Читать книгу Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8 - Heidi Rice - Страница 16

ARGH! WHY HAD she drunk that second glass of champagne? Their beach wedding had got to her, that was why. She had been swept away by the romantic setting, swept away by Logan’s kiss. The kiss that had sent shivers up and down her spine and driven silly ideas into her head. Ideas of him wanting things to go further, him wanting her. Not just physically but intellectually and emotionally.

But he had drawn a line in the sand. Do Not Cross.

Layla plonked herself down on the bed in her room with a despondent sigh. She’d made a class-A fool of herself, practically begging Logan to kiss her. Shame washed through her at how gauche she had been—how unworldly and foolish to think he might want to tweak the rules on their relationship.

But his kiss had been so…so genuine. So authentic. So powerfully passionate she could feel it on her lips even now. She only had to close her eyes and she was back there on the warm grainy sand, with the waves washing against the shore with their fringe of white lace, and Logan’s mouth clamped to hers as if he never wanted to let her go. The need he had stirred in her was still humming in her body—a faint background ache she couldn’t ignore.

Layla hitched up the hem of her dress and wriggled her feet and curled her toes. The white jagged scars on her left leg a jarring reminder of her past. The past that contained memories she wished she could forget. Painful memories that were embedded so deeply into her brain she still had nightmares.

Babe. The word she loathed because her father had used it to address her mother in love and hate and everything in between. The word her father had said in the moments before the car had slammed into the tree.

Layla pushed herself off the bed and walked over to the windows overlooking the beach. She hugged her arms around her body, trying to contain the disturbing images that flashed into her brain every time she thought of the accident. Accident? What a misnomer that was. It had been no accident. Her father had wanted to kill them all and had just about succeeded in doing so. He and her mother had died at the scene but Layla had been saved by a passing motorist—an off-duty nurse who had controlled the bleeding until the paramedics had arrived. Lucky Layla. That was what she’d heard the medical staff call her at the hospital.

Why, then, didn’t she feel it?

Layla blinked away the past and focussed on the beach below. The turquoise water beckoned but she hadn’t swum since rehab after the accident. And you could hardly call that swimming. She wasn’t sure she could even do it anymore. And she couldn’t imagine doing it without a body suit on, because going out in public with her scars on show drew too many stares, too many pitying looks, too many intrusive questions.

But on a whim she still couldn’t explain, she had bought a swimsuit when she’d bought her wedding dress. It was a strapless emerald-green one-piece with a ruched panel in the front and a matching sarong. It was still in her suitcase—she hadn’t bothered unpacking it—because taking it out would be admitting she longed to swim, to feel the cool caress of ocean around her body, to be lifted weightless in its embrace. Free to move with perfect symmetry instead of her syncopated gait.

Layla narrowed her gaze when she saw a tall figure walking to the water. Logan had changed into a black hipster swimming costume, which showcased his athletic physique to perfection. Lean and taut with well-trained muscles, his skin tanned from numerous trips abroad, he turned every female head on the beach but seemed completely unaware of it. He waded through the waves until he got to deeper water and began striking out beyond the breakers in an effortless freestyle that was both graceful and powerful.

She turned away from the window with another sigh. She was on beautiful Maui in Hawaii with her brand-new husband who didn’t want her other than as a means to an end.

Where was Lucky Layla now?

Logan towelled off on the beach after his swim, but the restlessness in him hadn’t gone away in spite of the punishing exercise. He’d considered asking Layla to join him for a swim but had decided against it. This was not a honeymoon. They didn’t have to spend every minute of the day together—even if he wanted to a lot more than he should.

He walked back to the villa and found Layla sitting on one of the sun lounge chairs on the terrace overlooking the beach. She was wearing blue denim jeans and ballet flats and an untucked white cotton shirt. Her head was shaded by a wide-brimmed hat and her eyes screened behind a pair of sunglasses. She looked up from the magazine she was flicking through and lowered her sunglasses a fraction to look at him. ‘How was the water?’

‘Wet.’

She pushed her sunglasses back up to the bridge of her nose. ‘Funny, ha-ha.’

Logan took the sun lounge seat beside hers and hooked one arm around one of his bent knees. ‘Did you bring a swimming costume with you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t want to swim.’ Her tone was brusque to the point of rudeness, her gaze staring out in front of her rather than facing him. ‘Please don’t ask me again.’

