About the Authors

MELANIE MILBURNE read her first Mills & Boon novel at the age of seventeen, in between studying for her final exams. After completing a master’s degree in education, she decided to write a novel, and thus her career as a romance author was born. Melanie is an ambassador for the Australian Childhood Foundation and a keen dog-lover and trainer. She enjoys long walks in the Tasmanian bush. In 2015 Melanie won the HOLT Medallion, a prestigious award honouring outstanding literary talent.

With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, MICHELLE CONDER decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one super-indulgent husband, three self-indulgent but exquisite children, a menagerie of over-indulged pets, and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at michelleconder.com.

Also by Melanie Milburne

The Temporary Mrs Marchetti

Wedding Night with Her Enemy

A Ring for the Greek’s Baby

The Tycoon’s Marriage Deal

A Virgin for a Vow

Blackmailed into the Marriage Bed

Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella

Bound by a One-Night Vow

Penniless Virgin to Sicilian’s Bride

Cinderella’s Scandalous Secret

The Scandal Before the Wedding miniseries

Claimed for the Billionaire’s Convenience

The Venetian One-Night Baby

Also by Michelle Conder

Living the Charade

Duty at What Cost?

The Most Expensive Lie of All

Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir

Hidden in the Sheikh’s Harem

Defying the Billionaire’s Command

The Italian’s Virgin Acquisition

Bound to Her Desert Captor

The Billionaire’s Virgin Temptation

The Chatsfield collection

Russian’s Ruthless Demand

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Billionaire’s Wife on Paper

Melanie Milburne

Their Royal Wedding Bargain

Michelle Conder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90007-6

BILLIONAIRE’S WIFE ON PAPER & THEIR ROYAL WEDDING BARGAIN

Billionaire’s Wife on Paper © 2019 Melanie Milburne Their Royal Wedding Bargain © 2019 Michelle Conder

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Billionaire’s Wife on Paper

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Their Royal Wedding Bargain

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

Billionaire’s Wife on Paper

Melanie Milburne

“I need a temporary wife.”

Logan McLaughlin can’t lose his Scottish family estate. But to rescue it, his grandfather’s will demands he wed! Logan avoids real relationships, having failed so significantly at love before. So when housemaid Layla suggests he take a convenient wife, he’s intrigued…

Untouched Layla never imagined Logan would choose her! With her scars, she feels far from the perfect bride. Yet to protect the only home she’s ever known, she’ll wear Logan’s ring… But can she ignore the burning connection threatening to destroy their paper-only arrangement?

To my darling little black poodle Gonzo,

who sadly passed away during the writing of this

novel. I miss you sleeping on the sofa behind me in

my office while I write. I miss your ebullient nature

and zest for life—as if you always knew, like us, that

it wasn’t going to be a long one. Your life may have

been short but you have left love footprints all over

our hearts. Rest in peace. No more seizures now.

CHAPTER ONE

LAYLA CAMPBELL WAS placing dust sheets on the furniture in the now deserted northern wing of Bellbrae Castle when she heard the sound of a firm footfall on the stairs. Goosebumps peppered her skin like Braille and a cold draught of air circled her ankles like the ghost of a long-dead cat.

No such things as ghosts. No such things as ghosts.

Her old childhood chant wasn’t working any better than when she had first come to live in the Scottish Highlands castle as a frightened and lonely twelve-year-old orphan. Taken in by her great-aunt, who had worked as housekeeper for the super-wealthy aristocratic McLaughlin family, Layla had been raised in the kitchen and corridors of the castle. In the early days, downstairs had been her only domain, upstairs out of bounds. And not just because of her limp. Upstairs had been another world—a world in which she did not and could not ever belong.

‘Is anyone th-there?’ Her voice echoed in the silence, her heart thumping so loudly she could hear it booming in her ears. Who would be coming up to the north tower at this time of day? Logan, the new heir to the estate, was working abroad in Italy, and last time Layla had heard, Logan’s younger brother Robbie was doing a casino crawl in the US. Fear crept up her spine with ice-cube-clad feet, her breathing coming to a halt when a tall figure materialised out of the shadows.

‘Layla?’ Logan McLaughlin said, with a heavy frown. ‘What are you doing up here?’

Layla clasped her hand against her pounding chest, sure her heart was going to punch its way out of her body and land at his Italian-leather-covered feet. ‘You didn’t half give me a fright. Aunt Elsie told me you wouldn’t be back until November. Aren’t you supposed to be working in Tuscany this month?’

She hadn’t seen him since his grandfather’s funeral in September. And she figured he hadn’t seen her even then. Layla had tried to offer her condolences a couple of times before and after his grandfather’s service and at the wake, but she’d been busy helping her great-aunt with the catering and Logan had left before she could get a chance to speak to him in private.

But the upstairs-downstairs thing had always coloured her relationship with the McLaughlins. Logan and his brother and grandfather were landed gentry, privileged from birth, coming from a long line of aristocratic ancestors. Layla’s great-aunt and her, by default, were downstairs. The staff who were meant to stay in the background and go about their work with quiet dedication, not share intimate chit-chats with their employers.

Layla could never quite forget she was the interloper, the charity case—only living there out of Logan’s grandfather’s pity for a homeless orphan. It made her keep a prickly and prideful rather than polite distance.

Logan scraped a hand through his hair as if his scalp was feeling too tight for his head. ‘I postponed my trip. I have some business to see to here first.’ His dark blue gaze swept over the dust-sheeted furniture, the crease in his forehead deepening. ‘Why are you doing this? I thought Robbie was going to hire someone to see to it?’

Layla turned to pick up one of the folded dust sheets, flapping it open and then laying it over a mahogany table with cabriole legs. Hundreds of disturbed dust motes rose in the air in a galaxy of activity. ‘He did see to it—by hiring me. Not that I want to be paid or anything.’ She leaned down to tuck the edge of the dust sheet closer around the legs of the table and flicked him a glance. ‘You do realise this is my job now? Cleaning, sorting, organising. I have a small team of people working for me and all. Didn’t your grandfather tell you? He gave me a loan to get my business started.’

One brow came up in a perfect arc. ‘A loan?’ There was a note of surprise—or was it cynicism?—in his tone.

Layla pursed her lips and planted her hands on her hips like she was channelling a starchy nineteenth-century governess. ‘A loan I paid back, with interest.’ What did he think she was? An elder abuser? Exploiting an old man dying of cancer with requests for money she had no intention of paying back? She might share the genes of people like that but she didn’t share their morals. ‘I wouldn’t have agreed to the loan otherwise.’

His navy-blue eyes narrowed. ‘Seriously? He offered you a loan?’

Layla moved past him to pack up her cleaning basket. ‘For your information, I have never taken your grandfather’s largesse for granted.’

Feather duster. Tick. Soft polishing cloths. Tick.

‘He allowed me to live here with my great-aunt rent-free and for that I will be grateful for ever.’

She shoved the furniture polish bottle in amongst the other cleaning products in her basket. She had become closer to the old man in his last months of life, coming to understand the gruff exterior of a proud man who had done his best to keep his family together after repeated tragedy.

Logan let out a long breath, still frowning like he didn’t know any other way to look at her. Story of her life. One look at her scarred leg and her limp and that’s what most people did—frowned. Or asked intrusive questions she refused on principle to answer. Layla never talked about what had happened to her leg, not in any detail that is. ‘A car crash’ was her stripped-down answer. She never said who was driving or why they were driving the way they were, or who else had been injured or killed.

Who wanted to be reminded of the day that had changed her life for ever?

‘Why didn’t he just give you the money?’ Logan asked.

Layla’s old friend pride steeled her gaze and tightened her mouth. ‘Oh, you mean because he felt sorry for me?’

Logan’s covert glance at her left leg told her all she needed to know. Just like everyone else, he saw her damaged leg first and her later—if at all. Layla was fiercely proud of how she had made something of herself in spite of impossible odds. She didn’t want to be seen as the orphaned girl with the limp, but the gutsy woman with gumption, drive, ambition and resourcefulness.

‘No.’ His tone was weighted. ‘Because he was a wealthy man and you’re practically family.’ He moved away to look at some of the boxes she’d packed earlier. He peeled back the cardboard flaps of one box and took out a leather-bound book, fanning through the pages, his features set in lines of deep thought.

Practically family? Was that how he saw her? As a surrogate sister or distant cousin? At six feet four with a lean and rangy build, dark brown loosely styled wavy hair, a chiselled Lord Byron jaw and deep blue eyes the colour of a Highland tarn, it would be a crying waste if Logan McLaughlin were her brother or cousin.

It was a crying waste to women the world over that he hadn’t dated since the tragic death of his fiancée Susannah.

Not that he would ever date Layla. No one had ever dated her…well, not since she was a teenager. And she deliberately tried not to think of that one and only date and the excruciating embarrassment it had entailed. From that day on, she had decided her career plans would always be more important. More important than trying to go to parties or nightclubs in short dresses and heels that drew even more attention to her leg. More important than being told by a guy she wasn’t good enough. Could never be good enough.

Logan closed the book with a little snap and placed it back on top of the others. He turned to look at her.

Yep, with a frown.

‘Where will you and your aunt go if this place is sold?’

Layla’s eyes widened and her chest developed a tight, can’t-take-another-breath ache. ‘Sold? You’re selling Bellbrae?’ She could think of no bigger tragedy…well, she could because she’d lived through one big hell of a tragedy, but still. Selling Bellbrae was way up there on the list. Who would she be without the shelter of Bellbrae watching over her? Her identity had been formed here, her sense of security and safety honed within the fortress-like walls of the centuries-old castle. ‘How could you do that, Logan? Your grandfather left it to you as his eldest male heir. Your dad is buried here along with your grandparents and generations of ancestors. You surely don’t need to sell it for the money?’

His expression went as blank as one of the dust sheets on the furniture, but his tone was jaded. ‘It’s not about money. I am unwilling to fulfil the terms of my grandfather’s will.’

