Tall, Dark & Gorgeous

About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978 and has now written over one hundred and eighty books for Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Tall, Dark & Gorgeous

To Marry McKenzie

To Marry McCloud

To Marry McAllister

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Marry McKenzie

CHAPTER ONE

CRASH!

‘Damn!’

Logan looked up from the letters he was signing, his expression one of puzzlement as he heard first the crash of what sounded like glass, quickly followed by the expletive.

What—?

Crash!

‘Double damn!’

Logan’s expression turned to one of bemusement as he put down his pen to stand up, moving in the direction from which the sound of breaking glass was coming: the boardroom that adjoined his vast office.

He and a couple of business associates had lunched in there earlier, discussing contracts while they ate; Logan had found this to be a good way of doing business. The table was still partially set for the meal, he now discovered, but the room itself was empty.

‘Damn and blast it,’ a disembodied voice muttered impatiently. ‘That’s two glasses I’ll have to replace now. I— ouch!’ The last was obviously a cry of pain.

Logan was even more intrigued now, walking slowly around the long mahogany table, to find himself peering down at the top of a head of bright red hair. Ah, the puzzle was solved: this was the girl—woman?—who had served their lunch to them, an employee of Chef Simon. Logan hadn’t taken too much notice of her during the meal, having been intent on his business discussions, but he did remember the occasional glimpse of that gleaming red hair as she’d moved quietly round the table.

The girl straightened, frowning down at her left hand, where a considerable amount of blood had appeared at the end of one of her fingers.

‘Did you cut yourself?’

Whatever reaction Logan had expected to his sympathetic query, it was not to have the girl jump almost six inches in the air in her nervousness, knocking over one of the water glasses as she did so!

Logan managed to reach out and catch the glass before it rolled off the table—to join the two he could see now were already shattered on the shiny wood-tiled floor.

‘No point in your having to buy three replacements instead of two,’ he murmured dryly as he righted the glass on the table. ‘Is it a bad cut?’ He reached out with the intention of looking at the girl’s hand.

Only to have that hand snatched out of his grasp as it was hidden behind her back. The girl looked up at him with stricken grey eyes. ‘I’m so sorry if I’ve disturbed you, Mr McKenzie,’ she gasped. ‘I was just clearing away, and—and—I broke the glasses.’ She looked down at the shattered pieces. ‘And—and—’ Whatever she had been about to say was lost as she suddenly dissolved into floods of tears.

Logan recoiled from this display of emotion, frowning darkly. ‘Hey, it’s only a couple of glasses. I’m sure Chef Simon isn’t that much of an ogre that you have to cry about it.’

The outside catering company of Chef Simon had been taking care of the occasional business lunches Logan had in his boardroom for over a year now, and Logan had always found the other man reasonable to deal with. Although he hadn’t seen this young girl before, so perhaps she was new, and feared losing her job because of those breakages…?

‘You could always tell Chef Simon that I broke them,’ he attempted to cajole; weeping women were not his forte!

Well…not when they were weeping because they were worried or upset, he acknowledged ruefully as he remembered that last meeting with Gloria a couple of weeks ago. The frown deepened on his brow as he recalled the tears she had cried, tears of anger and frustration because he had told her their year-long relationship was over. She had even thrown a vase of flowers at him when he’d refused to change his mind, Logan remembered with distaste.

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that,’ the girl instantly refused. ‘Then he would put it on your bill, and that wouldn’t be fair at all.’ She shook her head.

Fair…It wasn’t a word Logan heard too often, either in business or his personal life. Besides, the cost of a couple of glasses would hardly bankrupt his multimillion-pound, multifaceted company…

The girl reached up to wipe away the tears staining her face, inadvertently smearing blood over her cheeks instead. ‘Oh, damn,’ she muttered frustratedly as she realised what she had done, searching unsuccessfully in the pockets of her trousers for a tissue.

‘You like that word, don’t you?’ Logan murmured, his head tilted as he looked at her properly for the first time.

She was a tiny little thing, barely reaching up to his shoulders, black trousers and a cream blouse emphasising the slenderness of her body, that shoulder-length bright red hair framing a face that, at first glance, seemed to be covered in freckles. On second glance, he saw the freckles only covered her cheeks and nose; her grey eyes were framed by thick dark lashes, her mouth wide, although unsmiling at the moment, her chin pointed determinedly.

Not exactly—

Where had that smile come from? Logan wondered dazedly as he found himself instantly reassessing the opinion he had just formed of this girl’s looks being unremarkable. When she smiled, as she was doing now, those grey eyes became darkly luminous, dimples appeared in the slightly rounded cheeks, her teeth shone white and even in a softly alluring mouth.

