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What’s your history?’ Rude now, and she knew it, but curiosity would have her know what he did for a living. She’d never asked. It hadn’t been that kind of relationship.
‘I buy things, break them down, and repackage them for profit.’
‘How gratifying,’ said Evie. ‘I build things.’
No mistaking the silent challenge that passed between them, or Max’s silent bafflement as he stared from one to the other.
‘Max, do you think your mother would mind if I took my bag up to the room?’ she asked. ‘I wouldn’t mind freshening up.’
‘Your luggage is already in your suite,’ said Caroline from the doorway. ‘And of course you’d like to freshen up. Come, I’ll show you the way.’
Five minutes ago, Evie wouldn’t have wanted to be alone with Caroline Carmichael.
Right now, it seemed like the perfect escape.
Logan watched her go, he couldn’t stop himself. He remembered that walk, those legs, remembered her broken entreaties as she lay on his bed, naked and waiting. He remembered how he was with her; his breathing harsh and his brain burning. No matter how many times he’d taken her it had never been enough. Whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it, and he hadn’t recognised the danger in giving her whatever she asked for until the table had given way beneath them and Angie had cut her head on the broken table leg on the way down. ‘I’m okay,’ she’d said, over and over again. ‘Logan, it’s okay.’
Eleven years later and he could still remember the warm, sticky blood running down Angie’s face, running over his hands and hers as he’d tried to determine the damage done. That particular memory was engraved on his soul.
‘An accident,’ she’d told the doctor at the hospital as he’d stitched her up and handed her over to the nurses to clean up her face. ‘I fell.’
And then one of the nurses had eased Angie’s shirt collar to one side so that she could mop up more of the blood, and there’d been bruises on Angie’s skin, old ones and new, and the nurse’s compassionate eyes had turned icy as she’d turned to him and said, ‘I’m sorry. Could you please wait outside?’
He’d lost his lunch in the gutter on the way to get the car; still reeling from the blood on his hands and the sure knowledge that accident or not, this was his fault, all of it.
Like father, like son.
No goddamn control.
Angie hadn’t known he was Max’s brother, just now.
Logan didn’t think anyone could conjure up that level of horrified dismay on cue. Or the hostility that had followed.
‘So what was that all about?’ asked Max, his easy-going nature taking a back seat to thinly veiled accusation. ‘You and Evie.’
‘Do you really intend to marry her?’
Do you love her, was what he meant.
Do you bed her? Does she scream for you the way she did for me?
‘Yes,’ said Max, and Logan headed for the sideboard and the decanter of Scotch that always stood ready there. He poured himself a glass and didn’t stint when it came to quantity. Didn’t hesitate to down the lot.
‘I’m guessing that wasn’t a toast,’ said Max, and his voice was dry but his eyes were sharply assessing. ‘What is wrong with you?’
‘Did you protect your money? Has she signed a pre-nup?’
‘Yes. And, yes. We also restructured our business partnership to reflect proportional investment. Evie’s no gold-digger, Logan, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘You’re in business with her too?’
‘For the past six years. She’s the other half of MEP. You know this already. At least, you would if you’d been paying attention.’
‘I did pay attention. I knew you had a business partner.’ He’d known it was a woman. ‘I just …’ Didn’t know it was Angie. ‘So this marriage … is it just a way to get your hands on your trust money?’
A simple no was all it would take. A simple no from Max, and Logan would dredge up congratulations from somewhere and be on his way. All Max had to do was say no.
But Max hesitated.
And Logan set up a litany of swear words in his brain and reached for the decanter again.
Leave it alone, an inner voice urged him. It’s past. It’s done. Plenty of other women in the world. Available women. Willing women.
Angie had been willing.
‘Does she know you’re marrying her to gain access to your trust money?’ he asked next.
‘She knows.’
‘She in love with you?’
‘No. I’d never have suggested it if she was. It’s only for two years. And we’ll be working flat out for most of it.’
‘Right. So it’s just a marriage of convenience. No broken hearts to worry about at all.’
‘Exactly,’ said Max.
Leave it alone, Logan. Keep your big mouth shut.
But he couldn’t.
No way he could have Evangeline Jones for a sister-in-law and stay sane. It was as simple as that.
‘And if I said I already know your soon-to-be wife? That I met her a long time ago, long before she ever knew you? That for a week or so we were lovers?’ Logan’s voice sounded rough; the firewater was not, so he drank some more of it before turning to face his brother. ‘What then?’
Max stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. And then turned and strode from the room without another word.
Caroline Carmichael lingered once they reached the suite; a glorious eastern-facing bedroom with en suite, bay windows overlooking the garden and a sweet little alcove stuffed with a day-bed, and alongside that a bookcase full of surprisingly well-worn books.
‘It’s very feminine, isn’t it?’ murmured Caroline. ‘I’ve never put Max in this room before. Then again, he’s never brought a fiancée home either.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be fine.’ One big bed, one day-bed. Evie couldn’t have asked for a more suitable room.
Logan Black was Max’s brother. Everything was just fine.
‘Because I can put you in the adjoining room if you’d rather not be together before the wedding.’
‘Whatever you’re comfortable with, Mrs Carmichael.’ Evie made no false claim to virginity. She doubted she could have pulled it off. Besides, she could only manage one lie at a time, maybe two.
‘Please, call me Caroline,’ said Max’s mother easily. ‘It’s just that it occurs to me—as Max must have known it would—that your upcoming union might be a marriage in name only. A way for Max to access the money his father left him.’
‘Yes, Max warned me you might think that.’
‘Oh, there’s affection between you, anyone can see that,’ continued Caroline as she tugged at the curtains to make them absolutely even. ‘But I’m not seeing love.’
Evie eyed the other woman steadily. ‘What does love look like?’
‘Depends on the type,’ said Caroline Carmichael. ‘My first great love was Logan’s father and by the time we’d left the battlefield, love looked like a wasteland. But there was passion between us, passion to burn by. My second husband knew how to coax forth a steady flame, one that warmed me through and I thanked him for it every day of his life. But you and Max … Forgive