Fyre & Revenge (15 page)

How he knew
what type of woman he preferred he had no clue. But it was another
piece of information he filed away, working to fill the void where
his memories should be. His eyes on the trees swaying in the breeze
outside, he probed the feelings which came to mind when he thought
about his wife.

Frustration and
exasperation were the main ones, mixed with a healthy dose of
desire and heat, which made sense if they were married. That
description matched most of the married men he knew. Even J… Logan
frowned as the hazy image of a face came to mind, the name almost
forming on the tip of his tongue. But it was gone as soon as it
arrived, and the more Logan tried to hold onto it, the more it
slipped away from him.

“Dammit!” His
curse was soft but heartfelt. If only he could remember
one
thing for definite, then he could chip away at the
rest. Break down the problem and build the solution. He waited for
the ache to subside again and turned towards the door, trying to
see past it into the corridor outside. Hoping to catch a glimpse of
his wife.

Wife. He
shrugged to himself. That felt odd. Despite his memory loss, he
still had a strong sense of who he was. A man in control, used to
dealing with people, probably in a managerial position. No doubt he
had a fast car, which may or may not have landed him in here. He
wouldn’t have seen himself as marriage material though. He snorted
in amusement. “Probably find out I’m some second rate office runner
with grand ideas, or a bus driver or something.”

Still, he was
glad someone cared enough to wait for him to wake up, to be around
when he did. He shuddered; at least he wasn’t one of those
heartless bastards he saw in films. The ones who had died and no
one found out for days.

* * *

Rae fled the
room on shaky legs, needing to escape Logan’s disturbing presence
for a while. She’d had no trouble while he’d been asleep. No
trouble at all convincing herself there was anything wrong with
what she was doing. She considered it an act of kindness even. But
what had seemed noble as she sat next to an unconscious Logan
seemed very different, much more dangerous, when he was wide awake
and those blue eyes were intent on her. Analysing her. She shivered
at the thought, walking past the tea trolley and toward the
exit.

One thing was
for sure, she couldn’t stay in here a moment longer. The long
corridors of the ward were crowding in on her. Recognising the
onset of a panic attack, Rae turned to head outside. She needed
air, open spaces. She hated enclosed spaces and still had a touch
of claustrophobia left over from trapping herself in a linen
cupboard as a child.

Walking through
the main doors, she emerged into the weak sunlight of a late autumn
morning. She filled her lungs, relishing the nip in the air which
warned of colder weather on its way. The winter months were her
favourite time of year.

Shivering a
little she stood to one side of the door, rubbing her arms in a
brisk motion. Why the hell hadn’t she thought to pick Logan’s coat
up? Although she liked the cold weather, the crisp air and the
frost on the windows, she didn’t fancy catching a cold and ending
up in the bed next to Logan.

Reminded what
she came out here for, she squashed some entirely inappropriate
thoughts about joining Logan in any bed, never mind a hospital one.
Swinging her bag around, she rooted in it for Logan’s phone. The
sleek silver case was easy to find even in the chaos at the bottom
of her bag. There was no way she could mistake it for hers, not
unless it had morphed into a dependable and easy to use brick. Rae
didn’t do phones. It had taken her long enough to work hers out so
she didn’t plan on changing it any time soon. Perhaps the next
decade or something…

His phone in
her hand, she slid it open, a frown on her face as she worked
through the unfamiliar controls. She’d spent at least an hour last
night trying to find his text messages and address book. Eventually
she’d given up. She punched in the numbers for the landline on his
card, the phone automatically converting the display to read
‘London Office.’

Rae frowned.
London Office? She’d have expected ‘work’ or ‘office,’ but not a
location as well. That indicated he had more than one office to
pick from. She nibbled her lip; perhaps this company, Jensen and
Fyre, were a little bigger than she’d thought. Perhaps a national
rather than the up and coming upstarts taking advantage of the
property price slump she’d taken them to be. Perhaps she should
have checked them out more…

…
Wish to
keep the original estate together…
Offer considerable
remuneration
…
In today’s market a better offer is
unlikely…
She’d read the first few lines of each, her lip
curling as it became obvious what they wanted. Her house. So she’d
stuck the letters behind the clock on the mantelpiece and forgotten
about them.

