Читать книгу Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8 - Heidi Rice - Страница 18

LAYLA WAS TIRED after her swimming session and after a shower lay down on the bed to rest with one ear out to listen for when Logan returned from his run. But he must have been doing a marathon because every time she glanced at the clock by the bed, it had gone around another half an hour until finally she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep…

Layla hadn’t had the dream in years. She was in the back of the car, her parents were arguing in the front, with her father in the driving seat. The trees on the roadside were blurred by the speed her father was going. The car swerved and spun but her father corrected it, laughing manically and asking if they were wetting their pants yet. Her mother had stopped shouting back and was now shrunk into her seat, begging him to slow down in a whimpering voice, one side of her face already blackened by her husband’s fist from the day before.

Layla saw the tree coming towards them, looming, looming. She screamed but it was too late. Too late. Too late…

Someone was trying to revive her. She could feel their hands on her shoulders and hear them calling her name. ‘Layla. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream. Wake up.’

But it wasn’t the off-duty nurse or the paramedics who had been first on the scene that day. Layla opened her eyes to see Logan perched on the edge of her bed, his hands stroking back the hair that had fallen across her face.

‘It’s all right, I’m here. It was just a nightmare.’ His voice was gentle and his touch soothing, anchoring her in the present, not the past.

Layla blinked away the terrifying images lingering in her head. She pushed herself upright into a sitting position, wincing against the light of the bedside lamp he had switched on. How long had she been sleeping? Hours and hours for it was now dark outside.

‘Sorry. Gosh, I didn’t realise it was night already. Did I wake you up?’

He took one of her hands and held it in his, stroking the back of it with slow, rhythmic movements. ‘In bed but not asleep. I was going through some emails on my phone when I heard you call out.’

Layla peered at the bedside clock to find it was close to midnight. ‘Oh, I must have wrecked your dinner booking. Sorry. I didn’t realise how tired I would be after swimming.’

‘Can I get you something to eat or a drink of milk or something?’

She screwed up her face. ‘Eww. I hate milk.’

His crooked smile transformed his features and made her heart do a little flip turn. ‘I should have remembered that. What about fruit juice or herbal tea?’

‘You don’t have to fuss over me like I’m a little kid.’ She plucked at the hem of the sheet with her fingers. ‘I’m not hungry and I’m perfectly able to get myself back to sleep.’ She kept her gaze lowered, conscious of his hair-roughened thigh so close to hers on the bed. Conscious of his stroking fingers on her hand, conscious of her body secretly reacting to his touch. Warmth spreading through her lower body, flickers of heat smouldering in her core.

He was dressed in boxer shorts but naked from the waist up. His lean and athletic build could have been no better advertisement for regular exercise. His pectoral muscles were toned and carved on his broad chest and the neat washboard ridges of the muscles on his abdomen spoke of man who was not afraid of pushing himself to the limit. It was all she could do to keep her hands to herself. Her fingers tingled with the desire to explore those toned ridges, to trace every hard contour.

‘Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?’ Logan’s baritone voice was deep, calm and even and as soothing as his stroking fingers on the back of her hand.

Layla fixed her gaze on her hand encased in the shelter of his. Her skin was so pale against his tan, a reminder of all the essential differences between them. She hadn’t been in a gym since rehab. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought. Too many reminders of the pain of trying to walk again, trying to be normal when normal was something other people took for granted and never had to question.

‘I haven’t had a nightmare in ages…’ She chanced a glance at him to find him watching her with concern etched on his features. She lowered her eyes again and asked, ‘Did I say anything while I was asleep?’

‘You were calling out “Stop” repeatedly. I was worried we might’ve had an intruder. I came rushing in to find you thrashing on the bed in the throes of a nightmare.’ His eyes were haunted with the stress of finding her so distressed. ‘You were dreaming about the accident?’

Layla gave a small nod, her gaze still focussed on their joined hands. For years she had heard everyone refer to it as an accident. A chance thing, a driver error that had gone horribly wrong. Her memory might have been patchy for months after the crash but one thing she had always known was that it hadn’t been a simple driver error. ‘It wasn’t an accident.’ She brought her gaze back to his, her voice tight, her throat tighter. ‘It was a deliberate car crash.’

Logan’s hand stilled on hers, his eyes widening in alarm. ‘What do you mean?’ His tone was hollowed out, echoing with shock.

‘My father wanted to kill us all. He drove the car into the tree because my mother told him she wanted to leave him.’

