There was a guarded quality to his voice, his expression losing its earlier teasing playfulness and changing into a frown.
A cold ghost hand pressed against the back of her neck, sending a flow of ice over her scalp. ‘What’s wrong? What did I say to make you frown at me like that?’ It had been a flippant comment, sure, but why had it upset him so much?
Logan let out a long breath. ‘I don’t want you to feel like you’re just here to service my needs. It’s important to me that you feel equal in our relationship.’
Did she feel it was an equal relationship? In some ways, yes. In others, no. How could it be truly equal when he was the one who insisted their marriage end at a specific point? ‘It was just a throwaway line. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘This past month has been good, better than good, but it’s not always going to be like this,’ he said, still frowning in a brooding manner. ‘We can’t live in a bubble at Bellbrae for ever. You have work commitments and so do I.’
Now it was Layla’s turn to frown, her mood soured by the sudden change in his. ‘Have I stopped you from doing your work? I haven’t exactly chained you to my side. You’re perfectly free to fly off to wherever you need to, whenever you need to.’ She spun away to lift the whistling kettle off the hob and place it on a heat protector, all but steaming herself. Why did he have to remind her this last month together wasn’t going to last? She didn’t need reminding. It was front and centre in her head every single day.
‘I don’t want to argue with—’ he began.
‘Then stop blaming me for you feeling guilty about taking time off,’ Layla shot back, turning to face him. ‘You’re a human being, Logan, not a flipping robot.’
He moved across the floor to place his hands on the tops of her shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. His eyes were troubled, his frown still in place. ‘But what about your work? I’m concerned you haven’t got an office away from here yet.’
Layla pulled out of his hold and folded her arms across her body, her glower hotter than the hotplate the kettle had just come off. ‘Oh, so that’s what this is about? You’re worried I’m going to get too comfortable working from here once the time is up on our marriage? Well, here’s some news for you. I’ve already been looking online at potential rentals in Edinburgh. There’s one in the Old Town that looks promising. It’s a bit expensive but I want the position to attract good clientele. It’s got a tiny bedsit upstairs so I can stay there if I don’t feel up to driving back here. And I can live there once our marriage ends.’
His frown deepened. ‘You’re surely not thinking of commuting between here and Edinburgh over the winter? The roads are treacherous with black ice and snow and—’
‘Make up your mind, Logan,’ Layla mock-laughed. ‘You either want me to prioritise my work over you or you don’t.’
He came back to her and placed his hands on her hips, pulling her back against him. ‘That’s the whole damn problem.’ His tone was a low rumbling growl, his expression still set in brooding lines. ‘I don’t want to share you with your work or with anyone and it scares the hell out of me.’ And then his mouth came down heavily, explosively on hers.
It was a kiss of lust and anger and frustration and scorching need racing out of control. But she relished every heart-stopping second of it. His mouth was a fire on hers, his tongue a flame teasing hers into a combative dance with bone-melting expertise.
Layla thought her legs were folding beneath her but he had picked her up and sat her on the kitchen bench in front of him. Her legs parted and he stepped between her open thighs, his mouth still locked on hers. The closeness of his erection, the molten heat building in her body, the escalating need communicated by their mouths was a potent combination.
Logan untied the waistband of the bathrobe and stripped it off her shoulders, leaving her naked and exposed to his smouldering gaze. His eyes travelled over her breasts, his hands cradling them before placing his mouth on each in turn, subjecting them to a spine-tingling array of licks and strokes and circles of his tongue. Darts of pleasure shot through her and she shuffled as close to him as she possibly could.
Logan rummaged in the pocket of her discarded bathrobe for the condom, swiftly tugging down his trousers and applying it. He surged into her with a primal groan of satisfaction, thrusting deeply and rhythmically, making her senses spin out of control. The delicious pressure built and built to bursting point and then, with the added caress of his fingers against her most sensitive female flesh, she was tossed into the maelstrom of a powerful orgasm. She cried, she gasped, she shook, she shuddered and quaked and still it went on in ripples and waves that were only intensified by his release, which coincided with hers.
Logan framed her face in his hands, his breathing still laboured. ‘I’ve always wanted to do that.’
Layla brushed his hair back from his forehead, gazing into his intensely blue eyes. ‘Do what? Kitchen bench sex?’
His mouth tilted in a crooked smile. ‘Yeah.’ He brushed her lips with his and added, ‘I was a kitchen bench sex virgin. You’re so damn hot I can barely keep control of myself no matter what room we’re in.’
His words thrilled her as much as his red-hot passion had moments earlier. She pressed her lips against his, once, twice, three times, pulling back to meet his gaze. ‘What you said before… About it scaring you how much you want to spend time with me? I feel like that too.’ Her voice was as soft as a whisper and for a moment she wondered if he’d even heard.
Flickers of deliberation passed through his gaze—thoughts and considerations, worries and balances being carefully weighed. ‘We don’t have to think too far ahead, sweetheart.’ His tone was as rusty as the lych-gate hinge in the garden. ‘We can just enjoy what we have for now.’
For now.
Layla wanted more than ‘for now’, but how could she be sure she would get it?
Later that evening, Logan put some more wood on the fire and then came back to sit with Layla on the sofa. She was dressed in a baby-blue cashmere sweater and black yoga pants that clung to her shapely legs like a velvet evening glove. Her hair was in a loosely tied knot at the back of her head, highlighting her finely boned features and elegant neck. He had always considered her beautiful, but lately he couldn’t look at her without his breathing catching and a warm flow of heat spreading in his chest.
Layla looked up from the magazine she was idly flicking through. ‘It will soon be time to put up the Christmas tree. Will you get a real one from the forest like before or a fake one?’
‘It wouldn’t be Christmas without the smell of pine needles,’ Logan said, playing with a loose curl dangling below her ear. But, then, it wouldn’t be Christmas without her bustling about the castle, helping her great-aunt get ready for the festive season. It wouldn’t be Christmas without the delicious cooking smells coming from the kitchen. So many of his memories had snapshots of Layla in them. She had become an essential part of Bellbrae and he couldn’t imagine the place without her. And—even more disturbing to his carefully guarded emotions—he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
‘True.’ Layla closed the magazine and leaned forward to put it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She sat back next to him, her gaze meeting his. ‘But will you invite anyone? Will Robbie come home for it, do you think?’
