by Mina Carter
He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest as he stroked again, bringing her almost to the brink. She moaned, trying hard to keep the noise down and her ass from wriggling at the delicious torment. Any minute now the driver was sure to notice what was going on… She broke the kiss, too close to the edge to concentrate, her head dropping back against Logan’s arm.
He tightened his arm, pulling her closer to place a kiss on her forehead. A gentle, innocent kiss as, under the coat, he slid two fingers deep inside, massaging the silken walls of her inner channel as he used his thumb over her clit. Rae’s eyes closed, rolling back as pleasure exploded through her. White hot pleasure that drove her hips against his hand then invaded every cell. She moaned in disappointment as he withdrew, smoothing down her skirt.
“Oh don’t worry sweetheart, that was just the beginning,” he promised. “We’re home, and as soon as we get upstairs I’m going to take you every way possible.”
They tumbled out of the cab, Rae barely aware of Logan paying the driver as she stood on the pavement waiting for him. She shivered as the bite of the oncoming winter found its way under the heavy coat, raising goose bumps over exposed skin. Skin humming with sensual pleasure, an empty ache between her thighs as she shifted from one foot to the other, trying to ease the effects of the climax in the taxi. It was no good, she needed more. Much, much more.
“Come on.” He grinned, all but dragging her to the front door of the large and distinguished looking building looming over them. Logan’s apartment, the luxury apartment she’d been amazed at when they’d arrived earlier, was on the top floor. She’d wondered when they arrived how a property developer could afford such a place. Of course, now she knew.
Rae’s heels rang out over the marble in reception, her eyes down as she avoided the gaze of the security guard. She was sure what they’d been up to in the cab was written all over her face. She’d had her legs spread as Logan brought her off for heaven’s sake. She was the slut the clothes in the closet said.
“Come here, you.” Almost before the doors had closed Logan was crowding her into the corner of the lift. He pulled her up against his hard body, her soft breasts mashed against his chest. Their eyes caught, held, the sexual tension in the tiny space nearing breaking point. “I could kiss you all night.” He growled, bending his head to kiss her.
Rae’s lips parted, anticipating the warmth of his lips over hers when the doors pinged and opened. Mischief filled her as she slid past him, giggling as she evaded his grasp to dance onto the landing.
“Gotta catch me first,” she called back, laughing as she ran. She had his key card in her hand, recovered from her handbag, and she was through the door in a flash. Quite where this light-headed mood had come from Rae didn’t know, but she would enjoy it whilst it lasted. For the moment she just wanted to pretend they were a proper couple, with a real future.
“Oh no you don’t!” Logan appeared, catching her in the doorway of the bedroom as she paused. She squealed, a sound more of delight and pleasure than anything as he grabbed her and kissed her deeply.
His lips descended, a single quick brush to orientate himself before he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. The merest pressure of his lips coaxed hers apart and then his tongue swept in to duel with hers, a heated exchange that had fire coursing through Rae’s already sensitised body.
She groaned, sagging against him as his hands slid into her hair, holding her still as he plundered her lips, taking his fill.
They moved towards the bed, hands helping each other remove clothing. Whose hands removed what Rae didn’t know, didn’t care. She sighed as her back hit the cool sheets, the sensual pleasure of crisp cotton almost ignored as the heat of Logan’s body settled over her. Her thighs parted on automatic, cradling him in the softness of her hips. Her sigh became a gasp as he moved, the blunt head of his cock presented at the slick entrance to her body without warning. He thrust into her, stretching her and seating himself up to the hilt in one powerful movement.
Rae arched her back, the full sensation of being stretched rippling through her in a delicious cascade. Her legs had lifted to wrap around his hips as he started to pull out when there was a sound in the apartment beyond the bedroom. Rae didn’t register it at first, pulling Logan down to her for another kiss.
She froze as a feminine voice rang out, “Honey, I’m home!”
Chapter Eight
Oh shit. There was only one person that could be. Logan’s wife. His real wife, not the stand-in. Shit, she knew this had to happen. Knew at some point the real Mrs. Fyre would turn up and she’d be done for.
