He peered at her out of the corner of his eye, the humor in her face coaxing a faint smile to his lips. “Your self-esteem is safe with me, Cait,” he said, wishing she didn’t look so blasted beautiful in that form-fitting jade satin dress that heightened the green of her eyes. His mouth crooked. “Which is more than I can say for Turner’s face if he lords it over me tonight.”
“Mezzanine level.” The attendant opened the doors, and all occupants quickly filed out, desperate, evidently, to get to the place to be and be seen in San Francisco these days—The St. Francis’s Mural Room. Logan nodded his thanks to the attendant as he herded Cait out, miffed that Turner was not only upstaging him with his family, but trumping Logan’s Palace Hotel residence as well. His jaw began to grind.
“Logan.” Cait halted him in the hallway with a gentle hand, all humor in her eyes softening into quiet understanding. “I appreciate you coming tonight despite your dislike of Andrew because you are incredibly important to our family and we all want you there. Please know I would’ve never agreed to this if Meg hadn’t been so excited, but she was, so I could hardly say no.” The green satin of her bodice shimmered with a soft sigh in the glow of the crystal chandelier overhead while she peeked up with a tentative smile. “Promise me you’ll try—please? Try to be civil to Andrew? Who knows—maybe you’ll even enjoy yourself. This is important to Meg because Andrew is her manager, and he’s invited her coworkers as well. So, please—” She cupped his jaw, stilling his body with that little-girl smile that always melted his heart. “For Meg, for me, and for you—promise you’ll try to enjoy a lovely dinner in a beautiful hotel with people who love you very, very much.”
Palming her hand on his cheek, he expelled a weighty sigh, his eyes conveying a promise he hoped he could keep. “I promise, Cait, but only because my love for you and your family runs deeper than my disdain for Turner.” In natural reflex, his gaze lowered to her lips briefly before his eyes reconnected with hers. “Much, much deeper,” he whispered.
“Cait—you’re here! I was beginning to think Logan absconded with you.” Andrew strode across a vibrant Oriental rug to greet them in the hall, calcifying Logan’s jaw when the man took Cait’s hands in his own. “You look exquisite, Cait, as always.” His smile shifted to Logan, the warmth in his eyes more than evident as he extended his hand. “Thank you for joining us, Logan. I know it wouldn’t be the same for Cait and her family without you.”
My family. A nerve flicked in Logan’s cheek as he shook Andrew’s hand, wondering if they would still be best friends today if Cait hadn’t entered the picture. He felt the firm press of Andrew’s palm, saw the sincerity in pale-blue eyes that had always held affection and humor when they were boys, and suddenly knew that they would. He and Andrew had weathered every storm from grade school through law school, be it disgruntled teachers or brokenhearted girls, and Logan almost regretted the rift.
Almost.
Andrew appeared ready to escort Cait into the Mural Room, and Logan grazed the small of her back before firmly offering his arm instead. This may be Turner’s party, but Logan intended to claim the lion’s share of Cait’s attention tonight.
Andrew acquiesced with a quiet nod before leading them into the room to which San Francisco society flocked.
And no wonder. Logan bit back a growl when Cait actually paused with a faint catch of her breath as she took it all in—an exquisite ballroom, alive with Old World charm and sophistication. A gold-filigreed coffered ceiling was resplendent with an ornate balcony that wrapped three sides of the room. One entire wall boasted an exquisite mural depicting a Tuscany countryside while stately palms, flowering trees, and potted bougainvillea added a garden effect that would charm every single female in the room.
“Oh, Andrew, it’s lovely,” she breathed as they made their way along the edge of a lustrous oak dance floor where the crème de la crème dined and danced to a waltz performed by a ten-piece orchestra in tails and tie.
Dash it, Cait, he doesn’t own the blasted hotel. Logan’s grip on her arm tightened as he offered stiff smiles to several friends and acquaintances.