‘Oh, Layla…’ Logan’s hand gripped hers as if he was trying to anchor her to him. To stop her being swept away by a tide of distressing memories. ‘I can’t imagine the panic and fear and pain you must have gone through. What a cowardly act. A disgustingly cowardly act.’ His voice was full of cutting contempt for her father and deep concern for her.

Layla rolled her eyes in a tell-me-about-it manner. ‘I certainly didn’t win the father lottery, that’s for sure. Or the mother one, although I think she would’ve had a much better chance of being a better mother if she hadn’t married my father. His influence was destructive and damaging but by the time she got the courage to leave him, it was too late.’

Logan brushed back some imaginary hair off her forehead, his gaze steady and compassionate. ‘The more I hear about your childhood, the more I admire you. You’ve done an amazing job of overcoming those terrible experiences.’

‘I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Aunt Elsie and your family’s help,’ Layla said. ‘I know your grandparents were old-school Scots but their hearts were in the right place. I’m not sure how my life would’ve turned out if I’d stayed too much longer in foster care. I was there for a few weeks after I came out of rehab until Aunt Elsie got official guardianship of me. Some of those group homes were pretty terrifying. Damaged kids damaging other kids.’

She shook her head, trying to shake away the memories of the past.

‘I know not all foster homes are awful but it’s not the same as belonging to your own family.’ She twisted her mouth and added, ‘Not that my family was anything to crow about. My father was an angel in public but a bullying devil behind closed doors. He claimed to love us but he didn’t know the meaning of the word.’ She flopped back down against the pillows with a heavy sigh. ‘Now I’m going to shut up about my childhood. I’m probably boring you.’

Logan turned her hand over and traced a slow line across her palm. ‘You’re not boring me at all.’ He locked his gaze on hers. ‘In fact, I find you one of the most interesting and intriguing people I’ve ever met.’ He drew a circle on her palm this time, the lazy movement of his finger sending shivers shooting up and down her spine.

Layla sucked in an uneven breath, her insides coiling with desire. She could see the same desire reflected in his sapphire-blue gaze. Desire that sent a current through the air like high-voltage electricity. She disguised a swallow, her heart picking up its pace, her pulse sprinting.

‘Will you stay with me until I go back to sleep?’ The question popped out almost before she knew she was going to say it. Her cheeks grew warm and she lowered her gaze and bit down on her lower lip, pulling her hand out of his and burying it under the sheet covering her lower body. ‘Forget I said that. I’m old enough to get myself back to sleep.’

A silence ticked past. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Logan stood from where he was perched on the side of the bed, but he didn’t leave. ‘Scoot over,’ he said, gesturing with his hand. ‘I’ll lie on top of the covers, though.’

Layla gave him a wry look. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

His expression was grim. ‘I don’t trust myself.’

It was a while before Layla fell back to sleep, but when she did it was deep and peaceful and dreamless. She woke as dawn was breaking, the sun stealing into the room, casting the bed in a golden beam of light as direct as a spotlight. She was lying on her side with the warm band of Logan’s arm wrapped around her middle and one of his strong muscular legs flung over hers.

Sometime during the night, he must have joined her under the bedcovers but she had no clear memory of it. But now she was acutely aware of every part of his body where it was in contact with hers—his hard chest against her back, his strong thighs against her bottom, his arm across her waist. His head was resting on the top of hers, his breathing deep and even, each of his expelled breaths gently feathering her cheek.

He shifted position slightly, his arm tightening around her middle to draw her closer, his other hand skating over one of her breasts. Even through the light barrier of her silk pyjama top she could feel the outline of his broad male hand. Could feel the erratic leap of her pulse at his intimate touch. Could feel one of his hair-roughened thighs coming between hers, triggering a firestorm in her female flesh.

He gave a low sleepy murmur. ‘Mmm…you feel nice.’

Layla knew she should wake him but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. No one had ever held her like this. She had never experienced the warmth and comfort of a lover’s touch. Was it wrong of her to want to break the rules he had laid down? She moved her legs experimentally against his, enjoying the feel of hard muscle and rough masculine hair against her smoother skin. His hand came back to her breast, cradling it with exquisite gentleness, his thumb rolling back and forth across her tightening nipple. Tingling sensations rioted through her body from her breast to her feminine core. Her breathing stalled, her belly swooped, her senses reeled.

Layla turned in his arms and he opened his eyes and swore not quite under his breath and released her and sat upright.

‘Sorry.’ His apology was brief, brusque and bruising to her ego.

‘It’s okay, Logan,’ Layla said. ‘You didn’t do anything.’

