Fyre & Revenge Read online

  Logan’s reply surprised Rae. Usually guys like him would die rather than admit a weakness. The nurse—Judy, her name tag proclaimed—smiled as she plumped his pillows energetically. “Not far from the truth from what I hear. Still, you had a very lucky escape, I’m pleased to say.” She diverted her attention to Rae. “The tea trolley just arrived on the ward, Mrs. Fyre. I’d hurry and grab something if you want. Hot water doesn’t last long in this place.”

  * * *

  “Married, whoa! You didn’t tell me we were married!” Logan’s eyes turned to her in surprise.

  I didn’t tell you because it’s not true, she wanted to wail, finding herself pulled deeper and deeper into the deception. Instead she shrugged and managed a small smile, trying not to fidget as Logan looked her over with incredulous eyes, as though she were some new species unknown to mankind.

  “Bloody hell!” He breathed after long seconds. “How the hell did an ugly bastard like me manage to get with someone like you?”

  What could she say to that? Nothing. Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, Rae stood and smoothed her hair down. “I’ll get us some tea. Nothing better than a good cup of tea,” she said over her shoulder as she grabbed her bag from the chair and made her escape.

  * * *

  Married. Well wasn’t that a turn up for the books?

  Logan lay back against his pillows, now fluffy and comfortable after the nurse had gone. No doubt off to wake some other poor soul and abuse their pillows as well. Married. Well, that was one thing he hadn’t seen coming. Actually he hadn’t seen anything coming. That was the thing. He couldn’t remember anything past his name.

  Logan Fyre.

  It was a good name. Sounded strong, respectable. He approved, which was a damn good thing since he was saddled with it. He probed the edges of the blank spot in his mind. Most people would panic, waking up in a hospital with no memory. Not Logan. Instead he approached the problem like a puzzle, trying to slot the pieces into place.

  “Analytical,” he said aloud. Yes, that felt right. Whatever sort of person he was, problem solving played a large part in it. Even contemplating his own memory loss as a puzzle to be solved was exciting as a concept.

  “Yes, definitely analytical. Competitively so?” He tried the thought on for size, deciding that yes, he definitely had a competitive edge. But as what? What did he do? Analytical and competitive was an odd combination. Usually one cancelled the other out.

  “Astronaut?” He chuckled, remembering a childhood ambition. Odd he should remember things from being a child and not the woman who had just been here. The wife who had spent the night at his bedside, worrying over him. Leaving the puzzle of who he was and what he did for a living for a moment, he allowed his mind to settle on her.

  She was pretty. No, scratch pretty, the right word was gorgeous. He hadn’t been joking when he’d asked how the hell someone like him had managed to get together with someone like her. Sure, she wasn’t the supermodel kind, but false tits and plastic Barbie doll features had never been his cup of tea.

  He preferred real women. The ones who had curves in the right places. And from what he could see of ‘Mrs. Fyre’ she definitely had curves in all the right places.

  He shook his head, then winced as the ache started up again. Okay, he needed to remember not to move until he found a doctor and got hold of some medication. The feeling his head was falling off his shoulders was not a pleasant one. Logan eased himself back against the pillows, the bed in a half raised position now, and glanced out the window.

  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 line
s 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.

  Chapter Four

  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 thoug
ht 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.

  “On your own for years?” A frown of confusion creased Logan’s brow. “We weren’t married for long?”

  She paused, just a fraction of a second but long enough for him to notice. But just as quickly she shrugged. “Not long enough to get out of the habit. Besides, you were always away.”

  He grabbed a towel and started drying. “I thought I might have been.” He tsked in annoyance at himself—at his past self. “I was an idiot, a total idiot. I’m sorry.”

  She slid him a sideways glance, her beautiful dark eyes still guarded, but perhaps with a little bit of hope in them. Logan hoped so; he’d give anything to see those eyes unguarded. Looking at him with hope and affection, the look of a woman in love. A woman in love with him. He had a feeling that hadn’t happened often in his life, and he would be an idiot to let this chance go. And he was going to make sure it didn’t slip away.

  He put the last pot on the side, dropped the towel next to it and turned to her. Watching as she soaped down the side with a soapy sponge, cleaning up after them with the practical efficiency he’d noted before. A smile curved his lips. She’d make a good mother. He bit back a groan as the thought of her, belly swollen with his child and glowing, filled his mind. The image took his breath away as he realised he wanted that, more than anything.