Fyre & Revenge

by Mina Carter

  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 didn’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.

  He lay back down, a heavy sigh expanding his broad chest. Okay, it wasn’t just that. He was having trouble with the idea of her lying naked between these sheets, all soft curves waiting to be explored.

  He groaned and buried his head under the pillow. His body leapt to full attention, his cock hardening in an instant, fed by the erotic images in his mind. Images of how Rae looked, the feeling of her soft body pressed against his… Her taste.

  Oh God, how she tasted! Like strawberries and champagne on a hot summer’s day.

  Unbidden, his hand smoothed down his taut stomach, cupping his stiff cock under the sheets. He slept naked, another thing he knew instinctively, so there was nothing in the way as his fingers wrapped around his shaft. He fisted himself slowly, unable to get images of Rae out of his head as his need grew.

  He shivered, pushing the pillow back as his neck arched, the hand on his cock coiling the lust in him tighter. His hips jerked, his ass brushing against the cool crisp cotton as he imagined burying himself in her warm depths over and over again. She’d feel fantastic, like warm silk around hi
m. Like coming home.

  He pushed the duvet out the way, goose bumps racing over his skin as the cool air hit. His fist worked faster on his cock. His eyes shut tight, he shuddered, lips parting as the ache in his loins intensified to near pain. He needed to come, and badly. Rae’s image held in his mind, he fell into a fantasy of seducing her. His grip grew firmer until, with a stifled cry, his body jerked. He moaned, holding his cock against his belly as it pulsed and spasmed, spurts of white-hot come splattering over his belly. Gasping, he waited until the pleasurable aftershocks faded away, and rolled off the bed to clean himself up.

  Much later that night he woke abruptly, his eyes snapping open in the darkness. Eyes crystal clear as his memory started to flood back. Back to the accident and what he’d been doing in Ashton on Sea in the first place.

  His breath hissed from his lungs as his eyes narrowed. Tracking down a guy called Ray Borne, who’d turned out to be a siren of a woman called Raelyn Borne. The same siren who was posing as his wife for some unknown reason.

  He sat up, running his hand through his close cropped blond hair. His two sets of memories were meshing badly at the moment, sleep still lingering in the recesses of his brain. There were some fuzzy patches, but he was fairly sure he wasn’t married. In fact, he was sure he’d never been married. Where was his phone? He needed his phone. He needed to talk to JJ. His best friend for years, long before they’d joined forces in their pet project, Jensen and Fyre.

  He paused in the middle of pulling on his jeans. The letter! No wonder Rae hadn’t wanted him to read it! It was from him about buying her property. He remembered signing the damn thing a couple of weeks ago. A muscle in his jaw jumped, the only outward sign of his irritation, and he headed for the door on silent feet.

  It took him less than a minute to make his way down the stairs, pausing every so often to make sure they didn’t squeak. Why he was being so secretive he didn’t know. But for the moment, he didn’t want Rae to know he had his memory back. At least not until he knew what her game was.

  He reached the door at the bottom of the stairs, placing his hand on the wood and pushing it open slowly. The fire had died out now, the embers glowing in the grate. It looked pretty but cast no heat, the chill from the rest of the house invading the living room. Rae was curled up in a tiny ball, a rounded mass of pink flowered sleeping bag with a ponytail.

  Pink sleeping bag? Who on earth bought a pink sleeping bag? With yellow flowers? He shook his head as he padded over the carpet, heading for the kitchen. At six foot three he’d never have fit in the thing, not without the risk of serious cramping in the morning. Rae was so tiny, though, she could almost lie down full length and not worry.

  He stopped just inside the kitchen, closing the door with a soft click. He hissed as his bare fleet contacted the cold floor tiles.

  “Jesus, how cold is it in here?” he muttered, his toes curling up to try and avoid the cold as he headed over to the table in the corner. His phone was where he’d left it, on the table next to the salt and pepper pots, the charging lead tethering it to the power point.

  He picked it up, snapped the connector out of the socket with a practised motion and slid it open. Quickly he thumbed through his address book, looking for JJ’s number. The familiar number flashed up and he hit dial, lifting the phone to his ear and leaning back against the counter.

  Almost instantly the call connected and started to ring. Logan flicked a glance towards the closed door, worried about the sound of a conversation waking Rae in the other room. The door was good, solid wood though, and she hadn’t moved or murmured when he walked through. If he kept his voice down, he shouldn’t wake her.

  The call was picked up and a sleep-roughened male voice demanded, “Logan, this had better be fucking good. I just got Lexi back to sleep and if I don’t get some sleep myself that bastard Ryland’s going to be all over my ass in that merger meeting tomorrow.”

  Logan grinned, a broad expression that completely altered his features. Even the sound of JJ’s voice was enough to bring back another rush of memories, things settling into place in Logan’s head and making more sense now.

  “It is. Have I ever been married?”

  There was a snort from the other end of the phone. Whether it was one of amusement or surprise Logan couldn’t make out. “I’m not going to ask what you’re on. No, you’ve never been married. You’ve never even contemplated marriage. In fact, at my wedding you expressed the opinion I’d suffered temporary insanity as a result of stupidity. Of course you said this out of Zette’s hearing—otherwise we’d still be looking for bits of you.”