Layla frowned like she was in competition with him for Best Frown in Show. ‘Terms? What terms?’

He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and moved to look out of one of the mullioned windows, his back turned to her. Layla could see the tension in his shoulders even through his clothes. The breadth of his shoulders had always secretly fascinated her.

She had often seen him rowing and swimming in summer on the lake on the Bellbrae estate when he’d come home to visit. Tall and lean-hipped with abdomen muscles ridged with strength and endurance, she had been fascinated by his athleticism as it had been in such stark contrast to her young broken body. And when he’d brought Susannah home for visits, Layla had watched them both. Susannah had been supermodel stunning, slim and glamourous. Never had Layla seen two people more perfect for each other or more devotedly in love. It had set a benchmark for her to aspire to. An impossible benchmark perhaps, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

Logan turned to look at her, his jaw set in a taut line. ‘Unless I marry within three months, the entire estate will pass to Robbie.’

Layla licked her carpet-dry lips, her heart suddenly flapping like a loose window shutter in a stiff Highland breeze. ‘Oh…’

He drew in a breath and released it in a gust of frustration. ‘Yes. Oh. And we both know what he will do when he gets his hands on this place.’

Layla couldn’t allow her mind to even go there. No two brothers could ever be more disparate. Logan was the strong, silent type—hard-working and responsible. Robbie was a loud party boy with a streak of recklessness who had already brought shame on the family too many times to count. ‘You think he’d sell it?’

He gave a grim movement of his lips that wasn’t anywhere near a smile. ‘Or—worse—turn it into party central for irresponsible playboys like himself.’

Layla chewed her lower lip, her thoughts in a tangled knot. If Bellbrae was sold, what would happen to her great-aunt? Where would Aunt Elsie live if not here? Her great-aunt lived in a little cottage on the estate where she had spent the last forty years. Like Layla, it was the only home she knew. And what would happen to Logan’s grandfather’s elderly dog, Flossie? The dog was almost blind and would find a move to another place even more distressing than Aunt Elsie would. ‘There must be something you can do to challenge the terms of your grandfather’s will.’

‘The will is ironclad.’ He turned away to look at the view from the windows, even the sound of his feet moving across the carpet conveyed his disgust.

‘Why did your grandfather write it in such a way?’ Layla asked into the echoing silence. ‘Did he talk to you about it before he…?’ She still found it hard to believe the old man was gone.

Packing up Angus McLaughlin’s things had made her realise how different Bellbrae would be without him. Picky and pedantic, he hadn’t been the easiest person to get along with, but over the last few months Layla had made a point of ignoring his bad points and had found him to have a softer side he’d been at great pains to keep hidden.

Logan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and partially turned from the window to look at her. ‘He’s been telling me for years to settle down and do my duty. Marry and provide a couple of heirs to continue the family line.’

‘But you don’t want to get married.’ It was a statement, not a question.

A shadow passed through his gaze like a background figure moving across a stage. He turned back to face the view from the windows; there might as well have been a ‘Keep Away’ sign printed on his back. It seemed a decade before he spoke. ‘No.’ His tone had a note of finality that made something in Layla’s chest tighten.

The thought of him marrying someone one day had always niggled at her like a mild toothache. She could ignore it mostly but now and again a sharp jab would catch her off guard. But how could he ever find someone as perfect for him as Susannah? No wonder he was a little reluctant to date seriously these days. If only Layla could find someone to love her with such lasting loyalty. Sigh.

‘What about a marriage of convenience? You could find someone who would agree to marry you just long enough to fulfil the terms of the will.’

One of his dark eyebrows rose in a cynical arc above his left eye. ‘Are you volunteering for the role as my paper bride?’

Eek! Why had she even mentioned such a thing? Maybe it was time to stop reading paperback romances and start reading thriller or horror novels instead. Layla could feel a hot flush of colour flooding her cheeks and bent down to straighten the items in her basket to disguise it. ‘No. Of course not.’ Her voice was part laugh, part gasp and came out shamefully high and tight. Her? His bride of convenience? Ha-di-ha-ha-ha. She wouldn’t be a convenient bride for anyone, much less Logan McLaughlin.

A strange silence crept from the far corners of the room, stealing oxygen particles, stilling dust motes, stirring possibilities…

Logan walked back to where she was hovering over her cleaning basket, his footsteps steady and sure. Step. Step. Step. Step. Layla slowly raised her gaze to his inscrutable one, her heart doing a crazy tap dance in her chest. She drank in the landscape of his face—the ink-black prominent eyebrows over impossibly blue eyes, the patrician nose, the sensually sculpted mouth, the steely determined jaw. The lines of grief etched into his skin that made him seem older than he was. At thirty-three, he was in the prime of his life. Wealthy, talented, a world-renowned landscape architect—you could not find a more eligible bachelor…or one so determined to avoid commitment.

‘Think about it, Layla.’ His tone was deep with a side note of roughness that made a faint shiver course through her body. A shiver of awareness. A shiver of longing that could no longer be restrained in its secret home.

Layla picked up her basket from the floor and held it in front of her body like a shield. Was he teasing her? Making fun of her? He must surely know she wasn’t marriage material—certainly not for someone like him. She was about as far away from Susannah as you could get. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

His hand came down to touch her on the forearm, and even through two layers of clothing her skin tingled. She looked down at his long strong fingers and disguised a swallow. She could count on one hand the number of times he had touched her over the years and still have fingers left over. His touch was unfamiliar and strange, alien almost, and yet her body reacted like a crocus bulb to spring sunshine.

‘I’m serious,’ he said, looking at her with watchful intensity. ‘I need a temporary wife to save Bellbrae from being sold or destroyed and who better than someone who loves this place as much as I do?’

But you don’t love me.

The words came into her head at random but she had no way of getting rid of them. They were like gate-crashers at a party, unwelcome, intrusive. Forbidden. Yep, she definitely had to switch reading genres. Layla slipped out of his hold and moved a couple of steps back, still holding her basket in front of her body. ‘I’m sure you can find someone much more suitable to be your wife than me.’

Someone beautiful.

Someone glamourous.

Someone perfect.

‘Layla, I’m not talking about a real marriage here.’ His frown was back, his voice as steady and calm as a patient teacher speaking to a slow student. ‘It would be a marriage on paper and would only last a year, max. We wouldn’t even have to go through the charade of a big wedding. We could marry privately with only the minimum witnesses required to make it legal.’

Layla rolled her lips together, her gaze slipping away from his. Her mind was wheeling round and round like a hamster on performance-enhancing drugs. A short-term marriage to Logan McLaughlin to save Bellbrae. To save her great-aunt and Flossie the geriatric dog. Layla would wear Logan’s ring but not be a real bride. Given her dating record, it might be her only chance to be anyone’s bride. Could she agree to spend the year being ‘married’ to Logan? Living with him for all intents and purposes as if they had married for all the right reasons?

But who would ever believe she was the love of his life?

Layla brought her gaze back up to meet his. ‘Aren’t you worried what people might say? I mean, the upstairs-downstairs thing? I’m the housekeeper’s orphaned great-niece. You’re the Laird of the castle. I’m hardly what anyone would consider a suitable bride for you.’

His frown carved a trench between his midnight-blue eyes. ‘Why are you so hard on yourself? You’re a beautiful young woman. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’

Wow. A compliment.

A warm glow flooded through her body, her self-esteem waking from a coma. Beautiful, huh? That certainly wasn’t what her mirror told her, but then Logan had never seen the full extent of her scars. But a compliment was a compliment and she was going to take it at face value for once. She brought her gaze back to his, keeping her tone even. ‘And what happens when the year is up?’

‘We have the marriage annulled and get on with our lives as before.’

Layla put down the cleaning basket and wiped her suddenly damp palms on her thighs. She had suffered temptation before and mostly resisted. Mostly. But walking past a bowl of her great-aunt’s Belgian chocolate mousse was clearly not in the same league as agreeing to be Logan’s temporary bride. She would be in close contact with him, not sleeping with him but living with him.

Sharing his life for a Whole Year.

How was she going to stop herself from developing feelings for him? Feelings that were already lurking in the background like a secret smouldering coal that only needed a tiny whiff of oxygen to leap into a scorching hot flame. She could feel it now—the slow burn of attraction that made her aware of every movement he made. Every time he took a breath, every time he frowned, every time his gaze meshed with hers.

‘I don’t expect you to do this for nothing, Layla. I’ll make sure you are financially well compensated.’ He named a figure that made her eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly flew off her face.

Now was probably not the time to tell him she would have done it free. There was probably never going to be that time. Logan had loved and loved deeply and had tragically lost that love. No woman would ever take the place of his fiancée and any woman who thought she could would be a silly romantic fool.

But the amount of money he was offering would allow Layla to expand her cleaning business into a household concierge service as well. She could take on more staff so she didn’t have to do so much of the physical work, which increasingly tired her. It would mean she could be at the helm of her business playing to her strengths instead of her weakness.

Layla raised her chin, keen to portray a cool and steady composure she was nowhere near feeling. ‘I’d like a day or two to think about it.’ She was proud of the evenness of her tone given the pitty-pat, pitty-pat hammering of her pulse.

His expression barely changed but she sensed a restrained relief sweeping through him. ‘Of course. It’s a big decision and not without its risks, which brings me to a difficult but necessary discussion.’

Layla knew where he was going with this and it annoyed her that he thought her so gauche for it to even be a possibility for her to fall in love with him. She was definitely no Jane Eyre. She might find him ridiculously attractive and her pulse might go a little crazy when he was around but that’s as far as it could ever go. As far as she would let it go. She had willpower, didn’t she? She would send it to boot camp ASAP.

She raised her brows in twin arcs of derision. ‘Oh, the one about me not getting any silly ideas about falling head over heels in love with you?’

Heels? Now that was the stuff of fantasy.

If he was taken aback by her bluntness, he didn’t show it. ‘I would hate you to get hurt in the process of helping me save Bellbrae. We both love this place but it doesn’t mean we have to fall in love with each other.’

