Читать книгу Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8 - Heidi Rice - Страница 15

A COUPLE OF days after the legal work was completed in Edinburgh, Layla flew business class with Logan to the island of Maui in Hawaii. The luxury villa he’d organised for their short stay was situated at Kapalua Bay beach, a gorgeous crescent of blindingly white sand and turquoise water and palm trees. Layla felt as if she was living in a dream sequence—swept away to an exotic location by a handsome billionaire who was intent on marrying her as quickly as he could.

But not for the romantic reasons her girlhood dreams had envisaged.

The speed and efficiency with which Logan set about achieving a goal was nothing less than breathtaking. Layla barely had time to get her head around the idea of a beach wedding, let alone buy the appropriate attire for it, when she found herself standing on the balcony of the beautiful villa overlooking the ocean with just minutes to spare before the ceremony.

Her wedding day.

It was strange to think that this time last week she had been a single woman with a simple goal of keeping her business on track. Now she was about to be married to a man she had known for most of her life who didn’t love her the way a husband should love his bride.

But Logan did love his family’s home and so did she, so it would have to be a good enough reason to marry. The only reason to marry, because the last thing she needed was to get silly ideas in her head about their relationship lasting beyond the year, as set down in the document his lawyer had drawn up.

One year and one year only.

The money Logan had transferred to her account on signing the document would guarantee Layla’s business success. It was exactly the windfall she needed to expand her business from a scribbled sticky-note vision into a profit-making reality.

Logan came out to the balcony where she was standing looking at the view. She turned to face him with an attempt at a smile. Their wedding ceremony was minutes away but if he was uncomfortable or uneasy about what they were about to do, he wasn’t showing it on his face. They might as well have been heading down the beach for an afternoon stroll.

He pushed back his shirt sleeve to glance at the silver watch on his strong tanned wrist. ‘The celebrant will be here in ten minutes.’

‘Okay…’ Layla took a deep breath and smoothed her hand down over her churning stomach. ‘Isn’t it meant to be bad luck for you to see me in my dress before the ceremony?’

His eyes ran over the Bohemian-style white dress she had bought in a boutique in Edinburgh. It was enough like a wedding dress for her to feel like a bride, even if she wasn’t a real one, and long enough to cover the scars on her leg. And—even more important—she could wear flat sandals or bare feet rather than struggle with heels.

‘I can safely say I’ve already had more than my fair share of bad luck. You too, I imagine.’ His tone was wry. ‘You look beautiful, by the way.’ His gaze held hers in a lock that did strange things to her insides. Tingling things, thrilling things. Forbidden things.

Layla was the first to look away, worried he would see things she didn’t want him to see. Things she didn’t even want to admit to herself. ‘I don’t have a bouquet or anything. I hope that’s not bad luck too.’

He walked over to a box that was sitting on the coffee table in the large open-plan room off the balcony. She hadn’t noticed it earlier as she’d been preoccupied with getting ready so soon after their arrival. Or it had been delivered while she was in the shower. He took the lid off and the sweet tropical scent of frangipanis filled the air. He took out a simple but beautiful bouquet and handed it to her.

‘I hope this will do?’

‘It’s perfect.’ Layla took the bouquet from him and bent her face to the creamy blooms with their egg-yolk-yellow hearts, the glorious fragrance drugging her senses. Not to mention Logan’s intoxicating closeness doing exactly the same thing. He was dressed in an open-necked white shirt and mid-blue jacket and trousers that brought out the intense blue in his eyes and the deep olive tan of his skin. She could smell his aftershave—could even pick up the clean fruity smell of his shampoo from his recent shower. His jaw was freshly shaven and her fingers itched to touch his face to trace where the razor had glided over his tanned skin. She was aware of every inch of his body standing within touching distance of hers. Aware of every breath he took, every flare of his nostrils, every rustle of his clothes when he moved.

Within a few minutes they would be husband and wife.

On paper.

She had to keep reminding herself of that pesky little detail.

Logan held out his hand, his expression inscrutable. ‘Ready to head down?’

Layla put her hand in his, holding the bouquet in the other, her heart thumping, her pulse racing. ‘I’m ready.’

I think…

When they got down to the beach, Layla took off her sandals and Logan his shoes so they could walk on the sand. They walked together towards the celebrant, who was waiting for them on the beach with two witnesses—a couple, Makani and Ken, whose award-winning landscape design Logan had done for them at their main home in the Hamptons in the US a few years ago. They spent part of the year on Maui, where Makani had family. Logan had informed Layla earlier that he had told Makani and Ken nothing about the reason behind his sudden marriage to Layla, allowing them to draw the conclusion it was a genuine love match.

