chuckled.
Mallory shrugged. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” With an index finger, he tapped his cell phone. “You know, my agent wanted to know the answer to that very question, too.”
“What did you tell her, besides not to worry?”
His brows furrowed. “Actually, I didn’t have an answer for her.”
“Besides the friends-and-enemies adage,” Mallory remarked.
“Besides that,” he agreed. “So, why did you come? And, yes, I’m turning the question around.”
“Curiosity,” she replied honestly. “How could I decline when I find you so intriguing?”
“I’m flattered, I think. Especially if that’s the woman speaking rather than the reporter.”
“They’re one and the same, remember?”
Logan’s gaze intensified. “Are you sure about that?”
She was, or at least she had been until he’d pinned her with that stare and baldly asked. The boat moved under her feet, a slight rolling motion that reminded her of the water bed she’d had as a teenager. She’d slept like a baby back then. These days she was lucky to snatch a few hours of uninterrupted slumber before her eyes snapped open and her mind began clicking away like a slide projector, flashing the items on her current to-do list at work along with the goals related to her long-range career plans.
“I’d love a glass of that wine,” she said, opting to change the subject.
“I wouldn’t mind some myself.” As he poured it, he said, “How exactly did you find me? I only ask so I can prevent others from doing the same.”
“Sorry.” She shook her head and, after a sip of the Merlot, added, “As much as I’d like to help you out—not to mention, keep other reporters away—I can’t reveal my sources.”
He nodded sagely. “Bad form?”
“Right up there with a magician giving away the secret to how he saws his assistant in half,” she said with sham seriousness.
His smile turned boyish and was all the more charming for it. “I’ve always wanted to know how that’s done.”
“I do,” she couldn’t help bragging. “Just after college I was assigned to do a feature on a guy who did a magic act at a local nightclub. After the interview, he showed me.”
“But you won’t tell me, will you?” Logan guessed.
“And ruin the illusion?”
“Right.” Logan chuckled. “So, are you hungry?”
“I’m getting there,” she replied casually.
In fact, Mallory was famished. She’d barely picked at her lunch, and breakfast—a toasted bagel with cream cheese eaten at her desk just after dawn—was a distant memory now.
“Good. I went ahead and made dinner.”
Her mouth actually watered. “The marinated flank steak you mentioned at the luncheon?” When he nodded, she said, “Do you mean you actually cooked it here?”
“I cooked the meat topside on that portable gas grill, and the rest was prepared below deck.”
The meal he’d described earlier seemed the sort one would make in a gourmet kitchen, so her tone was dubious when she asked, “You have an actual stove down there?”
He smiled. “Quarters may be a bit tight, but you’ll find my boat has all the amenities of home.”
Why did that simple sentence send heat curling through her veins?
“A-all?” she stammered, then cleared her throat. In a more professional tone, she inquired, “How is that possible? I mean, this thing is just—what?—thirty feet long.”
“Thirty-one, actually. But you’d be surprised what can be fitted into that amount of space using a bit of ingenuity. Want a tour?”
“I’d love one,” she said, even though the idea of moving below deck with him suddenly made her nervous. It wasn’t Logan who made her wary. Her concern had more to do with herself. Story, she reminded herself for what seemed like the millionth time since meeting him.
Luckily she was given a reprieve. “Can you wait until after dinner?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “I’m in no hurry.”
Mallory sat at the table and let Logan serve her since he seemed to have everything under control. More than under control, she decided, when he reappeared from below deck a few minutes later carrying two plates of artfully arranged food. The meal looked like something that would be right at home on the cover of Bon Appetit.
“Wow. If this tastes as good as it looks, I’ll be in heaven.”
She meant it. Even though unmasking Logan’s qualifications in the kitchen would never earn her a Pulitzer, much less her editor’s forgiveness, it was hard not to admire a man who could whip up a five-star meal aboard a boat in the late afternoon heat and barely break a sweat as evidenced by his dry brow.
Logan settled onto the chair opposite hers. “Thanks.”
“Mmm. Heaven, definitely,” Mallory remarked after her first bite of the marinated meat. It melted in her mouth like butter. Afterward, she raised her glass. “I have to toast the chef. I’m impressed.”
“That’s quite a compliment coming from you. I get the feeling you’re not the type of woman who is quick with the accolades.”
“Only when they’re earned.”
He smiled and sipped his wine. After setting it aside, he said, “Then, I can’t wait until you taste the cinnamon apple torte I made for dessert.”
“That good?”
“Better,” he assured her with a wink that scored a direct hit on her libido. “Forget accolades. You just might be rendered speechless.”
“That would be a first.” She laughed. “But then, you’ve already proved you’re a man of many talents.”
“Yes, and I’m looking forward to introducing you to another one of them later.”
Heat began to build again. “Oh?”
“The sail.” But Logan’s crooked smile told Mallory he knew exactly which direction her thoughts had taken and that he enjoyed knowing he could inspire such a detour.
As their meal progressed, the conversation veered—or was it steered?—to her personal life. Mallory didn’t like to talk about herself, but as a reporter she’d found that divulging a few details about her past often helped her sources loosen up. So, when he asked if she was a Chicago native, she told him, “No. Actually, I’m not a
