Southern Hospitality (13 page)

Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the book. Shifting her position and sitting cross legged, she began to methodically tear unused pages from the book. With great deliberation she crumpled each page into a tight ball, all the while promising her absent nephew a new, jumbo-sized book. Once she had a half dozen weapons in her arsenal, she tossed the book aside.

The first paper wad went wide of the target, but the second hit Logan squarely between the shoulder blades. He twitched in response. Tory muttered under her breath and tried again, landing a shot on the bridge of his aristocratic nose. This time Logan muttered. She pitched the rest of her ammunition in quick succession, hitting the desired target each time with more force.

“Damn it, what’s going on?” Logan shot upright, shaking his head from side to side like a wet dog. For a minute his features were a mask of confusion, before he rubbed both hands over his face.

“Not a morning person, are we?” Tory asked politely without moving from her seat.

It took Logan a minute to locate her across the compact interior of the motor home. When he discovered her fully clothed figure in the captain’s chair, his eyes narrowed. Tory could almost see his mind at work over the implication. She gave him a beatific smile, then waited.

“What time is it?”

Is that the best he can do?
Tory was disappointed. She expected something much more original from a man of Logan’s experience. “It’s about nine o’clock. We need to grab some breakfast, then head for the staging area.”

Logan didn’t answer immediately. His arms propping him upright, he seemed preoccupied with the litter of paper that now surrounded him. When his wandering gaze discovered his clothes neatly folded at the end of the bed, he cocked his head to the side, giving Tory a veiled look. “Breakfast?”

She met his stare without flinching, determined he wouldn’t know that every ounce of her will power was working overtime to keep from looking at his glorious chest. It was one thing to think up snappy repartee when he was asleep, but a totally different matter with him alert and half naked. “You’d better get dressed, if you want to fit in some breakfast.”
Please, please, please,
she begged silently. “It’s our only meal until early evening.”

“Tory—”

She jumped out of the chair, suddenly needing movement. “I’m already done in the bathroom, so you—”

“Tory—”

“We’ll grab a bite here at the motel, then go meet the—”

“Tory!” Logan’s shout brought her bright chatter to an abrupt end.

Damn it, I almost made it.
She stood on the brink of freedom, her hand on the doorknob, listening for any telltale rustling of the sheets behind her. Would he come after her if she made a run for it? She didn’t think she wanted to find out if Logan, stark naked, would chase her around the parking lot.

“Tory, we need to talk about last night,” he said quietly.

“What about it?” she asked as innocently as possible, still not daring to turn around. She needed more time, maybe fifty or sixty years, before she’d be ready to discuss last night. If she couldn’t explain it to herself, how in the dickens was she supposed to discuss it with him?

“We made love last night,” he continued, his voice low and huskier than usual, reminiscent of the sensual murmurs of the night.

“Yes, we did,” she said matter-of-factly, turning to glance over her shoulder. With her left hand clenched around the doorknob in a death grip, she casually pulled her cap from her jeans pocket with her right hand. Flipping the cap easily onto her head, she pulled the wide bill low over her forehead. Once that was accomplished, she struck a nonchalant pose with one hand on her hip. “We’re both adults, and these things happen, Logan.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but simply ran his eyes over her body from head to toe.

His heated glance felt like a leisurely caress, but Tory willed herself not to move. Just when she was about to scream in frustration, he spoke. “How often do
these things
happen to you?”

Tory desperately tried to think of at least one of her snappy rejoinders from when he’d been asleep. Unfortunately, the sight of Logan’s magnificent chest and sleep-tousled hair seemed to kill her inspiration, and somehow “Your mother wears army boots” wasn’t quite suitable. She took a deep breath, hoping something appropriate would come out of her mouth. “We both seem to be a little rusty on our morning-after etiquette. Don’t you think postmortems take away the spontaneity of the moment?”

“Is that what you’re going to call it? Spontaneity? Arkansas is certainly different from Boston,” he challenged, but was stopped momentarily by a thump on the outside door.

“Hey, Tory, shake a leg if you want breakfast,” came Alf’s muffled shout through the metal barrier.

“Be there in a second,” she called back, her eyes never wavering from the man on the bed.

“We’re going to talk about this, Tory Planchet, maybe not right now, but we’ll talk.” Logan’s voice was dangerously quiet and controlled. “There’s something between us, something I’ve never experienced before last night. You can deny it to yourself, but don’t expect me to play the same game. While you southerners are masters of procrastination, we northerners tend to tackle a problem and solve it immediately.”

“Do you usually get results with this domineering male routine? Well, let me tell you something, buster, your Yankee manners aren’t going to get you anywhere with me,” Tory snarled, refusing to acknowledge his husky words about last night. She’d been right all along, there wasn’t much difference between Logan and Reed. Both of them were pompous pigs.

“Fight it all you want to, my southern magnolia. Just remember what I learned last night,” he paused, and although she knew he was purposely baiting her, Tory waited for the rest. “You kiss like an angel, and you make incredibly delicious sounds of pleasure when I’m inside you.”

Tory walked out the door, his last words echoing through her mind. What had she done to deserve Logan Herrington in her life? She wasn’t given time to consider the matter as she crossed the pavement and her name was called from two different directions. If she was lucky she’d be too busy the rest of the day to think about Logan, but she couldn’t ignore his presence altogether. She’d have to come up with some rationalization for last night before the ride home tomorrow.

Logan might have let her go this morning, but they’d be cooped up in the Winnebago for the long ride home. It wasn’t likely he’d let her ride in the back.

“Hey, Tory, Alf says you asked about your friend riding in the fast sweep car.” Tod Blaylock’s cheerful voice interrupted her dark thoughts. “If he still wants to go, we’re leaving for the staging area in about five minutes.”

