Hitched! (22 page)

‘Always,' said Evie and Max together.

Points for harmony.

In truth, in the six years she'd known him, Max had barely
mentioned his mother other than to say she'd never been the maternal type and
that she set exceptionally high standards for everything; be it a manicure or
the behaviour of her husbands or her sons.

‘No engagement ring?' queried Caroline with the lift of an
elegant eyebrow.

‘Ah, no,' said Evie. ‘Not yet. There was so much choice I,
ah...couldn't decide.'

‘Indeed,' said Caroline, before turning to Max. ‘I can, of
course, make an appointment for you with
my
jeweller
this afternoon. I'm sure he'll have something more than suitable. That way Evie
will have a ring on her finger when she attends the cocktail party I'm hosting
for the pair of you tonight.'

‘You didn't have to fuss,' said Max as he set their overnight
cases just inside the door beside a wide staircase.

‘Introducing my soon-to-be daughter-in-law to family and
friends is not fuss,' said Max's mother reprovingly. ‘It's expected, and so is a
ring. Your brother's here, by the way.'

‘You summoned him home as well?'

‘He came of his own accord,' she said dryly. ‘No one makes your
brother do anything.'

‘He's my role model,' whispered Max as they followed the
doyenne of the house down the hall.

‘I need a cocktail dress,' Evie whispered back.

‘Get it when I go ring hunting. What kind of stone do you
want?'

‘Diamond.'

‘Colour?'

‘White.'

‘An excellent choice,' said Caroline from up ahead and Max
grinned ruefully.

‘Ears like a bat,' he said in his normal deep baritone.

‘Whisper like a foghorn,' his mother cut back, and surprised
Evie by following up with a deliciously warm chuckle.

The house was a beauty. Twenty-foot ceilings and a modern
renovation that complemented the building's Victorian bones. The wood glowed
with beeswax shine and the air carried the scent of old-English roses. ‘Did you
do the renovation?' asked Evie and her dutiful fiancé nodded.

‘My first project after graduating.'

‘Nice work,' she said as Caroline ushered them into a large
sitting room that fed seamlessly through to a wide, paved garden patio. The
table there was set for four. Perfumed roses filled several large vases, their
colours haphazard enough to make Evie smile.

‘I had a very demanding client who knew exactly what she
wanted,' said Max. ‘My ego took such a beating. These days I only wish all our
clients could be that specific.'

‘Max tells me you're a civil engineer,' said Caroline. ‘Do you
enjoy your work?'

‘I love it,' said Evie.

‘And this new project you're quoting on? You're as enthusiastic
about it as Max?'

‘You mean the civic centre? Yes. It's the perfect stepping
stone for us.'
Us
being the business. ‘The right
opportunity at exactly the right time.'

‘So I hear,' said Caroline, with an enigmatic glance for her
son. ‘I hope it's worth it. Let me just go and tell Amelia we're ready for
lunch,' she said smoothly, and swanned out of the room before anyone could
reply.

‘She's not buying it,' said Evie. ‘The whirlwind
engagement.'

‘Not so,' said Max. ‘She's undecided. Different beast
altogether.'

‘You don't take after her in looks.'

‘No,' said Max. ‘I take after my father.'

‘You mean tall, dark, handsome and rich?' Evie teased.

‘He's not rich,' said a deep voice from behind them. ‘Yet.'

That voice. Such a deep, raspy baritone. Max had a deep voice
too, but it wasn't like this one.

‘Logan,' said Max turning around, and Evie forced herself to
relax. Max had a brother called Logan; Evie knew this already. It was just a
name—nothing to worry about. Plenty of Logans in this world.

And then Evie turned towards the sound of that voice too and
the world as she lived in it ceased to exist, because she knew this man, this
Logan who was Max's brother.

And he knew her.

‘Evie, this is my brother,' said Max as he headed towards the
older man. ‘Logan, meet Evie.'

