The Bachelor

It sounded as if it was half a question, half a statement uttered in disbelief. Obviously her big brother didn’t talk to Eric about her. Not that she would have expected him to, she supposed. When handsome men in their prime got together, siblings were probably the last things they talked about.

From some automatic pilot region that was usually tapped into only when her mother was around, Jenny felt her backbone stiffening.

“Yes, really.”

She saw amusement curving his mouth. Did he find lawyers amusing, or just the idea of her being one?

“Which firm?” he asked.

“Advocate Aid, Inc.” There was a touch of pride in her voice as she told him. They were an incredibly small group, numbering four now that Russell had bailed on them. But they were a proud group nonetheless.

Eric really hadn’t expected that. He’d thought that Jennifer’s father’s connections would have placed her in some highbrow law firm, the way they had Jordan. He tried picturing her in less than affluent surroundings and came up short.

“Why?”

Jenny’s back became ramrod straight. This she was accustomed to. Being challenged. For a moment, she forgot that a glance from Eric Logan’s soft brown eyes could melt steel pins at a hundred paces. Her protective nature came out, the same nature that allowed her to champion so many of the championless people who came her way, looking upon her as their last chance.

“Because they need someone on their side a lot more than the people who come to Jordan’s firm do.”

Eric wondered if this was something she truly believed in, or just something she felt she should be giving lip service to. So many men and women involved in charities only did so by remote control. They kept their hearts completely out of the affair.

Because the noise level was rising, he leaned forward across the table. “So you’re saying the poor need more justice than the rich?”

It felt as if his face was inches from hers. She could feel his breath along her skin. Could feel the inside of her body coiling, ready to spring. Not that she ever would. She was too terrified to make a move.

It took her a second to find her voice. “No, I’m saying the poor are just as much entitled to it as the rich and because they’re poor, they don’t get it.”

His eyes held hers. She had nice eyes, he thought. Sincere eyes. He began to believe her. Or at least believe that she believed herself. “Except for you.”

He was smiling again. Was that indulgence? Gas? Or something more meaningful?

She struggled not to sink into his expression. “I’m not the Lone Crusader here. There are others, although not nearly enough.” The sigh escaped her before she realized it had been hovering in the wings.

The last time he’d heard anyone sigh like that, it was the man next to him at the blackjack table. The man had lost ten thousand dollars at a single turn of the cards. “That sounded pretty intense. Care to elaborate?”

Before she knew it, Jenny found herself doing just that.

Eric, she realized, had the ability to draw words out of her despite the fact that they had to get past a blank mind and a thick tongue. She concluded that the man was nothing short of a magician. The kind who pulled on a single scarf only to draw out another and another while the audience looked on in awe.

But maybe he was just being polite. She didn’t want to bore him with details. “It’s just gotten a little harder since Russell left.”

“Russell?”

She nodded. Since he hadn’t yawned or had his attention drawn away by the voluptuous redhead who was unabashedly staring at him from across the room, Jenny continued.

“Russell Riley. He was one of the founders of Advocate Aid, Inc.” Russell had been the one to recruit her, straight out of law school. The ink hadn’t dried yet on her diploma when he’d told her about the fledgling law firm that he and his friends had put together so that they could practice “real” law as he’d put it. “He just up and quit one day.”

A wry smile played on her lips as she recalled the scene in her head. Recalled progressing from guarded amusement when she thought Russell was kidding, to disbelief, to utter sorrow. And finally to anger because he was deserting them after getting her so caught up in the concept.

“He said he’d had enough of tilting at windmills. That the windmills had won and he was taking an offer from a firm that could actually help him pay his bills at the end of the month.” She supposed she couldn’t fault the man. After all, she had never been in that position herself. Maybe she would have thought differently if it was a matter of choosing between paying her rent and eating that week.

Finished with his espresso, Eric toyed with the empty cup, his eyes on her. “Don’t you ever feel that way?”

“My bills are paid at the end of the month.” At times, the admission almost embarrassed her. It was what separated her from the people she was trying to help. They were poor and she was far from it, even if she didn’t take a cent from her parents. That was because of the inheritance. “I had a very generous grandmother who left me more than enough money in her will.”

Eric shook his head. One strand of brown hair fell into his eyes and she had to curve her fingers into her palms to keep from reaching out and sweeping the strand back into place. “No, I meant tired of tilting at windmills.”

She smiled. “Sometimes.” She was unaware that exhilaration entered her voice. But he wasn’t. “But then, those wonderful times when the windmills lose—and they do lose—make it all worth it. So does the expression on the face of my client, a person who thought no one cared and that he was doomed to be the one that everyone else stepped on.” Forgetting who she was talking to for a moment, she warmed to her subject, to her unending quest. “I deal in hope and there’s no greater high than to see it actually take root and spread.”

She realized that he’d gotten quiet. Not bored, just quiet. He was looking at her as if she was saying something he was actually interested in.

Also his gift, she thought.

