To Marry McKenzie

By: Carole Mortimer

had no idea what he was talking about!

'It was only a lunch,' she responded, ready to leave now, the van loaded, the

keys in her hand.

'I wasn't particularly alluding to lunch,' he rasped.

Then what was he talking about? Admittedly, she could have handled the

latter part of this booking with a bit more detachment—in fact, a lot

more!—but there really had been nothing wrong with the lunch this man and

his guests had been served before her tearful outburst.

Logan McKenzie scowled at her slightly bewildered expression. 'I'm merely

offering you some advice from a male point of view, Darcy,' he replied. 'It's

up to you whether or not you choose to take it,' he ended abruptly, obviously

impatient to be gone now.

'I—: Thank you,' Darcy mumbled, having no idea what advice she had just

been given!

It wasn't a question of being eager to please where Daniel Simon was

concerned; she hadn't really been given too much of an opportunity to do

anything else where this lunch today was concerned. She was upset, yes, in

fact she was more than upset, but it would have been churlish to refuse to

help out when they were short-staffed. Business was business, after all, she

acknowledged slightly bitterly.

Logan McKenzie nodded tersely before turning quickly on his heel and

striding back to the still-waiting lift, stepping inside, his expression still

grim as the doors closed.

What a strange man, Darcy decided as she got into the van and drove out of

the car park. Kind one minute, impatient the next, then offering fatherly

advice—although anyone less like a father-figure, she couldn't imagine!

Oh, well, she decided lightly as she drove confidently through the

early-afternoon London traffic. Logan McKenzie was the least of her

problems at the moment. A frown marred the creaminess of her brow as she

thought of what was her biggest problem.

Daniel Simon. Chef Simon.

And the fact that this morning he had calmly informed her that he intended

marrying a woman he had only met for the first time three weeks ago!


'THIS has just been delivered for you,' Logan's secretary informed him,

before placing a large square parcel on top of his desk, his name and the

office address clearly printed in black ink on the brown wrapping paper.

Logan looked up with a frown, his thoughts still on the contract he had been

studying; the legalese in these things became more complicated by the day.

His legal team could obviously deal with it, but he would have liked his

cousin Fergus's opinion too before anything was signed.

But his cousin's housekeeper had informed Logan that Fergus had gone to

Scotland, to the home of their shared maternal grandfather. No doubt Hugh

McDonald had a good reason for appropriating the services of the family

lawyer, but, at this precise moment, Logan had little patience for those


He laid down the gold pen he had been using to mark his way down the

pages, running one of his hands over the tiredness of his brow. Yesterday

evening, spent with the blonde from Saturday night, had not been the

success he had hoped it would be.

In fact, after only half an hour spent alone in the beautiful Andrea's

company, he had already discovered that she giggled like a schoolgirl,

talked incessantly, mostly about her modelling career, ate almost nothing,

because of her figure—whatever that might mean!—and drank even less,

for the same reason.

The evening had dragged on interminably for Logan, and he had breathed a

sigh of relief when he'd finally been able to drop Andrea off at her apartment

shortly before midnight. Without asking to see her again!

'What is it?' he prompted Karen now, glancing uninterestedly at the parcel

she had put on his desk.

'I have no idea,' his competent secretary told him truthfully. 'I haven't

opened it; it's marked "Private and Personal",' she pointed out, with a

speculative rise of blonde brows.

Logan's mouth twisted wryly as he surveyed the paper- wrapped parcel.

'Have you checked it isn't a bomb? Or worse,' he drawled dryly, Gloria's

shouted threats of 'you'll regret this' still ringing in his ears even after the

passing of over two weeks.

Karen grinned, well aware, Logan was sure, that the telephone calls from

Miss Granger had ceased two weeks ago. And was obviously totally

unsympathetic to Logan's discomfort. Although that wasn't so surprising,

Logan accepted ruefully; Karen had worked for him for almost ten years

now, had seen several Glorias come and go in his life—and knew that he

had remained unaffected by any of them.

'It was hand-delivered by a very reputable courier company,' she assured

him teasingly.

He grimaced. 'That's no guarantee!'

Karen laughed softly. 'Go on, Logan, live dangerously for once, and open it.'

He frowned slightly at that 'for once' Karen had tacked onto her teasing

statement. Perhaps his life did seem rather predictable to someone outside

looking in, but that was the way he liked it. The way he deliberately

organised it. Basically because he could remember far too many upsets and

emotional scenes when he was a child to tolerate them in his own adult life...

He eyed the parcel once again before picking it up and turning it over; no

return address written on the back. 'Did the courier say who the parcel was