Andrew had secured a somewhat private area beneath the far balcony where Meg sat at the head of a long linen-clad table flanked by Bram and family on one side and coworkers on the other. Crystal vases heavy with pale-pink roses—Meg’s favorite—spanned its length, infusing the intimate space with a heady scent while candlelight lent a soft glow to his niece’s smiling face. He could hear her laughter amid the chatter and music as she grinned at something Bram said, and in that moment Logan knew he could do this for his family—put his feud with Andrew aside for one night to celebrate a niece who was more like a daughter.
“Mama, Uncle Logan—you’re here!” Maddie hopped from Jamie’s lap with a squeal and bounded toward them, giggling when Logan swooped her up in his arms. “Bram let me sit in the front seat of his car,” she gushed, obviously thrilled she’d been allowed to accompany her older siblings and cousin.
“Did he now?” Cait said, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to Maddie’s cheek, her upturned face so near that Logan’s pulse skipped a beat.
Maddie wiggled from his arms to Cait’s, allowing Logan to stroll over to cuff Jamie, Blake, and Bram on the shoulders while giving George, Teddy, Conor, and Devin a friendly nod. “Consorting with the enemy, I see,” he said with a wink at Meg, greeting Bonnie and Linda Marie before bending to kiss both Cassie’s and Alli’s cheeks.
Jamie grinned. “Just lulling them into a false sense of security by showing an interest,” he said with a lift of his glass, a definite note of levity in his tone, “satisfying our curiosity as to just how they win any cases at all.”
Logan laughed. “Well, don’t swap trade secrets—curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
Bram grinned. “I’m afraid they already have an unfair advantage, sir. They’ve got Megs while all we have are Blake and Jamie.”
Jamie squinted at Bram, ignoring the laughter over his remark. “Hey, Hughes, we’re on the same team, remember?”
“Not if you don’t win the Hyde case,” Logan quipped with a ruffle of Jamie’s dark curls, leaving the revelry behind to return to his place next to Cait. Andrew had placed her at the opposite head of the table as Meg with his seat to her right and Logan’s to the left.
Clinking his spoon against his water goblet, Andrew introduced his staff before raising a toast to Meg, welcoming her home from Paris and as a new member of his team.
Despite his enmity with Turner, Logan actually found himself enjoying both dinner and then dessert. Andrew had them all laughing over humorous stories of Meg’s rivalry with Devin Caldwell in the office, where she seemed bent on surpassing the upstart in every task Andrew assigned. Logan’s gaze flicked to the intern who’d made Meg’s life miserable for so many years, and a proud grin stretched across his face. That a girl, Megs.
Pushing his dessert plate away, Logan eased back in his chair and unbuttoned his jacket, his heart surprisingly content on Andrew’s dime. He enjoyed the friendly sparring between Andrew’s staff and his and, of course, Cait divided her attention evenly between Andrew and him, gracious to a fault. With little or no effort, she drew them both into conversation she obviously deemed safe enough to neutralize ill feelings. And she’d succeeded, he was reluctant to admit—all without a drop of alcohol to take the edge off, due to Andrew’s teetotaler ways. Logan upended his iced tea, wondering just when Andrew gave up the liquor they both so readily consumed in law school. Since Cait, perhaps? Well, no matter—somehow she’d managed to make the evening enjoyable, the time spent between Andrew and him almost cordial.
Until the lowlife asked her to dance.
Every nerve in Logan’s body twitched as Turner took Cait in his arms—too close to suit and too blasted confident while he whirled her into a waltz. Grilling them with a glare, he bolted his water, aware he’d been grinding his teeth because his jaw ached as much as his pride.
“Uncle Logan . . . may I have this da
nce?”
He glanced up to see Meg watching him with a tentative smile, not missing the hint of concern in her eyes. Expelling a silent breath, he rose and forced a bright smile to put her worries at ease. “It would be my pleasure, Miss McClare, and a true honor when you can obviously have your pick of partners.” Tucking her hand over his arm, he led her to the floor, as far from Turner and Cait as he could possibly get.
“So,” he said with an easy spin, “I understand Devin Caldwell is still coming in a distant second these days.” A pretty blush burnished Meg’s cheeks, bringing a grin to Logan’s face. He laughed as he twirled her again, feathering the wispy auburn curls at the back of her neck. “Good work, Megs. Make that rascal pay for every obnoxious thing he ever said or did.”
