Chapter 7
Logan sniffed the air appreciatively when he entered Darcy’s apartment. The aromas of Italian cooking teased his senses, but they paled next to the warmth in her eyes and the smile curving her luscious lips. His chest tightened, his blood zinging.
“Come here,” he growled, drawing her into his arms for a kiss. “Your cooking smells like I’ve died and gone to heaven, but I’m hungry for more than food.”
She melted into him with a laugh. “Good to know I win out over garlic and onions.”
He silenced her sassy mouth with a deep kiss. Coming home to Darcy every night? He could get used to this. In fact, he wanted to. No one had ever made him feel this way before.
Finally, he lifted his head, switching to detective mode. “Cilantro...garlic...hmmm. Is that cumin and real onions I smell—not the dried stuff?”
Her eyes lit up with mischief. “Would you like me to dab some behind my ears and spritz my wrists? Because obviously, this sixty-five dollars-an-ounce perfume isn’t winning. Could save myself some money. And for the record—I always use the real stuff.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You put on perfume just for me?”
She grabbed his hand with a cheeky grin and tugged him towards the kitchen. “Nope. I don’t do perfume; it makes my nose itch. Just making a point.”
He chuckled, then reached down and slapped her shapely rear, admiring her delicious curves in the jeans.
“Hey!” She rubbed the offended spot indignantly.
“I’ll take care of that, sweetheart.” He removed her hand and rubbed where he’d swatted. “Just making a point of my own.”
She stopped, fisting her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing. “And that would be?”
He shot her a slow, dangerous smile. “That you have a good girl reward coming...if you’ve earned it. Have you?”
Something flickered in her blue eyes—guarded, wary, but eager.
She turned away, putting the breakfast bar between them like a shield.
Picking up a wooden spoon, she stirred the simmering sauce, the releasing scents making his mouth water.
“I didn’t get out of my car to take pictures, if that’s what you’re asking.
He came up behind her, whispering in her ear. “Then you’ve earned it.” Her reassurance was off, though. Her body was stiff against his, unyielding, as if she were lying. Every instinct in him screamed she was holding something back.
“Dinner’s ready if you are.” She moved away from him, busying herself with plating spaghetti and dipping sauce over the waiting pasta. “Can you check the garlic toast in the toaster oven?” she asked briskly.
Logan put his desire to probe on hold and moved to follow her instructions.
“I’m more than ready—I’m starved, in fact.
” He carried the platter of the toasted offerings loaded with melting mozzarella cheese to the table.
It was already set with a bowl of colorful salad at each plate, along with dressings of several flavors to choose from.
“You’ve outdone yourself, sweetheart. If this tastes half as good as it smells, I’ll have to declare you the winner. ”
She seemed to relax then, laughing as she placed their plates on the table and sat down on one side of the four-square.
“That’s a plus for me. Food always tastes better when you’re starving.
I’ve been cooking half the day, so I’m starving too.
This spaghetti sauce didn’t come from a Ragu jar, you know. ”
“What? You don’t taste it every fifteen minutes?” he asked in mock surprise.
“Tasting is one thing,” she replied around a mouthful of salad, “eating is something else.”
Logan dug into his salad with gusto, especially enjoying the sweet red peppers bursting with flavor. The camaraderie flowed, chatting and laughing together as they devoured their food like bears out of hibernation.
The spaghetti sauce was outstanding—he’d never tasted better.
Ragu was always his go-to when preparing simple spaghetti meals—quicker and satisfying.
He knew she’d won this food competition, but he had other news for her.
He didn’t want to tell her before they ate in case it destroyed her appetite.
It was good news, but even good news couldn’t stop the storm of emotions it could generate.
Darcy leaned back in her chair, rubbing her belly with a sigh. “Well, Chef Thompson, what is your verdict?” Mischief gleamed in her eyes.
Playing along, he leaned back as if giving it serious consideration. “That was most excellent, Chef DeAngelo, but this will take some careful thought. Do you have a verdict yet?” His tone was teasing, warm.
“Like you said, this will take some careful comparison,” she replied, her eyes dancing. “Do we add in time preparation for points? Real or fake ingredients? I used fresh onions—did you use fresh mushrooms? So many things to think about.”
