Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8. Heidi Rice

hadn’t. But he realised now he had never seen Layla swimming, not even in the indoor pool his grandfather had installed a few years ago after he’d had a hip replacement.

      If Logan did nothing else on their ‘honeymoon’ he would help her overcome her reluctance to wear a swimsuit. Although just thinking about her in a swimsuit was enough to make his imagination run wild and his blood run hot. And the last thing his imagination needed was any encouragement. His willpower was having enough trouble as it was.

      He had to remember—this wasn’t a real honeymoon and it wasn’t a real marriage.

      Neither could it ever become one.

      The following morning Layla woke to bright sunshine pouring through the windows of her bedroom. Her bedroom. Not their bedroom. Her first night as a married woman and she had spent it alone.

      She heard sounds of Logan moving about in the suite outside her room and wondered if he too had found it odd to have spent their first night as a married couple in separate beds. Probably not. He was the one who had made the rules and was so determined to stick to them. And she had agreed to them, so why was she even mulling over their situation?

      It was a sensible plan to keep their emotions out of the arrangement. It was wise for both of them to refrain from developing feelings that demanded more permanency. Her dream of finding someone to love her was just that—a dream. A fanciful dream that had little hope of being realised. And that secret little smouldering coal inside her? It needed a bucket of ice-cold reality thrown over it.

      The fragrant smell of freshly brewed coffee tantalised Layla’s nostrils and she threw off the bedcovers and slipped on a bathrobe to cover her satin pyjama set. She came out to the dining area of the luxury villa to find a colourful fruit platter and fresh croissants and rolls with butter and preserves laid out ready for breakfast.

      Logan was pouring coffee into a cup and glanced up when she came in. ‘Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes. Coffee? Or would you prefer tea?’

      ‘That coffee smells delicious,’ Layla said, thinking he looked and smelled pretty damn delicious too.

      His hair was still damp from a shower, his jaw was cleanly shaven and she could pick up a trace of the lemon and lime notes of his aftershave. He was dressed casually in white cotton shorts that set off the deep tan of his legs, his light blue T-shirt showcasing his well-toned chest. He looked rested, relaxed and ridiculously sexy, and her female hormones swooned.

      He handed her a cup of steaming coffee. ‘How did you sleep?’

      Layla took the cup from him and breathed in the delicious aroma. ‘Not bad…considering.’ She took a sip of coffee, conscious of his unwavering gaze.

      ‘Considering what?’ He leaned one hip against the counter, holding his cup by the base.

      Seemed she didn’t need alcohol to get her tongue out of control. Some inner demon was goading her to point out the weirdness of their situation. A honeymoon with separate bedrooms. If that wasn’t weird, what was? Layla put the cup down on the table and, pulling out a chair, sat and reached for a piece of golden pineapple. ‘Considering it was the first night of my honeymoon.’ She raised her fingers in air quotes over the word ‘honeymoon’, sending him an ironic look. ‘It’s not the way I imagined it as a child. Just saying…’

      A ripple of tension crossed his features like sand blown by a breeze. ‘You know my reasons for insisting our relationship stays on paper only.’ His tone was schoolmaster stern, his gaze determined. ‘I couldn’t have made it any clearer.’

      Layla took a bite of the juicy pineapple and chewed and swallowed. ‘Yes, you’ve made it perfectly clear. And I’m totally fine with it.’ Was she? Or was she just paying lip service? ‘But I can’t help wondering if it’s not me you’re trying to protect but yourself.’

      He placed his cup on the table with a thud and frowned. ‘Protect myself from what?’

      She kept her gaze trained on his. ‘From getting too close to someone. To feeling something for someone other than transient lust. You keep people at a distance. You’ve had plenty of casual lovers but you haven’t had a live-in lover since you lost Susannah.’

      He picked up the coffee pot and refilled his cup. ‘You seem to know a lot about my love life.’

      ‘But it’s not a love life, is it? It’s a lust life.’

      He gave a rough laugh that held not a shred of humour. ‘Works for me, sweetheart.’ He raised his cup to his mouth and took a mouthful of coffee.

      ‘It will work until one day it won’t,’ Layla said, picking up another piece of fruit—a wedge of pink watermelon this time—and placing it on her plate.

      Logan pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat down and placed his coffee cup on the table, his forehead creased in a frown. ‘Why is it so important to you how I live my life?’

      Layla found it hard to hold his gaze. ‘I’ve known you since I was a twelve-year-old kid. How could I not care about how you live your life?’

      He gave a brief movement of his lips that fell short of a smile. ‘I know you mean well, Layla, but, believe me, it’s best if you don’t care too much. Now, finish your breakfast. We have some serious sightseeing to do.’

      Over the next couple of days Layla was left in no doubt about Logan’s skill as a tour guide. He organised a tour of Haleakala National Park, located on Maui’s inactive volcano, as well as visits to the Seven Sacred Pools of the Oheo Ravine and Makahika and Waimoko waterfalls. The lush rainforests with their towering, tumbling waterfalls were breathtaking, and Logan organised a private helicopter tour of the summit of the volcano, which gave stunning views over the crater and the whole island. He was sensitive without being patronising over the walks they took through the rainforest, and he always had a steadying hand at the ready if she gave any hint of losing her footing.

      In the evenings they dined out at various restaurants, chatting over the day’s sights, and then returned to the villa and retired to their separate quarters. It was clear Logan was doing everything he could to ensure their relationship remained platonic, but every now and again when he touched her as he helped her out of the car or took her hand over a rough part of a walk, her senses went into a frenzy.

      The morning after their trip to the volcano Layla joined Logan at breakfast but instead of a day of touring, he suggested they stay at the villa for the day.

      ‘It’s going to be quite warm today and I thought you might appreciate a quieter day, relaxing around the pool,’ he said, refilling her glass with fruit juice.

      Layla had been pointedly ignoring the sparkling blue infinity saltwater lap pool on the seaboard terrace. Just like she ignored the beautiful indoor pool Angus McLaughlin had installed at Bellbrae to help him recover from a hip replacement a few years ago. ‘I don’t really enjoy swimming that much,’ she said, picking up the glass of orange juice. ‘But I’m happy to watch you do laps.’ More than happy if she were to be perfectly honest. Hadn’t she found secret pleasure in watching him for years?

      Logan’s gaze searched hers. ‘Does it hurt your leg to swim?’

      ‘No, it’s just I…’ She lowered her gaze back to the frothy juice in her glass. ‘I’m a bit self-conscious about my scars.’

       And I feel weirdly grateful I have them instead of my parents.

      Of course she could never tell him. She couldn’t tell anyone. It was too shameful to admit out loud.

      ‘It will only be us here and you don’t need to be shy around me.’ His tone had a gentle note that ambushed her emotions. Could she do it? Could she reveal the marks on her body that signified the biggest