‘If you’re worried about your leg, then let me assure you—’

Her gaze whipped around to his with such speed it dislodged her hat and she had to steady it with one of her hands. ‘You laid down some rules so I’m going to do the same. I don’t like swimming. I don’t like wearing bikinis or shorts or skirts that are above the knee. And if you do want me to wear them, then you’ve married the wrong person.’ She removed her hand from holding her hat in place and turned back to stare out at the ocean.

Logan swung his legs over the side of the sun lounge seat and leaned his arms on his knees, studying her rigid features. Her mouth was set, her chin at a haughty height, her eyes fixed on a view he could tell she wasn’t even registering.

‘Layla.’ He kept his voice low and gentle. ‘Look at me.’

Her fingers began to pick at a frayed patch on her jeans, her mouth still set in a stubborn line. ‘I know what you’re going to say, so don’t bother saying it.’

‘Tell me what you think I’m going to say.’

She pulled a thread out of the patch on her jeans and played tug-of-war with a series of sharp little tugs until it snapped. ‘You’re going to tell me I’m being silly about being self-conscious about my leg. That I should try and live a normal life and not care what anyone says or if they stare and ask rude questions.’ She rolled the broken pieces of thread into a ball and dropped them onto the table beside her chair. ‘But you’re you. You’re not me.’

Logan took one of her hands and anchored it against his thigh close to his bent knee. ‘You’re not silly to be self-conscious. It’s tough having anything that draws unwelcome attention. But it concerns me you’re limiting your enjoyment of life because of other people’s reaction or judgement.’

She went to pull her hand out from under his but he countered it with a little more pressure. Her palm was soft against his thigh—warm and soft—and he couldn’t stop imagining how it would feel on other parts of his body. His groin stirred, his blood rushed, his self-control went AWOL. Before he could stop himself, he brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to her bent knuckles. She gave a little whole-body shiver as if his touch was having the same effect on her as hers was on him. The tip of her tongue darted out to sweep a layer of moisture over her lips, her throat rising and falling in an audible swallow.

He took her sunglasses off her nose and laid them aside so he could mesh his gaze with hers. ‘You don’t have to be self-conscious around me. If we’re going to convince Robbie and others that this is the real deal, then we’re both going to have to feel more relaxed around each other. And even if we don’t feel it we’ll have to act it.’

Her pupils were like black ink spots, her eyelashes miniature fans. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, her indrawn breath sounding ragged. ‘Relaxed…in what way?’

Logan turned her hand over and stroked his thumb over her palm in a rhythmic fashion. ‘There will be occasions when we’ll be required to show some affection. Holding hands, a kiss on the cheek or a quick peck on the lips for appearances’ sake. It would look odd if we didn’t.’

‘Okay…’ Her voice was as soft as the whisper of the afternoon breeze. ‘But earlier today you were pretty determined we weren’t going to kiss again.’

‘Unless absolutely necessary.’

Her eyebrows lifted in a wry manner. ‘And who gets to decide whether it’s necessary or not?’

‘Me.’ Logan released her hand and stood. He was unapologetic for being so adamant. He wanted no blurry boundaries. He wanted control at all times. He wanted to keep his wanting under lock and key.

She anchored her hat and tilted her head to look up at him. ‘Is that fair?’

‘Probably not but that’s the way it’s going to be.’ He scooped up his towel and flung it around his shoulders. ‘I’m heading in for a shower. I’ve booked a restaurant for dinner at eight. It’s a short walk from here but we can get a taxi if you’d prefer.’

Pride shone in her eyes and rang in her voice. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

Layla dressed for dinner later that evening with her mind still replaying their conversation out on the terrace. When he’d come to join her still dressed in nothing but his close-fitting swimming briefs, she had almost fainted on the spot with lust. And when he’d placed her hand on his bare thigh, it had been all she could do not to move it up higher. Her hand had tingled the whole time he’d held it.

When he’d repeatedly stroked his thumb across her palm, a fluttery sensation had gone through her belly and her female hormones went crazy. They were still going crazy. Her body was awake to needs it hadn’t been conscious of before. Needs that made her long to have his hands stroking other places on her body. Places where no one had ever touched her.

