Playing With Fyre

by Mina Carter

  His phone in her hand, she slid it open, a frown on her face as she worked through the unfamiliar controls. She'd spent at least an hour last night trying to find his text messages and address book. Eventually she'd given up. She punched in the numbers for the landline on his card, the phone automatically converting the display to read ‘London Office.'

  Rae frowned. London Office? She'd have expected ‘work’ or ‘office,’ but not a location as well. That indicated he had more than one office to pick from. She nibbled her lip; perhaps this company, Jensen and Fyre, were a little bigger than she'd thought. Perhaps a national rather than the up and coming upstarts taking advantage of the property price slump she'd taken them to be. Perhaps she should have checked them out more...

  ...Wish to keep the original estate together ... Offer considerable remuneration ... In today's market a better offer is unlikely ... She'd read the first few lines of each, her lip curling as it became obvious what they wanted. Her house. So she'd stuck the letters behind the clock on the mantelpiece and forgotten about them.

  Her thumb hovered over the call button. She might have ignored the letters, but Jensen and Fyre obviously hadn't. But they were clever; the next contact had been from her bank manager, Charles Bennett, asking about her finances and concerned about the state of her overdraft. Unfortunately for Mr. Bloody Fyre, Rae was more astute than Charles Bennett. She'd recognised the logo on the paperwork on Charles's desk, using the few minutes he'd nipped out of the office to scan the letter. Which had been when she realised Logan's company had bought out Bennett and Bennett.

  Her face hardened as she glanced down at the phone again, an idea forming in the back of her mind. A risky, underhanded idea. But all was fair in love and war, wasn't it? And Logan couldn't claim his dealings had all been above board, now could he?

  Sliding the phone shut with a decisive click, she slipped it into her bag. So far Logan had accepted the presence, her presence, as his ‘wife’ easily. Who said she shouldn't carry on the deception a little, try to get to know him? Try to get under his skin. Who knew, she might even strike it lucky and get him to sign an agreement to say her property was safe from this bank buyout thing. A small smile on her face, Rae turned to go back in and join her ‘husband.'

  * * * *

  "How are you feeling?” Rae's calm voice broke through Logan's reverie, breaking him out of his contemplation of the scenery as they passed. Gentle English countryside garbed in the colours of autumn, a peaceful scene which belonged on the front of a chocolate box or greetings card. Logan shivered, glad of the glass between him and it. He was rapidly discovering he was not a country-type person.

  "I'm okay, good. Thank you.” He turned and smiled, allowing his eyes to drift over her again. She'd filled him in on at least the important details when she'd returned this morning with the tea. Weak as dishwater, it had revealed another fact about him, about both of them actually. They were both coffee drinkers, the stronger the better.

  He leaned his head back against the seat, fighting the urge to close his eyes. He didn't want to sleep yet, a bizarre fear plaguing him that next time he'd wake up alone. Something deep inside told him that having someone—having Rae—there when he woke up had been miracle enough. He might not be so lucky the next time.

  Rae. Raelyn. An odd name, one which sparked a sense of familiarity with him. He shifted, watching her movements idly. He was glad it had been familiar; it was embarrassing enough asking your wife what her name was in the first place. Lucky for him, he'd been spared that. When the doctor had left after checking him over, he'd snagged the chart off the table and pretended to read it as he scanned for ‘next of kin.'

  He smiled a little. Hadn't fooled her for a moment though; she'd fixed him with those dark eyes, eyes like the colour of warm caramel, and asked if he'd remembered. An odd expression had passed over her face, somewhere between hope and worry, maybe even pain. He'd relented, not wanting to offer false hope, telling her he'd read her name on the chart. She'd been through as much, if not more, than he had. At least he'd been out of it for the most part; she'd been sitting awake, probably worried out of her mind.

  "You nibble your lip when you're concentrating.” He was learning more and more about her the more time they spent together. Like a sponge soaking up information.

  She shot him a startled glance, their eyes colliding for a second before she returned her attention to the road ahead. “I do?"

  "Yeah, you get this cute little pout, and then you pull the bottom one in, sort of twisting your lips a little. It's sexy.” His voice was low in the confines of the car, a soft drawl just audible over the engine.

  Another thing he'd noticed was he had little to no accent, unless it was a cosmopolitan one, indicating he spend a fair amount of time abroad. Time abroad was to be expected though, if he was a property developer. Maybe he had sites on the continent or even further afield. He hoped he didn't spend too much time away though, or some other guy would be after Rae like a shot.

  Perhaps already had, he realised with a sinking feeling as her face set at his teasing comment. He'd noticed that a couple of times earlier too—the slight reserve, as though she remembered not to trust him and pulled her shields around herself.

  Logan didn't know what bothered him more, the fact that she was doing it or the fact that he'd seen it often enough to recognise it. What sort of bastard was he if his wife didn't trust him?

  "Err, okay, touchy subject, moving on quickly.” He cast about for something else to say. He didn't get the time to find a suitable subject as she started to slow, indicating to turn off the road. Logan looked out of the window with interest as she pulled up in the space in front of a quaint little building. Gatehouse Aromatherapy, the sign on the front proclaimed. Gatehouse, he remembered the name, something stirring in his memory. Must have been from when they bought it. He could see why; it was an odd little house, small but beautiful all the same.