Layla painted a stiff smile on her lips but something inside her shrivelled. Of course, he would never fall in love with her. Why would he? She was more or less invisible to him and had been for the past fourteen years. But for him to rule the possibility out at the get-go was still a slap in the face to her feminine ego. ‘Message received loud and clear.’

He gave a slight nod, the quiet intensity of his gaze unsettling her already shaky equilibrium. ‘Here—I’ll carry your basket downstairs for you.’

He stepped forward to pick up her basket at the same time she bent down to get it. Their hands met on the handle and a jolt of electricity shot up Layla’s arm and straight to her core, fizzing like the ignited wick of a firework. She pulled hers out away and straightened but in her haste, she lost her balance and would have fallen if it hadn’t been for the quick action of Logan grabbing her arm to hold her steady. His fingers overlapped on the slim bones of her wrist and another wave of heat coursed through her body. Heat that simmered and sizzled in all her secret places.

His gaze locked with hers and she got the strangest sense he was seeing her for the first time. The slight flare of his pupils, the gentling of his fingers around her wrist less of a steadying hold, more like that of a caress. She could smell the cool fresh lime top notes of his aftershave and the base notes of cool forest wood and country leather. She could see the various shades of blue flecks in his eyes, reminding her of flickering shadows over a deep mountain lake. His lean jaw was lightly sprinkled with regrowth; the dark pinpricks a reminder of the potent male hormones surging around his body.

His mouth…

Her heart skipped a beat. Her stomach flip-flopped. Her female hormones started a party. She should not have looked at his mouth. But she was drawn by an impulse she had zero control over. His lips were more or less even in volume with well-defined contours that hinted at his determined, goal-achieving personality. She wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to her own. Wondered and wanted and wished for it to happen.

‘Are you okay?’ His voice was husky and low—as low as an intimate lover’s voice.

Layla stretched her lips into a polite smile that felt shaky around the edges. ‘I’m fine. Thanks.’ She stepped out of his hold to create some distance between them but she couldn’t help noticing he was opening and closing his fingers as if to remove the same tingling sensation she had felt. Or maybe he hadn’t felt tingles. Maybe he was disgusted…as disgusted as her teenage date all those years ago when he’d seen her damaged body.

‘I’ll go and see to your room.’ Layla injected housekeeper briskness into her tone. ‘I assume you’re staying for a night or two?’

‘It depends.’

‘On?’

His unwavering gaze held hers. ‘On your decision.’

‘And if I say no?’

A fault line of tension rippled along his jaw and an embittered light came into his eyes. ‘You and your great-aunt will no longer have a home here. Not if my brother Robbie has his way.’

Logan waited until Layla had left before he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. But truth be told, he felt like he’d been holding his breath ever since he’d found out the contents of his grandfather’s will. Nothing could have come as more of a shock than finding the survival of the Bellbrae estate was dependent on him finding a wife. A wife, he had resolutely decided seven years ago, he would never have.

Not after the suicide of his fiancée Susannah.

Logan went back to the windows that overlooked the estate. His chest ached and burned with the thought of losing his family’s ancestral home. Generations of McLaughlins had lived and loved and died here. Every Highland slope and crag, every bubbling burn had watched him grow from baby to boy to man. Every tree was like an old friend. There were trees on the estate his great-great-grandfather had planted. There were gardens his own father had designed before he had been taken by pancreatic cancer when Logan was eighteen. Logan had learned the skills of landscape design from his father and developed it into a global career that gave him more money than he needed and fame he didn’t want.

He drew in a breath as rough and uneven as Highland scree. There was no other way but to marry if he was to save the estate from his reckless and foolish younger brother.

And who better to marry than Layla Campbell, who had lived here since she was a child?

Logan would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was. Perhaps not in a classical sense, but with her waist-length chestnut hair and creamy complexion and grey-green eyes, she had an ethereal quality about her that was just as captivating—maybe even more so. For years she’d just been a cute but somewhat annoying child lurking around the estate, spying on him and his brother.

But it was impossible not to notice her now.

But he would have to, because he wasn’t entering into a long-term relationship.

Not now.

Not again.

Not ever.

Logan walked back over to the boxes Layla had packed and opened the lid of one that contained his grandfather’s clothes. It didn’t seem real that his grandfather was no longer here. He lifted out a Shetland island sweater and held it against his face, breathing in the faint smell of his grandfather’s old-fashioned spicy aftershave.

If the estate was sold, there would be no trace left of his grandfather or his father. They would be gone. Lost. Erased.

For years, Logan had spent hours in his father’s study at Bellbrae, sitting at his father’s desk, reading the books his father had read, writing with the pens he had used—just so he could feel close to his dad. To hold onto the memory of his dad for as long as possible.

Logan put the sweater back in the box and closed the cardboard flaps, wishing he could close a lid on his guilt and regret. He hadn’t been as close to his grandfather as he should have been. But losing his father on the threshold of his own adulthood had made Logan resentful of his grandfather’s old-school parenting style. He hadn’t wanted his grandfather to be a stand-in dad. He’d wanted his father to still be alive. He’d resented the way his grandfather had tried to control every decision he made, everything he did and who he did it with. It had been suffocating and had only made him miss his father more.

It had hit Robbie even harder and Logan blamed himself for the way his younger brother had rebelled. Logan had been too lenient with him, allowing the pendulum to swing too far back the other way to compensate for his grandfather’s strict authoritarian style. But hadn’t he always been too lenient with Robbie? Ever since their mother had left, Logan had tried to fill the gaping hole she’d left in their lives. But, of course, he had failed.

What was with him and relationships? Why was he destined to screw up each and every one?

But maybe he could repair some of that damage by saving Bellbrae.

He had been straight with Layla on the terms of the deal. Brutally straight, but he was unapologetic for it. He had no intention of hurting her by giving her false hope. A marriage of convenience was the only way he could save his family’s home. A home Layla had loved from the moment she’d arrived to live with her great-aunt Elsie. If Logan thought his brother would do the right thing by Bellbrae he wouldn’t have bothered with the messy business of fulfilling the terms of the will.

But lately he’d become aware of Robbie’s gambling habit. A disturbing habit that had run up some eye-watering debt. Robbie saw Bellbrae differently from him. He didn’t have the same deep-in-the-DNA connection with the estate Logan had. Once his brother got hold of Bellbrae he would sell it to the highest bidder and walk away from the estate that had been in their family for centuries.

But selling Bellbrae wasn’t going to happen if Logan could help it. He would enter a short-term marriage to protect a long-term estate. To protect the legacy his father had handed to him on his deathbed.

‘Always do the right thing by Bellbrae.’

And he would do the right thing by Layla by making sure she had no illusions about their marriage from the get-go. He would pay her generously for her time as his wife. They would marry as friends and part as friends. He knew how much this place meant to her—how much she used it as a base when she wasn’t in Edinburgh, where she ran her small business. Any niggling of his conscience he settled with the conviction he was helping her in the long run. He was offering her a staggering amount of money to be his temporary wife.

How could she possibly say no?

CHAPTER TWO

‘BUT YOU HAVE to say no,’ Layla’s best friend Isla said on the phone later that evening. ‘You’ll get your heart broken for sure.’

‘But it will break my heart to see Bellbrae sold,’ Layla said. ‘This is the first real home I’ve ever had. I’ve spent the last fourteen years here—it’s made me who I am today. I can’t bear the thought of it going out of the McLaughlin family. It belongs to Logan. It was wrong of Angus to make his will in such a way.’

‘Do you know why Angus did it that way?’

Layla sighed so heavily her shoulders slumped. ‘Logan has made it pretty clear over the years that he has no intention of settling down again. Losing Susannah was such a terrible shock to him—as it would be to anyone. I’ve overheard a few conversations where Angus insisted Logan move on with his life but Logan isn’t someone you can tell what to do. Once his mind is made up, that’s it.’

‘So, he’s made up his mind to marry you in a marriage of convenience?’

Layla pulled at her top lip with her finger and thumb as she thought about her conversation with Logan in the north tower. ‘Yes, well, I think I kind of planted the idea in his head. But we both love Bellbrae and we both know how impulsive Robbie can be. He doesn’t love the place the same way we do. He thinks it’s boring and cold and too isolated. We have to stop him inheriting the estate even if it means giving up a year of our lives in a paper marriage.’

‘Are you sure it’s going to be on paper? Logan’s a full-blooded man. You’re a young and beautiful woman. Living together is going to test the boundaries surely?’

Layla affected a laugh. ‘Calling me beautiful is a bit of a stretch. Anyway, can you imagine him being attracted to me? I’m hardly what you’d call his type. I’m not anyone’s type.’

‘You’re way too hard on yourself,’ Isla said, echoing Logan’s words. ‘You shouldn’t let what happened in your teens colour how you see yourself now. But the whole friends-to-lovers thing can happen, you know. It doesn’t just happen in romance novels.’

‘I’m not sure how to describe our relationship,’ Layla said. ‘Friends is probably too generous a description. We’re distant and polite to each other. I sometimes think he doesn’t even register I’m around now that I’m an adult. I’m like part of the furniture.’

‘I just hope you don’t get hurt in the long run,’ Isla said. ‘I want you to be as happy as I am. I still can’t believe how wonderful it is to be married to Rafe, knowing he loves me more than anything. We’re both so excited about our Christmas baby.’

‘I’m excited about your baby too.’

It was hard not to feel envious of her best friend’s happiness. After a rough start, Isla and Rafe had finally come together again and were eagerly awaiting the birth of their ‘accidental’ baby. But would Layla’s marriage to Logan have an equally happy ending?

The odds were stacked against it and the sooner she got that straight and clear in her mind, the better.