Her thumb
hovered over the call button. She might have ignored the letters,
but Jensen and Fyre obviously hadn’t. But they were clever; the
next contact had been from her bank manager, Charles Bennett,
asking about her finances and concerned about the state of her
overdraft. Unfortunately for Mr. Bloody Fyre, Rae was more astute
than Charles Bennett. She’d recognised the logo on the paperwork on
Charles’s desk, using the few minutes he’d nipped out of the office
to scan the letter. Which had been when she realised Logan’s
company had bought out Bennett and Bennett.

Her face
hardened as she glanced down at the phone again, an idea forming in
the back of her mind. A risky, underhanded idea. But all was fair
in love and war, wasn’t it? And Logan couldn’t claim his dealings
had all been above board, now could he?

Sliding the
phone shut with a decisive click, she slipped it into her bag. So
far Logan had accepted the presence, her presence, as his ‘wife’
easily. Who said she shouldn’t carry on the deception a little, try
to get to know him? Try to get under his skin. Who knew, she might
even strike it lucky and get him to sign an agreement to say her
property was safe from this bank buyout thing. A small smile on her
face, Rae turned to go back in and join her ‘husband.’

* * *

“How are you
feeling?” Rae’s calm voice broke through Logan’s reverie, breaking
him out of his contemplation of the scenery as they passed. Gentle
English countryside garbed in the colours of autumn, a peaceful
scene which belonged on the front of a chocolate box or greetings
card. Logan shivered, glad of the glass between him and it. He was
rapidly discovering he was not a country-type person.

“I’m okay,
good. Thank you.” He turned and smiled, allowing his eyes to drift
over her again. She’d filled him in on at least the important
details when she’d returned this morning with the tea. Weak as
dishwater, it had revealed another fact about him, about both of
them actually. They were both coffee drinkers, the stronger the
better.

He leaned his
head back against the seat, fighting the urge to close his eyes. He
didn’t want to sleep yet, a bizarre fear plaguing him that next
time he’d wake up alone. Something deep inside told him that having
someone—having Rae—there when he woke up had been miracle enough.
He might not be so lucky the next time.

Rae. Raelyn. An
odd name, one which sparked a sense of familiarity with him. He
shifted, watching her movements idly. He was glad it had been
familiar; it was embarrassing enough asking your wife what her name
was in the first place. Lucky for him, he’d been spared that. When
the doctor had left after checking him over, he’d snagged the chart
off the table and pretended to read it as he scanned for ‘next of
kin.’

He smiled a
little. Hadn’t fooled her for a moment though; she’d fixed him with
those dark eyes, eyes like the colour of warm caramel, and asked if
he’d remembered. An odd expression had passed over her face,
somewhere between hope and worry, maybe even pain. He’d relented,
not wanting to offer false hope, telling her he’d read her name on
the chart. She’d been through as much, if not more, than he had. At
least he’d been out of it for the most part; she’d been sitting
awake, probably worried out of her mind.

“You nibble
your lip when you’re concentrating.” He was learning more and more
about her the more time they spent together. Like a sponge soaking
up information.

She shot him a
startled glance, their eyes colliding for a second before she
returned her attention to the road ahead. “I do?”

“Yeah, you get
this cute little pout, and then you pull the bottom one in, sort of
twisting your lips a little. It’s sexy.” His voice was low in the
confines of the car, a soft drawl just audible over the engine.

Another thing
he’d noticed was he had little to no accent, unless it was a
cosmopolitan one, indicating he spend a fair amount of time abroad.
Time abroad was to be expected though, if he was a property
developer. Maybe he had sites on the continent or even further
afield. He hoped he didn’t spend too much time away though, or some
other guy would be after Rae like a shot.

