Southern Hospitality by Sally Falcon Read Free Book Online

expectantly.
    Tory stared at him in amazement. He couldn’t be serious, showing up on her doorstep in the middle of the night and acting as if he was paying her a friendly call. They’d only met that afternoon, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he was quoting the ending line to Casablanca. Who was Humphrey Bogart and who was Claude Rains? “What do you want, Logan?”
    The only sign of emotion was the telltale tightening of his square jaw before he ambled over and lowered himself into her contour rocker, settling into the powder-blue horsehair upholstery as if he anticipated a long visit. “I thought we should discuss what we’re going to do about it,” he said quietly, hooking his ankle over his knee.
    “About what?” Tory demanded. She had to be dreaming. Logan Herrington wasn’t making himself at home in her cottage, issuing enigmatic statements. He couldn’t be asking about what she thought he was, could he? Surely he didn’t have the same chaotic reaction to her.
    “Let’s not be coy about this, Tory. We’re both mature adults.”
    “I’m not so sure we both are,” she stated, rashly moving toward him. Putting T.L.’s crystal snifter safely on the sewing table next to Logan’s chair, she placed her hands on her hips in Arnette’s favorite pose. “You have exactly five minutes to start making sense, then you’re out of here.”
    “Victoria Planchet, you’re a hard woman,” he answered, shaking his head mournfully. “I thought southern women were supposed to be soft, gently-spoken ladies with a kind understanding that was as delicate as a magnolia petal.”
    “You nipped at Daddy’s brandy on the way over here, didn’t you?” she inquired, but didn’t wait for an answer. “You just ran into one of the fabled steel magnolias, Mr. Herrington. I only deal with mental cases during my optimum functioning hours, which are from eight in the morning to about five in the afternoon. For you, though, it’s from noon until five past.”
    “Tory, you can’t deny there’s an inexplicable attraction between us. You can’t take away the one thing that could make this crazy trip worthwhile,” Logan stated, giving her a bewildered look. “Believe me, I don’t usually do anything like this, but I’ve never felt this way about a woman on such a short acquaintance.”
    She wouldn’t let herself think about his last statement. With Logan rising to his feet, she couldn’t be distracted from her purpose—getting him out of the cottage before she did something foolhardy. “What do you mean, make this crazy trip worthwhile? Does it have something to do with the fact you know next to nothing about rally racing?”
    “Forget about the rally, I want to talk about us.” He was standing directly in front of her, getting much too close.
    “Why are you here, Logan? You act as though this assignment is some sort of penance you have to pay,” Tory countered, trying to ignore the shivers of awareness that raced through her blood. She could feel the heat coming from his body as he took another step closer.
    “It isn’t important why I’m here, only that we’ve met, and it’s something that can’t be ignored.” He raised his arms, hesitating a moment when she seemed to shrink away from him. Gently he rested his hands on her stiff shoulders.
    “We met just this afternoon. I don’t know how you do things in Boston, but in Little Rock, we believe in courtesy—even when strangers test our patience.” She was determined not to give into the temptation of his nearness, trying to convince both of them that this was ridiculous. To stay in control, she pressed her point, “Why did Preston Herrington send you to Arkansas?”
    Logan had the grace to actually blush at the direct question, but Tory never had a chance to decide if it was from guilt, anger, or frustration. His right hand moved swiftly from her shoulder to snare the nape of her neck, his lips capturing hers in a millisecond of time. Her protest was