Logan walked through the south garden at Bellbrae, the scattered leaves of the ancient deciduous trees crunching under his feet. The vivid reds and golds and bronze and yellows were like wild splashes of paint. The autumn air was crisp and redolent of the smell of cooling earth and leaf litter with a hint of the harsh winter to come. Each season at Bellbrae held its magic for him. The gardens and fields and Highlands beyond could be blanketed in white as thick as a pile of duvets and still stir him to the marrow. But unless Layla agreed to a marriage of convenience, he would have to say goodbye to this place. The land and home of his ancestors, the place where he felt deeply rooted to the estate as surely and securely as the ancient trees around him.

Logan waited for Flossie, his grandfather’s old Border collie, to keep up. She was sniffing around the tendon-like roots of an old oak tree. ‘Come on, Floss.’ He patted his hand against his thigh and the dog slowly waddled over to him, her tail wagging, her tongue hanging out of her mouth in spite of the chill in the air. He leaned down to scratch behind her ears, a pang jabbing him deep in his gut at the thought of what would happen to her if Robbie inherited the estate. The old dog would not cope with a move to another home and Robbie wouldn’t want to keep her.

Logan straightened from petting the dog and caught a glimpse of a slim figure walking through the archway of trees in the distance. With her wild chestnut hair and creamy skin and irregular gait, Layla looked as much a part of this landscape as heather on the Highlands. For years he had seen her moving about on the estate, reminding him of a faery or other mythic person. Touching her on the arm the day before had sent a shockwave of awareness through him—an awareness he found faintly disturbing. He would have to try harder not to touch her unless absolutely necessary.

The boundaries were not to be blurred and especially not by him.

Layla turned her head as if she had suddenly sensed him nearby. She clutched the front of her jacket around the front of her body and began to walk in his direction. ‘I was looking for Flossie,’ she called out to him, sweeping the cloud of her hair back over one slim shoulder. ‘I thought she might have gone out alone and got lost.’

Logan met her more than halfway across the wooded garden to save her from negotiating the treacherous tree roots. ‘I took her out with me earlier. Sorry to worry you.’ He turned back to look at the lumbering Border collie. ‘She’s slowed down a lot, hasn’t she?’

Layla bent down to ruffle the dog’s ears just where his hand had been moments earlier, her hair tumbling from behind her shoulders. He suddenly had an urge to run his fingers through her hair—to see if it was as soft and silky as it looked.

He curled his hands into tight fists and gave his willpower a pep talk. No touching. Hands off. Paper relationship only.

‘Yes, I noticed a big change after your grandfather passed,’ she said. ‘She misses him, don’t you, sweetie?’ She addressed the dog affectionately and was rewarded by an enthusiastic tail wag. Layla straightened and met his gaze. ‘We all miss him.’

For a moment, Logan wondered if his grandfather had planned this all along—a marriage between him and Layla. The old man had spent a lot of time with her over the last months of his life. And his grandfather had given her that loan she’d mentioned. After all, she had been the one to suggest he enter a marriage of convenience when they’d spoken in his grandfather’s suite in the north tower. Had that been deliberate on her part or just a throwaway line borne out of her love for Bellbrae?

And why the hell was he suddenly so cynical about her? She was part of the family—or close enough to being so. He couldn’t imagine Bellbrae without her.

Logan had taken it a step further by suggesting she offer herself as his paper bride. He still didn’t quite believe he had done that, but it had seemed a solution he could live with at the time. The only solution he could live with. ‘Did you ever speak to my grandfather about his intentions regarding the will?’

Her grey-green eyes widened in affront and her chin came up at a proud angle. ‘What are you suggesting? That I somehow put him up to changing his original will?’

Logan shrugged one shoulder with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. ‘You stand to gain quite a lot if you marry me. You said it yourself—the upstairs-downstairs thing.’

She coughed out a derisive laugh. ‘Newsflash, Logan. I’m not going to marry you. It would be beneath my dignity to marry someone who’s such an appalling snob.’ She swung away to walk back the way she had come but Logan caught up in one or two strides and clasped her by the wrist and turned her to face him.

‘No, wait,’ he said, suddenly aware of how tiny her wrist was, tiny enough for his fingers to overlap. Aware too, of the bergamot and geranium fragrance of her hair. Her eyes sparked with chips of ice, her rose-pink lips tightly pursed. It was a mistake to look too closely at her mouth. For years he had avoided doing so. It was soft and plump with her top lip shaped in a perfect cupid’s bow, with dimples either side when she smiled, which she was not currently doing.

‘I’m sorry, Layla. That was crass of me.’ He sighed and released her wrist, his fingers feeling strangely restless and empty when she stepped back.

She rubbed at her wrist as if he had given her a Chinese burn, her eyes still flashing. ‘I find your accusation deeply insulting. The last thing I want is for you to lose Bellbrae but I refuse to marry a man who is so deeply distrustful of my motives.’

Logan had always secretly admired her stubborn streak of pride. She hadn’t had the easiest start in life but she had made the most of the opportunities that had come her way after coming to live on the estate. She was a hard worker—too hard, he thought, given her leg—but it was a brave person indeed who took it upon themselves to tell her to slow down.

‘I can only apologise again. It was a stupid thing to say.’ He held her gaze, watching for any softening of her expression.

She appeared to be slightly mollified. Slightly, not fully. Her lips were still tightly compressed but the daggers in her eyes had been sheathed. For now. ‘Apology accepted.’ Her voice sounded a little gruff and she delicately cleared her throat and added, ‘But there’s another thing I find annoying. You’re assuming I don’t already have a partner.’

An invisible punch hit him in the chest and for a moment he couldn’t take a breath. He’d heard nothing about her love life recently…in fact, he couldn’t remember hearing anything about a boyfriend for years. But she spent heaps of time in Edinburgh these days with her cleaning business. She could have any number of lovers. And why shouldn’t she?

‘Do you?’ he asked, not sure he really wanted to know. But a current partner would be a problem. A big problem in more ways than he wanted to think about.

Her eyes fell away from his and twin spots of colour darkened on her cheeks. ‘Not at the moment.’

There was a small silence broken only by the rustling of the leaves at their feet as a cool breeze passed through the copse of trees. Some remaining leaves fell from the craggy branches overhead, floating down like over-sized confetti. What was it with the wedding imagery? Weddings were something he never thought of. He never even attended them, not if he could help it.

Layla’s gaze went to the elderly dog who was now lying down at Logan’s feet. ‘What do you think will happen to Flossie if Robbie inherits Bellbrae?’ Her tone contained a chord of disquiet, the same disquiet he felt about his ruthless younger brother’s intentions. ‘Would you take her to live with you?’

‘She’s too old to travel and I’m on the road too much in any case.’ He exhaled a long breath. ‘He’ll probably have her put down.’

She gave an audible swallow and her wide eyes met his. ‘We can’t let that happen. She might be old and mostly blind but she still enjoys life. Your grandfather would spin in his grave if—’

‘If my grandfather was so concerned about Flossie, then why the hell did he write his will like that?’ Logan couldn’t strip back the frustration in his voice. His grandfather’s will had put him in an impossible situation. He felt cornered, compromised, blackmailed.

Layla’s teeth sank into her lower lip. ‘If I were to marry you, what would we tell people about us? I mean, are we going to pretend it’s a real marriage, or—?’

Logan rubbed a hand along the side of his jaw before dropping his hand back by his side. ‘I would prefer people to think it’s a genuine love match. I’m not sure who’s going to buy it, but still.’

Her chin came back up and the daggers were back glinting in her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ Her tone was distinctly wry.

Logan could have thumped himself for being so insensitive. ‘That came out wrong. I was thinking more about in terms of myself.’

A small frown appeared on her smooth-as-cream forehead. ‘Because of what you felt for Susannah?’ She paused for a beat and added, ‘What you still feel for her?’

Logan had never discussed with anyone the complicated relationship he’d had with Susannah. He didn’t even like thinking about how badly he had handled things. It was better to let people think he was still grieving the loss of his fiancée, but in truth he felt guilt rather than grief. Gut-shredding guilt that gnawed and clawed at him with savage teeth and talons.

So many mistakes he had made, costly mistakes that had ended in tragedy.

‘It’s pretty common knowledge I never intended to settle down with anyone after Susannah’s death,’ he said. ‘I guess my grandfather decided to take the matter into his own hands and force me to face my responsibilities as the eldest McLaughlin heir.’

The frown on her brow deepened. ‘So, who will your heir be? Or will you eventually leave Bellbrae to a nephew or niece if Robbie has children at some point?’

Logan hadn’t got to thinking that far ahead. His sole goal had been rescuing Bellbrae from being auctioned off to settle his brother’s gambling debts. Marrying to save the estate was a big enough step, siring an heir was a giant leap he wasn’t sure he was ready to even consider. Yet. He gave one of his carefully rationed smiles. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to help me with that?’

Her cheeks burned a fire-engine red and her plump rosy lips flattened to a thin disapproving line. ‘No.’ Her tone was as starchy as a prim Victorian Sunday schoolteacher’s.

‘Only joking.’ It was no joking matter but he refused to think about having a child. Hadn’t he done enough damage with his brother?

Layla shifted her gaze, but he noticed her small white teeth resumed their savaging of her lower lip. ‘I need to get back to help Aunt Elsie with something.’ Her voice was not much more than a mumble.

‘I need your final answer, Layla. Tonight, if possible. There are legal documents to arrange before we—’

‘I’ll see you tonight. At dinner.’

Logan nodded in agreement. ‘It’s a date.’

It had been a heck of a long time since he’d had one of those.

Layla sat with her great-aunt at the Bellbrae kitchen table half an hour later with a pot of tea and freshly baked cupcakes.

‘You’re not eating,’ Aunt Elsie said, pushing the tiered cake stand closer. ‘Is something on your mind?’

Layla took a cake from the stand and peeled the polka-dotted paper case off the cupcake. ‘I’m not sure how to tell you this…’ she began.

Her great-aunt paused in the action of sipping her tea, her light blue gaze wide with interest. ‘You’ve met someone?’