Manners made Evie walk puppet-like to Max's side and wait while
the two men embraced. Masochism made her lift her chin and hold out her hand for
Logan to shake once they were finished with the brotherly affection. He looked
older. Harder. The lines on his face were more deeply etched and his bleak,
black gaze was as hard as agate. But it was him.

Logan ignored her outstretched hand and shoved his hands deep
into his trouser pockets instead. The movement made her memory kick. Same
movement. Another time and place.

‘Pretty name,' he rumbled as Evie let her arm fall to her
side.

He'd known her as Angie—a name she'd once gone by. A name she'd
worked hard to forget, because Angie had been needy and greedy and far too
malleable beneath Logan Black's all-consuming touch.

‘It's short for Evangeline,' she murmured, and met his gaze and
wished she hadn't, for a fine fury had set up shop beneath his barely pleasant
façade. So he'd been duped by a name. Well, so had she. She'd been expecting
Logan Carmichael, brother to Max Carmichael.

Not Logan Black.

Logan's gaze flicked down over her pretty little designer
dress, all the way to her pink-painted toenails peeking out from strappy summer
sandals. ‘Welcome to the family,
Evangeline
.'

Max wasn't stupid. He could sense the discord and he slid his
arm around Evie's waist and encouraged her to tuck into his side, which she did,
every bit the small, sinking ship, finding harbour.

‘Thank you,' she said quietly, restricting her gaze to the
buttons of Logan's casual white shirt. It wasn't the first time she'd taken
shelter in Max's arms and it wasn't uncomfortable. It was just...wrong.

‘How long are you staying?' Max asked his brother.

‘Not long.'

Logan ran a hand through his short cropped hair and the seams
of his shirt-sleeve strained over bulging triceps. Evie shifted restlessly
within Max's embrace, every nerve sensitised and for all the wrong reasons.

‘Did you have to travel far to get here?' she asked Logan. Not
a throwaway question. She needed him to be based far, far away.

‘Perth. I have a company office there. Head office is based in
London. Have you ever been to London, Evangeline?'

‘Yes.' She'd met him in London. Lost herself in him in London.
‘A long time ago.'

‘And did it meet expectations?' he asked silkily.

‘Yes and no. Some of the people I met there left me cold.'

Logan's eyes narrowed warningly.

‘So what is it that you do, Logan? What's your history?' Rude
now, and she knew it, but curiosity would have her know what he did for a
living. She'd never asked. It hadn't been that kind of relationship.

‘I buy things, break them down, and repackage them for
profit.'

‘How gratifying,' said Evie. ‘I build things.'

No mistaking the silent challenge that passed between them, or
Max's silent bafflement as he stared from one to the other.

‘Max, do you think your mother would mind if I took my bag up
to the room?' she asked. ‘I wouldn't mind freshening up.'

‘Your luggage is already in your suite,' said Caroline from the
doorway. ‘And of course you'd like to freshen up. Come, I'll show you the
way.'

Five minutes ago, Evie wouldn't have wanted to be alone with
Caroline Carmichael.

Right now, it seemed like the perfect escape.

* * *

Logan watched her go, he couldn't stop himself. He
remembered that walk, those legs, remembered her broken entreaties as she lay on
his bed, naked and waiting. He remembered how he was with her; his breathing
harsh and his brain burning. No matter how many times he'd taken her it had
never been enough. Whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it, and he hadn't
recognised the danger in giving her whatever she asked for until the table had
given way beneath them and Angie had cut her head on the broken table leg on the
way down. ‘I'm okay,' she'd said, over and over again. ‘Logan, it's okay.'

Eleven years later and he could still remember the warm, sticky
blood running down Angie's face, running over his hands and hers as he'd tried
to determine the damage done. That particular memory was engraved on his
soul.

‘An accident,' she'd told the doctor at the hospital as he'd
stitched her up and handed her over to the nurses to clean up her face. ‘I
fell.'