If only it was…

Then Layla wouldn’t be feeling so conflicted about making promises that were essentially meaningless. Entering a marriage that after a year would be terminated.

The rhythm of the ocean lapping the shore was the only music to accompany them to their position in front of the male celebrant, who was holding two colourful leis. He gave the traditional Hawaiian welcome, placed the leis over their heads and began the simple service. ‘We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in marriage…’

Layla repeated the vows as instructed, intensely aware of Logan’s warm blue gaze and the feel of his hand holding hers as he slid the wedding ring home on her finger. His voice as he said his vows was strong and steady and assured—no one would ever think he didn’t mean a word he’d said. Apart from her, that is. But it was an act and good actors, the best actors, made themselves feel the emotion so they could bring authenticity to the scene.

‘You may kiss the bride.’

Layla had fooled herself that Logan might skip this part of the service, especially since he had pulled away from kissing her the other day. But as soon as the celebrant spoke the words, Logan drew her closer and his head came down, down, down until his lips touched hers. She was expecting him to lift them straight off, to be satisfied with a perfunctory kiss for the sake of appearances, but the pressure of his lips changed, warmed, heated, hardened. Burned and branded.

Her lips moved with the sensual rhythm of his, opening to his, welcoming the slow sexy stroke of his tongue meeting hers for the first time. It wasn’t a deep kiss—no tangling or thrusting of tongues—but gentle nudges and playful touches of lips and tongue tips that sent a shiver coursing through her body from the top of her sun-warmed head to the soles of her sand-caressed bare feet. There was a swooping sensation deep in her belly, an ache spreading in a river of heat, simmering, smouldering, sizzling in her core.

His lips were gentle and yet firm, purposeful, passionate and utterly addictive. Layla nudged his lips with her own, sweeping the tip of her tongue over his lower lip, delighting in the way his breath hitched and his hold on her tightened.

His hand glided down to the base of her spine, drawing her closer to the hard ridge of his stirring arousal. It was both shocking and exhilarating to feel the intimate pulse of his blood. Shocking, because she hadn’t dared hope he would be attracted to her in such a way.

Layla slid her hands to the hard plane of his chest, feeling the thumpity-thump, thump-thump of his heart beneath her palm. She forgot about everything but the sensation of his lips moving with such exquisite expertise on hers, drawing from her a passionate response, a clawing and desperate need building in her body with such force it was overwhelming. Every nerve in her body seemed to be attuned to his mouth, to the warmth and potency of it, to the eroticism it boldly, blatantly promised.

She was so consumed by his kiss she no longer heard the swish and slap and sigh of the waves as they lapped and sucked at the shore. No longer aware of the ocean breeze stirring the fronds on the palm trees, no longer aware of the fine grains of sand beneath her feet or the sun shining down on her head.

The sound of the witnesses clapping seemed to snap Logan out of the moment. He lifted his mouth off hers and gave a crooked smile that said everything and yet nothing.

Layla licked her lips and tasted him, wanted him with a deep ache that vibrated in her core like a plucked cello string. Her heart was still racing, her pulse off the charts, her legs trembling. Now, that was a kiss. She felt dazed, stunned, spinning with lingering sensations. Her mouth still felt sensitive, her lips slightly swollen. She searched his gaze for any sign he was as affected by their kiss as she was but his gaze was like the ocean beside them with its mysterious depths and shifting shadows.

They were soon swept up in the hearty congratulations of Makani and Ken, followed by the official signing of the register. Logan had organised refreshments back at the villa but things had to be cut short when Makani got a call from her mother, who was babysitting their children, that the youngest was running a temperature.

‘Sorry to leave so soon,’ Makani said, and added with a twinkling smile, ‘But just you wait until you have kids. Life will never be the same, but in a totally good way.’

‘Now, now, honey,’ Ken said, looping an arm around his wife’s waist. ‘Don’t go putting baby ideas in their heads just yet. Let them enjoy their honeymoon.’

Honeymoon.

The word was enough to send another shiver shooting through Layla’s body.

Logan saw his guests out and came back to where Layla was sipping a glass of champagne on one of the sofas overlooking the ocean view. If he closed his eyes, he could take himself back to the moment of their kiss at the ceremony. Damn it—he didn’t even need to close his eyes. He could still taste the milk and honey sweetness of her mouth—could still feel the thrum of lust deep in his body.

