‘I think the rules are there because deep down you want more than you’d like everyone to believe,’ Layla said. ‘You’re still punishing yourself because of Susannah’s death. It’s understandable—it was a terrible tragedy to lose the love of your life. But you’re entitled to have a life, even though hers has gone. You deserve to have some measure of happiness, even if it won’t be on the same level as before.’
Logan muttered a thick curse and speared her gaze with his hard and glittering one.
‘She wasn’t the love of my life. There, that’s shocked you, hasn’t it? I thought I loved her at the start but then I started to feel less certain. I knew something wasn’t right between us but I put it down to my preoccupation with work. I had a few big projects going on and I travelled a lot, and, to tell you the truth, I enjoyed coming home to someone who always seemed happy to see me. I think because I was away so much it took me longer to realise how unsuited we actually were. But when I finally realised, I should have ended it then and there, but her emotional fragility had started to worry me. I stupidly let our relationship limp along for the rest of the year but, as it turned out, I was right to be worried.’
Layla couldn’t hope to conceal her shock at his embittered words. Her mouth was open, her eyes wide, her heart heavy for what he’d been through and the guilt that still plagued him. He had told her a few days ago that things hadn’t been as perfect between him and Susanna as she had believed but she had still assumed he had loved his fiancée. Dearly loved her. Layla had always seen them as the ideal couple. They’d looked so good together, they had seemed to treat each other with the utmost respect, they came from the same world of wealth and privilege.
But had she wanted to see them that way? To fulfil her own girlhood romantic fantasy. Ignoring the subtle clues that things weren’t quite as rosy and romantic as she’d wanted to believe.
But who knew how any relationship worked from the inside? Hadn’t her childhood more than proved that? Happy Families was a game her father had played and played extremely well. Only those on the inside, behind the door closed to the public, knew what the true dynamics were.
Layla unfolded her arms and pushed the bedcovers off and got off the bed. It didn’t matter that she was only dressed in cream silk pyjamas that draped her body contours rather too closely. He had seen her in far less in the pool the previous day. All that mattered was going to him, to offer some support and understanding, some compassion. She stood in front of him, never more conscious of their difference in height—she had to tilt her head right back to gain eye contact.
She touched him lightly on the arm, his masculine hairs tickling her palm, reminding her of yet another difference between them. ‘I don’t know what to say other than I’m so sorry things were so...so difficult...’
The tense lines around his mouth slackened on a heavily released breath and he took her hand from his arm and held it in his. His thumb moved across the back of her hand in an almost absent fashion, his eyes meshing with hers. ‘The thing that haunts me is—’ he winced, as if recalling the memory pained him ‘—I think she knew I was going to call off our engagement eventually. I was waiting for the right time, when I thought she could handle it better emotionally. But I didn’t know about her eating disorder—apparently, she had it before we met. I still can’t forgive myself for not realising how ill she was. I probably made her illness worse by not being fully present in the relationship for all those months.’
Layla moved closer without even realising she was doing it. It seemed natural to be standing so close to him, natural to put her arms around him and even more natural to hug him. His arms came around her—warm, strong, male arms that made everything feminine in her body shiver in delight.
‘We’re all good at hiding things we’re ashamed of, and unfortunately eating disorders are high on the list,’ she said, resting her head against his chest. ‘I know it’s useless me telling you not to blame yourself, but you did what you could based on the information you had at the time. You stayed with her and supported her as best you could for far longer than most men would’ve done.’
Logan began a gentle stroking of the back of her head, each downward movement of his hand making the base of her spine melt. Her breasts were pressed against the broad wall of his chest, her pelvis so close to his, a sensation spread through her lower body like a slow flow of warm treacle. The stirring of his male flesh against her sent a dart of lust between her legs, her inner core pulsating, contracting with a tender ache.
He eased back to look down at her, his eyes so dark it was hard to tell his pupils from the deep blue of his irises. The haunting shadows in his gaze had faded and now his eyes contained a new energy—an intense energy that spoke of attraction, desire, need.
Logan framed her face with his hands, his touch so gentle it made a closed space inside her chest suddenly flare open. ‘I told myself this wasn’t going to happen.’ His voice was as rough as gravel, deep as a base chord with a side note of longing. His gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering, smouldering. ‘You deserve better than what I can offer. Much better.’
‘But what if I’m happy with what you’re offering?’ Layla laid one of her hands on the hard plane of his chest, the other on his richly stubbled jaw. ‘What if I want you to kiss me and make love to me, even if it’s only for the duration of our marriage?’ She could scarcely believe she was offering herself on such stripped-down terms. What had happened to her dream of lifelong love? What had happened to her secret belief in the happy-ever-after fairy-tale?
Logan had happened, that was what. Her need for him overrode every other thought.
He closed his eyes in a tight blink as if calling on whatever internal willpower he possessed but finding it missing. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. I seem to have a particular talent for hurting people I care about. I don’t want you to be one of them.’
Layla linked her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the dark brown ends of hair that brushed against his neck. ‘The way you’ll hurt me is to not kiss me, to not want me the way I want you. But you do want me, don’t you? Or am I just imagining it?’
