Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8. Heidi Rice

every rustle of his clothes when he moved.

      Within a few minutes they would be husband and wife.

       On paper.

      She had to keep reminding herself of that pesky little detail.

      Logan held out his hand, his expression inscrutable. ‘Ready to head down?’

      Layla put her hand in his, holding the bouquet in the other, her heart thumping, her pulse racing. ‘I’m ready.’

       I think…

      When they got down to the beach, Layla took off her sandals and Logan his shoes so they could walk on the sand. They walked together towards the celebrant, who was waiting for them on the beach with two witnesses—a couple, Makani and Ken, whose award-winning landscape design Logan had done for them at their main home in the Hamptons in the US a few years ago. They spent part of the year on Maui, where Makani had family. Logan had informed Layla earlier that he had told Makani and Ken nothing about the reason behind his sudden marriage to Layla, allowing them to draw the conclusion it was a genuine love match.

       If only it was…

      Then Layla wouldn’t be feeling so conflicted about making promises that were essentially meaningless. Entering a marriage that after a year would be terminated.

      The rhythm of the ocean lapping the shore was the only music to accompany them to their position in front of the male celebrant, who was holding two colourful leis. He gave the traditional Hawaiian welcome, placed the leis over their heads and began the simple service. ‘We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in marriage…’

      Layla repeated the vows as instructed, intensely aware of Logan’s warm blue gaze and the feel of his hand holding hers as he slid the wedding ring home on her finger. His voice as he said his vows was strong and steady and assured—no one would ever think he didn’t mean a word he’d said. Apart from her, that is. But it was an act and good actors, the best actors, made themselves feel the emotion so they could bring authenticity to the scene.

      ‘You may kiss the bride.’

      Layla had fooled herself that Logan might skip this part of the service, especially since he had pulled away from kissing her the other day. But as soon as the celebrant spoke the words, Logan drew her closer and his head came down, down, down until his lips touched hers. She was expecting him to lift them straight off, to be satisfied with a perfunctory kiss for the sake of appearances, but the pressure of his lips changed, warmed, heated, hardened. Burned and branded.

      Her lips moved with the sensual rhythm of his, opening to his, welcoming the slow sexy stroke of his tongue meeting hers for the first time. It wasn’t a deep kiss—no tangling or thrusting of tongues—but gentle nudges and playful touches of lips and tongue tips that sent a shiver coursing through her body from the top of her sun-warmed head to the soles of her sand-caressed bare feet. There was a swooping sensation deep in her belly, an ache spreading in a river of heat, simmering, smouldering, sizzling in her core.

      His lips were gentle and yet firm, purposeful, passionate and utterly addictive. Layla nudged his lips with her own, sweeping the tip of her tongue over his lower lip, delighting in the way his breath hitched and his hold on her tightened.

      His hand glided down to the base of her spine, drawing her closer to the hard ridge of his stirring arousal. It was both shocking and exhilarating to feel the intimate pulse of his blood. Shocking, because she hadn’t dared hope he would be attracted to her in such a way.

      Layla slid her hands to the hard plane of his chest, feeling the thumpity-thump, thump-thump of his heart beneath her palm. She forgot about everything but the sensation of his lips moving with such exquisite expertise on hers, drawing from her a passionate response, a clawing and desperate need building in her body with such force it was overwhelming. Every nerve in her body seemed to be attuned to his mouth, to the warmth and potency of it, to the eroticism it boldly, blatantly promised.

      She was so consumed by his kiss she no longer heard the swish and slap and sigh of the waves as they lapped and sucked at the shore. No longer aware of the ocean breeze stirring the fronds on the palm trees, no longer aware of the fine grains of sand beneath her feet or the sun shining down on her head.

      The sound of the witnesses clapping seemed to snap Logan out of the moment. He lifted his mouth off hers and gave a crooked smile that said everything and yet nothing.

      Layla licked her lips and tasted him, wanted him with a deep ache that vibrated in her core like a plucked cello string. Her heart was still racing, her pulse off the charts, her legs trembling. Now, that was a kiss. She felt dazed, stunned, spinning with lingering sensations. Her mouth still felt sensitive, her lips slightly swollen. She searched his gaze for any sign he was as affected by their kiss as she was but his gaze was like the ocean beside them with its mysterious depths and shifting shadows.

      They were soon swept up in the hearty congratulations of Makani and Ken, followed by the official signing of the register. Logan had organised refreshments back at the villa but things had to be cut short when Makani got a call from her mother, who was babysitting their children, that the youngest was running a temperature.

      ‘Sorry to leave so soon,’ Makani said, and added with a twinkling smile, ‘But just you wait until you have kids. Life will never be the same, but in a totally good way.’

      ‘Now, now, honey,’ Ken said, looping an arm around his wife’s waist. ‘Don’t go putting baby ideas in their heads just yet. Let them enjoy their honeymoon.’

       Honeymoon.

      The word was enough to send another shiver shooting through Layla’s body.

      Logan saw his guests out and came back to where Layla was sipping a glass of champagne on one of the sofas overlooking the ocean view. If he closed his eyes, he could take himself back to the moment of their kiss at the ceremony. Damn it—he didn’t even need to close his eyes. He could still taste the milk and honey sweetness of her mouth—could still feel the thrum of lust deep in his body.

      He was relieved he was good at concealing his emotions because that kiss had rocked him to the core. He hadn’t wanted it to end. He had lost track of where they were and why they were there. All he’d cared about, all he’d craved was the smooth, soft, sweet delicacy of her mouth moving against his. The shy playfulness of her tongue had sent a rocket blast of need to his groin. Triggering a need that was still humming in the background—a low, persistent hum he was doing his level best to ignore.

      Their marriage was on paper. That was the deal. It was for one year and one year only and then it would be over.

      No damage done.

      But that kiss had already done damage because he wanted to kiss her again. Their kiss had made him think about taking things further, doing things he had no business doing with her. Things he had no business doing with anyone. He didn’t do long-term intimate relationships.

      Not again.

      But that kiss had stirred something inside him—something that until now had been lying dormant, in a coma, dead. The touch of Layla’s pillow-soft lips had sent electrodes of awareness to every part of his body, jolting it awake, making his flesh hungry, greedy for sensual satiation. Not for the quick-fix, hook-up type sex he had indulged in during the last seven years. He would be fooling himself if he said he had enjoyed those encounters beyond the brief physical relief they had provided.

      But he suspected making love with Layla would be entirely different, which was why he couldn’t allow himself to go there. Couldn’t allow himself permission to even think about the possibility. There would be too many complications when it came to ending their arrangement. The sort of complications he could well do without.

      Layla