Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8. Heidi Rice

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      Logan towelled off on the beach after his swim, but the restlessness in him hadn’t gone away in spite of the punishing exercise. He’d considered asking Layla to join him for a swim but had decided against it. This was not a honeymoon. They didn’t have to spend every minute of the day together—even if he wanted to a lot more than he should.

      He walked back to the villa and found Layla sitting on one of the sun lounge chairs on the terrace overlooking the beach. She was wearing blue denim jeans and ballet flats and an untucked white cotton shirt. Her head was shaded by a wide-brimmed hat and her eyes screened behind a pair of sunglasses. She looked up from the magazine she was flicking through and lowered her sunglasses a fraction to look at him. ‘How was the water?’

      ‘Wet.’

      She pushed her sunglasses back up to the bridge of her nose. ‘Funny, ha-ha.’

      Logan took the sun lounge seat beside hers and hooked one arm around one of his bent knees. ‘Did you bring a swimming costume with you?’

      ‘Yes, but I don’t want to swim.’ Her tone was brusque to the point of rudeness, her gaze staring out in front of her rather than facing him. ‘Please don’t ask me again.’

      ‘If you’re worried about your leg, then let me assure you—’

      Her gaze whipped around to his with such speed it dislodged her hat and she had to steady it with one of her hands. ‘You laid down some rules so I’m going to do the same. I don’t like swimming. I don’t like wearing bikinis or shorts or skirts that are above the knee. And if you do want me to wear them, then you’ve married the wrong person.’ She removed her hand from holding her hat in place and turned back to stare out at the ocean.

      Logan swung his legs over the side of the sun lounge seat and leaned his arms on his knees, studying her rigid features. Her mouth was set, her chin at a haughty height, her eyes fixed on a view he could tell she wasn’t even registering.

      ‘Layla.’ He kept his voice low and gentle. ‘Look at me.’

      Her fingers began to pick at a frayed patch on her jeans, her mouth still set in a stubborn line. ‘I know what you’re going to say, so don’t bother saying it.’

      ‘Tell me what you think I’m going to say.’

      She pulled a thread out of the patch on her jeans and played tug-of-war with a series of sharp little tugs until it snapped. ‘You’re going to tell me I’m being silly about being self-conscious about my leg. That I should try and live a normal life and not care what anyone says or if they stare and ask rude questions.’ She rolled the broken pieces of thread into a ball and dropped them onto the table beside her chair. ‘But you’re you. You’re not me.’

      Logan took one of her hands and anchored it against his thigh close to his bent knee. ‘You’re not silly to be self-conscious. It’s tough having anything that draws unwelcome attention. But it concerns me you’re limiting your enjoyment of life because of other people’s reaction or judgement.’

      She went to pull her hand out from under his but he countered it with a little more pressure. Her palm was soft against his thigh—warm and soft—and he couldn’t stop imagining how it would feel on other parts of his body. His groin stirred, his blood rushed, his self-control went AWOL. Before he could stop himself, he brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to her bent knuckles. She gave a little whole-body shiver as if his touch was having the same effect on her as hers was on him. The tip of her tongue darted out to sweep a layer of moisture over her lips, her throat rising and falling in an audible swallow.

      He took her sunglasses off her nose and laid them aside so he could mesh his gaze with hers. ‘You don’t have to be self-conscious around me. If we’re going to convince Robbie and others that this is the real deal, then we’re both going to have to feel more relaxed around each other. And even if we don’t feel it we’ll have to act it.’

      Her pupils were like black ink spots, her eyelashes miniature fans. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, her indrawn breath sounding ragged. ‘Relaxed…in what way?’

      Logan turned her hand over and stroked his thumb over her palm in a rhythmic fashion. ‘There will be occasions when we’ll be required to show some affection. Holding hands, a kiss on the cheek or a quick peck on the lips for appearances’ sake. It would look odd if we didn’t.’

      ‘Okay…’ Her voice was as soft as the whisper of the afternoon breeze. ‘But earlier today you were pretty determined we weren’t going to kiss again.’

      ‘Unless absolutely necessary.’

      Her eyebrows lifted in a wry manner. ‘And who gets to decide whether it’s necessary or not?’

      ‘Me.’ Logan released her hand and stood. He was unapologetic for being so adamant. He wanted no blurry boundaries. He wanted control at all times. He wanted to keep his wanting under lock and key.

      She anchored her hat and tilted her head to look up at him. ‘Is that fair?’

      ‘Probably not but that’s the way it’s going to be.’ He scooped up his towel and flung it around his shoulders. ‘I’m heading in for a shower. I’ve booked a restaurant for dinner at eight. It’s a short walk from here but we can get a taxi if you’d prefer.’

      Pride shone in her eyes and rang in her voice. ‘That won’t be necessary.’