Layla smoothed down the black all-in-one, spaghetti-strapped pantsuit that clung to her slim frame and widened at the legs in an elegant flare. It was a shame she couldn’t wear high heels but the small kitten-heeled shoes were about as glamourous as she was prepared to go. She had lived her life since the car crash living safely and she didn’t want to change. Couldn’t change when it came to it. She had spent months and months in hospital and then more in a rehabilitation clinic. Long lonely bewildering months trying to get used to her new circumstances.

Adjusting to the presence of a new friend—survivor guilt.

Feeling guilty about her pretence of grieving for the loss of her parents, when what she had really felt was relief. She had felt far more relief over not losing her leg than grief over losing her parents. What did that say about her? Her scars reminded her every day of the conflict of her emotions. To this day, she felt relieved to be finally free of the chaotic family life both her parents had been responsible for, although she held her father to most of the blame.

A crazy, unpredictable life where alcohol and drugs had been on the table instead of food. A life where violence and shouting insults and smashing plates and glasses had been commonplace. Where there had been no peace even when it was quiet because you knew there was a storm brewing that could erupt at any moment. Without warning. Without any recognisable trigger. It just happened and you had to take shelter if you could and pray like crazy if you couldn’t.

Layla sighed and swept her hair up in a makeshift bun, blocking her thoughts of the past like a shutter coming down. She refused to be a victim these days. She was strong and resilient and was fiercely proud of what she had achieved so far. And this temporary marriage with Logan would help her achieve even more. The money he had deposited into her bank account had already turned her financial situation around. Her business expansion plans could go ahead without fear of failure. She would focus on the positives of their marriage arrangement, not the niggling negatives.

She opened her cosmetics bag and touched up her make-up, spritzing perfume on her pulse points and applying lip-gloss to her lips. She gave herself a quick appraisal by turning this way and that in front of the mirror, deciding that even if she wasn’t perfect, at least she was passable.

Logan had just ended a call dealing with a work issue on a large project he had going on in Tuscany when Layla came into the sitting room. Her all-in-one black outfit skimmed her slim figure in all the right places. Places he couldn’t stop thinking about touching, caressing, exploring. Her make-up highlighted the regal elegance of her finely drawn features—the smoky eyeshadow and mascara on her lashes making her eyes stand out. Her chestnut hair was on top of her head in a loosely casual knot, leaving her swan-like neck and creamy shoulders exposed.

He imagined kissing a trail of light kisses along her smooth skin, down to her collarbones, down to the slight swell of her breasts. He imagined himself unclipping her hair from its knot and running his fingers through it to see if it was as silky as it looked. Her lips were shimmering with a layer of pink-toned lip-gloss and all he could think about was pressing his lips to hers to remove it with a kiss. He could still recall the sweet vanilla and honey taste of her mouth, could still feel the texture of her lips—soft…impossibly soft and responsive. Could still feel the background beat of desire ticking in his blood.

Oh, boy, he had some work to do on his willpower. Some big work.

If he was fantasising like this on day one of their marriage, what would he be like at the end of it?

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, slipping his phone into his trouser pocket.

A light tinge of pink pooled high in her cheeks and she lowered her gaze a fraction. ‘Thank you.’

‘Shall we go?’ Logan led the way outside so they could walk to the restaurant, which was only a short stroll further along the bay. The night air had a salty tang from the ocean and there was a gibbous moon. Layla walked beside him in silence but he was increasingly aware of her limp. She was wearing small heels but they clearly weren’t giving her the stability she needed. After she gave a precarious wobble, he reached for her hand and enveloped it in his. ‘The pathway is a little uneven here.’

She glanced up at him with a brief smile of thanks and looked away again. They walked the rest of the way in silence but Logan was aware of every whorl of her skin where it touched his. Aware of the light flowery fragrance she was wearing, aware of how her head only came to just below his shoulders.

They came to the restaurant and were soon led to their table overlooking Kapalua Bay. The waiter took their drinks orders and left them with menus. Logan gave the menu a cursory glance because he could barely take his eyes off Layla. He had never spent so much concentrated time with her before. But when it came to that, he hadn’t spent much time with anyone over the last seven years. He had preferred to be alone with his thoughts, with his regrets, with his guilt. Not just his guilt over Susannah.