He rubbed a hand down his face, the sound of his palm scratching across his morning stubble loud in the echoing silence. ‘You should have woken me.’ His tone was gruff, his eyes haunted with guilt and self-loathing.

Layla rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I enjoyed sleeping next to you. I enjoyed you holding me.’

His mouth was set in a taut line. ‘This has to stop.’ He sprang off the bed as if it had just poked him. ‘I have to stop.’ He said it not quite under his breath, as if he was reminding himself, not her.

Layla pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ‘Why do you have to stop?’

Whoa! What did you just say?

But her conscience wasn’t listening and neither was her traitorous body. It was awake and wanting. Why shouldn’t they explore the chemistry they shared? She could be casual about the time limit on their relationship, couldn’t she? And maybe, just maybe the time limit would become irrelevant…

‘You know why.’

‘Because you feel you’d be betraying Susannah’s memory?’

He frowned as if she had started speaking in a foreign language. ‘No. Of course not. It’s not about Susannah.’

‘So it’s me then. It’s because it’s me.’ Layla couldn’t quite remove the note of despondency in her tone.

He speared a hand through his hair and gave a rough sigh. ‘It’s me. Me not wanting to hurt you in the long run. Sex can be casual and God knows I’ve had plenty of it. But it wouldn’t be casual between us. You know it wouldn’t. It couldn’t be. We already have an existing relationship and building sex onto that would make things way more complicated when the year is up on our marriage.’

Layla straightened her legs, crossed her ankles and folded her arms across her chest. ‘But what if we decided not to end it after a year? We might decide to extend it for a bit long—’

‘No.’ His sharply delivered word was as stinging as a slap. ‘We’re not doing that, Layla. The rules are there for a reason.’

‘I think the rules are there because deep down you want more than you’d like everyone to believe,’ Layla said. ‘You’re still punishing yourself because of Susannah’s death. It’s understandable—it was a terrible tragedy to lose the love of your life. But you’re entitled to have a life, even though hers has gone. You deserve to have some measure of happiness, even if it won’t be on the same level as before.’

Logan muttered a thick curse and speared her gaze with his hard and glittering one.

‘She wasn’t the love of my life. There, that’s shocked you, hasn’t it? I thought I loved her at the start but then I started to feel less certain. I knew something wasn’t right between us but I put it down to my preoccupation with work. I had a few big projects going on and I travelled a lot, and, to tell you the truth, I enjoyed coming home to someone who always seemed happy to see me. I think because I was away so much it took me longer to realise how unsuited we actually were. But when I finally realised, I should have ended it then and there, but her emotional fragility had started to worry me. I stupidly let our relationship limp along for the rest of the year but, as it turned out, I was right to be worried.’

Layla couldn’t hope to conceal her shock at his embittered words. Her mouth was open, her eyes wide, her heart heavy for what he’d been through and the guilt that still plagued him. He had told her a few days ago that things hadn’t been as perfect between him and Susanna as she had believed but she had still assumed he had loved his fiancée. Dearly loved her. Layla had always seen them as the ideal couple. They’d looked so good together, they had seemed to treat each other with the utmost respect, they came from the same world of wealth and privilege.

But had she wanted to see them that way? To fulfil her own girlhood romantic fantasy. Ignoring the subtle clues that things weren’t quite as rosy and romantic as she’d wanted to believe.

But who knew how any relationship worked from the inside? Hadn’t her childhood more than proved that? Happy Families was a game her father had played and played extremely well. Only those on the inside, behind the door closed to the public, knew what the true dynamics were.

Layla unfolded her arms and pushed the bedcovers off and got off the bed. It didn’t matter that she was only dressed in cream silk pyjamas that draped her body contours rather too closely. He had seen her in far less in the pool the previous day. All that mattered was going to him, to offer some support and understanding, some compassion. She stood in front of him, never more conscious of their difference in height—she had to tilt her head right back to gain eye contact.

She touched him lightly on the arm, his masculine hairs tickling her palm, reminding her of yet another difference between them. ‘I don’t know what to say other than I’m so sorry things were so…so difficult…’

The tense lines around his mouth slackened on a heavily released breath and he took her hand from his arm and held it in his. His thumb moved across the back of her hand in an almost absent fashion, his eyes meshing with hers. ‘The thing that haunts me is—’ he winced, as if recalling the memory pained him ‘—I think she knew I was going to call off our engagement eventually. I was waiting for the right time, when I thought she could handle it better emotionally. But I didn’t know about her eating disorder—apparently, she had it before we met. I still can’t forgive myself for not realising how ill she was. I probably made her illness worse by not being fully present in the relationship for all those months.’