Layla only just resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. ‘No. It’s a little more complicated than that.’ She took a deep breath and added, ‘Logan’s asked me to marry him.’

Her great-aunt’s cup gave a tiny rattle as she placed it back in its saucer. ‘And what was your answer?’

Layla wasn’t sure what to make of her great-aunt’s mild expression. ‘Aren’t you surprised he proposed to me?’

Aunt Elsie reached for the teapot and topped up both of their cups with the rich brew. She placed the teapot back on its heat protector before responding. ‘Not one bit surprised. He’s known you since you were a wee child. He’s watched you grow up into a fine young woman. You’ll be a good wife for him. Loyal and steady and stable.’ She peered at Layla over the top of her bifocals. ‘You said yes, didn’t you?’

Layla nibbled at one side of her mouth. ‘I’m still deciding…’

Aunt Elsie sat back in her chair, lifted the little milk jug to pour some into her tea and then set the jug back down on the table. ‘You’d be mad to refuse, my girl. He’s a good man. A bit on the quiet side but you don’t want a husband who talks more than he listens. He’ll take good care of you.’

Layla broke off a piece of cupcake with her fingers. ‘He only wants to stay married for a year to secure the estate. If he doesn’t marry within three months, Bellbrae will automatically pass to Robbie.’ She put the small portion of cake in her mouth, chewed and swallowed, continuing to gauge her great-aunt’s reaction.

Aunt Elsie stirred her tea into a small whirlpool, glancing at her again. ‘I know about Angus’s will. He told me before he died.’

Layla frowned. ‘And you didn’t try and change his mind?’

Aunt Elsie sighed and picked up her cup again. ‘There isn’t a person alive or dead who could change that man’s mind. Angus was frustrated Logan hadn’t moved on from losing Susannah. Sure, he has casual lovers occasionally but his grandfather wanted him to settle down and do the right thing by Bellbrae. If marrying you is the only way Logan can see fit to do it, then so be it. You love this place and you love him.’ She made a toast of her last words by taking a sip of her tea.

‘Excuse me.’ Layla gave a choked laugh. ‘Not like that!’

Aunt Elsie arched her eyebrows. ‘Are you sure?’

Growing up, Layla had idolised Logan from afar. He had been a romantic fantasy any teenage girl would have drooled over. But it was a bit of a leap to describe her feelings now as love, or at least that sort of love. Although…that tiny secret smouldering coal inside her was still there waiting, waiting, waiting for enough oxygen to fan it into life.

Layla looked down at the cake crumbs on her plate and expelled a long breath. ‘It wouldn’t matter how I felt about him. It’s not going to be a proper marriage.’ She pushed the crumbs into a neat pile and then glanced back at her great-aunt. ‘It will be on paper only.’

Aunt Elsie’s eyes began to twinkle like they were auditioning for a new constellation in the northern hemisphere. ‘Of course it will.’

Layla gave an eye roll and stood to take her plate and cup and saucer to the sink. Her great-aunt was suffering a massive delusion if she thought Logan would be remotely interested in sleeping with her. She had seen photos of Logan’s casual lovers. She had seen his fiancée Susannah in the stunningly beautiful and unscarred flesh.

How could she ever hope to compete with that?

CHAPTER THREE

LATER THAT EVENING Layla fed Flossie and let her out for a comfort walk. When she got back, the old dog began to snore almost as soon as she settled back in her wicker basket in front of the fire in Angus’s study a few doors away from the kitchen. There was a pet door in one of the back doors off the kitchen, but Flossie was too arthritic these days to get through it.

It was sad to see the old girl’s decline. Layla had only been at Bellbrae a couple of weeks when Angus McLaughlin had brought Flossie home as a playful and needle-toothed puppy. She had often wondered if he had bought the dog to help her settle in. She had asked him once but he’d dismissed the suggestion in his gruff and off-hand way.

Layla had spent many a happy time playing with Flossie, brushing her silky coat and taking her on walks about the estate, which had seemed so huge and terrifying when she had first arrived. But with the company of the ebullient puppy it had suddenly become a home. A home she could not imagine losing. Her happiest memories—the only happy memories she possessed—had been crafted and laid down here at Bellbrae.

Layla was putting the finishing touches to dinner shortly after when Logan strode into the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder and turned back to the pot she was stirring on the cooktop. ‘Dinner won’t be long.’

‘Where’s Elsie?’

Layla put the cooking spoon down on the ceramic spoon rest and turned and faced him, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I gave her the night off. She hasn’t been doing so much cooking now your grandfather’s no longer with us.’ She waited a beat and added, ‘She knew about the change to his will.’

Logan frowned. ‘Thoughtful of him to share it with the household help but not with me.’

Layla pursed her lips. ‘You might think of Aunt Elsie as little more than a humble housekeeper but she has supported your family through every high and low of the last three decades.’ She whipped off her apron and flung it on the benchtop.

‘When your mother left when you and Robbie were little, when your father died, when Robbie went off the rails that first time in his teens. And when your grandmother died when you were away at university. Aunt Elsie has cooked and cleaned and consoled everyone, working long hours and forsaking a normal life of her own. Don’t you dare refer to her as just the help.’ Her chest was heaving like she had just run up one of the Bellbrae turrets. Three turrets. Possibly all twelve of them.

He closed his eyes in a slow blink and sighed. ‘All I seem to do lately around you is open my mouth and change feet.’ He twisted his lips into a rueful grimace. ‘I meant no offence. My only excuse is that I’m still reeling from being so much in the dark about my grandfather’s intentions. I hate surprises at the best of times and this was one hell of a surprise.’

There were surprises and there were surprises. Layla could only imagine the surprises Logan had received over the course of his life were not the pleasant type. His mother abandoning him and his brother as small children to go and live with her lover abroad, the sudden death of his father from pancreatic cancer, the terrible shock of his fiancée’s suicide and now his grandfather’s odd conditions on his will. She could hardly blame him for wanting a little more predictability in his life. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I told Aunt Elsie about your proposal.’

Logan’s gaze was steady and watchful. ‘And?’

‘She told me I’d be a fool not to accept.’

‘And have you accepted?’

‘Just to be clear—I don’t want you to lose Bellbrae much more than I want to be your wife. Think of my acceptance as an act of charity, if you will.’

If he was relieved by her answer he gave no sign of it on his features. They might as well have been discussing the weather. ‘I appreciate your honesty. Neither of us want this but we have a common goal in saving Bellbrae.’

Layla kept her chin high, her gaze level, her pride on active duty. ‘She also thinks it won’t be a paper marriage for very long.’

One side of his mouth came up in a vestige of a smile. It took years off his face and made something in her stomach slip sideways. It had been years, seven years at least, since she had seen him give anything close to a smile.

He approached the island bench on the opposite side from where she was standing.

‘Why would she think that?’ His voice had gone down to a rough deep burr.

Her gaze flicked away from his, her cheeks warming like she’d been standing too close to the oven. She gave a little shrug. ‘Who knows? Perhaps she thinks you’ll be overcome with uncontrollable lust and won’t be able to resist me.’

There was a loaded silence. A silence with an undercurrent of unusual energy vibrating through every particle of air. Energy that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms tingle at the roots.

Layla sneaked a glance at him and found him looking at her with a contemplative frown.

After a moment, he appeared to give himself a mental shake and then raked his splayed fingers through his hair, dropping his hand back by his side. ‘I would hope you know me well enough to be reassured I am a man of my word. If I say our marriage will not be consummated, then you can count on it that it won’t be.’

Why? Because she was so undesirable? So repugnant to him as she had been to her first and only boyfriend when she was sixteen? So unlike the gorgeous supermodel types Logan had occasional casual flings with?

‘Right now, I don’t know whether I should be reassured or insulted.’ The words slipped out before her wounded ego could check in with her brain.

Logan’s gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering there a fraction longer than was necessary. His eyes came back to mesh with hers and her heart gave an odd little thumpity-thump. She had to summon every bit of willpower she possessed and then some not to glance at his mouth. She wondered if he kissed hard or soft or somewhere in between. Her mind suddenly filled with images of them making love, her limbs entangled with his, her senses singing from his touch, his mouth clamped to hers in passion. A passion she could only imagine because she had never experienced it herself.

‘It would only complicate things if we were to have a normal relationship.’ His voice had a rough edge as if something was clogging his throat. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to you.’

Layla turned and went back to the pot simmering on the cooktop behind her. Her body was simmering too. Smouldering with new sensations and longings she had no idea how to control. Had his ‘proposal’ unlocked something in her? Made her aware of herself in a way she hadn’t been before? Aware of her needs, the needs she had ignored and denied, always telling herself no one would ever want to marry her.

She took the lid off the pot, picked up the spoon and gave the casserole a couple of stirs. ‘Will you continue to have casual lovers during our marriage?’

‘No. That’s something else that wouldn’t be fair to you. And I would hope you would refrain from any dalliances yourself.’

Layla put the spoon down again and placed the lid back on the pot with a clang. ‘You don’t have to worry on that score. I haven’t had a casual lover my entire adult life.’

Why did you tell him that?

There was another pulsing silence.

Logan came to her side of the island bench and stood next to her near the cooktop. Her body went on high alert, every nerve and cell aware of his closeness. Not touching, but close enough to do so if either of them moved half a step.

‘But you’ve had lovers, right?’

Layla turned her head to glance at him, hoping he would put her flaming cheeks down to her proximity to the simmering pot in front of her. ‘Not as many as you might think.’ No way was she going to announce she was a twenty-six-year-old virgin. She moved from the cooktop to gather the serving utensils. ‘I haven’t opened any wine for dinner. Do you want to grab a bottle? We’ll be eating in the small green dining room since it’s just the two of us.’

‘I’ll bring something up from the cellar.’

Just the two of us.

How cosy and intimate that sounded, but it wasn’t true. He would never have asked her to marry him if it hadn’t been for the strange conditions on his grandfather’s will. She had to remember that at all costs. This was a business deal. Nothing personal. Nothing lasting.