Panic filling her, she pushed at Logan’s shoulders, trying to push him off. She couldn’t see his eyes in the dark of the room but he resisted her for a moment. Rae shoved again, desperate to get him off. It was one thing to be caught in bed with another woman, quite another to actually get caught with your pants down and in the middle of the act.
He rolled off her with a sigh, lying on his back with his arm over his eyes. The light from the door fell across the bed, highlighting every inch of his beautiful male body, including the heavy and incredibly aroused manhood jutting proudly against his taut stomach. A mouth-watering display of male flesh. At any other time Rae would have taken her time and had a good look. Not now though; she was too busy grabbing a sheet and trying to cover herself.
She scooted up the bed, eyeing him in disbelief. He didn’t seem to be at all bothered that there was another woman in the apartment calling him ‘honey.’ Which was weird, if he thought she was his wife, shouldn’t that raise some suspicions?
“Logan?” she queried through the lump in her throat, dreading his response. In fact, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole right at this moment. What alcohol she’d had in her system had been burnt out by the sheer adrenalin surging through it. Adrenalin hurtled around her bloodstream by the manic pounding of her heart.
“Honey, are you in? You’re waiting for me in bed aren’t you, you sexy wickle beast?” The high, giggling voice made Rae wince. It was the kind of falseness she always associated with bleach blond hair and false eyelashes thick enough to be mistaken for a couple of caterpillars.
But ‘sexy wickle beast’? What kind of self-respecting woman used that sort of language once they were out of their teens? The kind who used another of Rae’s pet hate phrases—‘ickle bunny.’ Ickle was not a word, wickle was not a word. These women needed to get a dictionary. Or better yet, Rae would buy them one. Then beat them to death with it.
“I wondered when this would happen.” Logan pulled the sheet over his waist to cover his nakedness an instant before the door opened to reveal the owner of the voice.
Tall and blond, she was the supermodel type Rae could imagine on Logan’s arm. Which bizarrely made it worse. Rae was short, and had always struggled with those extra pounds padding her curvy frame. Supermodel she wasn’t. Not even for a guy with a bad squint and beer goggles.
The newcomer’s jaw hit the ground as her eyes swept over the bed. Registering not only Logan but Rae huddled against the headboard as she wondered how the hell she was going to explain about this one. And what did Logan mean about ‘wondering when this would happen’?
“Who the fuck are you?” the other woman demanded, her eyes narrowing as they focused on Rae. “Logan, did you pick up a stray again?”
Bitch! Rae didn’t care who the bloody hell she was, that comment was uncalled for. She opened her mouth to say something catty to the underfed stick insect when Logan rolled to his feet. The light from the hallway fell across his face and Rae shivered. It was like looking at a different man, not the lover she’d been with all night. The look in his eyes was cold, hard. Ruthless.
“Carrie, I told you… It’s over.” Logan’s voice was bored as he pulled his trousers back on. “I’ll see you out and I’d like my key card back please. Rae, get dressed. You and I need to talk.”
Rae watched with wide eyes as Logan ushered the complaining Carrie out. He knew.
The look in his eyes as he said the last sentence, you and I need to talk, said it all. He knew she wasn’t his wife, knew she’d been leading him on. Her stomach lurched, coiling in on itself as she sat for a moment in the darkness. He knew…
She slid from the bed in a slow movement, gathering up the clothes that had fallen to the floor en route to the bed. Moving as though in a dream she pulled them back on, fastening her skirt as she padded over to the door. Pausing for a moment with one hand on the darkened wood, she listened.
The sounds of a muffled argument filtered through the apartment to her. She winced as it ended on an angry exchange, voices raised before a door slammed. She hovered, biting her lip. Should she wait in the living room for Logan? Or wait for him to come and find her? She’d never done this, the talk after she’d pretended to be someone she wasn’t, so she wasn’t up on the etiquette.
Logan’s voice summoning her from the main room solved her dilemma. Smoothing her crumpled skirt over her thighs Rae lifted her head and walked out to face the music.