And then one of the nurses had eased Angie's shirt collar to
one side so that she could mop up more of the blood, and there'd been bruises on
Angie's skin, old ones and new, and the nurse's compassionate eyes had turned
icy as she'd turned to him and said, ‘I'm sorry. Could you please wait
outside?'

He'd lost his lunch in the gutter on the way to get the car;
still reeling from the blood on his hands and the sure knowledge that accident
or not, this was
his
fault, all of it.

Like father, like son.

No goddamn control.

Angie hadn't known he was Max's brother, just now.

Logan didn't think anyone could conjure up
that
level of horrified dismay on cue. Or the hostility that had
followed.

‘So what was that all about?' asked Max, his easygoing nature
taking a back seat to thinly veiled accusation. ‘You and Evie.'

‘Do you really intend to marry her?'

Do you love her, was what he
meant
.

Do you bed her? Does she scream for you
the way she did for me?

‘Yes,' said Max, and Logan headed for the sideboard and the
decanter of Scotch that always stood ready there. He poured himself a glass and
didn't stint when it came to quantity. Didn't hesitate to down the lot.

‘I'm guessing that wasn't a toast,' said Max, and his voice was
dry but his eyes were sharply assessing. ‘What is
wrong
with you?'

‘Did you protect your money? Has she signed a prenup?'

‘Yes. And, yes. We also restructured our business partnership
to reflect proportional investment. Evie's no gold-digger, Logan, if that's what
you're thinking.'

‘You're in
business
with her
too?'

‘For the past six years. She's the other half of MEP. You know
this already. At least, you would if you'd been paying attention.'

‘I did pay attention. I knew you had a business partner.' He'd
known it was a woman. ‘I just...' Didn't know it was Angie. ‘So this
marriage...is it just a way to get your hands on your trust money?'

A simple no was all it would take. A simple no from Max, and
Logan would dredge up congratulations from somewhere and be on his way. All Max
had to do was say no.

But Max hesitated.

And Logan set up a litany of swear words in his brain and
reached for the decanter again.

Leave it
alone
, an inner voice
urged him. It's past. It's
done
. Plenty of other
women in the world. Available women. Willing women.

Angie had been willing.

‘Does she
know
you're marrying her
to gain access to your trust money?' he asked next.

‘She knows.'

‘She in love with you?'

‘No. I'd never have suggested it if she was. It's only for two
years. And we'll be working flat out for most of it.'

‘Right. So it's just a marriage of convenience. No broken
hearts to worry about at all.'

‘Exactly,' said Max.

Leave it alone, Logan. Keep your big mouth
shut.

But he couldn't.

No way he could have Evangeline Jones for a sister-in-law and
stay sane. It was as simple as that.

‘And if I said I already know your soon-to-be wife? That I met
her a long time ago, long before she ever knew you? That for a week or so we
were lovers?' Logan's voice sounded rough; the firewater was not, so he drank
some more of it before turning to face his brother. ‘What then?'

Max stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. And then
turned and strode from the room without another word.

* * *

Caroline Carmichael lingered once they reached the
suite; a glorious eastern-facing bedroom with en suite, bay windows overlooking
the garden and a sweet little alcove stuffed with a day-bed, and alongside that
a bookcase full of surprisingly well-worn books.

‘It's very feminine, isn't it?' murmured Caroline. ‘I've never
put Max in this room before. Then again, he's never brought a fiancée home
either.'

‘I'm sure we'll be fine.' One big bed, one day-bed. Evie
couldn't have asked for a more suitable room.

Logan Black was Max's brother. Everything was just fine.

‘Because I can put you in the adjoining room if you'd rather
not be together before the wedding.'

‘Whatever you're comfortable with, Mrs Carmichael.' Evie made
no false claim to virginity. She doubted she could have pulled it off. Besides,
she could only manage one lie at a time, maybe two.

‘Please, call me Caroline,' said Max's mother easily. ‘It's
just that it occurs to me—as Max must have known it would—that your upcoming
union might be a marriage in name only. A way for Max to access the money his
father left him.'

‘Yes, Max warned me you might think that.'