Logan stared at her uncomprehendingly; he felt as if he had just had all the breath knocked out of his body!

‘It’s better than a lot of the alternatives,’ she acknowledged. ‘And, while I appreciate your offer concerning the glasses…’ the girl continued to smile, appearing to have no idea of the effect she had just had on him ‘…as you said, it’s not worth getting upset about,’ she dismissed with a shrug.

‘Then whatever were you crying about?’ Logan rasped, angry with himself—and her!—for his unprecedented reaction just now.

The smile faded—and so did Logan’s confusion. He shook his head. The girl was plain, for goodness’ sake; just a load of freckles and smoky grey eyes!

‘Well?’ he snapped impatiently.

She was looking up at him reproachfully with those wide grey eyes now. ‘I—I—I’ve cut myself!’ She held up the damaged finger.

Logan scowled down at it. ‘It appears to have stopped bleeding.’ Which it had. ‘And it doesn’t look too serious.’ Which it didn’t.

And, he decided irritably, he had already wasted enough of his afternoon on this situation—whatever it might be!

‘I’ll have my secretary bring through a plaster,’ he bit out abruptly. ‘In the meantime, I would suggest you give that finger a wash. And your face,’ he added with an impatient glance at her bloodstained cheek.

She put a hand up self-consciously to her cheek. ‘I said I’m sorry for disturbing you.’ She frowned, looking on the verge of tears once again.

She could have no idea how—momentarily!—she had disturbed him!

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Darcy,’ she said miserably.

‘Well, Miss Darcy—’

‘Darcy is my first name,’ she corrected, even as she sniffed inelegantly.

Oh, no, she was going to cry again! And wasn’t Darcy a boy’s name…?

‘Your father wanted a son, hmm?’ Logan murmured mockingly.

Those grey eyes flashed angrily. ‘What he wanted, and what he got, are two entirely different things,’ she clipped.

‘It usually is where women are concerned,’ Logan drawled derisively.

Darcy looked up at him beneath those long, dark lashes. ‘Are you married, Mr McKenzie?’

Logan’s surprised brows shot up beneath the dark hair that fell lightly over his brow. What did his married state have to do with anything?

‘As it happens—no,’ he answered slowly.

She nodded—as if she had already guessed as much. ‘Women, I’ve invariably found, often respond in character to the men they are involved with. For example—’

‘Darcy, I believe you were here to serve a meal and then depart, not to psychoanalyse the client!’ Logan cut in scathingly, his jaw tightly clenched.

Until a few minutes ago he had been quietly pleased with his day; lunch had been a success, contracts were being drawn up even as he spoke to this young lady, and he had been looking forward to having dinner this evening with a beautiful blonde he had met at a dinner party on Saturday. That sense of well-being had now been lost in an increasing desire to strangle this young woman!

Darcy looked slightly flustered. ‘I’m so sorry. I—It’s just—I—I’m really not myself today!’ she choked before burying her face in her hands as the tears began to fall once more.

Logan shook his head dazedly, once again feeling totally out of his depth in the face of the renewed tears. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ he muttered before reaching out and taking her into his arms.

She felt so tiny as he cradled her against the hardness of his chest, that red hair feeling like silk against his fingers as he absently caressed it, her shoulder-blades so fragile to his touch she was like a little bird—

What on earth was he doing? This was the waitress who had come to serve lunch, for heaven’s sake! More to the point, anyone could walk in on them and completely misconstrue the situation!

He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Er—Darcy…?’

Her only answer to his tentative query was to bury her face even further into his shirt-front, the dampness of the material clinging to his chest now.

Logan felt totally out of his depth, beginning to wish that someone would come in and interrupt them—whatever construction was put on his actions!

‘Here,’ he prompted gruffly, handing her the snowy white handkerchief from his breast pocket, relieved when she moved away from him slightly to give her nose a good blow.

No wonder not too many women cried in his presence, he decided ruefully, if Darcy’s unattractive appearance was anything to go by—she looked like a startled fawn: all eyes and blotchy cheeks!

‘I really am so sorry,’ she said miserably. ‘It’s just that I had some—rather disturbing news, earlier, before coming out. I don’t usually cry all over perfect strangers, I can assure you.’ She gave a watery smile.

Logan gave the ghost of a smile in return. ‘That’s okay—I’m far from perfect!’ he attempted to tease, won-dering exactly what sort of news this young woman could have received to reduce her to this state. ‘Is it anything I can help you with?’ he heard himself offer—and then frowned at this uncharacteristic interest in a stranger’s—perfect or otherwise!—predicament.