Robbie caused him more guilt than he could handle and had done so for more years than he cared to count. His worry about his younger brother stretched back as far as childhood when their mother had left. Logan had done everything he could to shield Robbie from the sudden loss of their mother but he hadn’t succeeded.

But when had he ever succeeded in a relationship of any kind?

Spending time with Layla opened up a new world of connection and emotional intimacy—that thing he had so assiduously avoided even in his relationship with his fiancée. Getting to know Layla on a deeper level had made him realise what his relationship with Susannah had been missing.

It was hard to get his head around the fact they were now officially married. It didn’t seem real but it was—he had the marriage certificate to prove it. It was there in black and white.

On paper.

Layla looked up from examining the menu and frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’

Logan rearranged his features into an impassive mask. ‘No. Why?’

She closed the menu. ‘You keep staring at me and frowning.’

He gave an on-off smile. ‘Sorry. I was thinking.’

‘About what?’

‘About us.’ Even saying the word ‘us’ made something in him sit up like a meerkat and take notice.

She lowered her gaze to focus on the candle flickering on the table between them. ‘It’s kind of weird, isn’t it? I mean, us being married.’ Her gaze came back to his. ‘But at least we’ve saved Bellbrae. That’s what matters most.’

‘It’s not the only thing that matters,’ Logan said. ‘It’s important you aren’t too badly inconvenienced by our arrangement. I know a year is a long time but once we annul our marriage, you’ll be free to move on with your life.’

The waiter approached with their drinks to take their meal order at that point. Logan tried not to think about Layla’s life after their marriage ended. It would be strange seeing her marry someone else one day, perhaps even have a family. And if she moved away, she might not even be a part of Bellbrae any more. He couldn’t imagine the Highland estate without her. The place would seem empty and colourless. Bleak.

Once the waiter had left, Layla picked up her wineglass and gently twirled the contents. ‘My life is my business. That’s all I care about. I want to be successful and self-sufficient.’

‘Do you want a family as well one day?’ Why was he asking when he didn’t want to know? He didn’t want to think about her as a mother of some other man’s babies. It was none of his business what she did with her life after their ‘marriage’ came to an end. No business at all.

Layla lifted one slim shoulder in a tiny shrug, a frown forming between her downcast eyes. ‘I’m not sure about that… Sometimes I think it would be wonderful to have a family. But other times I worry I could end up like my mother.’ She flicked him a veiled glance. ‘She married the wrong person. It not only ruined her life, it cut it short.’

Logan suspected there was a lot more to Layla’s background than she had let on. Her guardedness around the subject of her childhood was testament to that. He knew she had been in a car accident that had claimed her parents’ lives and caused her to be severely injured but he had a sense she hadn’t had an easy life even before that terrible tragedy. ‘Do you feel comfortable telling me what happened?’

Layla took a sip of wine and then placed her glass back on the table. Her features were a battleground of conflicting emotions as if she was deciding whether to reveal or conceal. But after a long moment, she started speaking in a voice that throbbed with conviction.

‘My mother made a series of choices she might not have made if she’d been better supported. She came from a difficult background herself and then got caught up in a downward spiral of petty crime to lift herself out of poverty. One job would have broken the cycle, I’m sure of it. It would have given her independence and a sense of worth.’

‘Is that why you’re so keen to employ people from disadvantaged backgrounds?’ Logan asked.

‘Absolutely. They sometimes just need someone to believe in them.’ She tapped her hand on the table for emphasis. ‘To give them a fighting chance. My mother didn’t have anyone in her life who believed in her potential.’

‘What was your father like?’

A flash of anger lit her grey-green gaze and her mouth tightened. ‘He was a brute and a bully but my mother got completely taken in by him because he promised to give her a better life. He said all the charming things she wanted to hear but they were empty promises. She thought because he called her “babe” that he actually loved her. But when he started to show his true colours, she didn’t have the strength or self-esteem to stand up to him. The worst part was she drank and used drugs to escape his behaviour but in doing so became more like him.’

She released a ragged sigh and looked back at the candle flickering on the table, a hot flare of anger still smouldering in her gaze. ‘If I can save one woman from what happened to my mother, then all the hard work and sacrifice will be worth it.’