  Logan closed his eyes, his head dipping. He wasn’t married. Which meant Rae had been stringing him a line. His lips compressed into a thin line, unexpected pain searing through his chest, through his heart. Intellectually he’d known he wasn’t married, but a small part of him had clung to the fuzziness of his memories, protesting that somehow it might, just might be possible.

  JJ’s words squashed that little hope before it took root and flourished. He sighed and nodded. “I didn’t think so, thanks mate. I’ll let you get some sleep. You look rough enough with a full eight hours, I wouldn’t want to see what your ugly mug looks like on less.”

  He got a chuckle in reply. “Cheers mate, I love you too. You owe me an explanation when you’re up here next weekend. And it better be a good one. Night.”

  “Night,” Logan said to the dead line, his hand lowering as he slid the phone shut. His eyes were fixed on the door to the living room. He wasn’t married—not to Rae, not to anyone. So what was Rae playing at?

  * * *

  Monday was always a slow day for Rae, but today she’d been glad to escape into the tiny office hidden under the stairs. Burying herself in ‘paperwork’ so she didn’t have to face Logan. She nibbled on her lower lip, staring at the screen in front of her but not seeing.

  She’d spent most of the day researching memory loss on the internet. The news wasn’t good. Apparently a random image or phrase, even a piece of music or a smell, could bring everything rushing back. A ray of hope for an amnesiac’s real family. Not so good for someone pretending to be family, and those memories were going to blow her story out of the water.

  A hard knot of worry settled in her chest. What was she doing? This was suicide. Any moment now Logan would remember and she would lose her house. For a moment this morning she thought he’d remembered already. When she’d turned from making the toast he’d been watching her, a hard look in his eye she hadn’t seen since he’d turned up on her doorstep convinced Rae Borne was a man. Her father, boyfriend or pimp.

  Pimp! Her face flushed again, even the memory enough to make her temper simmer. Mention massage to a guy and nine times out of ten they got the wrong impression. Even if she was wearing the less than sexy standard therapy ‘whites’ and ugly clogs rather than stockings and high heels. It only went to prove how thick some men could be—

  “Hey, you planning on hiding in here all day?” A teasing voice broke her out of her thoughts. Rae looked up to find Logan leaning in the door, a soft smile on his face. Her heart turned over in her chest at the warmth in his eyes. A tiny voice sounded in the back of her mind, telling her that if only she’d met him somewhere else, under some other circumstances, and he looked at her like that…

  She switched off the PC, glad the screen was angled away from the door, and stood. “Nope, all done now. I’d best get dinner on,” she said as she joined him at the door.

  He didn’t move out of the way, instead he pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently on the forehead before she could pull away. “All sorted, why don’t you go upstairs and have a nice hot bath and I’ll have everything ready for you when you get down.”

  Chapter Five

  The bath was already run by the time Rae got upstairs, the scent of her favourite oils tempting her. She shucked her clothing off and slipped quickly into the hot water to escape the chill. The tiny radiator in the corner of the room didn’t
work well and only kicked out a minimal amount of heat.

  Unlike some of the other radiators, she had to have her hand on it for a few seconds to feel any heat. Yet she only had to brush past the one in the kitchen to get burnt… She really needed to get them sorted out. But a plumber cost money she didn’t have at the moment. So the bathroom radiator got turned up and the kitchen one turned down.

  She stayed in the bath until it started to turn cold, luxuriating in the scented water. Living on her own she didn’t often get waited on, or have her dinner cooked for her. Another side of Logan she hadn’t expected, would never have expected from the bullish attitude when they’d first met. Getting out of the bath, she wrapped a towel around herself for the short dash across the landing and into the dubious warmth of the bedroom.

  With the chill nipping at her, she briskly rubbed herself dry and dressed in her usual evening attire of jeans and a t-shirt, coupled with a pair of fluffy purple monster slippers. Not the sexiest thing in the world, but the floors in the house could be damn cold.

  Finger combing her loose hair, she padded down the stairs and pushed the door open to the main room. A step inside the door she froze, eyes wide as she looked around.

  The room was in darkness, lit only by the gentle glow of candlelight. Light from the candles on every surface dotted around the room. Soft music played in the background, a gentle romantic track from one of her favourite CDs. The fire crackled in the grate and on the hearth, and on one side, out of the heat, sat an ice bucket complete with what looked like a bottle of champagne.

  Rae blinked in surprise. Where had that come from? She didn’t even own an ice bucket! Venturing further into the room she knew her surprise would be etched on her face. Usually she was pretty good at concealing her feelings, but this had totally blindsided her.

  “Oh there you are. I thought I’d have to send out a search party,” Logan called from the kitchen. Rae headed that way, only to find it had been given the same treatment as the main room. He’d set the table for two, an intimate little scene with candles in the centre. Logan smiled over his shoulder from the counter. “Have a seat, I’ll be done in a moment.”