She’d heard women say that Eric Logan could instantly make them feel as if they were the only ones in a room crowded with people. It was true. The coffee shop he’d brought her to was fairly full with a post-lunch crowd milking the last minutes of their break before returning to whatever they had to return to. She’d seen more than one woman look Eric’s way as they walked past table after full table. Attractive women sitting across from attractive men.

But then, Eric was in a class all his own. He had a certain something. Magnetism, she thought it was called.

It could have been called Oscar for all she knew, Jenny thought. The only thing she was certain of was that it still had a deep effect on her.

He was smiling at her, really smiling. Not indulgently, the way a person did when they pasted on a smile and counted off the minutes until someone was through talking to them, but genuinely.

Or was that only wishful thinking on her part? “What?” she finally asked.

Eric sobered ever so slightly. He didn’t want her thinking he was laughing at her. “It’s just that Jordan never mentioned any of this. The only time he talked about you was to say you were chairing some charitable event. I had no idea Jordan’s little sister had turned into Joan of Arc.”

Self-consciousness returned in droves. Once again she was that little girl in the living room with two left shoes on. It had taken her years to live that down. Her mother kept it in her arsenal, ready to pull out at a moment’s notice.

“Did I just sound too pompous?”

He read her expression quickly and with regret. In his opinion, there weren’t enough true do-gooders in the world. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound as if I was poking fun at you, I was just impressed. My parents would have been, too. They believe very strongly in the concept of giving back.”

A light turned on inside of her, burning brightly. He was impressed. Eric Logan was impressed with her. Never mind that it was for something she did as routinely as breathing, he’d taken notice of her. She felt lighter than air.

“It’s not so much a matter of giving back as it is just trying to balance the odds.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that.”

“It wasn’t a tangent,” Eric protested. “As I remember, I asked you a question.”

She tried not to flush and mentally upbraided herself for her reaction when she did.

What was it about the way the man spoke, looked, hell, breathed, that negated all her schooling, all her thoughts, everything inside her head and gave her the IQ of a dull button?

“The question you should be asking is about the fund-raiser.”

Then, as if he had done just that, Jenny went on to give him the date, time and location of the affair. The Portland Hilton had graciously donated one of their larger ballrooms for the evening in exchange for the publicity the fund-raiser was guaranteed to generate in the local newspapers. She’d already made a point to release the story to the Herald and the Tribune, making sure there would be follow-ups on the night of the event. Sleep these days came at a high premium.

She watched Eric jot down the information and held her breath as he went through his PalmPilot and made sure he had no conflicting engagement. To her relief and minor disbelief, he didn’t.

So far, so good.

“I’ll need you there at least half an hour before the auction starts,” she told him as he closed his Palm-Pilot and tucked it away into the breast pocket of his Armani jacket.

“Will you, now?”

Jenny knew the teasing words were uttered just in fun, but she felt them slide down her spine like the warm, caressing fingers of a lover. Or what she imagined the warm, caressing fingers of a lover would feel like, never having had the firsthand experience herself.

It took effort not to shiver as the sensation danced through her.

From some unknown source, she discovered an iota of saliva and husbanded it before swallowing to relieve a throat that was suddenly so parched, it made the Mojave Desert look like a rain forest.

“I mean we need you there earlier so we can go over the order you’ll all be in and what you want me to say when I introduce you to the bidders.”

“I have to write my own intro?” He hadn’t thought of that. Listing his accomplishments wasn’t something he was accustomed to.

Jenny thought of last year. A great many of the men who were auctioned off had very clear ideas about what she should say about them before the bidding began. “A lot of the bachelors like doing that.”

Eric shrugged carelessly. “Why don’t you take care of that?” he suggested. In his estimation, she looked a little stunned. “Say anything you want to say.”

How about “I love you”?

Jenny blinked with a jolt, as startled by the unbidden thought as she knew he would have been had she said it out loud.

Eric interpreted her reaction to be to his words, not some thought that had suddenly occurred to her. “What, no good?”

She tried to suck in a breath as covertly as possible. “No, that’ll be fine. I think I know enough about you to make an intelligent presentation.” Striving to look anywhere but at his face, she glanced down at her wrist. And saw her watch. The numbers registered and she groaned. “Oh, God.”

“What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him, fighting a growing panic. She was going to be late. This was just par for today. “It’s two o’clock.”

“And just what time did your fairy godmother tell you to be back?” he teased. He didn’t exactly know why, but everything about Jenny made him think of Cinderella. “Do your clothes start disappearing now, changing into tatters?”

With her thoughts scattering in two directions at once, his words made no sense to her. She absolutely hated being late. She pictured poor Miguel and his family waiting for her in the long courthouse hallway, thinking that she had deserted them. “What?” She began rummaging through her purse for her cell phone, praying that the battery hadn’t been struck dead by some fluke of nature. “No. I mean, I’m due in court at three.”

Taking her wrist, he turned it slightly so he could read the face on her watch, as well. “That still gives you an hour.”

