Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8. Heidi Rice
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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