Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8. Heidi Rice
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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