Layla took his outstretched hand and drew comfort and courage from the warm press of his fingers around hers. ‘Okay...let’s do this...’ She walked with him down the slab steps of the pool into the silky embrace of the water. She was conscious of his strong male body right beside her, conscious of the fact he was wearing even less than she was. Conscious of the way her body responded to him in secret—the subtle increase in her heart rate, the little flickers of lust between her thighs.
Logan let go of her hand once she was standing waist deep in the water. ‘Let the water support you. Don’t fight it. Go with it.’
Layla bounced her feet off the bottom of the pool to put herself in a floating position, allowing the water to carry her weight. It was nothing short of bliss to be supported and she starting swimming a slow freestyle, because the gentle kicking motion was a little easier to manage with her leg. Tumble turns were beyond her capability, so she stopped at the end instead, caught her breath and then turned around and came back.
The sun was warm and the water shimmering as she passed through it. She was aware of every inch of her body the water touched, her muscles enjoying the pull and tug of exercise, her skin enjoying the caress of water.
She stopped at the end where Logan was waiting for her. She stood upright and smiled, flicking wet hair out of her face. ‘I’m not quite up to your standard but thank you for encouraging me.’
‘You look very at home in the water. Like a mermaid.’ His tone had a husky edge and his dark blue eyes did another slow appraisal of her cleavage.
Layla knew she should turn around and keep swimming but something kept her frozen in place. Well, perhaps not quite frozen, for smouldering heat was travelling to every part of her body. Logan’s gaze met hers and suddenly there wasn’t a foot of space between them anymore. They were practically pelvis to pelvis with only a millimetre or two of water separating them. The magnetic pull of his body drew her inexorably closer until her breasts met the hard wall of his chest. His hands settled on each of her hips, his taut abdomen close enough for her to feel the jut of his growing erection.
Time stood still for an infinitesimal moment as if an invisible hand had blocked the ticking hand of a clock. Tick. Tock. Stop.
Logan’s head came down and his mouth met hers in a kiss that tasted of salt water, sun and male sensuality. Her mouth flowered open under the passionate pressure, her tongue meeting his in a sexy tangle that made shivers course down her spine. He moved against her and the hard nudge of his aroused body made her legs almost fold beneath her. He brought a hand to the small of her back, pressing her even closer to the throb of his flesh, his kiss deepening with a thrust of his tongue that was blatantly erotic.
Layla made a whimpering sound of encouragement, one of her hands sliding up to caress the back of his neck, the other his lean jaw. Escalating need pulsated through her entire body, her legs trembling with the sheer force of its unstoppable tide.
Logan’s hand came to her swimsuit-clad breast, cupping it through the ruched fabric, but his touch still sent a shockwave of longing through her flesh. His arousal jutted against her feminine mound and he gave a deep rough-sounding groan against her mouth before finally lifting off.
He kept hold of her by the upper arms, his breathing heavy, his gaze hooded. ‘I’m sorry.’ His tone was full of self-reproach and he released her from his hold and stepped back with a brooding frown between his dark brows.
Layla licked her lips, relishing the taste of him still lingering there. ‘You don’t have to apologise. I—’
‘I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.’ He dragged a hand over his face as if wanting to reset his features. ‘It’s not fair to confuse you by saying one thing and then doing another.’
‘The impression I got was that you wanted to kiss me and enjoyed it as much as I did,’ Layla said, challenging him to deny it with her unwavering gaze.
His gaze slipped to her mouth and he drew in a harsh-sounding breath, releasing it a whoosh of self-recrimination. ‘I enjoyed it too damn much but it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.’ He turned and launched himself out of the pool, spraying water droplets in an arc around him. ‘I’m going to go for a run. I’ll see you later.’
Layla sighed and sank under the water and began swimming again. Maybe a few punishing laps of the pool would tame her own frustrated desire.
* * *
Logan ran along the shoreline oblivious to the protestation of overused muscles. He was determined to beat this obsession with kissing Layla. He was the one who had made the rules—why was he finding it so damn hard to stick to them? Her mouth was a drug he had suddenly developed a hunger for and it was taking every bit of willpower he possessed to resist. What was it about her that made him so tempted to step over every boundary he had laid down?
But then a thought strayed into his mind...maybe he shouldn’t resist. Maybe he could tweak the rules and see what happened. The thought sat down like an uninvited guest, put its feet up and got comfortable but Logan frogmarched it out of his head. He knew what would happen and he had to avoid it at all costs. He increased his pace along the sand, ignoring the burning sensations in his legs. Ignoring the heaving of his chest as he dragged in each gulping breath.
He hadn’t forgiven himself for his last relationship disaster.
He couldn’t—wouldn’t—go there again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LAYLA WAS TIRED after her swimming session and after a shower lay down on the bed to rest with one ear out to listen for when Logan returned from his run. But he must have been doing a marathon because every time she glanced at the clock by the bed, it had gone around another half an hour until finally she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep...