He was relieved he was good at concealing his emotions because that kiss had rocked him to the core. He hadn’t wanted it to end. He had lost track of where they were and why they were there. All he’d cared about, all he’d craved was the smooth, soft, sweet delicacy of her mouth moving against his. The shy playfulness of her tongue had sent a rocket blast of need to his groin. Triggering a need that was still humming in the background—a low, persistent hum he was doing his level best to ignore.

Their marriage was on paper. That was the deal. It was for one year and one year only and then it would be over.

No damage done.

But that kiss had already done damage because he wanted to kiss her again. Their kiss had made him think about taking things further, doing things he had no business doing with her. Things he had no business doing with anyone. He didn’t do long-term intimate relationships.

Not again.

But that kiss had stirred something inside him—something that until now had been lying dormant, in a coma, dead. The touch of Layla’s pillow-soft lips had sent electrodes of awareness to every part of his body, jolting it awake, making his flesh hungry, greedy for sensual satiation. Not for the quick-fix, hook-up type sex he had indulged in during the last seven years. He would be fooling himself if he said he had enjoyed those encounters beyond the brief physical relief they had provided.

But he suspected making love with Layla would be entirely different, which was why he couldn’t allow himself to go there. Couldn’t allow himself permission to even think about the possibility. There would be too many complications when it came to ending their arrangement. The sort of complications he could well do without.

Layla turned her head to look at him, still cradling her champagne, her expression bland. ‘So, here we are, then.’

Logan fought to keep a frown off his face and tried a crooked smile instead but wasn’t sure it was too convincing. ‘Yes…’ He picked up the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket and brought it over to where she was sitting to refill her glass. ‘More?’

She placed her hand over the top of the glass. ‘Better not. I might start saying things I wouldn’t normally say.’ She gave a twisted smile and added, ‘In vino veritas and all that.’

‘In the wine lies the truth.’ Logan grunted in agreement, topping up his own glass, and then put the champagne bottle back in the ice bucket with a rattle against the ice cubes and continued, ‘Drunk words, sober thoughts.’ He wondered what she would say if he told her what he was thinking. What he’d been thinking ever since he’d kissed her. No, even before that—when he’d encountered her in the north tower at Bellbrae. Something had happened, something had changed between them and he wasn’t sure how to change it back.

There was a beat or two of silence.

Logan turned back to look at her. ‘Feel free to speak your mind with me, Layla. I don’t expect you to have to drink to excess in order to do it.’

She leaned forward to put her glass on the coffee table, her eyes slipping out of reach of his. She sat back and smoothed a crease out of her dress before returning her gaze to his with disquieting intensity. ‘Why did you kiss me like that at the ceremony?’

Logan took a sip of his champagne before responding. Not because he needed alcohol but because he didn’t know how to answer without betraying himself. He wanted to kiss her again. Now. And not just kiss her but explore her beautiful body with the same thoroughness. He wanted to run his hands through the silk cloud of her hair. He wanted to kiss the soft creamy skin at the base of her throat, to trail his tongue along the contours of her collarbones, to breathe in the flowery scent of her until he was drunk with it.

‘It seemed the right thing to do at the time.’ Logan’s tone held no trace of the battle going on inside him. ‘Malaki and Ken, and indeed the celebrant, would have thought it strange if we hadn’t kissed.’

A tiny frown wrinkled her brow. ‘True. But you kissed me as if you didn’t want to stop.’ Her teeth snagged her bottom lip and she added, ‘Was that…just acting?’ Her voice had a note of uncertainty that was strangely touching.

Logan put his champagne glass down and released a long breath. ‘No. It wasn’t just acting.’ He closed his eyes in a slow blink and dragged a hand down his face. ‘It was a moment of foolishness that won’t be repeated.’

Must not be repeated. Must not. Must not. Must not. He drummed it into his head but his body was offline. Off-script.

There was a silence broken only by the sound of waves pulsing against the shore.

Layla rose from the sofa and wandered over to look out of the open balcony doors to the beach below. Her arms were around her mid-section, her posture stiff and guarded as if she was shielding herself from an expected insult. ‘So, you didn’t enjoy it, then?’ Her voice still echoed with self-doubt.

Logan told himself to stay where he was—to keep his distance. To not tempt himself beyond his endurance by crossing the floor to her. But step by step he went, programmed by a force he had no way of countering. He placed his hands on the tops of her shoulders, turning her to face him. Her grey-green gaze assiduously avoided his so he tipped up her chin with one of his fingers so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. ‘I enjoyed it way too much and therein lies our problem.’

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, making them even more unbearably tempting. ‘Why is that a problem?’ Her voice was as low and husky as a whispered secret and it sent shivers racing down his spine.

