bouncer held out her arm to Logan. “She’s kind of shaky, so you need to hang on to her.”
Usually Logan wouldn’t mind wrapping his arm around a sexy woman. But this blue-blooded babe didn’t interest him—or shouldn’t—for several reasons.
Logan circled his arm around her waist and braced her elbow with one hand. Slowly, he guided her to the SUV, noticing immediately that she was small, maybe five-two, a foot shorter than him. Definitely not his type. He preferred women with more substance, inside and out.
Once they reached the passenger side, Logan opened the door, helped her up into the seat and, in a show of benevolence, buckled her in. So far, so good. She hadn’t taken another tumble on the way, even though he suspected she might have if he’d let her go, considering how carefully she’d measured her steps. Whatever she’d had to drink, he assumed it must have been fairly potent. But he didn’t detect the smell of alcohol, only the scent of her perfume. Nothing overpowering, just a light fragrance that reminded him of his mother’s favorite lavender soap. That was definitely a switch from the women he’d known who bathed in expensive concoctions designed to turn on a man, when it only served to turn him off.
Logan climbed into the driver’s seat, flipped on the overhead light and pulled his cell phone from the holder attached to the dash. “Do you want to call your father and let him know what’s going on, or should I?”
“Good luck,” she said. “He’s in Chicago on business until tomorrow. And I gave the staff the night off.”
“Anyone else I can call?”
“No.”
Figured. That meant she was his sole responsibility for the time being. He shoved the phone back in the holder and released a rough sigh. “Then I guess it’s you and me and the E.R.”
She frowned. “Just drive me home and I’ll be fine.”
Not until he had a better look at the cut. When he reached over to remove the cloth, she physically jumped, as if he’d scared her out of her skin with a simple touch. “Relax,” he told her as he lifted the makeshift bandage away. “I’m only trying to see how bad this is.”
“It’s a minor scrape,” she said. “I got up close and personal with a wall outside the ladies’ room when I tripped.”
Obviously she hadn’t bothered to check it out in a mirror. “It looks like it might need stitches. The hospital’s not that far.”
“No hospital.” Her voice held an edge of panic. “I don’t care for emergency rooms, or doctors.”
She could be concerned the medical staff would run a tox screen, and that could pose a problem if the press got wind of an off-the-chart blood-alcohol level. Still, her condition might warrant treatment beyond mending a superficial cut, and right now she was Logan’s responsibility. He lifted her hand from her lap and pressed it against the cloth again. “You could have a concussion.”
“I’m certain I don’t.”
“Are you a doctor, Ms. Fordyce?”
“Are you, Mr. O’Brien?”
For the first time in his life, Logan wished he were. Then he could examine her, medically speaking, and take her home. Her home, not his. But medicine hadn’t been his calling…and that gave him an idea. “Look, my brother is a doctor, and he only lives about ten minutes from here. He could probably check it out.”
She mulled that over before saying, “I’ll agree to this, but only if you promise to take me home afterward.”
Not a problem, since that was his plan. “I’ll give him a call and see if he’s available.”
Logan already knew he was. He’d spoken with Devin earlier in the evening and learned he had a rare day off from his duties as chief resident of trauma, which meant this request could cost him. Big-time.
He retrieved the cell phone again, hit the speed dial and hoped he didn’t wake the whole household, including the baby. Or worse, disturb his brother catching up on lost time between the sheets with his wife.
After two rings, Devin answered with his usual, “Dr. O’Brien.”
“Hey, Dev, it’s Logan. Sorry to call you so late.”
“I’m still up, thanks to a kid who’s decided it’s playtime, not bedtime. What’s going on?”
“I have a client who needs medical attention, but she’s not too keen on going to the E.R.” He sent Jenna a quick glance to find her staring out the windshield. “She has a cut on her forehead. Mind if I bring her by so you can take a look at it?”
Devin released a low laugh. “A client, huh? Are you charging for stud service these days?”
He was in no mood for his brother’s attempt at humor. “I provide driving services for her. If you’ll do this, I’ll let you have my season tickets for the home game of your choice.”
“Deal. But if it’s something I can’t handle in a nonhospital setting, then you’re going to have to take her to the E.R.”
That could pose a monumental challenge for Logan. But what choice did he have? “Agreed.”
“Hang on a minute.”
Logan could hear the sounds of muffled voices and realized Devin was consulting his wife. A few moments later, his brother came back to the phone and said, “Stacy’s okay with it, on one condition, aside from the tickets. We do this at your condo, and I have to bring Sean with me. Car rides make him sleepy.”
“Not a problem. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” And it wasn’t a problem for Logan. He enjoyed being around his fifteen-month-old nephew, as long as he could send him home again. What he knew about taking care of a kid for more than a few hours could best be described with two words—not much. As far as taking Jenna to his place, that meant less of a drive. The faster he got this over with, the quicker he could get her back to the Fordyce mansion.
Logan snapped the phone closed and turned his attention back to Jenna. “He’ll meet us at my apartment.”
She kept her gaze trained on the dashboard. “Where do you live?”
“Downtown. A couple of miles from here.”
“I appreciate this,” she said. “I hope I’m not causing too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” And that wasn’t exactly true. She could mean big trouble for Logan if he didn’t stop noticing things about her, including the fact she had a great body, even if she was short. He needed to remember she was the daughter of a client. An important client who wouldn’t appreciate any man having questionable thoughts about his daughter. Especially a man whom he trusted to do the right thing—and the right thing would be for Logan to keep his eyes, and his hands, to himself.
“Do you think I can take this cloth away now?” Jenna asked after he started the ignition. “My arm’s getting tired.”
“Let me see.”
When she lowered the rag, Logan lifted her chin and brought her face toward him.
Okay, so she had soft skin and a really nice mouth. So did a lot of women. She probably had a hefty trust fund and an overblown sense of self-worth, too. Logan refused to head down that sorry road again.
“It’s stopped bleeding, so you can take it off,” he said as he returned his hands to the steering wheel and his mind back on business, where they belonged.
He drove back to the loft at a sluggish pace behind the weekend traffic and ill-timed lights. During the trip, Jenna kept her sunglasses in place and her gaze centered straight ahead until they pulled into the parking garage. Aside from a muttered, “thanks,” when he helped her out of the Hummer and into the elevator, she remained silent. That was okay with Logan. He intended to keep their relationship on a strictly professional