Billionaire's Wife On Paper. Melanie Milburne
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book with a little snap and placed it back on top of the others. He turned to look at her.
Yep, with a frown.
‘Where will you and your aunt go if this place is sold?’
Layla’s eyes widened and her chest developed a tight, can’t-take-another-breath ache. ‘Sold? You’re selling Bellbrae?’ She could think of no bigger tragedy…well, she could because she’d lived through one big hell of a tragedy, but still. Selling Bellbrae was way up there on the list. Who would she be without the shelter of Bellbrae watching over her? Her identity had been formed here, her sense of security and safety honed within the fortress-like walls of the centuries-old castle. ‘How could you do that, Logan? Your grandfather left it to you as his eldest male heir. Your dad is buried here along with your grandparents and generations of ancestors. You surely don’t need to sell it for the money?’
His expression went as blank as one of the dust sheets on the furniture, but his tone was jaded. ‘It’s not about money. I am unwilling to fulfil the terms of my grandfather’s will.’
Layla frowned like she was in competition with him for Best Frown in Show. ‘Terms? What terms?’
He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and moved to look out of one of the mullioned windows, his back turned to her. Layla could see the tension in his shoulders even through his clothes. The breadth of his shoulders had always secretly fascinated her.
She had often seen him rowing and swimming in summer on the lake on the Bellbrae estate when he’d come home to visit. Tall and lean-hipped with abdomen muscles ridged with strength and endurance, she had been fascinated by his athleticism as it had been in such stark contrast to her young broken body. And when he’d brought Susannah home for visits, Layla had watched them both. Susannah had been supermodel stunning, slim and glamourous. Never had Layla seen two people more perfect for each other or more devotedly in love. It had set a benchmark for her to aspire to. An impossible benchmark perhaps, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Logan turned to look at her, his jaw set in a taut line. ‘Unless I marry within three months, the entire estate will pass to Robbie.’
Layla licked her carpet-dry lips, her heart suddenly flapping like a loose window shutter in a stiff Highland breeze. ‘Oh…’
He drew in a breath and released it in a gust of frustration. ‘Yes. Oh. And we both know what he will do when he gets his hands on this place.’
Layla couldn’t allow her mind to even go there. No two brothers could ever be more disparate. Logan was the strong, silent type—hard-working and responsible. Robbie was a loud party boy with a streak of recklessness who had already brought shame on the family too many times to count. ‘You think he’d sell it?’
He gave a grim movement of his lips that wasn’t anywhere near a smile. ‘Or—worse—turn it into party central for irresponsible playboys like himself.’
Layla chewed her lower lip, her thoughts in a tangled knot. If Bellbrae was sold, what would happen to her great-aunt? Where would Aunt Elsie live if not here? Her great-aunt lived in a little cottage on the estate where she had spent the last forty years. Like Layla, it was the only home she knew. And what would happen to Logan’s grandfather’s elderly dog, Flossie? The dog was almost blind and would find a move to another place even more distressing than Aunt Elsie would. ‘There must be something you can do to challenge the terms of your grandfather’s will.’
‘The will is ironclad.’ He turned away to look at the view from the windows, even the sound of his feet moving across the carpet conveyed his disgust.
‘Why did your grandfather write it in such a way?’ Layla asked into the echoing silence. ‘Did he talk to you about it before he…?’ She still found it hard to believe the old man was gone.
Packing up Angus McLaughlin’s things had made her realise how different Bellbrae would be without him. Picky and pedantic, he hadn’t been the easiest person to get along with, but over the last few months Layla had made a point of ignoring his bad points and had found him to have a softer side he’d been at great pains to keep hidden.
Logan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and partially turned from the window to look at her. ‘He’s been telling me for years to settle down and do my duty. Marry and provide a couple of heirs to continue the family line.’
‘But you don’t want to get married.’ It was a statement, not a question.
A shadow passed through his gaze like a background figure moving across a stage. He turned back to face the view from the windows; there might as well have been a ‘Keep Away’ sign printed on his back. It seemed a decade before he spoke. ‘No.’ His tone had a note of finality that made something in Layla’s chest tighten.
The thought of him marrying someone one day had always niggled at her like a mild toothache. She could ignore it mostly but now and again a sharp jab would catch her off guard. But how could he ever find someone as perfect for him as Susannah? No wonder he was a little reluctant to date seriously these days. If only Layla could find someone to love her with such lasting loyalty. Sigh.
‘What about a marriage of convenience? You could find someone who would agree to marry you just long enough to fulfil the terms of the will.’
One of his dark eyebrows rose in a cynical arc above his left eye. ‘Are you volunteering for the role as my paper bride?’
Eek! Why had she even mentioned such a thing? Maybe it was time to stop reading paperback romances and start reading thriller or horror novels instead. Layla could feel a hot flush of colour flooding her cheeks and bent down to straighten the items in her basket to disguise it. ‘No. Of course not.’ Her voice was part laugh, part gasp and came out shamefully high and tight. Her? His bride of convenience? Ha-di-ha-ha-ha. She wouldn’t be a convenient bride for anyone, much less Logan McLaughlin.
A strange silence crept from the far corners of the room, stealing oxygen particles, stilling dust motes, stirring possibilities…
Logan walked back to where she was hovering over her cleaning basket, his footsteps steady and sure. Step. Step. Step. Step. Layla slowly raised her gaze to his inscrutable one, her heart doing a crazy tap dance in her chest. She drank in the landscape of his face—the ink-black prominent eyebrows over impossibly blue eyes, the patrician nose, the sensually sculpted mouth, the steely determined jaw. The lines of grief etched into his skin that made him seem older than he was. At thirty-three, he was in the prime of his life. Wealthy, talented, a world-renowned landscape architect—you could not find a more eligible bachelor…or one so determined to avoid commitment.
‘Think about it, Layla.’ His tone was deep with a side note of roughness that made a faint shiver course through her body. A shiver of awareness. A shiver of longing that could no longer be restrained in its secret home.
Layla picked up her basket from the floor and held it in front of her body like a shield. Was he teasing her? Making fun of her? He must surely know she wasn’t marriage material—certainly not for someone like him. She was about as far away from Susannah as you could get. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
His hand came down to touch her on the forearm, and even through two layers of clothing her skin tingled. She looked down at his long strong fingers and disguised a swallow. She could count on one hand the number of times he had touched her over the years and still have fingers left over. His touch was unfamiliar and strange, alien almost, and yet her body reacted like a crocus bulb to spring sunshine.
‘I’m serious,’ he said, looking at her with watchful intensity. ‘I need a temporary wife to save Bellbrae from being sold or destroyed and who better than someone who loves this place as much as I do?’
But you don’t love me.
The words came into her head at random but she had no way of getting rid of them. They were like gate-crashers at a party, unwelcome, intrusive. Forbidden. Yep, she definitely had to switch reading genres. Layla slipped out of his hold and moved a couple of steps back, still