Layla moved closer without even realising she was doing it. It seemed natural to be standing so close to him, natural to put her arms around him and even more natural to hug him. His arms came around her—warm, strong, male arms that made everything feminine in her body shiver in delight.

‘We’re all good at hiding things we’re ashamed of, and unfortunately eating disorders are high on the list,’ she said, resting her head against his chest. ‘I know it’s useless me telling you not to blame yourself, but you did what you could based on the information you had at the time. You stayed with her and supported her as best you could for far longer than most men would’ve done.’

Logan began a gentle stroking of the back of her head, each downward movement of his hand making the base of her spine melt. Her breasts were pressed against the broad wall of his chest, her pelvis so close to his, a sensation spread through her lower body like a slow flow of warm treacle. The stirring of his male flesh against her sent a dart of lust between her legs, her inner core pulsating, contracting with a tender ache.

He eased back to look down at her, his eyes so dark it was hard to tell his pupils from the deep blue of his irises. The haunting shadows in his gaze had faded and now his eyes contained a new energy—an intense energy that spoke of attraction, desire, need.

Logan framed her face with his hands, his touch so gentle it made a closed space inside her chest suddenly flare open. ‘I told myself this wasn’t going to happen.’ His voice was as rough as gravel, deep as a base chord with a side note of longing. His gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering, smouldering. ‘You deserve better than what I can offer. Much better.’

‘But what if I’m happy with what you’re offering?’ Layla laid one of her hands on the hard plane of his chest, the other on his richly stubbled jaw. ‘What if I want you to kiss me and make love to me, even if it’s only for the duration of our marriage?’ She could scarcely believe she was offering herself on such stripped-down terms. What had happened to her dream of lifelong love? What had happened to her secret belief in the happy-ever-after fairy-tale?

Logan had happened, that was what. Her need for him overrode every other thought.

He closed his eyes in a tight blink as if calling on whatever internal willpower he possessed but finding it missing. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. I seem to have a particular talent for hurting people I care about. I don’t want you to be one of them.’

Layla linked her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the dark brown ends of hair that brushed against his neck. ‘The way you’ll hurt me is to not kiss me, to not want me the way I want you. But you do want me, don’t you? Or am I just imagining it?’

He placed a hand at the base of her spine and drew her against the evidence of his arousal, his eyes glinting. ‘You’re not imagining it. I want you so badly it’s making me crazy. Ever since I saw you packing up my grandfather’s things in the north tower, it was like a switch turned on inside me. I can’t seem to turn it off.’

Layla stepped up on tiptoe, bringing her mouth closer to the slow descent of his. ‘I don’t want you to turn it off. Not now. Not yet.’ Not ever.

His head came down, a deep groan coming from the back of his throat as their lips met in an explosive kiss. Heat flared, flames of lust licking along Layla’s flesh like wildfire in a tinder-dry forest. His tongue met hers, playing, duelling, teasing, dancing. His fingers splayed through her hair, his head tilting so he could deepen the kiss, his lower body pressed to hers in passionate desperation. She instinctively moved against his hot hard heat, her body delighting in the potency and power of his body. It was erotic, it was exciting, it was exhilarating to feel the throb and pound of his blood in such an intimate manner. She had never been so close to a man before. Her teenage date that ended so humiliatingly hadn’t been anything like this.

This was adult attraction in full flare—mutual attraction that sent fizzing sensations to every secret corner of her body. Her spine loosened like molten candlewax, her legs trembled, the backs of her knees tingled, her pulse raced.

Logan placed his hands on her hips and raised his mouth off hers, his breathing ragged. ‘It’s not too late to stop this. You have to be sure—I have to be sure you really want this.’

Layla stroked the side of his face with her palm. ‘I want you, Logan.’ Her voice was whisper-soft but no less determined. ‘You turned a switch on in me too. I want you to make love to me.’

His hands tightened on her hips and for a sinking moment she thought he was going to put her from him, but then he brought her closer again—close enough for her to feel the imprint of his erection against her belly. His head came back down and his mouth met hers in a drugging kiss that made the hairs on the back of her neck pirouette.

He tore his mouth away after a long moment. ‘Wait. Condom.’ He left her briefly to go to the other bedroom where his things were stored.

Layla held her breath the whole time he was away, fearful he would change his mind about making love to her. But he came back carrying the tiny foil packet, his eyes smouldering as soon as they met hers. ‘Still okay about this?’

‘More than okay.’