Perhaps already
had, he realised with a sinking feeling as her face set at his
teasing comment. He’d noticed that a couple of times earlier
too—the slight reserve, as though she remembered not to trust him
and pulled her shields around herself.

Logan didn’t
know what bothered him more, the fact that she was doing it or the
fact that he’d seen it often enough to recognise it. What sort of
bastard was he if his wife didn’t trust him?

“Err, okay,
touchy subject, moving on quickly.” He cast about for something
else to say. He didn’t get the time to find a suitable subject as
she started to slow, indicating to turn off the road. Logan looked
out of the window with interest as she pulled up in the space in
front of a quaint little building.
Gatehouse Aromatherapy
,
the sign on the front proclaimed. Gatehouse, he remembered the
name, something stirring in his memory. Must have been from when
they bought it. He could see why; it was an odd little house, small
but beautiful all the same.

“We both live
here?” he asked as she put the hand brake on and turned the engine
off, twisting in her seat to reach behind his for her handbag.

“Err, no. Just
me.”

“Ahh, I was
afraid of that. Rae… things between us aren’t good, are they?”

Rae closed her
eyes as she rooted behind the seat. She’d been dreading him asking.
There was no way she could play all happy, loved up couples with
him so she’d prepared a cover story, going over it in her mind
until she had it perfect. She’d deliberately kept the details
simple so she wouldn’t be caught out, even under cross examination.
She almost laughed at her own thoughts; anyone would think she was
a spy or something.

She emerged,
bag in hand.

“No, they
aren’t. We’re separated, have been for a while now.” There, it was
out. Her get-out clause to explain why she flinched when he touched
her, why she went still when he made a flirtatious comment.

“Oh.” His face
fell, his expression wary and worried. Guilt writhed in Rae’s chest
like a knot of snakes. He looked like a man who’d had the stuffing
kicked out of him. Surely her being married to him, them being
together, hadn’t meant
that
much to him?

No, it
couldn’t. Logan Fyre wasn’t a man who needed any sort of
connection. The lack of personal numbers or texts in his phone or
pictures in his wallet said as much. He was a man who didn’t need
anyone. Period. The sort of corporate rat who had sold his soul to
the devil long ago.

“Well, I don’t
remember why, or what I did to cause everything to fall apart so
badly. But I’m here, and perhaps we can try again…” His soft words,
taking the blame, caught Rae by surprise. She froze, like a rabbit
caught in a car’s headlights, as he lifted a hand to smooth his
fingers across her cheek. She still didn’t move as they slid into
her hair, his lips descending towards hers. He was going to kiss
her again.

She shouldn’t
let him. It might spark memories of their kiss in her corridor. It
might start to unravel this whole thing before she was ready. But
she couldn’t move. Just watched him move closer to her, allowed him
to tilt her face up to his. Then he claimed her lips in the
sweetest, gentlest kiss she could imagine.

She was nervous
around him. Sitting at the small table in the equally tiny kitchen,
Logan could’ve kicked himself. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He
hadn’t been able to help himself though. All day he’d been looking
at her, at her lips and wondering what it would be like. And in the
car, he’d needed to taste her lips more than he’d needed his next
breath.

The kiss had
been sweet, like lemon meringue pie. Sugary sweet on top with the
lemon bite of lust underneath. He hadn’t been prepared for the
sudden wave of heat that assaulted him as her lips had parted under
his, letting him gather her closer and deepen the kiss. With effort
he’d managed to keep it light, enough to tantalise and leave her
wanting more.

That last
thought had been playing on his mind since. The thought of a jaded
Casanova; it wasn’t sitting at all well with him. What sort of
person thought that way? As though kissing the wife who’d left him
was just another move in some sort of relationship chess game? Not
the sort of person he wanted to be; no wonder Rae had told him to
get lost.

“That was
delicious, thank you.” He stood, gathering his now empty plate to
join her at the sink. The compliment was genuine. He’d never
enjoyed a meal so much. “You’re a good cook.”

“Thank you.
Lived on my own for years, you get used to cooking for yourself.”
She held out her hand for his plate, plunging it into the suds to
wash.