Nothing.

Logan spent longer than he needed to choosing a wine from the well-stocked Bellbrae cellar. He remembered the bottle of vintage champagne he’d selected when he’d got engaged to Susannah. How excited he’d felt, how ready he’d felt for the commitment he’d made. How he had imagined himself to be in love and Susannah in love with him. He had been Layla’s age—twenty-six. Susannah had been two years younger with a host of issues he had been completely oblivious to until it was too late.

Losing his father after a devastatingly brief battle with cancer had compelled him to settle down as soon as he could. With hindsight, he could see now how many signs he’d missed about the suitability of Susannah, even his own readiness for such a permanent commitment. He’d had no way of knowing how that night of celebrating his engagement would end less than a year later in Susannah’s death. How could he have been so ignorant of the demons she’d battled on a daily basis?

What did that say about him?

It said he wasn’t relationship material, that’s what it said. Or at least, not that sort of relationship. Promising to love someone no matter what, making a long-term commitment were things he could no longer do. Would never do.

But a paper marriage to save his beloved home was something he could do and do it willingly.

Logan selected a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge in the cellar next to the racks of vintage wine. His upcoming marriage to Layla might not be a real one in every sense of the word but it was surely worth celebrating their joint commitment to save Bellbrae.

Layla wheeled the serving trolley into the green dining room rather than risk carrying plates and dishes. Because of the muscle grafts performed to keep her leg functioning as best as it could, it was often weaker and more painful at the end of the day. And the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself by losing her balance again and needing Logan’s assistance. She was already feeling a little nervous about having dinner with him.

In the early days, Aunt Elsie had been very old-school about dining with the family upstairs and had always insisted Layla eat in the kitchen with her. But since the death of Logan’s grandmother the rules had been relaxed as Angus McLaughlin had appreciated the company at dinner to get him through the long lonely evenings.

But she had never dined alone with Logan.

The green dining room was one Layla’s favourite rooms in the castle. It had windows that overlooked the loch on the estate and the Highlands beyond. She left the curtains open as the moon had risen and was shining a bolt of shimmering silver across the crushed silk surface of the water.

Logan came back from the cellar just as Layla was straightening the settings on the table. He was carrying a bottle of French champagne in one hand and holding two crystal glasses by the stems in the other.

‘I seem to recall you like champagne. But if you’d prefer wine…’

‘No, I love champagne. It’s my favourite drink.’ She raised her brows when she saw the label. ‘Gosh, that’s a good one. But should we be wasting it on an everyday dinner?’

He placed the glasses on the table and began to remove the foil covering and wire from the cork. ‘This isn’t an everyday dinner. Tonight, we’re celebrating our success in saving Bellbrae. That’s worth ten thousand bottles of this drop.’

Layla watched as he deftly removed the cork and poured the champagne into the two crystal glasses. He handed her a glass and raised his own glass in a toast. ‘To saving Bellbrae.’

She sipped the champagne, savouring the honey and lavender notes as they burst on her tongue. ‘Mmm…lovely.’

Logan put his glass down and reached for something inside his trouser pocket. ‘I have something for you.’ He took out a vintage emerald-green velvet ring box and handed it to her.

Layla knew exactly what was inside the box. She’d helped Aunt Elsie pack away Logan’s grandmother’s things when Margaret McLaughlin had died from complications after routine surgery. The collection of beautiful heirloom jewellery had fascinated Layla so much she had secretly looked at it on many occasions when no one had been around. She knew the code to the safe where it was kept, and had even tried various pieces on, looking at herself in the mirror, pretending she was a princess about to be married to the handsome prince of her dreams.

Layla put her champagne glass down and prised open the lid of the box and stared at the gorgeous Art Deco setting with its array of glittering diamonds. ‘Oh, my… I’d forgotten how beautiful your grandmother’s ring is.’ She met his gaze. ‘But surely you don’t want me to wear it? I mean, given the circumstances of our…um…marriage?’

His expression was largely unreadable…all except for the way his eyes dipped to her mouth before going back to mesh with hers. ‘My grandmother would want you to have it. She was fond of you. Try it on. See if it fits. We can have it resized if not.’

Layla already knew how well it fitted but didn’t want to reveal her guilty secret. She took the ring out of the box, a part of her disappointed he wasn’t the one slipping it over her finger for her, just as a man deeply in love with his fiancée would do. But nothing about their engagement was normal, so how silly of her to wish for things she couldn’t have.

But as if Logan had suddenly read her mind, he held out his palm for the ring. ‘Here—let me do that. I believe it’s my job.’ There was a strange quality to his voice, a low deep chord of some unidentifiable emotion.

Layla placed the ring in the middle of his palm and held her breath as he took her hand in his. Her fingers were so white against the tan of his, her skin alive with sensations—tingly, fizzing sensations—that sent tiny zaps of electricity to the far reaches of her body.

He slid the ring over the knuckles of her ring finger and smiled when it met no resistance. ‘It’s like it was made for you.’

She was so captivated by his smile she forgot to look down at the ring on her finger. It had been years since she had seen him give a genuine smile. Not one of those half-baked twists of his mouth but a real smile that involved his eyes, making them crinkle attractively at the corners. He looked younger, less stressed, more approachable. The grief-damaged landscape of his face restored to one of hope instead of quiet despair. He was still holding her hand, his fingers warm and gentle as if he was holding a kitten.

The atmosphere changed as if there was a sudden rent in time. A stillness. A silence waiting with bated breath for something to happen…

Layla couldn’t tear her gaze away from his mouth, couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to feel his lips against her own. She moistened her own lips with a darting movement of her tongue, her heart giving an extra beat like a musician misreading a musical score. ‘I—I don’t know what to say…’

‘Don’t say anything.’ The pitch of his voice went down another notch and he slid his other hand under the curtain of her hair, his eyes locked on hers.

Every nerve tingled at his touch, every cell in her body throbbing with awareness. His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen them—bluer than the Bellbrae loch at midnight, bluer than a midnight winter sky. He was still holding her left hand, the heat from his hand seeping into her body with the potency of a powerful narcotic. She was aware of every part of his hand where it touched hers—the pads of his fingertips, the latent strength of his fingers, the protective warmth of his palm.

Layla forgot to breathe. She was transfixed by the slow descent of his mouth towards hers, spellbound by the clean fresh scent of his warm breath, mesmerised by the magnetic force drawing her inexorably closer, closer, closer to his lips. It was as if she had been waiting her entire life for this to happen. She hadn’t been truly alive until now. She had been a formless ghost wandering through life until this moment when she had morphed into a live and vibrant female body with urgent needs and desires. Her heart sped up, her pulse leapt, her anticipation for the touchdown of his lips so acute it was almost unbearable.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

It was a silent chant keeping time with the pounding beat of her heart.

But suddenly Logan dropped his hold and stepped back, opening and closing his fingers as if to rid himself of the taint of touching her. ‘Forgive me. That wasn’t meant to happen.’ His tone was brusque, his expression masked.

Layla was so overcome with disappointment she couldn’t find her voice. She couldn’t bear to look at his face in case she saw his disgust for her written on his features. The cruel taunts of her teenage boyfriend echoed out of the past in her head.

‘You’re ugly. You’re a cripple. Who would ever want you?’

She looked down at her left hand where the ring was mockingly glinting, her stomach plummeting in despair. Such a beautiful ring for a girl who couldn’t even attract a man enough for him to kiss her. What a mockery that ring was. A glittering, glaring, gut-wrenching reminder of everything Layla was not and never could be.

‘It’s okay,’ she said at last, forcing herself to meet his gaze. ‘I understand completely.’

He sucked in a deep breath, sending his hand through his hair so roughly it left deep crooked finger trails. ‘I don’t think you do.’

Layla turned and got down to the business of serving their meal onto the plates where she had left them on the sideboard, next to the serving trolley. She placed the plates on the dining table and glanced his way. ‘I think I do understand, Logan. This engagement is nothing like your last. You loved Susannah.’ She released a painful breath. ‘You still love her. That’s why getting engaged to me makes you feel so uncomfortable, because you feel you’re betraying her memory.’

A muscle in his jaw flickered as if he was grinding down on his molars. ‘I don’t wish to discuss Susannah with you or anyone.’ His eyes were like closed windows. Curtains drawn. Shutters down.

Layla sat down at the table and spread her napkin over her lap. ‘I realise you’re still grieving. I’m sorry things have worked out the way they have—for her and for you. It was the saddest thing, especially since you’ve had so many other tragic losses in your life. But I think your grandfather was right in encouraging you to move on with your life.’

‘Oh, so you quite like the way he went about it, do you?’ His tone was as caustic as flesh-eating acid.

Layla pressed her lips together, fighting to control her see-sawing emotions. One second she was furious with him, the next she felt sad he couldn’t let go of the past. ‘Please sit down and have dinner. I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you.’

Logan strode over to the table and pulled out the chair and sat down, his knees bumping hers under the table. She shifted back a bit, trying to ignore the rush of heat that shot through her legs and straight to her core. Why couldn’t she be immune to him? Why was she so acutely aware of him?

They began eating in a stiff silence, only the clanging discordant music of cutlery scraping against crockery puncturing the air.

Layla drank her glass of champagne and Logan refilled her glass as if he were a robotic waiter, but she noticed he didn’t drink from his. His untouched champagne glass stood in front of his place setting, releasing bubble after bubble in a series of tiny vertical towers.

She picked up her glass with her left hand and the diamonds on the ring winked at her under the chandelier light coming from overhead. Something was niggling at the back of her brain… Why hadn’t Logan given Susannah his grandmother’s ring? Layla remembered Susannah’s engagement ring as being ultra-modern and flashy. It was a look-at-me ring that was not to Layla’s taste at all. ‘Logan?’

He looked up from the mechanical task of relaying food from his plate to his mouth. ‘What?’ His curt tone wasn’t exactly encouraging, neither was the heavy frown between his eyes.