Having originated from a large, Scottish-based family—consisting of his aged grandfather, his mother, a couple of aunts and numerous cousins—Logan usually found it all too easy to distance himself from the upsets that seemed to constantly plague his family. If he didn’t he would spend most of his time caught up in one intrigue or another, and he preferred a much quieter life than that. Which was why he spent the majority of his time at his London apartment!

Why he should be showing this interest in the problems of a complete stranger he had no idea—especially one who had cried all over him and left bloodstains on his shirt!

Darcy’s smile was slightly bitter. ‘I doubt it.’ She shook her head. ‘But thank you for asking.’

He felt irritated because she wouldn’t tell him what was bothering her! What on earth was wrong with him?

‘A problem shared is a problem halved, so they say,’ he encouraged cajolingly.

‘I doubt you would be interested.’ She shook her head again, beginning to look decidedly embarrassed now.

‘Try me,’ Logan prompted huskily.

Darcy shrugged again. ‘It’s just that—No, I really can’t,’ she decided firmly. ‘Da—Chef Simon,’ she corrected awkwardly, ‘wouldn’t appreciate it if he knew I had been discussing his personal life with one of his customers,’ she admitted.

Chef Simon? Daniel Simon…? For surely this young woman had been going to call the renowned chef by his first name? And if her tears were anything to go by, it was a liberty that implied a much more intimate relationship between them than just that of employer and employee.

Daniel Simon and this girl, Darcy?

Logan couldn’t hide his surprise. This girl looked no older than her early twenties at most, whereas from what Logan knew of Daniel Simon he was a man in his early fifties. Spring and Autumn. Not that it was an unusual arrangement, Logan acknowledged, he had just never thought of the other man in that particular light. In fact, he couldn’t say he had given a single thought to Daniel Simon’s private life!

As he didn’t want to think about it now, either! ‘You’re probably right.’ Logan nodded tersely. ‘I’ll send Karen through with the plaster,’ he added dismissively before turning to leave.

‘Mr McKenzie…?’

He turned reluctantly. ‘Yes, Darcy?’ he replied warily.

‘Thank you,’ she told him huskily, smiling at him for the second time today.

Once again causing that numbing jolt in his chest!

The quicker he got out of here, Logan decided grimly, the better! ‘You’re welcome,’ he bit out harshly, making good his escape to the adjoining office this time.

Escape? he questioned himself once he was seated back behind his desk. From the woman Darcy? Ridiculous. He had just had enough of a woman’s tears for one day—especially as she had probably completely ruined his silk shirt with those tears and the blood from her cut finger!

What must Logan McKenzie think of her? Darcy groaned inwardly.

She had tried so hard to keep her worrying thoughts at bay this morning, concentrating on serving lunch to the client and his guests. But she just hadn’t been able to control her chaotic thoughts once she’d started to clear away, and dropping the two glasses had seemed like the final straw on a day when she’d already felt as if the bottom were dropping out of her world.

But even so, she really shouldn’t have cried all over Logan McKenzie’s pristine white silk shirt. She very much doubted he would be able to remove those bloodstains!

She still had his sodden handkerchief, she realised as she looked down with dismay at the screwed-up item in her hand. Not that she could have given it back to him in this condition; she would have to launder it first and send it back to him. Not that she thought Logan McKenzie would miss one white handkerchief; it was just a matter of principle.

She—

‘Here we are,’ announced a bright female voice as Karen Hill, Logan McKenzie’s private secretary, came into the room, laden down with disinfectant cream and plasters. ‘Logan says you’ve had an accident.’ She looked at Darcy enquiringly.

Logan—Darcy was sure—thought she was one big accident! She cringed with embarrassment now as she remembered the way she had sobbed all over the poor man.

‘It’s nothing,’ she dismissed. ‘Just a plaster will be fine,’ she accepted lightly, the cut no longer bleeding, although it stung slightly.

But not as much as remembering her complete breakdown in front of Logan McKenzie a few minutes ago! The sooner she got away from here, the better.

‘Thanks.’ She accepted the offered plaster. ‘Er—do you have any idea of Logan’s—Mr McKenzie’s,’ she corrected awkwardly, ‘shirt size?’

Karen’s blonde brows shot up in obvious surprise. ‘Logan’s shirt size…?’ she repeated speculatively.

Mistake, Darcy, she admonished herself. If she intended replacing Logan McKenzie’s ruined silk shirt she would just have to find another way of finding out what size to purchase.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she told the other woman brightly, avoiding Karen’s questioning gaze as she put the plaster on her finger. ‘I’ll just finish clearing away here and be on my way,’ she added.

‘Fine,’ the other woman answered distractedly, obviously still puzzled by Darcy’s earlier question.

Well, she would have to remain puzzled, Darcy decided irritably; she had already embarrassed herself enough for one day!