Her imp of a smile told him she enjoyed putting Caldwell in his place. “I’m just doing my job, Uncle Logan, to the best of my ability, that’s all.” Her chin notched up, a definite sparkle in emerald eyes so like her mother’s. “And if Devin can’t keep up, well, then I’m sorry.”
He grinned. “No you’re not, you’re enjoying every single moment, and I’m glad.” His smile faded to soft. “Nobody deserves it more than you, sweetheart.” He drew her close with a hand to her waist, depositing a kiss to her head.
“Uncle Logan?”
“Mmm?”
Meg’s voice was barely a whisper. “Devin Caldwell’s not the only one lagging behind,” she said softly. “Mr. Turner’s not even a distant second—he’s so far behind that Mother can’t see him for you.”
He swallowed hard as he gave her a final spin. “One can only hope.”
“And pray,” she whispered as the music ended, the love in her eyes thickening the walls of his throat. She stood on tiptoe to deposit a gentle kiss to his cheek. “We all love you so very much, Uncle Logan, and we’re all praying you win.”
He fought the sting of moisture in his eyes, quickly looping her waist to lead her from the floor. “Then I don’t see how I can fail, Megs, with the love and prayers of my family.”
“Am I up next, I hope?” Bram’s smile tilted off-center. “Although I don’t have Logan’s finesse on the dance floor, Bug, I promise not to step on your toes.”
She took Bram’s hand then smiled at Logan, her gaze flicking to the dance floor and back before she gave a short nod in Cait and Turner’s direction. “I’ve never known you to be shy about cutting in, you know.” She gave him a wink so out of character for the shy niece he knew and loved that he grinned, shaking his head as Bram led her to the floor.
With a faint smile, he tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves and rebuttoned his jacket while scanning the couples, looking for Turner and Cait.
“Uncle Logan? Will you dance with me?”
He paused to look down, heart melting as always when Maddie gave him that innocent blink of blue eyes. Without a moment’s hesitation, he swept her up and dove for her neck, giving her a snuggle kiss that unleashed a peal of giggles. “I’d be delighted, Miss McClare, and the envy of every man in the room, I assure you.” Holding her close, he took to the floor with her snug in his arms, holding one of her tiny hands in waltz position as the other curled around his neck. Maddie rested her head on his chest, and he closed his eyes, breathing in her sweet scent of talcum powder and Pear’s soap while slowly moving to the sound of the music. This is what he craved, what he lived for—perfect moments like this, loving those who possessed his heart so completely. Spoiling nieces he adored and bonding with nephews he loved, longing to restore the love they’d lost with the death of his brother. His eyes opened, lighting on Cait across the room. And, God help me, please—aching to love their mother . . .
“My turn, squirt.” Jamie tickled Maddie’s waist before tapping Logan’s shoulder. “May I cut in, sir? It seems my wife has disappeared, so I’m looking for a pretty woman.”
Maddie giggled and lunged into Jamie’s arms. “Thanks, Uncle Logan—I’ll dance with you later.”
“Mmm . . . deserted three times tonight,” Logan said with a mock scowl. “Must be losing my touch.”
“I doubt that.” Jamie winked, giving Logan a knowing smile. “All it takes is cutting in, sir.”
Logan grinned, eyes perusing the couples crowding the floor. “I’m going, I’m going,” he muttered with a slap of Jamie’s shoulder, tugging a lock of Maddie’s auburn hair before turning to stroll the perimeter, eyes in a squint. He searched the dance floor, stomach as jumpy as a kid with a crush on a first date. “Where the devil are you, Cait?” he mumbled under his breath.
“Why, Logan McClare, as I live and breathe, are you back from the dead, I hope?”
A groan trapped in Logan’s throat as he turned around, gut cramping at the sight of Ann Miller, one of the beautiful socialites he’d been involved with before he dropped from the social scene for Cait. “Ann,” he whispered, a rare surge of heat ringing his collar. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Now if that were true, Supervisor,” she said coyly, “I doubt it would’ve taken this long.” She cocked her head, a vision in blue crepe. “Dare I hope we might share a dance?”