He placed a hand at the base of her spine and drew her against the evidence of his arousal, his eyes glinting. ‘You’re not imagining it. I want you so badly it’s making me crazy. Ever since I saw you packing up my grandfather’s things in the north tower, it was like a switch turned on inside me. I can’t seem to turn it off.’
Layla stepped up on tiptoe, bringing her mouth closer to the slow descent of his. ‘I don’t want you to turn it off. Not now. Not yet.’ Not ever.
His head came down, a deep groan coming from the back of his throat as their lips met in an explosive kiss. Heat flared, flames of lust licking along Layla’s flesh like wildfire in a tinder-dry forest. His tongue met hers, playing, duelling, teasing, dancing. His fingers splayed through her hair, his head tilting so he could deepen the kiss, his lower body pressed to hers in passionate desperation. She instinctively moved against his hot hard heat, her body delighting in the potency and power of his body. It was erotic, it was exciting, it was exhilarating to feel the throb and pound of his blood in such an intimate manner. She had never been so close to a man before. Her teenage date that ended so humiliatingly hadn’t been anything like this.
This was adult attraction in full flare—mutual attraction that sent fizzing sensations to every secret corner of her body. Her spine loosened like molten candlewax, her legs trembled, the backs of her knees tingled, her pulse raced.
Logan placed his hands on her hips and raised his mouth off hers, his breathing ragged. ‘It’s not too late to stop this. You have to be sure—I have to be sure you really want this.’
Layla stroked the side of his face with her palm. ‘I want you, Logan.’ Her voice was whisper-soft but no less determined. ‘You turned a switch on in me too. I want you to make love to me.’
His hands tightened o
n her hips and for a sinking moment she thought he was going to put her from him, but then he brought her closer again—close enough for her to feel the imprint of his erection against her belly. His head came back down and his mouth met hers in a drugging kiss that made the hairs on the back of her neck pirouette.
He tore his mouth away after a long moment. ‘Wait. Condom.’ He left her briefly to go to the other bedroom where his things were stored.
Layla held her breath the whole time he was away, fearful he would change his mind about making love to her. But he came back carrying the tiny foil packet, his eyes smouldering as soon as they met hers. ‘Still okay about this?’
‘More than okay.’
Somehow, they made it back to the bed in a series of stop-starts where the kiss deepened, intensified, electrified. Where their breathing became laboured, their need escalating. Where his hands skated over her aching flesh in a voyage of discovery, and hers did the same, with boldness she hadn’t known she possessed.
A distant part of Layla’s mind told her she should tell him she was a virgin but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t want to risk him changing his mind—she suspected he would call an immediate halt to their lovemaking. He would see her lack of experience as yet another reason to keep their marriage on paper. But she wanted him to be her first lover. Why shouldn’t it be him? Someone who had known her for many years, who had seen her grow from girl to woman.
Someone she trusted, cared about, respected. Loved.
Of course she loved him. She wasn’t sure when it had started. It had been a gradual awakening, a slow burn of interest and attraction that had morphed into a persistent and powerful emotion.
Logan laid her down on the bed and came down beside her. He slowly undid the buttons on the front of her pyjama jacket, the feel of his fingers against her bare skin making her shiver in anticipation. He peeled the silky jacket from her shoulders and his breath audibly hitched. ‘You’re so perfect, so beautiful...’ he said, his hand cupping her right breast, his touch sending tingles shooting through her body.
Perfect? That was a word Layla wasn’t used to associating with herself. Neither was the word beautiful, but right then she felt like a beautiful woman. A beautiful desirable woman who was embracing her sexual power for the first time.
She explored the toned muscles of his chest, her fingers finding his hard, flat male nipples. His chest was lightly dusted with dark hair that narrowed down to a tantalising trail that disappeared below the waistband of his boxer shorts.
Logan brought his mouth to her breast, closing his lips over her budded nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitised nub. It was a pleasurable torture, the sensation of his warm mouth and raspy tongue sending her into raptures of delight.
Until now her breasts had been nothing but breasts. On the small side, occasionally a little tender around period time, but just breasts. No more, no less.
Now they were an erogenous zone—an intense pleasure spot that made her proud to be a woman.
Layla shuddered when he took her other breast in his mouth, the same riotous sensations shooting through her body from chest to core and back again. A hollow ache began spreading in her lower limbs, a heavy dragging sense of need.
‘I want you...’ Her voice was a breathless plea, her hands instinctively reaching between them for the jut of his erection.
‘Same goes.’ He groaned and brought his mouth back to hers in a kiss that spoke of burning, building, blatant passion.
One of his hands began to slide her pyjama trousers down but Layla suddenly froze, placing her hand over his. ‘Wait.’ The room was brightly lit now with morning sunshine. The water in the pool yesterday had provided a bit of a cover, not much but a bit. But now there was nowhere to hide. Even with the blinds and curtains drawn, her scars would be clearly visible.
He frowned at her in concern. ‘Did I go too fast? Do you want to stop?’
She swallowed and pressed her lips together, not quite able to hold his gaze. ‘I don’t want to stop but I’m worried you will want to when you see my scars up close.’
