An excerpt from
Always a Bridesmaid

Book #6 of Logans' Legacy Revisited

Silhouette Special Edition
June 2007


The late afternoon bled into June dusk as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Jillian had taken off her jacket and the breeze fluttered through the claret silk tank she wore beneath. It felt good to move. It would have felt good to dance, if she’d only known how. She felt a sudden, restless urge for something new.

Her meter, she could see from a few cars away, was firmly over into redline territory. But she was less interested in that than the guy a bit beyond, walking down the sidewalk toward her. Tall, dark, moving with an easy assurance, he wore a jacket and tie and sunglasses. The breeze blew his dark hair onto his forehead; he raised an impatient hand to rake it back.

This was it, Jillian thought. She wanted to make a change? Now was her chance. Just a small change. All she had to do was glance at him and smile. Simple enough. Something millions of women did every day. Once she got used to that behavior, she’d move on. For now, just a smile. That wasn’t much, was it?

So why was her heart hammering?

Jillian stood at her meter, fumbling with her coins. He was closer now. Almost time. It wasn’t like it was a military operation, she thought impatiently. She just needed to look at him and do it, like it was natural. Natural.


She glanced up, preparing to smile. And froze.

Handsome was the wrong word. Handsome was too tepid, a description for men with perfect Ken-doll looks. His was a face that was more about purpose and intent, pure force of personality. Strong bones, straight nose, a chin that looked like it knew how to take a punch. His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses. His mouth was straight and wide and far too intriguing.

And then he smiled and the coins slipped through her suddenly nerveless fingers.

With a noise of frustration, Jillian bent to grab for them, trying fruitlessly to capture the rolling disks before they went over the curb and through the grate beyond.

“Need some help?”

Adrenaline vaulted through her system. He’d stopped. The guy had stopped and now he was bent down by her meter, trying to retrieve the coins. “I think they’re all on their way to the Columbia by now,” she said.

“Slippery devils,” he said, pushing up his glasses and grinning.

She could hear her pulse thudding in her ears. His eyes were black, she saw, his dark brows quirked now with just a hint of humor.

He handed her a quarter. “There’s one, anyway.”

Her hand was shaking as she took the coin from him. Okay, this was more than she’d planned. It was supposed to be a smile and glance, not a whole discussion. She wasn’t sure she was up for a full discussion, especially after all the champagne.

She rose.

“What about your other quarter?” He nodded at the meter as he stood. “One won’t take you through the witching hour.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take my chances.”

“Feeling lucky, huh?” He grinned and she felt something in her stomach flip. Lethal smile, absolutely lethal. And without warning she found herself staring at his upper lip and wondering just what it would be like to kiss him.

Lucky? “I guess I am,” she said. It was the champagne, she told herself. Starting up her own personal perestroika campaign was one thing, picking up men on the street was another.

But he was already rummaging in his pocket to pull out a handful of coins.

“You can’t pay my meter,” she objected.

“Sure I can,” he said as he picked through the change for a quarter and put it in. “It’s good karma. After a day like I’ve had, I could use it.”

“Uh oh,” she said. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Uh oh is right. If you see a lynch mob coming out of the Odeon, they’ll be looking for me.”

“Is that where you’re going?” she asked, falling in beside him as they walked the dozen yards to where the light from the theatre’s marquee spilled over the sidewalk.

“Yep. How about you?”

She nodded.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink but I’m here for a party. Actually, I’m late for a party,” he corrected. “Really late.”

“That’s okay, I’m here with?” She broke off and gave him a suspicious stare. “What kind of a party?”

“Me?” He held the door for her. “A rehearsal dinner, for a wedding. Why?”

She walked through, the little buzz of excitement fading. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Gil, would it?”

“Guilty as charged. And you are?”

“Jillian Logan, the bridesmaid you left at the altar. Nice of you to finally join us.”

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