“Oh, he definitely wants to go, Tod,” Tory returned, knowing an evil grin was turning up the corners of her mouth. There was justice in this world after all. “Logan’s in the Winnebago, just go pound on the door. He wants to experience as much of the atmosphere of the race as possible.”

She headed for the motel restaurant in a much better frame of mind. Logan could make all the fancy speeches he wanted, but they were on her home ground. By tonight he’d have other things on his mind besides sex.

It was after three in the morning when Logan climbed out of Tod’s 4 x 4, feeling as if he’d been run over by a freight train——twice. He seriously considered offering all of his H.P.G. stock for a hot bath to take away the aches and pains. Muscles ached that he didn’t even know he had until today. Slamming the door seemed the perfect retaliation for being jostled around the back seat all day, until his arm and back protested at the vigorous movement.

First sweep, my foot,
he muttered, smiling at Tod and carefully returning the other man’s wave.
We didn’t drive under sixty-five the entire day
. He wasn’t sure what had been worse, taking the racing stages in daylight, when the course was visible; or at night, when every hair pin turn came as a surprise. He’d swallowed about three acres of Oklahoma soil as well. Although the official contestants had every door and window secured against the elements, Tod claimed he felt closer to nature with all windows rolled down.

In the headquarters’ doorway, Logan easily spotted the person who was responsible for his wretched condition. She was standing in the middle of a group, talking and laughing, just as she had been every time he’d seen her during the day.

Tory knew without turning her head that Logan was in the hotel room. She’d felt the same tingling under her skin whenever he appeared during the day. He’d never approached her directly, seeming content to linger on the side lines watching her every move. She knew he wasn’t going to hang back this time.

“Hey, son, bet you could use this,” Alf announced from directly across the circle of people, holding out a foaming glass of beer. “You look like you’ve been running alongside the car, instead of riding in it.”

Logan’s hand appeared in Tory’s peripheral vision to take the drink. “Thanks. Tod seems to be a fresh air freak and likes to have all the windows down.”

Tory peeked to the side, under the concealment of her eyelashes. Logan had his head thrown back, downing his beer in long swallows. His golden-brown hair was tangled and wind tossed and his aristocratic face was streaked with dirt. The outline of his sunglasses was still evident, giving him the appearance of a very sexy raccoon.

“So, you’ve survived your first rally in one piece?” Alf questioned when Logan passed his glass back for a refill.

“One piece is still debatable, but I did survive—chalk one up for the Yankee,” he acknowledged with a slanted grin of satisfaction. As the rest of the group laughed, his eyes cut to the silent figure beside him. “If I hadn’t seen you during the race today, I’d say you never left the motel.”

Tory looked down at her clean clothes, suddenly guilty that she’d returned around midnight to shower and change. “I came back to help set up for the party,” she explained, letting her gaze stop at the square cut of his jaw. “We expected you back about an hour ago.”

“Tod thought he knew a shortcut back from the last stage, and gave us a nocturnal tour of the entire reservation.”

“Tod always has a shortcut,” Alf announced, “but he got you back before they finished tallying the results.”

“They don’t have to hurry on my account because I’m going to turn in now,” Logan said before tossing off the last of his second beer. He felt a perverse sense of satisfaction when Tory jumped slightly at his words. “I’ll see you all in the morning and you can fill me in on the results then.”

He turned away to a chorus of goodnights, a smile of achievement curving his lips as his fingers closed around the Winnebago keys in his jean’s pocket. That was where he was headed. Tory could make her own plans for the rest of the night, but he was going to get some sleep in a semi-decent bed.

He realized the minute he’d entered the hotel room that a confrontation amid the crowd was pointless. Although his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity, he knew better than to tangle with the lady tonight. Tomorrow they would have hours together on the ride back to Little Rock. He’d take it slow and easy. He wanted Tory in his bed and didn’t want to make the wrong move again. He’d blundered too many times already in their short acquaintance.

Ten minutes later he gave an appreciative groan as warm water coursed over his tired body in the small cubicle of the motor home. At that moment he wouldn’t have traded the spartan conditions for the best suite at the Ritz Carlton, even if he couldn’t turn around in the shower. He could have stood under the weak spray for hours, but he knew he had to keep his advantage. He needed to be in bed before Tory returned.

She arrived about fifteen minutes later, not bothering to mask the noise of her arrival. The door slammed shut with some force, but Logan didn’t move. He remained relaxed, his eyes closed and his breathing regulated to simulate sleep. She stomped around the room with unnecessary, violent moves, making him wonder if she was rearranging the limited furnishings. As casually as possible he rolled over onto his back, making sure the sheet remained above his waist. She didn’t need to know he was wearing his briefs beneath the sheet. “What’s going on?”

Tory jumped at the sound of his drowsy voice, although she’d been making enough noise to wake the entire motel. She couldn’t find an extra blanket or even a pillow in any of the storage compartments. Bracing her hands on the kitchenette counter, she turned to face him, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

He was reclining on the bed, one arm raised above his head. The single, overhead light threw his bare chest into relief as he studied her beneath half-closed eyelids. She didn’t want to speculate about what he was, or wasn’t, wearing beneath the sheet. Her subconscious was already replaying tantalizing memories.

“Go back to sleep, Logan. I was just getting ready for bed,” she ordered, cursing the words that came out in a whisper.

“I wasn’t asleep. There didn’t seem much point until you came to bed.”

Tory watched in fascination as he ran his left hand over his chest from his collar bone to his stomach. Her heart skidded with every inch of the descent, mesmerized when his fingers came to rest on his taut midriff. Then his words sank into her distracted brain. “What?”

“I figured you’d wake me up when you got into bed,” he explained, then yawned before running his hand over his face.