she could go back was nine in the morning…a whole eighteen hours from now.

  After collecting her package, she walked toward the movie theater. There had to be something she wanted to see, some humorous film that would take her mind off the tawny gold eyes of the man who had stolen her heart.

  Chapter Eight

  “Mr. Phillips, there’s a call for you on line two.” His secretary cleared her throat. “It’s a woman, sir, and she won’t give her name.”

  Logan grinned. “Thanks, Cathy. I’ll take it.” Melissa sure was a shy little thing, he thought. He’d have to tell her it was all right to phone him at work if she needed something.

  He picked up the phone. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “That’s entirely up to you, darling.”

  His mind raced to put a name to the voice. A knot formed in his stomach. Jackie. He should never have called her last week. Talk about opening a can of worms. “What can I do for you, Jackie?”

  “I was so disappointed you couldn’t attend my little party. I was wondering if I could persuade you to make it up to me. Now that you’re feeling better and all. I thought…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then resumed about a half octave lower. “Maybe we could take a long lunch together. Talk about old times, new times. My apartment’s not too far from your office.”

  “Sounds great,” he said automatically as lust and logic battled it out. “But I’m afraid I have an appointment in a couple of hours and I won’t be taking lunch today.”

  “What’s the matter, Logan? Are you seeing someone?”

  “No. Why?” He picked up a pen and started tapping it on the desk.

  “I’d heard Fiona was between lovers. I thought maybe…”

  He scowled. “I’ve been divorced for almost five years, Jackie. What Fiona does with her private life is none of my business. And quite frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

  “I see.” Jackie sighed. “I won’t wait forever. We’ve been dancing in and out of each other’s bedrooms for three years now. Maybe it’s time to make a decision.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to picture Jackie’s lithe body. All he could see was Melissa sending him off that morning, her brown eyes still heavy with sleep. She’d stood at the front door, handing him the paper and a bag of homemade cookies. No makeup, no pretense, no demands.

  Jackie was right. It was time to make a change. He’d start by tying up a few loose ends.

  “We’ve gotten along without each other for almost six months,” he said. “And it wasn’t difficult for either of us. I take that as an indication there wasn’t anything to miss. If you want a decision, then this is goodbye.”

  He heard a sharp intake of air, then a moment of silence. “Damn you, Logan Phillips,” she hissed. There was a click followed by dial tone.

  Logan set the receiver down and glanced at the clock. He had to be in the valley by one. If he hurried, he could swing by the house and collect Melissa. He hadn’t intended to share the ceremony with anyone, but she might be the one person to understand what it meant to him.

  Touching the intercom switch, he spoke to his secretary. “Cathy, I’m leaving a little early. I should be back by three.”

  He could hear the rock music before he reached the front door. The pulsing beat of the bass vibrated the windows. Wendi! He’d thought she had camp today, but maybe not. How many times had he told the girl that she could damage her hearing with her loud stereo? And where was Melissa? Shouldn’t she be keeping his daughter under control?

  Between his conversation with Jackie and the steady drumming that was taking up residence inside his head, he was in no mood to put up with this sort of flagrant behavior. He fumbled with his keys and managed to open the front door.

  Sound hit him, an almost physical wall of noise that made him clench his fists at his sides before striding purposefully into the living room.

  “Wendi,” he shouted. “How many times have I warned you…”

  “Kick ‘em high, now. One, two, three…”

  He saw a bouncing Melissa. Clad only in a black-and-hot-pink leotard that did nothing to hide her curvy figure, she stared intently at the exercise video on the television screen.

  Her back was to him. A dark patch of moisture stained the fabric between her shoulder blades. Shapely legs stepped up and down in time with the tanned blonde on the tape, only Melissa’s flesh-and-blood exertions were much more exciting than any celluloid beauty. Her arms moved side to side, giving him glimpses of her breasts
bouncing in time with the music. A sweatband held her short hair off her face.

  He could stand here and watch for hours, but there was a group of priests waiting for him. Regretfully he reached down to the coffee table she’d pushed off to the side and picked up the remote control.