Logan reached for her hand across the table and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘I think it’s amazing what you’re doing with your business. It’s an honourable and compassionate approach that is innovative and enterprising. If you’d like me to help you with a business expansion plan, I can do that.’

She pulled her hand away and placed it on her lap, her expression defensive. Wary. ‘I’m not completely incompetent. I’ve run my business for the last couple of years without going bankrupt.’

‘I meant no offence, Layla. Good structure is vital in business expansion. A lot of small businesses fold when they try to expand too quickly. I have some skills in that area so the offer is on the table. Take it or leave it.’

Something softened in her tight expression. ‘I’ll think about it.’

A small silence passed.

‘What was your mother like?’ Layla asked.

The question blindsided Logan. He was so used to not thinking about his mother that it took him a moment to even bring her features to mind. Thinking about his mother made him think about himself and his brother as distraught children who didn’t understand why Mummy wasn’t coming back home. Why she never came back or never wanted to see them or even talk to them on the phone. It had been a brutal abandonment that had all but destroyed his father and changed Logan’s and Robbie’s lives for ever.

‘She was beautiful and charming,’ Logan said, stripping his voice of emotion. ‘If my father hadn’t destroyed all the photos of her, I could’ve shown you how beautiful she was.’

‘Aunt Elsie told me how gorgeous she was,’ Layla said. ‘And that your father fell madly in love with her the moment he met her.’

‘My father was completely captivated by her. They had a whirlwind courtship and I was born a few months after their wedding. I don’t think it was ever a happy marriage but when Robbie came four years after me, things really started to come unstuck.’ He picked up his wineglass. ‘One day, I came home from school to find she had left.’ He drank from his glass and put it back down on the table with an audible thud. ‘That morning we’d had a mother. That afternoon we didn’t. No goodbye. No note. Not even a phone call. She’d gone to live with her lover in America. I haven’t seen her or heard from her since.’

Layla frowned in concern. ‘It must have been devastating for you both. You were so terribly young—what? Both under ten?’

‘Seven and four.’ Logan’s tone was flat. ‘We didn’t understand why she left. We both thought we must have done something to make her leave us.’

‘I guess a lot of kids would think like that but surely you realise it wasn’t anything to do with you or Robbie?’

He shifted the base of his wineglass a quarter-turn. ‘It took me years to realise it wasn’t us. It was her. She didn’t have the capacity to bond. I heard she’s been married three or four times since then.’ He paused for a moment before adding, ‘It was harder on Robbie. He was only four and missed her badly. He cried for weeks, months really. I did what I could to compensate but it wasn’t enough—nowhere near enough. He needed his mother and no one else was going to fill the hole she left behind. Not even our father, who was struggling himself to cope.’

A frown pulled at her brow. ‘You can’t possibly blame yourself for Robbie’s problems. You were left by your mother too and you didn’t go off the rails.’

Logan gave her a grim look. ‘I do blame myself. I was too lenient with him then and after our father died. Robbie was only fourteen and full of raging hormones and risk-taking behaviour, which was part puberty and part acting out his grief. My grandfather was too controlling with him and I tried to make up for it in other ways. It was a mistake to swing back too far the other way. I should’ve tried a more balanced approach.’ He made a self-deprecating sound and added, ‘I’m definitely not cut out for parenthood. Not with all the mistakes I’ve made with my brother.’

Layla leaned forward in her chair, her expression etched with concern. ‘Logan, you’re not to blame. I think you’ve been an amazing older brother. And you would make an amazing father. Robbie hasn’t made great choices along the way but you’ve done nothing but support him and encourage him to make better ones. Even the way you’ve put your own life on hold to save Bellbrae is proof of that. It’s not just your heritage that would’ve been lost but his as well. I know how your mind works—by marrying me you’re ultimately protecting him from the shame of losing his family’s ancestral home in a poker game.’ She picked up her wineglass and sat back in her chair. ‘And I admire you for it.’

Logan gave a twisted smile. ‘Let’s hope you still admire me after you’ve lived with me for a year.’

Something passed over her features—a shadow in her quickly averted gaze, the flicker of a tiny muscle near her cheek, a flattening of her mouth. ‘That works both ways.’ Her voice dropped half a semitone in pitch. ‘Let’s hope we remain friends.’

Logan raised his glass in a toast. ‘To staying friends.’