‘Oh, sweetheart...’ His breath came out on a jagged sigh. ‘Do you really think I would be so insensitive?’
She gave a half-shrug. ‘My scars have turned off men before.’ Only one, but it had been enough to stop her dating since.
His frown deepened. ‘Then you’ve been dating the wrong men. You’re a beautiful young woman who’s survived a terrible car crash. No one should judge or shame you for bearing the scars of a tragedy you were caught up in. If they do, then it says more about them than it does you.’
Layla knew what he said was intellectually sound but she had lived experience of being judged and shamed by people who couldn’t stomach her scars. There were times when she couldn’t stomach them herself. She had spent years of her life avoiding intimacy, making excuses not to get into the dating scene—she was always too busy with work, too tired to indulge in late nights at clubs or parties.
But the real reason was what her scars represented. Not just the culmination of years of abuse and neglect now worn on her body like an indelible brand. Those scars represented her guilty secret—the secret relief that she had lost her parents and not her leg.
How could she ever tell anyone?
‘It’s just hard...you know?’ Layla blinked away the sting of tears. ‘Everywhere I look I see perfect bodies, especially in a place like Hawaii. Before yesterday, I hadn’t been in a swimsuit since I was at the rehab clinic. I used to love swimming, but even at the clinic therapy pool, other patients stared at me like I was some sort of freak show.’
Logan brushed some strands of hair off her face, his gaze grave and yet tender. ‘Your scars are a part of you, but they aren’t you. You are so much more than that. So much more.’
Layla touched his mouth with her fingers. ‘Kiss me. Make love to me. Please?’
His mouth tilted in a slow sexy smile. ‘With pleasure.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
LOGAN’S MOUTH CAME back to hers in a kiss that melted away Layla’s lingering doubts and fears. It was almost worth the long years of celibacy to have Logan be the first one to introduce her to the delights of the flesh. He moved from her mouth back to her breasts, caressing each one until her back was arching off the bed. He drew her pyjama trousers down, leaving a trail of kisses on each part of her exposed flesh. When he came to the jagged scars that were carved like runnels in her flesh, he was especially tender and it made tears spout in her eyes and her throat tighten with emotion.
He traced the feminine seam of her body with a lazy finger, his eyes glittering darkly with lust. ‘Tell me if I do anything you don’t like or don’t feel comfortable doing.’
‘I love what you’re doing.’ Layla could barely speak for the sensations rippling through her.
He kissed his way down her body from her breasts to the swell of her mound. She sucked in a breath, her legs turning to water as his lips gently parted her tender folds. Layla was in two minds—one to stop him out of her shyness at such an intimate caress and the other to just lie back and enjoy every pulse-racing moment. She chose the latter. His lips and tongue sending her on a sensual roller-coaster that catapulted her into a vortex of dizzying sensations. Sensations that coursed through her body in waves and pulses and delicious flickers, finally leaving her in a state of utter bliss and relaxation.
Never had she felt so in tune with herself, so free of the burdensome worry of how her broken body looked. Her body felt amazing, beautiful and sexy and capable of giving and receiving pleasure.
How could she not be thrilled it was Logan who had transformed her, awakened her to her sensual potential?
‘Oh, wow...’ Layla said on a breathless sigh.
Logan planted a soft kiss on her lips and then lifted off to mesh his gaze with hers. ‘It will only get better once we get used to each other.’ He k
issed his way from her neck to her breasts, stroking her with his tongue, grazing her with the gentle tug of his teeth, sending her senses into another rapturous tailspin.
Layla explored him with her hands, shyly at first but becoming more comfortable with the hard contours of his body that were so exotically, erotically different from her own. His arousal was thickened with the same need she could feel throbbing in her own body.
His breathing became more hectic under her touch, his eyes dark and lustrous with desire. He positioned himself between her legs, taking his own weight on his elbows, his body poised to possess her. ‘It’s not too late for second thoughts. We can stop if you don’t want to go any—’
Layla pushed her finger against his lips to stop him speaking. To stop him talking himself out of making love to her. ‘I don’t want to stop. I want you to make love to me. You want to, don’t you?’
His mouth came up in a rueful half-smile. ‘You surely don’t doubt it? Can’t you feel what you do to me?’
She could and she loved feeling it. Loved feeling desirable and feminine and sensually powerful for the first time in her life. ‘Don’t leave me hanging like this,’ she whispered against his mouth. ‘I need you.’
Logan made a sound deep in his throat and captured her mouth with his in a kiss that spoke of the feral rumble of passion throbbing in his blood. The same passionate throb she could feel in her lower body, the ache and drag of tender muscles crying out for intimate friction. His body nudged her entrance, gently parting her, and she opened herself to him, her shyness falling away, replaced by her escalating need to feel him inside her. His first thrust was shallow, restrained, careful, as if he was reluctant to allow his desire too much freedom.
Layla arched her spine, welcoming him deeper into her body by placing her hands on his toned buttocks. He thrust into her with a guttural groan, his pelvis moving in primal motion with hers. She felt a tiny sting of pain, a slight tug of resistance when he went deeper and she suppressed a gasp, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
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