  The video flickered, then froze in place. Silence filled the room and Melissa whirled to face him. Her face was red and she was breathing heavily. Sweat formed an uneven triangle, broad at her chest and narrowing at her waist. Lips outlined a perfect O and she blinked several times as if hoping to make him disappear.

  “L-Logan?” she whispered.

  “I guess you weren’t expecting me home early?”

  “No. I was just…” She waved toward the TV. “You know.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she scuffed her aerobic shoe against the corner of the coffee table.

  “Are you almost done?” he asked.

  “What? Oh, with the video.” She walked to the VCR and ejected the tape. “Yes. Do you need something?”

  Did he? Absolutely. He needed to know how her skin would feel when it was hot and wet. He needed to taste the salty perspiration as it trailed between her breasts. He needed to stand with her under the hot water of a shower and savor her clean, then decide which he liked better.

  “I have an appointment in…” He glanced at his watch. “An hour and a half. I thought you might want to come with me.”

  “Me? Where?”

  He grinned. “It’s a surprise. Do you want to go?”

  “Sure. Is it casual?”

  “No. You’ll need a dress. Nothing fancy, just something you’d wear to church.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?”

  Her brown eyes grew wide. She glanced down at herself and then up at his navy suit. “Excuse me,” she said as she flew past him.

  For a heartbeat, he thought about canceling his meeting and staying home with Melissa. When she stepped out of the shower, he could be waiting, naked…in bed. The contrast between her and the other women in his life was intriguing, to say the least. There was a wholesome quality that soothed as much as it aroused. God knows, he’d felt the sparks that flared when they accidentally touched. They couldn’t exist only in his imagination. He didn’t think Melissa would turn him away. And yet…

  It was wrong, he told himself as he paced the length of the living room. Taking a woman like her wasn’t the same as playing lover’s tag with one of his women friends. She was honest and up-front, leading with her heart and not her fists.

  He remembered his father telling him there were girls you played with and girls you married. Melissa was the marrying kind…and he wasn’t. There’d never be another woman he’d trust with his feelings. He’d never give anyone a chance to betray him again. He’d never allow someone else to leave. And the only way to insure that was to never get involved.

  Melissa leaned back in the passenger seat of Logan’s sports car. The smell of his cologne mingled with the fine leather of the interior, and she inhaled the mixture. She’d always remember this, she thought happily. The sounds, the scents, the touches, they were the cornerstone of her memory bank. Years from now, when she was old, she’d think back on these times with Logan. She’d been content before she met him, she would be again. This time in between was like a dream—insubstantial, fleeting, existing only in her mind.

  Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she admired the clean lines of his profile. The straight nose, firm lips, hard jaw. He was all man. If only…

  She giggled softly. If she had a dollar for every time she’d thought “if only” about Logan, she wouldn’t need to work for the rest of her life.

  “What are you so happy about?” he asked.

  “Just happy in general. Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  He turned left, accelerated up the ramp and onto the San Diego Freeway. “San Fernando.”

  That was a community at the north end of the valley. “You know that tells me nothing.”

  “How can you say that? I answered the question.”

  After glancing out the window, he shifted into fifth gear and moved into the far left lane. Midday traffic was light. As they crested the hill leading into the heavily populated valley, Melissa risked another look in his direction.

  Logan had discarded his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. His tie was maroon with navy flecks. His tanned hand rested on the gear knob, a scant inch from her thigh. She brushed her fingers down her skirt.

  “You look nice,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.

  His compliment warmed her heart. “Thanks. I hope it’s appropriate for this mystery trip.”

  When he’d said pick something she’d wear to church, she’d thought he was kidding, but now she wasn’t so sure. Her wardrobe leaned heavily toward casual clothes; her regular patients were more comfortable with her in jeans and sweatshirts. As her dating life bordered on catatonic, the need for simple elegant attire had never been a problem. She had one fancy silk dress, a suit more for winter than Southern California summer, and the two-piece outfit she’d put on.