Logan laughed and shook his head. “I didn’t use fresh mushrooms; I used canned. But then you had a week to shop and prepare. My meal was created from what was around Holly’s house. Kind of like those cooking reality shows,” he added with mock helpfulness.
Her finger tapped her chin. “Hmmm...there is that to consider as well.”
Logan laid his hand over hers and leaned towards her. “While we are considering, I have something to tell you.”
She leaned in, her voice a whisper as if they were conspiring. “What is it? The chicken breasts were frozen?”
Logan decided to get away from the table; this was more serious than their silly competition. He stood up, drawing her up with him. “Nothing like that, it’s something I found out at my conference,” he murmured, his tone tightening as he led her towards the recliner. “We need to talk.”
***
DARCY’S CURIOSITY KICKED into high gear. News from a conference of mindjerks? How could that possibly affect her? She allowed him to take her to the recliner, smirking at his deliberate avoidance of the lecherous couch that had seen too much.
Pamela still hadn’t cleaned it.
She was considering throwing it into a dumpster—she had no plans of ever sitting on it again after what she’d found on it last week. Up until then, Pamela’s exploits had been speculation.
“You’re being all mysterious,” she complained when he sat down and drew her onto his lap. The expression on his face caused her gut to tighten.
His tone was gentle and reassuring. “Conrad is no longer a licensed psychiatrist, sweetheart. In fact, he’s moved to California and is presently working at a McDonald's slinging hamburgers.”
The words hit Darcy like a hard punch, sending her mind reeling and her vision dimming. Her eyes closed, and her chin dropped to her chest. Was it possible? Conrad—reduced to a school kid’s job? The man who had once tried to control her every thought, every breath, every scrap of self-confidence?
For years, it had haunted her—knowing that he was still out there, destroying women behind his licensed facade. And now he was busted?
Relief tore through her entire body. Fierce, painful, yet healing.
Her throat wanted to release a jagged scream of triumph, to laugh hysterically, and spring around the room in a victory dance.
Still, the past didn’t let go that easily.
Memories cut into her like shards of glass—his voice whispering in her ear, the lies, the deprecations, his grip on her mind.
She rode the maelstrom with her face pressed into Logan's throat, trembling violently.
He stroked her hair, murmuring, “He’s gone, baby.
He can never hurt you again—or any other woman in a professional capacity.
” He coaxed her chin free and kissed her, steady and tender, until the floodgates cracked.
The tears rushed out—hot, raging, cleansing.
For the first time, the bars of her invisible prison broke and fell away.
Conrad hadn’t just stolen her peace of mind; he’d stolen her trust in other men, her belief that justice existed for the guilty.
The family of his wife, the one who had committed suicide, had tried for justice—and gotten nowhere.
The courts had dismissed her death, shrugged at the trail of complaints from broken women.
Darcy had finally given up hope and adamantly ordered Amy to stop following him for her sake.
She’d walled herself into a prison with invisible bars, which were no less confining.
But now...now she could feel the weight of that prison falling away.
She gripped the front of Logan’s shirt tightly in her fists and held onto the man who had brought her this gift as the noisy tide of tears swept Conrad out of her life.
Logan's breath whispered warm against her ear. “That’s it, baby, let it go.”
At last, her grip loosened, her hands fell away, and she sagged against his shoulder as the sobs tapered into shudders. “Tell me everything,” she ordered fiercely, swiping at her tears. “How did you find out?”
He kissed her temple, weaving his fingers through hers.
“Last Monday, I got in touch with some colleagues of mine and asked about Conrad Templeton. As it turns out, they knew exactly who he was. The law may not have been able to touch him, but the medical licensing board could. There were too many complaints to ignore. They revoked his license in the states of Kansas, Iowa, and Missouri, shutting down his practice. He left the area. When he attempted to establish a new business in California, a background check nailed him. He won’t be able to practice in any state legally by the time they are through with him. ”
“Thank God,” Darcy replied fervently. “Still...I pity any woman who is foolish enough to get involved with him.”
Logan nodded, his voice purring with satisfaction. “At least, he can’t hide his personal, selfish agenda behind a degree. That’s wrong on every level and undermines all the good psychiatrists and therapists who truly want to help people.”
She turned to face him, sudden awareness in her gaze. “This was personal for you, too, wasn’t it?”