Layla toyed with the ring on her left hand. ‘Why didn’t you give your grandmother’s ring to Susannah when you became engaged?’

Something passed through his gaze with camera shutter speed. ‘She didn’t like vintage jewellery.’ He put his cutlery down and shifted his water glass an infinitesimal distance. ‘I didn’t take it personally. I was happy to buy her what she wanted.’ He picked up his cutlery again and stabbed a piece of parsnip as if it had personally offended him.

Layla waited until he had finished his mouthful before asking, ‘How are her parents and siblings coping? Do you hear from them or contact them yourself?’

A shadow moved across his face like clouds scudding across a troubled autumn sky. ‘I used to call them or drop in on them in the early days but not lately. It only upset them to be reminded.’ He put his cutlery down in the finished position on his plate and rested his arms on the table, his frown a roadmap of lines.

Layla reached for his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘I can only imagine how awful it must have been to have come home and found her…like that…’

He pulled his arm away and sat stiffly upright in his chair, his expression as blank as the white tablecloth. But after a long moment he relaxed his posture as if something tightly bound within him had loosened slightly. ‘When someone takes their own life it’s not like any other death.’ His gaze was haunted, his tone bleak. ‘The guilt, the what-ifs, the if-onlys, the what-could-I-have-done-to-prevent-this are unbearable.’ He expelled a heavy breath and continued, ‘I blame myself for not seeing the signs.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself but I understand how you and most people do,’ Layla said. ‘But I read somewhere that sixteen percent of suicides are completely unheralded. It’s a snap in the moment decision borne out of some hidden anguish.’

Logan picked up his champagne and drained it in a couple of swallows, placing the glass back down with a savage little thump. ‘There were signs but I ignored them.’ He waited a beat or two before continuing in a ragged voice. ‘She had an eating disorder. Bulimia. I don’t know how I missed it.’ His mouth twisted in a grimace and his tone became tortured with self-loathing. ‘How can you live with someone for months and not know that about her?’

Layla reached for his hand but this time he didn’t pull away. ‘Shame makes people hide lots of stuff. Bulimia is mostly a secret disease and much harder to pick up on than anorexia, where the physical effect is so obvious.’

Logan looked down at their joined hands and turned his over to anchor hers to the table. He began to absently stroke the back of her hand with his thumb, the caress only light, lazy almost, but no less magical. Nerves she hadn’t known she possessed reacted as if touched by a live electrode, zinging, singing, tingling.

He lifted his gaze to hers and something toppled over in her stomach. His thumb stilled on the back of her hand but he didn’t release her. His gaze moved over her face as if he were memorising her features one by one. When he got to her mouth she couldn’t stop herself from sweeping the tip of her tongue across her lips—it was an impulse she had zero control over.

Logan gave her hand another quick squeeze in time with the on-off movement of his lips, in a blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile. A smile that didn’t reach high enough to take the shadows out of his eyes. But then he let go of her hand and sat back in his chair and picked up his water glass and drained it, placing it back down with a definitive thud.

‘Finish your dinner. We have a busy day tomorrow meeting with the lawyer to organise the legal paperwork. Rather than drive, I’ve taken the liberty of organising a flight from Inverness to Edinburgh.’ His business-like tone and abrupt change of subject was disquieting and left her with far too many questions unanswered.

‘Okay…’ Layla wanted to know more about his relationship with Susannah. She had idolised them as a couple, seeing them as a match made in heaven. Feeling jealous of the love they’d shared, hoping one day someone would love her in the same way. But finding out their relationship might not have been as open and wonderful as she had imagined made her understand why Logan was so reluctant to commit to anyone else.

But Layla had personal experience of the tricky question of how well could you know anyone, even someone you had lived with for years. Didn’t her childhood circumstances prove that? Her father had always been a difficult man; prone to angry outbursts, regular violence—especially when on drugs or drunk, but who would have thought he was capable of the crime he’d eventually committed—driving into a tree at full speed to kill the family he’d purported to love?

‘The legal stuff…’ She chewed her lip for a moment, desperate to get her mind off the accident that had killed her mother and changed her own life for ever. ‘You mean a pre-nup, right?’

‘Pre-nups are commonplace these days. Please don’t be offended by my desire for one. You have your own assets to consider—your cleaning business, for example.’

Layla gave a self-deprecating snort and picked up her champagne glass. ‘Yeah, right. My assets hardly compare to yours. You have offices all over the UK and Europe. My office is basically on my phone. I decided to give up my Edinburgh office after your grandfather died to come back and help Aunt Elsie. It seemed easier to work from here until everything is settled with the estate.’

‘I’m sorry you’ve been so inconvenienced,’ he said, looking at her with a concerned frown. ‘I had no idea you’d given up your office.’

She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I was glad to come home. Flossie was missing your grandfather and Aunt Elsie was finding it hard to do everything on her own.’

‘Your business is doing well, though, isn’t it? You’re running at a decent profit?’

Layla was not going to admit to him or to anyone how close to the wind she sailed at times with her business. Failure was not an option. A nightmare that haunted her, yes, but not an option. Failure would prove she was nothing but a product of her chaotic childhood—a child of addicts. Her parents had had no ambition beyond the goal of sourcing enough alcohol and drugs for their next binge.

Owning her own cleaning business gave Layla power and control, and God alone knew how little of that she’d had in her childhood. ‘I do okay.’ She put her glass back down again.

‘How okay?’ His gaze was as direct as a laser pointer.

Layla shifted in her seat and lowered her eyes to the remains of her meal on her plate. ‘It’s not always easy to get reliable workers. It takes time to build up trust, to know they’re always going to do the right thing by me and the people I get them to clean for.’ She met his gaze and continued. ‘They’re cleaning people’s homes where valuables and personal effects are not always under lock and key, and often the clients are not at home when my staff are there.’

A frown brought his ink-black eyebrows together. ‘Don’t you do background checks on them first?’

‘Some of the young people I employ wouldn’t pass a background check,’ Layla said. ‘They need someone to give them a break for once. To not always be expecting them to slip up or fail. I believe in showing trust first and teaching them some skills, hoping it triggers the desire in them to make better choices.’ The sort of choices she wished her parents had made.

‘Admirable of you, but you’re setting yourself up for guaranteed disappointment.’ His tone matched his cynical expression.

Layla hoisted her chin a fraction. ‘My vision for my business is not just about making a big profit. It’s about making a difference in people’s lives. Lives that others have judged and found wanting. But I know how powerful it can be when someone believes in you. Someone who sees something in you that no one else does. It’s…it’s transformative.’

His eyes moved over her face like a searchlight for a long moment and she had to fight not to shift her gaze.

‘Is that because of what happened in your childhood?’ His tone had lost its cynical edge. ‘My grandparents giving permission for you to come and live here with your great-aunt?’

‘It’s getting late.’ Layla pushed back her chair and rose from the table and began to gather the plates. Next he’d be asking her to spill all about her miserable childhood and that she was determined not to do. Thankfully, privacy laws had prevented the McLaughlins from hearing too many of the gory details about her early years—details Layla dearly wished she could forget. ‘I think I can hear Flossie asking to be let out.’

Logan placed a hand over her forearm as she reached for his plate. ‘I don’t want you to wait on me, Layla. I want you to talk to me. There’s a lot we don’t know about each other, and we need to know it if we’re going to make our relationship appear genuine.’

She glanced at his hand on her arm and gave him a pointed look. ‘Do you mind?’

He released her hand, his tone and expression softening. ‘I don’t know all the details but I know your background was difficult. It must have been, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up living here. I think it’s great how you’ve taken charge and started your own business. But don’t be too proud to ask for help if you need it.’ He rose to his feet and pushed in his chair, adding, ‘There’s one other thing I think I should tell you. We’ll have to get married abroad and soon. According to Scottish law, there’s a twenty-eight-day waiting period before we can get a marriage licence, and I don’t want to lose any more valuable time.’

‘Married abroad?’ Layla opened and closed her mouth. ‘Please tell me you’re not thinking Vegas and an Elvis impersonator?’

He gave a crooked smile that made something in her chest ping like a latch springing open. ‘No. But if you’re not keen on an impersonal register office, how about a small and simple ceremony on a beach in Hawaii?’

Hawaii. The land of bikinis and beaches and beautiful bodies.

Oh, joy.

CHAPTER FOUR

A COUPLE OF days after the legal work was completed in Edinburgh, Layla flew business class with Logan to the island of Maui in Hawaii. The luxury villa he’d organised for their short stay was situated at Kapalua Bay beach, a gorgeous crescent of blindingly white sand and turquoise water and palm trees. Layla felt as if she was living in a dream sequence—swept away to an exotic location by a handsome billionaire who was intent on marrying her as quickly as he could.

But not for the romantic reasons her girlhood dreams had envisaged.

The speed and efficiency with which Logan set about achieving a goal was nothing less than breathtaking. Layla barely had time to get her head around the idea of a beach wedding, let alone buy the appropriate attire for it, when she found herself standing on the balcony of the beautiful villa overlooking the ocean with just minutes to spare before the ceremony.

Her wedding day.

It was strange to think that this time last week she had been a single woman with a simple goal of keeping her business on track. Now she was about to be married to a man she had known for most of her life who didn’t love her the way a husband should love his bride.

But Logan did love his family’s home and so did she, so it would have to be a good enough reason to marry. The only reason to marry, because the last thing she needed was to get silly ideas in her head about their relationship lasting beyond the year, as set down in the document his lawyer had drawn up.

One year and one year only.

The money Logan had transferred to her account on signing the document would guarantee Layla’s business success. It was exactly the windfall she needed to expand her business from a scribbled sticky-note vision into a profit-making reality.

Logan came out to the balcony where she was standing looking at the view. She turned to face him with an attempt at a smile. Their wedding ceremony was minutes away but if he was uncomfortable or uneasy about what they were about to do, he wasn’t showing it on his face. They might as well have been heading down the beach for an afternoon stroll.