  The jacket was white, with navy trim and a striped inset at the bodice. The matching skirt was solid navy. Conservative pumps and a small bag completed the look. For once her hair had cooperated. Perhaps it assumed one humiliation per day was sufficient. If she lived to be a million years old, she’d never forget the horror of turning around and finding Logan watching her exercise. All that bouncing and jiggling. What must he have thought?

  His hand moved on top of hers and stilled her restless fidgeting. “Calm down. You’re going to be fine.”

  “I have to take your word for that, don’t I?”

  “Yes. And I’m going to enjoy every moment of keeping you in suspense.”

  He didn’t move his hand. Slowly, inch by inch, she turned her wrist until her palm touched his. She braced herself, waiting for him to pull back or frown, but instead, his fingers laced with hers.

  She stopped breathing. This wasn’t the act of an injured man reaching out for any available comfort…this was conscious and deliberate. She exhaled a long sigh. The weight of his arm pressing against hers was heaven. Please God, don’t let this journey ever end. Let them just drive forever. Let it be real.

  “How long have you been doing aerobics?” Logan asked. “I don’t remember hearing the video when I was home those weeks.”

  Melissa closed her eyes as she felt the heated blush climb her cheeks. She tried to pull her hand back, but he tightened his hold. “I’ve had the tape for a while, but I don’t use it as regularly as I should.”

  “I know what you mean. There’s a gym in the building where I work, but I only get there a couple of times a week.”

  She stared at his broad chest and flat stomach. Obviously they weren’t even discussing the same concept. “It seems to be working,” she said softly. “At least you don’t have chubby thighs.”

  He raised one dark eyebrow and tapped his fingers on her leg. “Are we talking about these thighs?”

  She nodded.

  “I wouldn’t call them chubby. They’re feminine and fit you perfectly.”

  Great. He thought all of her was chubby. “A rose by any other name,” she muttered.

  “Is this a family problem?” he asked. “Sort of a curse on the VanFleet women?”

  “No. My mother and sisters have perfect legs. I think grandmother had chubby thighs. Maybe that’s why we got along so well.”

  “Women obsess too much about their bodies,” he said. “Men don’t care what you look like.”

  “Logan, you go to hell for lying, same as stealing.”

  “Okay. We care a little, but agonizing over five or ten pounds is crazy. I hope Wendi escapes the whole diet disease.”

  He untangled his hand and downshifted as the car moved off the freeway. The north end of the valley was old and, in many parts, run-down. Apartment buildings covered with
graffiti lined both sides of the streets. Men looking for daily work lingered on corners.

  “We’re almost there,” he said.

  She still didn’t have a clue as to where “there” was. The neighborhood made her uncomfortable, and the loss of physical contact with Logan didn’t ease her apprehension.

  He signaled and turned the sleek car into a parking lot next to a small Catholic church.

  “You weren’t kidding,” she said, staring at the white stuccoed building.

  “I told you.”

  “But…”

  He stepped out of the car and moved to her side. After helping her out, he locked both doors and set the alarm. “About seven years ago, Father Jeremiah approached the architectural firm and asked if they would donate the design of a church. I volunteered. We raised some money and they got a bank loan for the rest. Today, the mortgage is paid off. There’s going to be a ceremony in—” he looked at his watch “—ten minutes and I was invited.”

  Melissa looked up at the pointed spires reaching toward the heavens. “You did a wonderful job. The building reminds me of an old Spanish mission.”

  “Really?” He looked pleased as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “That’s what we were trying for. The old church had been destroyed by fire. There weren’t many pictures, but the foundation gave me an idea of the layout.” They moved up the short flight of stairs. “Some modernizing was involved. The wheelchair ramp over there, and of course the living quarters, but other than that, it’s pretty much as it was seventy years ago.”

  The interior was cool and dark. Candles flickered along the center aisle and up at the altar.

  “Logan, I’m so pleased you could make it.” A middle-aged priest hurried toward them, his right arm outstretched. “Your generosity made this possible.”

  As the two men shook hands, Melissa tried to crush down her feelings of warmth and admiration. She was having enough trouble dealing with Logan without developing a serious case of hero-worship. Besides, what kind of person would turn down a request to build a church?