She could feel her skin throbbing where his thumb and forefinger had touched it. “Yes, but I need to call a cab and if there’s traffic—”

He placed his hand over hers to curtail the stream of words he saw coming. Unable to quite read it, Eric found himself curious about the look that leaped into her eyes.

“Why don’t I drive you to court?”

The casual offer had air rushing out of her lungs like helium from a punctured balloon. “What?”

Was it his imagination, or did she look flustered? “Why don’t I drive you to court?” he repeated, then grinned. “That would solve your problem, wouldn’t it?”

All but for the lobotomy his smile was threatening to perform on her brain. She ran the tip of her dry tongue along her drier lips.

“Don’t you have to get back to the office?” she asked hoarsely.

It had been a full, if unproductive morning. “All of today’s crises have been safely averted,” he informed her. “And if a new one crops up, Peter’ll handle it.” He thought of his older brother, shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone. His father couldn’t have asked for a better son to run the company if he had had him made to order. “Peter always handles it.”

Was that a note of sibling rivalry she detected? No, if that were the case, then Eric would have been anxious to get back into the arena. It was more as if he was acknowledging the lines that had been drawn.

“Peter’s very conscientious.” It wasn’t really a guess. Jordan had told her as much.

“That he is,” Eric agreed. “To a fault.” He remembered the way Jenny had come into his office, armed with rhetoric he hadn’t allowed her to unleash. “He’s the one you may have to talk into doing this auction.”

She finished her coffee and crumpled her cup. It was a nervous habit. “Jordan’s done handling that for me.”

He nodded, taking in the information. “Wise choice. Jordan can talk the sun into not setting.” His eyes shifted to her face. Had he just unintentionally insulted her? “No offense to you intended.”

She didn’t follow him. “Offense?”

“I didn’t mean you couldn’t persuade Peter if you wanted to. I’m sure you can be very persuasive if you want to be.”

There it was again, that thousand-watt smile. Even when it was turned down a notch, it completely undid her.

Talk, damn it, Jenny, talk. Answer the man.

She couldn’t just continue to sit here and blush like some single-celled idiot, she told herself. She said the only thing she truthfully could. “I win more cases than I lose.”

It took him a second to remember she was a lawyer. “You mean in court.”

Was he trying to tell her that it didn’t work that way in the world beyond the hallowed halls of justice? “Yes, but—”

He wasn’t completely sure why, but he suddenly had a yen to see her in action for himself. “Would you mind if I came with you?”

“Where?” And then she realized what he was saying. Her eyes widened in surprise and unease. “You mean into court?”

He laughed at her expression. “I don’t think the bailiff will let me listen against the door.” And then he saw a look that was akin to horror cross her face. “Unless having me there will throw you a curve,” he qualified. “I wouldn’t want you jeopardizing the case just because I’ve decided to go touring—”

Damn it, get a hold of yourself before he thinks you’re some weak-kneed loon.

Never mind that she was.

There was absolutely no reason for her heart to suddenly start pounding like this, not unless she was having a genuine heart attack. C’mon, c’mon, you’re made of sterner stuff than this.

A few weeks ago, she’d argued in front of a judge who routinely spit nails and chewed up lawyers for a snack. And she’d won. If she could do that, certainly she could survive having the most gorgeous man in God’s creation sitting in her courtroom, watching her plead a case, she reasoned.

If she kept Miguel’s face uppermost in her mind, she’d be all right, she told herself. And, after all, this was about what amounted to the rest of a man’s life. If she lost, the quality of that life promised to be unbearably low. It was up to her to raise it, to show Miguel Ortiz that not everyone was going to ignore him and the plight he found himself in.

Taking a breath, she found her voice. “No, having you there won’t jeopardize the case.” She jumped on the first excuse that came to her. “I just thought that you might be bored.”

Eric looked at her, that same sensual smile she knew she was never going to become immune to spreading over his generous lips.

“I have a feeling that boredom isn’t going to enter into the picture.”

Taking her elbow, he escorted her from the now crowded coffee shop and out onto the curb. Jenny felt as if she was floating and wondered if her feet actually touched the pavement.

They headed back to Logan Corporation’s building and its underground parking where his Ferrari was patiently waiting. He aimed his key ring at it and disarmed the alarm. “How strong is your case?”

“Very strong.”

She didn’t add that it was because of her endless digging that the case had shaped up the way it had. Every single spare moment after hours that wasn’t earmarked for Cole had been spent interviewing people, gathering information and compiling a case against both the surgeon, Dr. Wilson Turner, and the hospital that had neglected to police the derelict physician.

Because of her tireless efforts, she’d discovered that many in the tight Portland medical community thought Turner was a disaster waiting to happen.

And he had happened to Miguel Ortiz.

“Then this should be interesting,” Eric told her as he held the passenger side door open for her.

What would be interesting, she thought as she got into the vehicle, was whether or not she still remembered how to speak once they finally arrived at the courthouse.

Exposure to the virus, she thought, slanting a glance toward Eric as he started up the car, did not breed immunity.

It only intensified the fever.

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