by Mina Carter
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 him. 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 voic
e 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."
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Chapter 5
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."
Rae nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she slid into a seat and looked around. A lump formed in the back of her throat. No one had ever gone to this much trouble for her before.
A plate was slid in front of her. Chinese. Chicken fried rice if she wasn't much mistaken. Her favourite. Surprised, she looked up, her eyes meeting his warm blue ones.
"I'm not much of a cook I'm afraid.” Logan took his seat at the other side of the table. “Plating a takeout is about as much as I do in a kitchen."
Rae picked up her fork and started heaping the little bits of chicken into the middle of her plate so she could eat the rice first. It was a bad habit—something she did with a lot of food—separating it out into separate foods and eating them one by one. Perhaps a nervous habit or something, her therapist side said.
"How did you know I loved chicken fried rice?” She looked up, a frown on her brow. “Did you remember, I mean?” Considering their situation she'd be amazed if he had.
He shook his head, digging into his own dinner. “Nope, I'm afraid not. You'd circled it on the takeaway menu next to the phone so I took a guess."
Rae let out a sigh of relief and applied herself to her meal. Logan kept up a light flow of conversation she couldn't help but respond to. Surprisingly, he was entertaining and funny, regaling her with anecdotes from the daytime TV he'd been forced to endure all day.
"You should be banned from watching TV,” she told him as she cleared the dishes away, only to have them firmly taken away from her. “Tomorrow I'm stealing the remote. You can go out for a walk or something."
He gasped, an expression of mock horror on his face as he shooed her towards the main room. “Torture! I get out of the hospital and you want to send me out into the wilds of the countryside. Who knows what'll happen to me out there! I might get lost and die of hypothermia."
Rae shook her head. “Wuss,” she teased, and disappeared into the main room with a small squeal as he flicked the tea-towel out at her.
On automatic she checked the fire, using the poker to stab at the coals and bed them down. Putting it back in its place in the corner of the hearth, she turned her attention to the bottle in the ice bucket. Her slender fingers reached out and turned the bottle gently to read the label.
Rae was no expert on champagne. Hell, she wasn't even an expert on wine. A cheap and cheerful plonk from the village store was about as far as her expertise extended. But this looked expensive, very expensive, if the gold detailed label was any indication. Her eyes widened as she read the name Dom Pérignon. Shit, she'd been right, this stuff was expensive! She remembered drinking it once at some well-to-do relation's wedding but she'd never consider buying a bottle. Hell, she could buy a mobile therapy couch for that kind of money.
* * * *
With the kitchen cleaned and as near to its former pristine state as possible, Logan folded the towel over the rail and headed into the main room. Rae crouched by the ice bucket, checking out the label on the bottle. She looked up, surprise in her chocolate caramel eyes. “This stuff is expensive, what's the occasion?"
Logan hid his amusement at her bluntness. Actually, for him, the price of the champagne was irrelevant. Rae seemed to think he was some small-time property developer, which wasn't a surprise as that's what he'd led her to believe. She had no clue what he really did, that Jensen and Fyre was merely a sideline. An ambition from his childhood to play architect and an expensive hobby he could afford to indulge in.
She really had no idea what she'd gotten herself into, but he sure as hell was going to enjoy this game. Enjoy seeing how far she was prepared to take this whole charade. As a rule Logan hated liars. Deception was his stock in trade in a way, a sort of legalised deception. He preferred to think of it more as sleight of hand with the facts.
But he was always brutally honest when it came to relationships. His childhood hadn't been a good one, his parents more into playing mind games with each other than looking after their only child. Him. So he'd grown up seeing what lies could do to a family and it wasn't pleasant. As an adult he'd always been up front in his relationships—his lovers knew he didn't love them and he wasn't going to marry them. He laid the facts on the line from the start.
Even so, some balked a little when he ended it, using tear-filled arguments that left him cold as they tried to claim they'd thought he'd changed his mind. Pleaded they thought he'd fallen in love with them at least a little because of his romantic manner and gestures.
All an act. A part he played more than convincingly and one he intended to play to the hilt with Rae. In fact, he intended to play this game to the end, and it was one he intended to thoroughly enjoy. He smiled and walked further into the room, two glasses in his hand.
"I thought we'd celebrate ... the start of the rest of our lives."
He bent down to put the glasses ne
xt to the bottle, the crystal clinking as he set them on the hearth. Reaching out with his free hand he caught her at the back of the neck, gentle pressure from his fingers tilting her head up so he could kiss her. He felt the tiny, instinctive start and ignored it.
When he'd first woken up after the accident it had bothered him that his ‘wife’ was wary of him touching her, but he knew the truth now. She was wary because they didn't know each other. They'd never been the lovers he'd thought they were. He told himself that by the end of the night that would change.
He pulled back a little to look into her eyes, as though searching for something. His voice rang with sincerity as he whispered, “I'm sorry for where we went wrong ... Where I went wrong before.” He paused, his lips quirking a fraction. “And I'm learning enough about myself, about the way I think, to realise this had to be my fault. I don't want to lose you Rae. I've only just found you."
It worked, as he'd known it would. Women fell hook, line and sinker for the sensitive, ‘new man in touch with his feelings’ type. An act Logan played to perfection. Her eyes softened, emotion swirling in the coffee-cream depths. The sudden darkness in them hit Logan like a punch in the gut. Sudden, swift arousal racing like fire through his blood.
With hard-won control he clamped down on it—this had to be a slow, gentle seduction. Despite her fiery response when he'd kissed her on his first visit, he knew if he pushed she'd retreat into her shell. Using the mask of ‘separated wife’ to keep him at bay.
Which meant he wouldn't get so much as a sniff of any action between the sheets and that was definitely not how he wanted things to go. Tonight he didn't intend to resort to a quickly concealed jerk-off on his lonesome. No, tonight he was after the real deal. He lowered his lips to hers again, touching, teasing and finally tasting. Just the touch of her lips was addictive as he pulled her closer, drawing her into his lap as he sat down in front of the fire.
* * * *
Jesus Christ, the way this man kissed should be illegal! It was all Rae could do not to melt into a puddle on the rug in front of him. Instead she settled for smoothing her hands over the front of his shirt, crumbling the fabric in nerveless fingers. He moved, turning her in mid-kiss. Cradled in his arms he lowered her to lie on her back in front of the fire. His fingers stroked the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck as he leaned over her.