Once on her own she cleared away in double-quick fashion, stacking everything into the baskets she had brought up with her, even the broken glass was swept up and wrapped in newspaper for her to take away with her.

It was just her luck to find Logan McKenzie waiting for the ascending lift when she struggled down the corridor with the two laden baskets!

He turned to glance at her, doing a double take as he obviously recognised her, a frown instantly darkening his brow.

Not surprising really, Darcy acknowledged with an inward wince; the poor man was probably wondering whether it would be safe to get into the lift with her, or if there was a chance it would break down the moment the doors closed behind the two of them!

‘Hello,’ she greeted inanely.

‘Darcy.’ He nodded tersely, glancing impatiently at the lights indicating the slow ascent of the lift.

Couldn’t wait to get away from her, Darcy realised self-derisively, knowing he would probably make a point of asking Daniel Simon for her not to wait on one of his business lunches ever again! Well, he needn’t worry on that score; she was only here today because they were short-staffed.

The restaurant, Chef Simon, opened in London by Daniel Simon five years ago, had become such a success that the customers often asked him if he was able to cater for dinner and luncheon parties in their own homes. The outside catering company of Chef Simon was a direct result of those requests. With numerous pre-bookings, already six months ahead in some cases, this secondary business was obviously doing very nicely, thank you!

Unfortunately several of the staff were off with flu at the moment, which was the reason Darcy had been roped in to help today. After the last disastrous half-hour, she wished she could have claimed a previous engagement!

‘Here, let me.’ An impatient Logan McKenzie reached out and relieved her of one of the heavy baskets.

Darcy blinked her surprise, having been taken unawares, lost in thought as she was. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured dazedly. ‘But there’s really no need,’ she added awkwardly, moving to take the basket back out of his grasp.

Something he obviously had no intention of letting her do as his long, tapered fingers tightened about the wicker handle. ‘Leave it,’ he snapped impatiently as the lift finally arrived, standing back to allow her to enter first.

Darcy looked at him beneath lowered lashes as he pressed the lift button for the ground floor. Aged about thirty-five, he was incredibly good-looking—in an arrogantly austere way, she decided slowly. His short dark hair was straight and silky, blue eyes the colour of the clear Mediterranean Sea, his nose slightly long, sculptured mouth unsmiling now, although Darcy had witnessed several charming smiles during the serving of lunch, his chin squarely firm. Tall and ruggedly muscular, he looked as if he would be more at home on a farm, than in an office wearing tailored suits and silk shirts.

Silk shirts…she remembered with an inward groan, the marks of her crying earlier clearly showing on the now-dried material. She really doubted that the traces of blood on the white silk would come off during dry-cleaning, either.

Darcy was relieved when the lift reached the ground floor, having found the silence between them uncomfortable, to say the least. ‘Thanks.’ She reached to take the basket from him, making no effort to follow him out of the lift.

Logan McKenzie stood in the doorway to stop the doors closing behind him, frowning again. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To the basement,’ she told him lightly. ‘I have the van parked down there.’

‘In that case…’ He stepped back into the lift, the doors instantly closing behind him as he pressed the button marked ‘basement’.

‘There’s really no need,’ she told him once again, completely flustered at having the owner of this world-renowned company helping her in this way.

‘There’s every need,’ he rasped grimly. ‘A little thing like you shouldn’t be carrying these heavy baskets. And correct me if I’m mistaken, but was there only you dealing with the preparation and serving of lunch today?’ Logan continued firmly, completely ignoring the fact that she had been about to protest at being called a ‘little thing’, blue eyes narrowed questioningly.

‘Yes.’ Darcy shifted the heavy basket to her other hand. ‘We’re short-staffed today, you see and—’

‘No, I don’t see,’ Logan interrupted shortly, stepping out into the darkened basement that acted as a car park for the office staff of McKenzie Industries. ‘Short-staffed or not, you shouldn’t have been expected to deal with it all alone. A fact I will be passing on to Daniel Simon at the earliest opportunity,’ he added grimly.

‘Oh, don’t do that!’ Darcy turned from loading the van to protest, two wings of embarrassed colour in her cheeks. ‘I managed just fine. You had no complaints about lunch, did you?’ she pressed determinedly as Logan McKenzie still looked grim.

‘No…’ he answered slowly.

‘Then there’s no problem, is there?’ she assured him brightly.

He looked at her consideringly. ‘You know, Darcy,’ he began slowly, ‘you might find Daniel Simon less of a—bully, if you weren’t so eager to please.’

Darcy looked up at him, but the subdued lighting in the car park made it impossible to read his expression clearly. Which was a pity—because she 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.