Layla hadn’t had the dream in years. She was in the back of the car, her parents were arguing in the front, with her father in the driving seat. The trees on the roadside were blurred by the speed her father was going. The car swerved and spun but her father corrected it, laughing manically and asking if they were wetting their pants yet. Her mother had stopped shouting back and was now shrunk into her seat, begging him to slow down in a whimpering voice, one side of her face already blackened by her husband’s fist from the day before.
Layla saw the tree coming towards them, looming, looming. She screamed but it was too late. Too late. Too late...
Someone was trying to revive her. She could feel their hands on her shoulders and hear them calling her name. ‘Layla. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream. Wake up.’
But it wasn’t the off-duty nurse or the paramedics who had been first on the scene that day. Layla opened her eyes to see Logan perched on the edge of her bed, his hands stroking back the hair that had fallen across her face.
‘It’s all right, I’m here. It was just a nightmare.’ His voice was gentle and his touch soothing, anchoring her in the present, not the past.
Layla blinked away the terrifying images lingering in her head. She pushed herself upright into a sitting position, wincing against the light of the bedside lamp he had switched on. How long had she been sleeping? Hours and hours for it was now dark outside.
‘Sorry. Gosh, I didn’t realise it was night already. Did I wake you up?’
He took one of her hands and held it in his, stroking the back of it with slow, rhythmic movements. ‘In bed but not asleep. I was going through some emails on my phone when I heard you call out.’
Layla peered at the bedside clock to find it was close to midnight. ‘Oh, I must have wrecked your dinner booking. Sorry. I didn’t realise how tired I would be after swimming.’
‘Can I get you something to eat or a drink of milk or something?’
She screwed up her face. ‘Eww. I hate milk.’
His crooked smile transformed his features and made her heart do a little flip turn. ‘I should have remembered that. What about fruit juice or herbal tea?’
He was dressed in boxer shorts but naked from the waist up. His lean and athletic build could have been no better advertisement for regular exercise. His pectoral muscles were toned and carved on his broad chest and the neat washboard ridges of the muscles on his abdomen spoke of man who was not afraid of pushing himself to the limit. It was all she could do to keep her hands to herself. Her fingers tingled with the desire to explore those toned ridges, to trace every hard contour.
‘Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?’ Logan’s baritone voice was deep, calm and even and as soothing as his stroking fingers on the back of her hand.
Layla fixed her gaze on her hand encased in the shelter of his. Her skin was so pale against his tan, a reminder of all the essential differences between them. She hadn’t been in a gym since rehab. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought. Too many reminders of the pain of trying to walk again, trying to be normal when normal was something other people took for granted and never had to question.
‘I haven’t had a nightmare in ages...’ She chanced a glance at him to find him watching her with concern etched on his features. She lowered her eyes again and asked, ‘Did I say anything while I was asleep?’
‘You were calling out “Stop” repeatedly. I was worried we might’ve had an intruder. I came rushing in to find you thrashing on the bed in the throes of a nightmare.’ His eyes were haunted with the stress of finding her so distressed. ‘You were dreaming about the accident?’
Layla gave a small nod, her gaze still focussed on their joined hands. For years she had heard everyone refer to it as an accident. A chance thing, a driver error that had gone horribly wrong. Her memory might have been patchy for months after the crash but one thing she had always known was that it hadn’t been a simple driver error. ‘It wasn’t an accident.’ She brought her gaze back to his, her voice tight, her throat tighter. ‘It was a deliberate car crash.’
Logan’s hand stilled on hers, his eyes widening in alarm. ‘What do you mean?’ His tone was hollowed out, echoing with shock.
‘My father wanted to kill us all. He drove the car into the tree because my mother told him she wanted to leave him.’
‘Oh, Layla...’ Logan’s hand gripped hers as if he was trying to anchor her to him. To stop her being swept away by a tide of distressing memories. ‘I can’t imagine the panic and fear and pain you must have gone through. What a cowardly act. A disgustingly cowardly act.’ His voice was full of cutting contempt for her father and deep concern for her.
Layla rolled her eyes in a tell-me-about-it manner. ‘I certainly didn’t win the father lottery, that’s for sure. Or the mother one, although I think she would’ve had a much better chance of being a better mother if she hadn’t married my father. His influence was destructive and damaging but by the time she got the courage to leave him, it was too late.’
Logan brushed back some imaginary hair off her forehead, his gaze steady and compassionate. ‘The more I hear about your childhood, the more I admire you. You’ve done an amazing job of overcoming those terrible experiences.’
‘I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Aunt Elsie and your family’s help,’ Layla said. ‘I know your grandparents were old-school Scots but their hearts were in the right place. I’m not sure how my life would’ve turned out if I’d stayed too much longer in foster care. I was there for a few weeks after I came out of rehab until Aunt Elsie got official guardianship of me. Some of those group homes were pretty terrifying. Damaged kids damaging other kids.’
She shook her head, trying to shake away the memories of the past.