  "We both live here?” he asked as she put the hand brake on and turned the engine off, twisting in her seat to reach behind his for her handbag.

  "Err, no. Just me."

  "Ahh, I was afraid of that. Rae ... things between us aren't good, are they?"

  Rae closed her eyes as she rooted behind the seat. She'd been dreading him asking. There was no way she could play all happy, loved up couples with him so she'd prepared a cover story, going over it in her mind until she had it perfect. She'd deliberately kept the details simple so she wouldn't be caught out, even under cross examination. She almost laughed at her own thoughts; anyone would think she was a spy or something.

  She emerged, bag in hand.

  "No, they aren't. We're separated, have been for a while now.” There, it was out. Her get-out clause to explain why she flinched when he touched her, why she went still when he made a flirtatious comment.

  "Oh.” His face fell, his expression wary and worried. Guilt writhed in Rae's chest like a knot of snakes. He looked like a man who'd had the stuffing kicked out of him. Surely her being married to him, them being together, hadn't meant that much to him?

  No, it couldn't. Logan Fyre wasn't a man who needed any sort of connection. The lack of personal numbers or texts in his phone or pictures in his wallet said as much. He was a man who didn't need anyone. Period. The sort of corporate rat who had sold his soul to the devil long ago.

  "Well, I don't remember why, or what I did to cause everything to fall apart so badly. But I'm here, and perhaps we can try again...” His soft words, taking the blame, caught Rae by surprise. She froze, like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights, as he lifted a hand to smooth his fingers across her cheek. She still didn't move as they slid into her hair, his lips descending towards hers. He was going to kiss her again.

  She shouldn't let him. It might spark memories of their kiss in her corridor. It might start to unravel this whole thing before she was ready. But she couldn't move. Just watched him move closer to her, allowed him to tilt her face up to his. Then he claimed her lips in th
e sweetest, gentlest kiss she could imagine.

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  Chapter 4

  She was nervous around him. Sitting at the small table in the equally tiny kitchen, Logan could've kicked himself. He shouldn't have kissed her. He hadn't been able to help himself though. All day he'd been looking at her, at her lips and wondering what it would be like. And in the car, he'd needed to taste her lips more than he'd needed his next breath.

  The kiss had been sweet, like lemon meringue pie. Sugary sweet on top with the lemon bite of lust underneath. He hadn't been prepared for the sudden wave of heat that assaulted him as her lips had parted under his, letting him gather her closer and deepen the kiss. With effort he'd managed to keep it light, enough to tantalise and leave her wanting more.

  That last thought had been playing on his mind since. The thought of a jaded Casanova; it wasn't sitting at all well with him. What sort of person thought that way? As though kissing the wife who'd left him was just another move in some sort of relationship chess game? Not the sort of person he wanted to be; no wonder Rae had told him to get lost.

  "That was delicious, thank you.” He stood, gathering his now empty plate to join her at the sink. The compliment was genuine. He'd never enjoyed a meal so much. “You're a good cook."

  "Thank you. Lived on my own for years, you get used to cooking for yourself.” She held out her hand for his plate, plunging it into the suds to wash.

  "On your own for years?” A frown of confusion creased Logan's brow. “We weren't married for long?"

  She paused, just a fraction of a second but long enough for him to notice. But just as quickly she shrugged. “Not long enough to get out of the habit. Besides, you were always away."

  He grabbed a towel and started drying. “I thought I might have been.” He tsked in annoyance at himself—at his past self. “I was an idiot, a total idiot. I'm sorry."

  She slid him a sideways glance, her beautiful dark eyes still guarded, but perhaps with a little bit of hope in them. Logan hoped so; he'd give anything to see those eyes unguarded. Looking at him with hope and affection, the look of a woman in love. A woman in love with him. He had a feeling that hadn't happened often in his life, and he would be an idiot to let this chance go. And he was going to make sure it didn't slip away.

  He put the last pot on the side, dropped the towel next to it and turned to her. Watching as she soaped down the side with a soapy sponge, cleaning up after them with the practical efficiency he'd noted before. A smile curved his lips. She'd make a good mother. He bit back a groan as the thought of her, belly swollen with his child and glowing, filled his mind. The image took his breath away as he realised he wanted that, more than anything.

  He moved towards her. She jumped as his hands slid around her waist, enclosing her in his arms to pull her back against his hard body.

  "Logan! I'm cleaning up!” she protested, but he ignored her, burying his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Eyes closed, he sighed, absorbing the feel of her against him, breathing in her scent. She smelt fantastic, the faint scent of shower gel and shampoo, apple shampoo, enveloping him like an aromatic security blanket. He moved and kissed her neck as she wriggled to get free, letting go with reluctance.

  "Sorry.” He chuckled as she slid out of his gasp and retreated to the other side of the kitchen. “I always seem to be apologising around you. Suppose I should get used to it. Okay, is there anything else I can do?"

  Rae shook her head, looking around the little kitchen, now returned to its former spick and span condition. “Not at the moment. How about you head on in and I'll bring the coffee through in a moment?"

