my role model,’ whispered Max as they followed the doyenne of the house down the hall.
‘I need a cocktail dress,’ Evie whispered back.
‘Get it when I go ring hunting. What kind of stone do you want?’
‘Diamond.’
‘Colour?’
‘White.’
‘An excellent choice,’ said Caroline from up ahead and Max grinned ruefully.
‘Ears like a bat,’ he said in his normal deep baritone.
‘Whisper like a foghorn,’ his mother cut back, and surprised Evie by following up with a deliciously warm chuckle.
The house was a beauty. Twenty-foot ceilings and a modern renovation that complemented the building’s Victorian bones. The wood glowed with beeswax shine and the air carried the scent of old-English roses. ‘Did you do the renovation?’ asked Evie and her dutiful fiancé nodded.
‘My first project after graduating.’
‘Nice work,’ she said as Caroline ushered them into a large sitting room that fed seamlessly through to a wide, paved garden patio. The table there was set for four. Perfumed roses filled several large vases, their colours haphazard enough to make Evie smile.
‘I had a very demanding client who knew exactly what she wanted,’ said Max. ‘My ego took such a beating. These days I only wish all our clients could be that specific.’
‘Max tells me you’re a civil engineer,’ said Caroline. ‘Do you enjoy your work?’
‘I love it,’ said Evie.
‘And this new project you’re quoting on? You’re as enthusiastic about it as Max?’
‘You mean the civic centre? Yes. It’s the perfect stepping stone for us.’ Us being the business. ‘The right opportunity at exactly the right time.’
‘So I hear,’ said Caroline, with an enigmatic glance for her son. ‘I hope it’s worth it. Let me just go and tell Amelia we’re ready for lunch,’ she said smoothly, and swanned out of the room before anyone could reply.
‘She’s not buying it,’ said Evie. ‘The whirlwind engagement.’
‘Not so,’ said Max. ‘She’s undecided. Different beast altogether.’
‘You don’t take after her in looks.’
‘No,’ said Max. ‘I take after my father.’
‘You mean tall, dark, handsome and rich?’ Evie teased.
‘He’s not rich,’ said a deep voice from behind them. ‘Yet.’
That voice. Such a deep, raspy baritone. Max had a deep voice too, but it wasn’t like this one.
‘Logan,’ said Max turning around, and Evie forced herself to relax. Max had a brother called Logan; Evie knew this already. It was just a name—nothing to worry about. Plenty of Logans in this world.
And then Evie turned towards the sound of that voice too and the world as she lived in it ceased to exist, because she knew this man, this Logan who was Max’s brother.
And he knew her.
‘Evie, this is my brother,’ said Max as he headed towards the older man. ‘Logan, meet Evie.’
Manners made Evie walk puppet-like to Max’s side and wait while the two men embraced. Masochism made her lift her chin and hold out her hand for Logan to shake once they were finished with the brotherly affection. He looked older. Harder. The lines on his face were more deeply etched and his bleak, black gaze was as hard as agate. But it was him.
Logan ignored her outstretched hand and shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets instead. The movement made her memory kick. Same movement. Another time and place.
‘Pretty name,’ he rumbled as Evie let her arm fall to her side.
He’d known her as Angie—a name she’d once gone by. A name she’d worked hard to forget, because Angie had been needy and greedy and far too malleable beneath Logan Black’s all-consuming touch.
‘It’s short for Evangeline,’ she murmured, and met his gaze and wished she hadn’t, for a fine fury had set up shop beneath his barely pleasant façade. So he’d been duped by a name. Well, so had she. She’d been expecting Logan Carmichael, brother to Max Carmichael.
Not Logan Black.
Logan’s gaze flicked down over her pretty little designer dress, all the way to her pink-painted toenails peeking out from strappy summer sandals. ‘Welcome to the family, Evangeline.’
Max wasn’t stupid. He could sense the discord and he slid his arm around Evie’s waist and encouraged her to tuck into his side, which she did, every bit the small, sinking ship, finding harbour.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, restricting her gaze to the buttons of Logan’s casual white shirt. It wasn’t the first time she’d taken shelter in Max’s arms and it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just … wrong.
‘How long are you staying?’ Max asked his brother.
‘Not long.’
Logan ran a hand through his short cropped hair and the seams of his shirt-sleeve strained over bulging triceps. Evie shifted restlessly within Max’s embrace, every nerve sensitised and for all the wrong reasons.
‘Did you have to travel far to get here?’ she asked Logan. Not a throwaway question. She needed him to be based far, far away.
‘Perth. I have a company office there. Head office is based in London. Have you ever been to London, Evangeline?’
‘Yes.’ She’d met him in London. Lost herself in him in London. ‘A long time ago.’
‘And did it meet expectations?’ he asked silkily.
‘Yes and no. Some of the people I met there left me cold.’
Logan’s eyes narrowed warningly.
‘So what is it that you do, Logan? What’s your history?’ Rude now, and she knew it, but curiosity would have her know what he did for a living. She’d never asked. It hadn’t been that kind of relationship.
‘I buy things, break them down, and repackage them for profit.’
‘How gratifying,’ said Evie. ‘I build things.’
No mistaking the silent challenge that passed between them, or Max’s silent bafflement as he stared from one to the other.
‘Max, do you think your mother would mind if I took my bag up to the room?’ she asked. ‘I wouldn’t mind freshening up.’
‘Your luggage is already in your suite,’ said