‘I know not all foster homes are awful but it’s not the same as belonging to your own family.’ She twisted her mouth and added, ‘Not that my family was anything to crow about. My father was an angel in public but a bullying devil behind closed doors. He claimed to love us but he didn’t know the meaning of the word.’ She flopped back down against the pillows with a heavy sigh. ‘Now I’m going to shut up about my childhood. I’m probably boring you.’
Logan turned her hand over and traced a slow line across her palm. ‘You’re not boring me at all.’ He locked his gaze on hers. ‘In fact, I find you one of the most interesting and intriguing people I’ve ever met.’ He drew a circle on her palm this time, the lazy movement of his finger sending shivers shooting up and down her spine.
Layla sucked in an uneven breath, her insides coiling with desire. She could see the same desire reflected in his sapphire-blue gaze. Desire that sent a current through the air like high-voltage electricity. She disguised a swallow, her heart picking up its pace, her pulse sprinting.
‘Will you stay with me until I go back to sleep?’ The question popped out almost before she knew she was going to say it. Her cheeks grew warm and she lowered her gaze and bit down on her lower lip, pulling her hand out of his and burying it under the sheet covering her lower body. ‘Forget I said that. I’m old enough to get myself back to sleep.’
A silence ticked past. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Logan stood from where he was perched on the side of the bed, but he didn’t leave. ‘Scoot over,’ he said, gesturing with his hand. ‘I’ll lie on top of the covers, though.’
Layla gave him a wry look. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
His expression was grim. ‘I don’t trust myself.’
It was a while before Layla fell back to sleep, but when she did it was deep and peaceful and dreamless. She woke as dawn was breaking, the sun stealing into the room, casting the bed in a golden beam of light as direct as a spotlight. She was lying on her side with the warm band of Logan’s arm wrapped around her middle and one of his strong muscular legs flung over hers.
Sometime during the night, he must have joined her under the bedcovers but she had no clear memory of it. But now she was acutely aware of every part of his body where it was in contact with hers—his hard chest against her back, his strong thighs against her bottom, his arm across her waist. His head was resting on the top of hers, his breathing deep and even, each of his expelled breaths gently feathering her cheek.
He shifted position slightly, his arm tightening around her middle to draw her closer, his other hand skating over one of her breasts. Even through the light barrier of her silk pyjama top she could feel the outline of his broad male hand. Could feel the erratic leap of her pulse at his intimate touch. Could feel one of his hair-roughened thighs coming between hers, triggering a firestorm in her female flesh.
He gave a low sleepy murmur. ‘Mmm...you feel nice.’
Layla knew she should wake him but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. No one had ever held her like this. She had never experienced the warmth and comfort of a lover’s touch. Was it wrong of her to want to break the rules he had laid down? She moved her legs experimentally against his, enjoying the feel of hard muscle and rough masculine hair against her smoother skin. His hand came back to her breast, cradling it with exquisite gentleness, his thumb rolling back and forth across her tightening nipple. Tingling sensations rioted through her body from her breast to her feminine core. Her breathing stalled, her belly swooped, her senses reeled.
Layla turned in his arms and he opened his eyes and swore not quite under his breath and released her and sat upright.
‘Sorry.’ His apology was brief, brusque and bruising to her ego.
‘It’s okay, Logan,’ Layla said. ‘You didn’t do anything.’
He rubbed a hand down his face, the sound of his palm scratching acros
s his morning stubble loud in the echoing silence. ‘You should have woken me.’ His tone was gruff, his eyes haunted with guilt and self-loathing.
Layla rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I enjoyed sleeping next to you. I enjoyed you holding me.’
His mouth was set in a taut line. ‘This has to stop.’ He sprang off the bed as if it had just poked him. ‘I have to stop.’ He said it not quite under his breath, as if he was reminding himself, not her.
Layla pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ‘Why do you have to stop?’
Whoa! What did you just say?
But her conscience wasn’t listening and neither was her traitorous body. It was awake and wanting. Why shouldn’t they explore the chemistry they shared? She could be casual about the time limit on their relationship, couldn’t she? And maybe, just maybe the time limit would become irrelevant...
‘You know why.’
‘Because you feel you’d be betraying Susannah’s memory?’
He frowned as if she had started speaking in a foreign language. ‘No. Of course not. It’s not about Susannah.’
‘So it’s me then. It’s because it’s me.’ Layla couldn’t quite remove the note of despondency in her tone.
He speared a hand through his hair and gave a rough sigh. ‘It’s me. Me not wanting to hurt you in the long run. Sex can be casual and God knows I’ve had plenty of it. But it wouldn’t be casual between us. You know it wouldn’t. It couldn’t be. We already have an existing relationship and building sex onto that would make things way more complicated when the year is up on our marriage.’
Layla straightened her legs, crossed her ankles and folded her arms across her chest. ‘But what if we decided not to end it after a year? We might decide to extend it for a bit long—’
‘No.’ His sharply delivered word was as stinging as a slap. ‘We’re not doing that, Layla. The rules are there for a reason.’
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