* * *
He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that formed the wall on one side of the penthouse apartment, the city in all its glory showcased behind him. But beautiful as the view was, Rae’s attention was all on Logan.
He watched her, his hands in the pockets of the pants he’d pulled on, his pale eyes unreadable. She swallowed nervously and walked further into the room, her chin up despite the nerves and guilt turning her stomach into a lead weight.
Something was wrong. He’d told the other woman it was over. Rae wasn’t stupid, a man didn’t just tell his wife it was over and she left with nothing more than a few sharp words. Besides, the clothes in the closets were too big for… Carrie was it? Even Rae could see the woman had been something stupid like a size zero. The clothes were only around a size smaller than she took, which was definitely nowhere near size zero. Not by a long shot.
Her eyes wandered over him when he didn’t speak, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the toned physique. He was a tall, lean man, the strength in his wiry frame surprising. The top button of his pants was undone, the faint trail of hair disappearing under the fabric enough to make her mouth go dry and her unfulfilled body clench.
“So, nothing to say for yourself, Mrs. Fyre?” he asked dryly after a long moment. “What a pity, I was hoping for yet another entertaining story. You do seem to be rather adept at them.”
“Ho—How long have you known?” Rae refused to rise to the bait, trying to present a cool, confident front even as she quaked in her boots. Well, bare feet were more accurate at this point.
“Long enough. What I want to know is why.” The last wasn’t a question, it was a statement. A demand uttered with the unshakeable confidence of a man who was used to being obeyed.
Rae opened her mouth to speak but he held a hand up, cutting her off.
“Don’t. Spare me the next outlandish tale or fairy story. I know what you were playing at. You were screwing me, using me to keep that sorry little house of yours. Hoping I’d go soft on you out of some sort of emotionally based sympathy or something.”
Rae winced at the harsh tone, her cheeks flaring with colour as he approached. Moving so close she had to look up to see into his eyes. She refused to be cowed or frightened. She’d done nothing wrong; it was the hospital that had made the mistake about her identity, she’d just not corrected them. And as for the rest, she hadn’t gained anything from Logan because of their supposed relationship. They’d just had sex. Which wasn’t a crime; they were both consenting adults.
“You aren’t married at all, are you?” she asked. It was the only answer that made sense. “That woman… Carrie… She wasn’t your wife was she?”
He shook his head, a snort of laughter on his lips. “No. Carrie isn’t the ‘marriage’ sort of girl, shall we say?”
“So what’s with the clothes in the closet… if you don’t have a wife? What were they doing there?” Rae looked him directly in the eyes, looking for an answer to at least some of her questions. There were others she didn’t want to ask, like where the loving, affectionate guy he had been went. Disappeared in the blink of an eye.
He shrugged, a dismissive gesture.
“Games within games, sweetheart. I warned you not to play with me when we first met, remember?” he asked, arching his eyebrow.
“Tell me I’m wrong, tell me you weren’t just screwing me to soften me up.” He looked down at her, rage swirling in the depths of his pale blue eyes.
“I can’t.” Her voice was soft, barely heard. He was right, that’s what she had been doing. That’s exactly what she had been doing.
“But that was when I thought you were human, with a heart to reach out to.” She whispered, her courage in the face of his anger only extending to an answer, not the volume of the answer. She was surprised she could talk at all past the tightness of her throat.
He laughed, a derisive little chuckle. “Honey, I’m a lawyer. We don’t have hearts. You’d do well to remember that.”
Rae fought the urge to step back, nearly flinching as he brought his hand up. His lips compressed as he flicked the top button of her shirt open.
“We are, however, practical people.” His voice was silk over steel, a terrible combination that had all her survival instincts yelling at her to run, get out. Get as far away from this man as she could. “So I’m going to give you another chance to achieve what you set out to do…”
Another button flicked free, the gap in the front of the shirt widening to reveal more of her creamy flesh. Rae swallowed, her eyes searching his. “What do you mean?”