He hesitated, reluctant to turn her away so abruptly like he had before.
Because of Cait.
Her hand lighted on his arm, her coax as soft as the hope in her eyes. “One dance, Logan—not a proposal of marriage, after all. Just a moment to catch up between old friends.”
Old friends. Logan inwardly winced. Old lovers would be more apt. He drew in a shaky breath, painfully aware just how much Cait—and God—had changed his life for the better.
He exhaled his resignation with an inaudible sigh. “Why not?” he said quietly, calmly leading her onto the floor.
Why not? His smile was stiff as he took her in his arms, wishing he were anywhere but there. Because the next dance—and my heart, Miss Miller—belongs to Caitlyn McClare.
18
Now, honestly, Mrs. McClare—isn’t this worth stealing away for a few moments?”
Caitlyn expanded her lungs with the crisp night breeze on The St. Francis veranda, hoping to calm the nervous skitter of her stomach. The glorious scent of the sea was heavy in the air along with that of night-blooming jasmine, which spilled from planters along the perimeter of the stone balustrade. The wind ruffled stray tendrils against her cheek as she expelled a tentative sigh. “Indeed. Union Square is one of my favorite spots in the city, Andrew, and to see it at night with the Dewey Monument all aglow is truly a breathtaking view.”
The air in her chest stalled when he moved in close. His arm shored the small of her back as they stared out into the night together, the isolated veranda lit only by moonlight that suddenly felt far too intimate. “ ‘Breathtaking’ is certainly an appropriate word, Cait,” he whispered, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her arm before he turned her to face him. His hands lingered at her waist, coaxing with a slow graze of thumbs. “Because you take mine every time I see you.” His Adam’s apple shifted. “But then you always have.”
A silent gasp snagged in her throat while the air sizzled with romantic tension she neither needed nor wanted right now. Especially with Logan a mere room away! Heart thudding, she took a step back, dislodging his hold with an awkward clutch of her arms. “Goodness, it’s chilly out here. I think it’s best we head back in.”
Taking his jacket off, he draped it over her shoulders. “Not yet, Cait, please?” He rubbed her arms, and she felt the heat of his hands through the sleeves of his coat. “I need to ask you something.”
“Wh-what is it?” she stuttered, cinching his jacket with pinched fingers, his scent enveloping her with a heat she didn’t expect.
The intensity of his eyes tightened her stomach. “I think you already know I have deep feelings for you, Cait, although heaven knows I’ve tried to take it slow.”
“Andrew—”
He stilled her words with a slow trace of her lips. “No, Cait—hear me out, please?”
She nodded dumbly, goose bumps pebbling her arms desp
ite the warmth of his jacket.
“I’m in love with you, Cait—deeply, irrevocably, and completely around the bend, despite your best intentions and mine.” His eyes probed hers with a longing she’d ignored far too long. “I’m asking you to give me a chance to court you and we can take it slowly if you like—beginning with the Barrister Ball.”
She froze, too stunned to move or even object as he moved closer.
“Please say yes . . . at least to the Barrister Ball, and then you can take your time to pray and think about courtship.” He stroked the edge of her jaw with a tender touch. “I know it’s ridiculously late notice, with the ball only a week away, and I apologize for that, truly I do.” He paused, smile sheepish. “But to be honest I didn’t think I had a prayer of you saying yes, and then . . .” He grinned outright, his little-boy enthusiasm making her smile. “Well, I’m not supposed to know this, understand, but I just found out that I’m in the running for the Dickherber Civil Service Award—”
“Oh, Andrew,” she breathed, tears pricking at the memory of Liam receiving the prestigious Dickherber Award the year before he died. His greatest achievement, he always said, after her and his family. “I am so very proud of you!” she whispered, blinking hard to stem her tears while she hugged him with all of her might.
He pulled back, the look of love in his eyes tripping her pulse. “So the truth is, Cait, I was hoping—praying, really—that you’d consider accompanying me because you see, if I win,” his smile faded to tender, “I want the most important person in my life to be there.”