His Lost-and-Found Bride

Of the effects he had on hers.

It had been so long. She’d forgotten what passion like this felt like. Something had been ignited inside her. A tiny flame that had been dimmed for so long. Now the fire was burning so brightly she couldn’t imagine putting it out again.

Logan’s eyes fixed on hers. They were steady but had never seemed so determined—so heated.

He clasped one hand in his. ‘Let’s go.’ He didn’t wait for a response. He walked away briskly, pulling her behind him as he parted the crowd around them.

His long strides covered the expanse of Piazza San Marco easily, and she was running in her stilettos to keep up.

She was surprised to see the sleek, black gondola still waiting. He didn’t wait for the chatting gondolier to pay attention, just turned and lifted her straight onto the swaying gondola, shouting an instruction to the gondolier.

With one tug the canopy was closed, leaving them in a pool of darkness, with only a few of Venice’s lights flickering behind them.

A seed of doubt flashed through her brain. All the rational thoughts that she’d completely ignored for the last few hours started to take seed and let their roots unfurl. She couldn’t stop the rapid thud-thud of her heart. Every inch of her skin was on fire, the tiny hairs on her arms standing on end.

Her eyes started to adjust to the dim light. Logan hadn’t moved. It could only have been a few seconds, but it felt like so much longer. It felt as if his brain must be crowding with the same doubts that she was feeling. Her stomach clenched. Everything suddenly felt like a huge mistake.

Logan shifted his body towards hers, reaching up his hand towards her face. He ran one finger across her forehead. Her eyes automatically closed and the finger traced down over her eyelids, cheeks, across her lips then under her chin and to the tender skin of her décolletage.

He leaned closer, the heat from his body spreading towards hers.

And then he murmured those words again.

‘It’s you Lucia, it’s always been you.’

Before, she’d been shocked. They’d been in the middle of Piazza San Marco with a crowd of onlookers. Here, it was entirely private. All she could hear was the movement of the gondola slipping through the waters of Venice.

She squeezed her eyes closed again for a few seconds. Her hand reached up towards him. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t be this close to Logan and not touch him. It was all she could think about.

She felt him suck in a breath as she ran the palm of her hand along his now-stubbled jaw.

If she could suspend the past—suspend the memories—then everything about Logan was perfect.

Now, as he said the words it was just the two of them. Her heart wanted to melt. Her lips wanted to respond. She wanted to say it had only ever been him. She wanted to tell him that she’d never felt the same about anyone else—she couldn’t feel the same about anyone else.

Without Logan she wasn’t living. She was only existing.

She didn’t want to just exist any more.

This time when he bent to kiss her she matched him move for move. She ran her hands through his dark hair and pulled him closer to her, pressing her breasts against his chest.

Logan knew how to kiss. He really knew how to kiss. There was a zing as their lips met. Teeth grazed her lips. Then his lips were firmly on hers. Tasting her, caressing her. Full sweet lips on hers, filling her with so much promise, so much expectation.

The zings didn’t stop at her lips but carried on right around her body, like an army on rapid attack. She couldn’t help her responses. She couldn’t help but push harder against his body, her hands exploring his back and shoulders.

The kiss intensified with every passing second, sparking a whole host of memories throughout her body. It didn’t matter that their eyes were closed. With this kiss Logan could see every part of her, burrow his way to the centre of her closed-over soul.

She’d always felt threatened by their closeness after the death of their daughter. Fear had pushed her into a position of retreat, because even though she’d told Logan she couldn’t talk about things, once he’d kissed her she always felt at her most vulnerable. Her most open.

His earthy scent swam around her. His fingers stroked the back of her neck, giving her a promise of what was to come.

His kisses moved lower, along her cheek and down the delicate skin of her neck. For a moment she almost objected. She didn’t want his lips to leave hers.

But Logan knew all her secret places. Knew the tiny spot at the back of her ear that made her gasp with pleasure and lose all rational thought. Before she’d even thought about it her head was arching backwards, opening up the more sensitive skin at the bottom of her throat.

And Logan didn’t hesitate. He was on it in a flash. She wanted to move. Her dress was inching upwards, his hand brushing against her thighs. But space was cramped under the canopy, with nowhere really to go, and they both jumped apart as the gondola jerked suddenly as it scraped against wood.

She sat back in the love seat, trying to still her ragged breaths. There was another couple of bumps.

It had been deliberate. Of course it had. They’d reached their destination and their gondolier had enough experience to allow his guests a moment of warning.

Was this it? Was this where this evening ended?

Logan pulled back the canopy and stood up, straightening his rumpled jacket and shirt and then turning towards her. He didn’t speak, just held out his hand towards her.

What happened next was up to her.

It was her apartment. Her space. She’d offered him somewhere to stay for the weekend, without even considering this as a possibility.

The sun had set now. The warm orange glow from earlier had disappeared.

But now Venice was alive with a million different lights brightening up the almost black sky. Logan was outlined like a film star on his final movie shot.

The backdrop was stunning with the beautiful architecture along the Grand Canal and silhouetted gondolas around them.

But all she could focus on was Logan.

Because she knew exactly how this night would end.

It was already written in the stars twinkling in the sky above their head.

She slid her hand into his and he pulled her towards him as the boat rocked on the water.

This was fate. It had to be.

And who was she to fight fate?

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE ROOM WAS bathed in the pale light of morning.

It wasn’t what he expected—not at all. Last night he hadn’t paid attention to anything around them. They’d barely managed to close the apartment door behind them before they’d stumbled through to her bedroom.

Lucia’s room wasn’t the stark white of the guest bedroom along the corridor. It was sumptuous and opulent, furnished in the colours she’d used to favour when painting. Purples and golds with a tiny flash of red. It suited the general feel of the apartment—the whole place still had the hint of a palace about it. And the beautiful décor and furnishings in the room were more personal—more Lucia—than the room he’d stayed in.

Lucia was still tangled in his arms, her head resting on his chest and her dark locks fanned out on the purple bedding. Her breathing was slow and steady. The early morning light and noise from the Grand Canal hadn’t woken her yet.

He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to breathe in case it disturbed her.

This was perfection. This was exactly the way things should be between them but he knew he would have to destroy it all.

It would be so easy. So easy to say nothing at all and ignore the huge elephant that sat in the corner of the room every time they were together. But Logan didn’t want only part of Lucia. He wanted all of her. He’d waited this long. And if he cou

ldn’t have all of her...

His hand reached up and stroked her head. They would have to spend the next few months working together in Tuscany. They could flirt, laugh, love and sleep together and make a poor attempt at having a relationship.

But the truth was that any attempt would be futile until they’d spoken about Ariella Rose. They had to start from scratch. They could only build this relationship once they’d grieved together for their daughter. And he still didn’t know if Lucia was capable of that.

His phone beeped on the table next to the bed. The noise stirred Lucia from her peaceful sleep and she woke gradually.

Her arm drifted across his chest. She was smiling as she woke, as if she were in the middle of some alluring dream.

Her eyelids flickered open, revealing her dark brown eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. All traces of last night’s make-up had vanished. Lucia didn’t need any. Her flawless skin and naturally red lips were enticing enough.

His stomach clenched as he waited for anything—any trace of regret about last night. ‘Good morning, beautiful,’ he said softly.