Page 95 of Lochlan

I side-step my obstacle and plant myself between the two men, facing Lochlan.

“Geordie is adamant that we speak. We're driving around in the rain to deliver this fake order to Logan before we go to dinner.”

“That's not true,” Logan interrupts with a smile, enjoying the drama. “That order was legitimate. I was running low on Zin.”

He shrugs as I stare at him. “I can see this is a private conversation,” Logan says. “I agreed to Geordie's request to have this meeting here because I wanted to help with the course of love and I wanted to meet you.”

Now we all glare at him.

I shake my head, exasperated at these men. “Lochlan, if you don't want to talk to me, just say so now and I'll walk.”

He glances down at me, considering. “Never let it be said that I refused to talk to you.”

“We can debate that later, but if you're willing, I'll stay.”

He gives me a nod, as if he's granting me a favor. Now I can see him without wanting to pummel him. There are shadows under his eyes from no sleep, worry, drinking, or all three. The beard is new, another element of protection that adds to his fierce authority. I thought that, before I left him, he was giving up some of his old anger. Now it appears he's doubled down.

“That's settled,” Logan announces, sounding like a ref. “Geordie and I will be at the main house if you need anything. If you're hungry, Kenzie, my kitchen is fully stocked. If you can't find what you want here...” He smirks back at Lochlan. “I'm sure I can accommodate you at the main house.”

CHAPTER40

INVOCATION OF SAINTS

LOCHLAN

Geordie gives Kenzie one last look, mouthing,call me if you need me. She confirms with a slight nod and continues watching as he walks through the door, followed by Logan. The notion that she needs to be protected from me doesn't improve my mood.

Her attention comes back to me. She must have gotten caught in the rain. Kenzie's wild hair frames her face, but it's her scent that makes me long for her.

“You know why I'm here. Why are you at Logan's house?” she asks.

The drink doesn't go down as well when it was first poured into my glass. I turn away to feign interest in a painting.

“A gallery on Eighth Street downtown is exhibiting Logan's work. He needs to choose twenty paintings out of thirty to display, and he asked if I would help. We occasionally meet for dinner to discuss art, among other things.”

Kenzie moves slowly, turning 365 degrees to take in the space. Paintings rest against walls, on chairs, couches, and small tables. She approaches one canvas, studying the piece. Each is a beautiful woman, some nudes, some scantily dressed, others fully clothed. My coming up behind her does not break her concentration. “What do you think of his work?”

She looks away for a moment to meet my eyes, then returns to study the painting again.

“I can see why you chose Logan to paint a photograph from our session. The way he portrays women makes these pieces extraordinary. They're like an updated Vargas.”

I can see the reference; the Vargas women are voluptuous and playful. These are modern women. Their gazes are candid and direct; these are not the coy women of the ’40s and ’50s.

“That's an interesting observation,” I say. “I never thought of his work quite in that light. You should tell him what you see in his paintings.”

She moves to another portrait. “How have you been, Lochlan? And before you decide to lie, I can see you look like shit.”

I walk back to the bottle of wine on the table. “Are you trying to provoke a fight? To answer your question, there's been a lot of work that's needed my attention; maybe I've lost a few nights of sleep. You, on the other hand, look beautiful.”

She doesn't turn to acknowledge the compliment.

“Thank you, I'll have a glass.”

I pour the rest of the bottle I shared with Logan, then grab the corkscrew and open a second bottle of Zin to allow it to breathe. I walk the glass over to Kenzie. She savors a taste while looking up at me.

“Why did you not want me to contact you?” I raise my glass. “Shlàinte, by the way.”

“To your health as well.” She cradles the glass in her hands. “Is not wanting to be hurt again an acceptable answer?”

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