He pushed back his shirt sleeve to glance at the silver watch on his strong tanned wrist. ‘The celebrant will be here in ten minutes.’

‘Okay…’ Layla took a deep breath and smoothed her hand down over her churning stomach. ‘Isn’t it meant to be bad luck for you to see me in my dress before the ceremony?’

His eyes ran over the Bohemian-style white dress she had bought in a boutique in Edinburgh. It was enough like a wedding dress for her to feel like a bride, even if she wasn’t a real one, and long enough to cover the scars on her leg. And—even more important—she could wear flat sandals or bare feet rather than struggle with heels.

‘I can safely say I’ve already had more than my fair share of bad luck. You too, I imagine.’ His tone was wry. ‘You look beautiful, by the way.’ His gaze held hers in a lock that did strange things to her insides. Tingling things, thrilling things. Forbidden things.

Layla was the first to look away, worried he would see things she didn’t want him to see. Things she didn’t even want to admit to herself. ‘I don’t have a bouquet or anything. I hope that’s not bad luck too.’

He walked over to a box that was sitting on the coffee table in the large open-plan room off the balcony. She hadn’t noticed it earlier as she’d been preoccupied with getting ready so soon after their arrival. Or it had been delivered while she was in the shower. He took the lid off and the sweet tropical scent of frangipanis filled the air. He took out a simple but beautiful bouquet and handed it to her.

‘I hope this will do?’

‘It’s perfect.’ Layla took the bouquet from him and bent her face to the creamy blooms with their egg-yolk-yellow hearts, the glorious fragrance drugging her senses. Not to mention Logan’s intoxicating closeness doing exactly the same thing. He was dressed in an open-necked white shirt and mid-blue jacket and trousers that brought out the intense blue in his eyes and the deep olive tan of his skin. She could smell his aftershave—could even pick up the clean fruity smell of his shampoo from his recent shower. His jaw was freshly shaven and her fingers itched to touch his face to trace where the razor had glided over his tanned skin. She was aware of every inch of his body standing within touching distance of hers. Aware of every breath he took, every flare of his nostrils, 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 turned her head to look at him, still cradling her champagne, her expression bland. ‘So, here we are, then.’

Logan fought to keep a frown off his face and tried a crooked smile instead but wasn’t sure it was too convincing. ‘Yes…’ He picked up the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket and brought it over to where she was sitting to refill her glass. ‘More?’

She placed her hand over the top of the glass. ‘Better not. I might start saying things I wouldn’t normally say.’ She gave a twisted smile and added, ‘In vino veritas and all that.’

‘In the wine lies the truth.’ Logan grunted in agreement, topping up his own glass, and then put the champagne bottle back in the ice bucket with a rattle against the ice cubes and continued, ‘Drunk words, sober thoughts.’ He wondered what she would say if he told her what he was thinking. What he’d been thinking ever since he’d kissed her. No, even before that—when he’d encountered her in the north tower at Bellbrae. Something had happened, something had changed between them and he wasn’t sure how to change it back.

There was a beat or two of silence.

Logan turned back to look at her. ‘Feel free to speak your mind with me, Layla. I don’t expect you to have to drink to excess in order to do it.’

She leaned forward to put her glass on the coffee table, her eyes slipping out of reach of his. She sat back and smoothed a crease out of her dress before returning her gaze to his with disquieting intensity. ‘Why did you kiss me like that at the ceremony?’

Logan took a sip of his champagne before responding. Not because he needed alcohol but because he didn’t know how to answer without betraying himself. He wanted to kiss her again. Now. And not just kiss her but explore her beautiful body with the same thoroughness. He wanted to run his hands through the silk cloud of her hair. He wanted to kiss the soft creamy skin at the base of her throat, to trail his tongue along the contours of her collarbones, to breathe in the flowery scent of her until he was drunk with it.

‘It seemed the right thing to do at the time.’ Logan’s tone held no trace of the battle going on inside him. ‘Malaki and Ken, and indeed the celebrant, would have thought it strange if we hadn’t kissed.’

A tiny frown wrinkled her brow. ‘True. But you kissed me as if you didn’t want to stop.’ Her teeth snagged her bottom lip and she added, ‘Was that…just acting?’ Her voice had a note of uncertainty that was strangely touching.

Logan put his champagne glass down and released a long breath. ‘No. It wasn’t just acting.’ He closed his eyes in a slow blink and dragged a hand down his face. ‘It was a moment of foolishness that won’t be repeated.’

Must not be repeated. Must not. Must not. Must not. He drummed it into his head but his body was offline. Off-script.

There was a silence broken only by the sound of waves pulsing against the shore.

Layla rose from the sofa and wandered over to look out of the open balcony doors to the beach below. Her arms were around her mid-section, her posture stiff and guarded as if she was shielding herself from an expected insult. ‘So, you didn’t enjoy it, then?’ Her voice still echoed with self-doubt.

Logan told himself to stay where he was—to keep his distance. To not tempt himself beyond his endurance by crossing the floor to her. But step by step he went, programmed by a force he had no way of countering. He placed his hands on the tops of her shoulders, turning her to face him. Her grey-green gaze assiduously avoided his so he tipped up her chin with one of his fingers so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. ‘I enjoyed it way too much and therein lies our problem.’

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, making them even more unbearably tempting. ‘Why is that a problem?’ Her voice was as low and husky as a whispered secret and it sent shivers racing down his spine.

Logan stroked his thumb across her cheek, marvelling at the creamy softness of her skin. ‘You know why.’ His tone was so low and rough it sounded like he’d been filing his tonsils with a blacksmith’s rasp.

‘Because of our paper marriage?’ Her eyes reminded him of cloudy sea glass.

He couldn’t seem to stop his thumb from stroking her cheek, couldn’t stop his gaze from drinking in every nuance of her features. Couldn’t stop the thrum of lust that assailed his body like an invisible invader. Marching through every inch of his flesh, aching, wanting, needing. ‘We have to be sensible about this, Layla.’

I have to be sensible. I have to be in control.

She reached up with her hand and stroked his jaw from his cheekbone to his chin, her eyes luminous. ‘I think I must have already had too much champagne because right now I want you to kiss me again. I want to know if the first time was a fluke or…or something else.’

It was the ‘something else’ that most worried Logan. He fought every aroused cell in his body but it was a battle he was worried he might not win, or at least not in the long run. One year of this level of temptation and he would be a certifiable mess. How much temptation could a man endure? Especially for a man who had actively avoided contact as intimate as this.

Kissing a hook-up date was one thing, kissing someone he had known for years and was currently married to was another. Their paper marriage would be incinerated, obliterated if he gave in to the temptation to kiss her again. One taste of her mouth had already unleashed something feral inside him, something he wasn’t sure he could control for too much longer.

Calling on every bit of willpower he possessed, Logan dropped his hand from her face and took a step back. ‘I’m sorry, Layla, but this can’t happen. I made the rules for a reason.’

Her gaze reminded him of the still surface of a lake. Calm. Controlled. But there was a faint ripple of disappointment around the edges. ‘Okey-dokey.’ Her words and tone were flippant given the topic under discussion. So too her overly bright, breezy smile. ‘We’ll leave it at that, then.’ She moved across the room to where the champagne bottle was and topped up her glass. She turned and held her glass up in a toast, her expression faintly mocking. ‘Long live the rules.’

Logan ground his teeth so hard he mentally apologised to his dentist. ‘Listen—I’m not doing this to insult you. It’s not personal.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Her eyes were glittering as brightly as the diamonds on her left hand next to her wedding ring. Not glittering with tears but with anger.

He let out a slowly controlled breath, anchoring his hands on his hips like he was about to deliver an important lecture. Which he was, but he suspected he was the one who needed to hear it most. ‘Think about it. If we were to have a normal relationship, it would be much more complicated to end it when the year was up. This way we can get an annulment and leave it at that. No harm done.’ He dropped his hands from his hips. ‘I’m not saying it will be an easy year. But we’re both mature adults, and I want us to remain friends at the end of it.’

She rolled her lips together, her arms crossed, with her champagne glass tilted at a threatening-to-spill angle. ‘What have you told your brother about us? Does he know it’s just a paper marriage?’

Logan folded back the cuffs of his shirt for something to do with his hands. ‘I haven’t spoken to him yet. He hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts or emails.’ Which, unfortunately, wasn’t unusual when Robbie was on one of his gambling sprees.

‘But what will you tell him?’

It was a question Logan had been asking himself for the last few days. He hadn’t been able to contact his younger brother to talk about anything, much less his sudden marriage to Layla Campbell, the housekeeper’s great-niece. ‘He will have seen the will by now but I’m hoping he’ll accept our marriage as the real deal. It’s not as if you and I are complete strangers and he knows my grandfather always had a soft spot for you.’

‘It might be tricky convincing Robbie we’re a genuine couple when he comes home to Bellbrae sometime. You know what he’s like—he often arrives unannounced. If we’re sleeping on opposite sides of the castle it will look kind of odd.’

Logan could see her point. His brother might be immature and reckless but he wasn’t a total fool. It wouldn’t take Robbie long to pick up on any irregularities in Logan’s relationship with Layla, and their living arrangements in particular. ‘We could move into the west tower. The large suite that has the connecting bedrooms.’ He would be far closer to her than he’d intended—sleeping with just a door between them.

A door he would keep locked—literally and mentally.

‘Fine,’ Layla said, draining her glass. ‘But can I make a request?’

‘Sure.’

She put her glass down and faced him squarely. ‘When we’re pretending to be happily married to Robbie and anyone else, will you use terms of endearment or just call me Layla?’

‘What would you prefer?’

‘You can call me anything but babe.’ She gave a faint shudder as if even saying the word upset her.

‘Why not babe?’

A hard light came into her eyes and her expression set like fast-acting glue. ‘Someone I used to know used it a lot. I’ve loathed it ever since.’

Before Logan could ask her to elaborate, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving him with just the lingering fragrance of her perfume.

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