Logan stroked his thumb across her cheek, marvelling at the creamy softness of her skin. ‘You know why.’ His tone was so low and rough it sounded like he’d been filing his tonsils with a blacksmith’s rasp.

‘Because of our paper marriage?’ Her eyes reminded him of cloudy sea glass.

He couldn’t seem to stop his thumb from stroking her cheek, couldn’t stop his gaze from drinking in every nuance of her features. Couldn’t stop the thrum of lust that assailed his body like an invisible invader. Marching through every inch of his flesh, aching, wanting, needing. ‘We have to be sensible about this, Layla.’

I have to be sensible. I have to be in control.

She reached up with her hand and stroked his jaw from his cheekbone to his chin, her eyes luminous. ‘I think I must have already had too much champagne because right now I want you to kiss me again. I want to know if the first time was a fluke or…or something else.’

It was the ‘something else’ that most worried Logan. He fought every aroused cell in his body but it was a battle he was worried he might not win, or at least not in the long run. One year of this level of temptation and he would be a certifiable mess. How much temptation could a man endure? Especially for a man who had actively avoided contact as intimate as this.

Kissing a hook-up date was one thing, kissing someone he had known for years and was currently married to was another. Their paper marriage would be incinerated, obliterated if he gave in to the temptation to kiss her again. One taste of her mouth had already unleashed something feral inside him, something he wasn’t sure he could control for too much longer.

Calling on every bit of willpower he possessed, Logan dropped his hand from her face and took a step back. ‘I’m sorry, Layla, but this can’t happen. I made the rules for a reason.’

Her gaze reminded him of the still surface of a lake. Calm. Controlled. But there was a faint ripple of disappointment around the edges. ‘Okey-dokey.’ Her words and tone were flippant given the topic under discussion. So too her overly bright, breezy smile. ‘We’ll leave it at that, then.’ She moved across the room to where the champagne bottle was and topped up her glass. She turned and held her glass up in a toast, her expression faintly mocking. ‘Long live the rules.’

Logan ground his teeth so hard he mentally apologised to his dentist. ‘Listen—I’m not doing this to insult you. It’s not personal.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Her eyes were glittering as brightly as the diamonds on her left hand next to her wedding ring. Not glittering with tears but with anger.

He let out a slowly controlled breath, anchoring his hands on his hips like he was about to deliver an important lecture. Which he was, but he suspected he was the one who needed to hear it most. ‘Think about it. If we were to have a normal relationship, it would be much more complicated to end it when the year was up. This way we can get an annulment and leave it at that. No harm done.’ He dropped his hands from his hips. ‘I’m not saying it will be an easy year. But we’re both mature adults, and I want us to remain friends at the end of it.’

She rolled her lips together, her arms crossed, with her champagne glass tilted at a threatening-to-spill angle. ‘What have you told your brother about us? Does he know it’s just a paper marriage?’

Logan folded back the cuffs of his shirt for something to do with his hands. ‘I haven’t spoken to him yet. He hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts or emails.’ Which, unfortunately, wasn’t unusual when Robbie was on one of his gambling sprees.

‘But what will you tell him?’

It was a question Logan had been asking himself for the last few days. He hadn’t been able to contact his younger brother to talk about anything, much less his sudden marriage to Layla Campbell, the housekeeper’s great-niece. ‘He will have seen the will by now but I’m hoping he’ll accept our marriage as the real deal. It’s not as if you and I are complete strangers and he knows my grandfather always had a soft spot for you.’

‘It might be tricky convincing Robbie we’re a genuine couple when he comes home to Bellbrae sometime. You know what he’s like—he often arrives unannounced. If we’re sleeping on opposite sides of the castle it will look kind of odd.’

Logan could see her point. His brother might be immature and reckless but he wasn’t a total fool. It wouldn’t take Robbie long to pick up on any irregularities in Logan’s relationship with Layla, and their living arrangements in particular. ‘We could move into the west tower. The large suite that has the connecting bedrooms.’ He would be far closer to her than he’d intended—sleeping with just a door between them.

A door he would keep locked—literally and mentally.

‘Fine,’ Layla said, draining her glass. ‘But can I make a request?’

‘Sure.’

She put her glass down and faced him squarely. ‘When we’re pretending to be happily married to Robbie and anyone else, will you use terms of endearment or just call me Layla?’

‘What would you prefer?’

‘You can call me anything but babe.’ She gave a faint shudder as if even saying the word upset her.

‘Why not babe?’

A hard light came into her eyes and her expression set like fast-acting glue. ‘Someone I used to know used it a lot. I’ve loathed it ever since.’

Before Logan could ask her to elaborate, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving him with just the lingering fragrance of her perfume.