Somehow, they made it back to the bed in a series of stop-starts where the kiss deepened, intensified, electrified. Where their breathing became laboured, their need escalating. Where his hands skated over her aching flesh in a voyage of discovery, and hers did the same, with boldness she hadn’t known she possessed.

A distant part of Layla’s mind told her she should tell him she was a virgin but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t want to risk him changing his mind—she suspected he would call an immediate halt to their lovemaking. He would see her lack of experience as yet another reason to keep their marriage on paper. But she wanted him to be her first lover. Why shouldn’t it be him? Someone who had known her for many years, who had seen her grow from girl to woman.

Someone she trusted, cared about, respected. Loved.

Of course she loved him. She wasn’t sure when it had started. It had been a gradual awakening, a slow burn of interest and attraction that had morphed into a persistent and powerful emotion.

Logan laid her down on the bed and came down beside her. He slowly undid the buttons on the front of her pyjama jacket, the feel of his fingers against her bare skin making her shiver in anticipation. He peeled the silky jacket from her shoulders and his breath audibly hitched. ‘You’re so perfect, so beautiful…’ he said, his hand cupping her right breast, his touch sending tingles shooting through her body.

Perfect? That was a word Layla wasn’t used to associating with herself. Neither was the word beautiful, but right then she felt like a beautiful woman. A beautiful desirable woman who was embracing her sexual power for the first time.

She explored the toned muscles of his chest, her fingers finding his hard, flat male nipples. His chest was lightly dusted with dark hair that narrowed down to a tantalising trail that disappeared below the waistband of his boxer shorts.

Logan brought his mouth to her breast, closing his lips over her budded nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitised nub. It was a pleasurable torture, the sensation of his warm mouth and raspy tongue sending her into raptures of delight.

Until now her breasts had been nothing but breasts. On the small side, occasionally a little tender around period time, but just breasts. No more, no less.

Now they were an erogenous zone—an intense pleasure spot that made her proud to be a woman.

Layla shuddered when he took her other breast in his mouth, the same riotous sensations shooting through her body from chest to core and back again. A hollow ache began spreading in her lower limbs, a heavy dragging sense of need.

‘I want you…’ Her voice was a breathless plea, her hands instinctively reaching between them for the jut of his erection.

‘Same goes.’ He groaned and brought his mouth back to hers in a kiss that spoke of burning, building, blatant passion.

One of his hands began to slide her pyjama trousers down but Layla suddenly froze, placing her hand over his. ‘Wait.’ The room was brightly lit now with morning sunshine. The water in the pool yesterday had provided a bit of a cover, not much but a bit. But now there was nowhere to hide. Even with the blinds and curtains drawn, her scars would be clearly visible.

He frowned at her in concern. ‘Did I go too fast? Do you want to stop?’

She swallowed and pressed her lips together, not quite able to hold his gaze. ‘I don’t want to stop but I’m worried you will want to when you see my scars up close.’

‘Oh, sweetheart…’ His breath came out on a jagged sigh. ‘Do you really think I would be so insensitive?’

She gave a half-shrug. ‘My scars have turned off men before.’ Only one, but it had been enough to stop her dating since.

His frown deepened. ‘Then you’ve been dating the wrong men. You’re a beautiful young woman who’s survived a terrible car crash. No one should judge or shame you for bearing the scars of a tragedy you were caught up in. If they do, then it says more about them than it does you.’

Layla knew what he said was intellectually sound but she had lived experience of being judged and shamed by people who couldn’t stomach her scars. There were times when she couldn’t stomach them herself. She had spent years of her life avoiding intimacy, making excuses not to get into the dating scene—she was always too busy with work, too tired to indulge in late nights at clubs or parties.

But the real reason was what her scars represented. Not just the culmination of years of abuse and neglect now worn on her body like an indelible brand. Those scars represented her guilty secret—the secret relief that she had lost her parents and not her leg.

How could she ever tell anyone?

‘It’s just hard…you know?’ Layla blinked away the sting of tears. ‘Everywhere I look I see perfect bodies, especially in a place like Hawaii. Before yesterday, I hadn’t been in a swimsuit since I was at the rehab clinic. I used to love swimming, but even at the clinic therapy pool, other patients stared at me like I was some sort of freak show.’

Logan brushed some strands of hair off her face, his gaze grave and yet tender. ‘Your scars are a part of you, but they aren’t you. You are so much more than that. So much more.’

Layla touched his mouth with her fingers. ‘Kiss me. Make love to me. Please?’

His mouth tilted in a slow sexy smile. ‘With pleasure.’