  Logan nodded, recognising when a woman needed a bit of space, and tactically withdrew. He paused in the doorway, his broad back to her. “Rae, what I said in the car ... I meant it. Whatever went wrong, we can fix it, I promise."

  * * * *

  Rae released a ragged breath after he disappeared through the door. Okay, this was getting harder and harder now. Logan was, simply put, sweet. Without the arrogant attitude he'd had when they first met—the attitude he'd had when he had all his memories you mean, a little voice in the back of her head said snidely—he was just a really sweet, romantic sort of guy. A guy who was determined to make this ‘failed marriage’ work. One she could find herself falling in love with. Which was the trouble—she needed Logan to fall for her, not the other way around.

  She leaned back against the counter and ran her hands through her hair. She could handle this. She had to handle this, she was in too far to quit now. Besides, how did she tell the hot guy wandering around her living room she wasn't who he thought she was?

  Sorry Logan, slight mix up at the hospital, the woman you thought was your wife got mixed up with the wife of the guy in room eight. If only it were that simple. It wasn't like a mix up in the delivery room, which was thankfully rare these days. She had to see it to the end.

  * * * *

  Logan stood in the middle of Rae's living room, looking around. He'd seen it earlier, when she'd given him the ‘grand tour,’ a tour which hadn't taken long given the size of the place. With two bedrooms—one of them used for storing Rae's therapy supplies, one bathroom and three reception rooms, it had been tiny to start with. That was before the dining room had been converted to a therapy room for Rae to run her business out of.

  He shook his head, pacing around the clear space in the centre of the room, a space barely big enough for him to take two or three steps. Logan's inner businessman told him a business this far out of town would struggle from the get-go. Especially with the main house all shut up and deserted as Rae had mentioned.

  What she needed, Logan decided as he looked out of the back window and into the darkened garden beyond, was the Manor converting to a hotel. Perhaps something swish and exclusive to draw in customers—the sort with an expendable income and three different therapists on call. His lip curled, a slight derisive sneer threatening.

  He'd never understood that, the need for ‘therapy’ on a regular basis. At least with what Rae did, there was a physical benefit. That he could understand and appreciate. Not sitting in a chair having some guy tell him the reason he had trouble staying with one woman was because his mother hadn't paid him enough attention when he was a child. No, thank you very much. His amnesia seemed limited to recent events—he remembered his mother clearly enough, far more clearly than he wanted to. Even as a child he'd wanted to have as little to do with the drunken cow as possible.

  But massage therapy he could understand as being beneficial. Perhaps he should ask Rae to look at his shoulders; they'd been aching all day. Probably muscular tension from the accident. He rolled them again, standing in front of the large log fire to absorb the heat. The gatehouse was an old building and even though Rae kept it heated, it was still cold outside the range of the fire.

  He moved as close to the fire as possible without burning his jeans. His eye wandered idly over the mantelpiece. The usual sort of knickknacks littered the top—an eclectic little collection of small pot dragons and cats. Logan smiled to himself, that Rae collected such things didn't surprise him. There were letters stuffed behind the clock, no doubt left to be dealt with at a later date.

  Logan frowned, the logo on the corner of one was just visible. It seemed familiar to him. Reaching out, he tweaked the edge from the stack a little further. A combined J and an F in a curly font. It struck a chord deep in his memory. He'd seen this logo before. It meant something to him. He pulled the letter free and flicked it open, feeling guilty for spying.

  "Dear R. Borne..."

  "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

  * * * *

  The bedroom was shrouded in darkness, with only the soft light of the moon filtering through the curtains at the small windows. With the heating off, the chill from the thick stone walls stole into the room and started to settle in for the night.

  The tall figure spread across the bed filling most of the room did
n't seem to notice. Either that or he didn't mind the cold, the floral patterned duvet pushed down to his waist and one arm raised to pillow his head. His eyes, turned to silver in the filtered moonlight, studied the ceiling above him.

  Something was wrong here. Very, very wrong. His ears still rang from the dressing down Rae had given him after she'd caught him with her letter. He hadn't had chance to scan past the name before she'd snatched it out of his hands, ringing a peal over him for reading her mail. For invading her privacy like he owned the place. He'd tried to apologise but she'd been stiff and on edge for the rest of the night.

  Damn it, what a prize idiot! Why couldn't he have respected her privacy? Everything would have been fine. She'd started to warm up to him, relaxing a little into his arms when he'd held her in the kitchen. He shifted on the bed, settling into a more comfortable position. But the niggling feeling he was missing something just wouldn't go away, his brain picking at the edges of the puzzle like a schoolboy picked at the scab on a grazed knee.

  She was wary around him. They were separated, so who knew what sort of crap he'd put her through. Not physically though, he was sure of that. Logan knew without asking or thinking he'd never hit a woman, no matter what the provocation. No, he suspected it was along the lines of a mind game.

  He half turned and pummelled the pillow viciously. He couldn't sleep. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't forget this was Rae's bed. She should be lying here in comfort under the thick feather duvet instead of him. Instead she was cramped up on the couch downstairs in a sleeping bag.