Logan smiled, a predator’s smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m going to give you another chance to save your pretty little house.” He flicked the last button free and pushed the satin back from her full breasts. “And you’re going to do it on your back sweetheart, just like you planned, or you can walk out now. Your choice.”
Chapter Nine
She hadn’t walked out, and a week later Rae was in hell.
Oh, Logan was looking after her well. Her mortgage and bills at home were all being taken care of and would be as long as she stayed, he’d assured her. She sat at the breakfast bar in the palatial kitchen and pushed fruit around her bowl with a spoon. Logan had left earlier, after their morning sex session, and she hadn’t bothered to get dressed. There wasn’t much point; Logan didn’t require her company until lunch anyway. He had a business meeting with a friend of his—the other half of the property development company she’d thought was his main job—and she was required to put in an appearance. She sighed, fed up with the way he was showing her off.
She snorted. Now of course, she knew better. Logan wasn’t a property developer. No, he was a rat bag lawyer who’d wrapped her up in his sick little game until she didn’t know up from down. She’d thought she was being clever, playing him along, but she’d ended up the one being played.
Now, she was his mistress—until he got bored of her. His plaything in bed in the vain hope he might not foreclose on the bank that held her mortgage and she could keep her house. She was just a tart, prostituting herself for a pile of bricks and mortar. She shoved the bowl away with a little more force than she intended, watching dully as it slid to the end of the counter and disappeared, shattering on the floor seconds later.
On automatic she moved around to clear the mess up, grabbing paper towels to mop up the milk and fruit mixture before she piled the broken pottery on top. Her mind was only half on what she was doing as her thoughts churned over and over in her head. Was the house worth this? Worth degrading herself by sharing a guy’s bed for it?
No… yes, a tiny voice in her head shouted. It was when love was involved. Rae blinked, starting in surprise. Pain lanced through her fingertips and she hissed. Blood welled brightly at the end of her fingers, the skin sliced across the tops by a razor-sharp edge on a piece of the broken bowl.
“Oh fuck it!” She stood up, rushing to the sink. Holdin
g her bleeding fingers over it, she grabbed a tea towel to stem the flow of blood. Paper towels just wouldn’t do it, they’d break up and the last thing she wanted was bits of wadded paper in a bad cut.
She wrapped her injured digits in the towel and pressed hard to stop the bleeding. Tears welled abruptly, overflowing onto her cheeks to splash into the bowl below. She loved him. Somehow, somewhere along the way, she’d fallen in love with the guy she was pretending to be married to. Idiot, she berated herself. He was supposed to fall for her, not the other way around.
She certainly wasn’t supposed to fall for him now, not when he knew and he was just using her for sex. A convenient temporary mistress who was so pathetic she’d do whatever he wanted for a chance of keeping her house.
She lifted her head, the steel in her spine reasserting itself as she dealt with the cuts on her hand. She was not a toy to be played with and no house was worth losing self-respect over. Her lips compressed as she admitted the truth, her heart breaking.
Logan didn’t love her, he never would. She laughed bitterly, the sound ringing around the empty kitchen. Her plan had been doomed to failure from the start. To fall in love with someone, you had to have a heart in the first place. She’d thought… Hoped, maybe… The sweet man he had been before they came here… She shook her head.
“Get it together Rae, he was playing you all along. That guy didn’t exist, he was as made up as Mrs. Fyre.” She admonished herself, her voice firm as her tears dried on her face. She might love him, but this was a bad situation. There was no way she could stay now, not with how she felt about him. It would destroy her. “Face facts, get your act together and walk away whilst you still can.”
* * *
Something was wrong. Logan knew as soon as Rae stepped through the doors of the restaurant and paused in the doorway, looking around for them. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly turning the stem of the glass in his hand. His eyes lingered on her, appreciating the lines of her figure, the curve of her waist as it flared into wide hips. She was gorgeous, beautiful but in a real way. A way that was striking when compared to the plastic ‘beauty’ of the women he usually associated with. Models or wannabe movie stars, rich trophy wives trying to hold onto the looks that had landed them their husbands in the first place.