Bought for His Bed. Kate Hardy
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air of restrained opulence.
Now, she thought, what on earth am I going to wear if I have to stay here for another week?
Even if by some miracle her pack turned up with its contents intact, she had nothing suitable. She hadn’t been able to afford new clothes for this ill-fated holiday. Her sundresses, shorts and the couple of tops were all several years old, and fitted a more rounded woman than the one who’d cared for her mother these past years.
A soft tap at her door swivelled her around.
But of course Luke Chapman wasn’t there. Instead, Susi, in a pareu of bold scarlet and dark blue, said, ‘Luke would like it if he could join you on the terrace outside in half an hour, miss. I’ll collect you then.’
And that, Fleur decided as she watched the door close, was definitely an order.
So why was her heart skipping unevenly and a slow, sensuous warmth stealing through her veins like a drug?
Glowering at her reflection, Fleur wished she’d surrendered to the seduction of some sexy little silk tee-shirts she’d seen in the market. But, cheap as they were, they’d still been too expensive for her. And even if she had bought one, it would have been stolen like the rest of her gear.
Besides, tee-shirts were not for her. Her mother used to say she had an Edwardian hourglass figure, a small waist emphasised by maternal hips and breasts that were slightly too ample for the rest of her. Tee-shirts clung and made her look conspicuous.
At least the colour suited her. Whoever had chosen the outfit had known that camel silk would go with her bright hair and pale skin. After a last defiant look at her neat, uninteresting reflection, she tucked a stray strand of hair back into place just as the housekeeper tapped at the door.
However, it was Luke who stood in the corridor outside, not Susi. ‘If I give you an arm, do you think you could make the few yards to another terrace?’ he asked, his expression noncommittal.
Fleur’s heart gave another of those peculiar jumps in her chest. ‘Of course,’ she said brightly, and fixed her eyes on the magnificent portrait at the end of the hallway—an elegant woman of the thirties.
‘My great-grandmother,’ he said, following her gaze. ‘She was French.’
No wonder she radiated that sleek, effortless chic. ‘She looks fascinating.’
‘She was.’ His tone was affectionately reminiscent.
There were resemblances—the midnight hair, and possibly his brilliant clothes sense. Luke’s shirt matched his steel-grey eyes, and his trousers had been tailored to reveal his long, powerful legs. But where had his boldly chiselled face come from, underpinned by the magnificent bone structure that gave him such authority and that intimidating air of mastery and force? Add that to a lithely powerful body, and you had the sort of man women dreamed of.
So the rapid thud of her heartbeat in her ears was quite understandable, as was the heat that crept into her skin when he gave her a lazy smile after he’d tucked her into a chair at their destination, a long terrace with a sunset view over the lagoon.
‘You look infinitely more yourself,’ he said gravely.
‘I must have looked pretty dreadful before.’ Her green glance gleamed in challenge.
‘Exhaustion has that effect on people,’ he agreed. ‘According to Dr King, alcohol would be all right if suitably diluted. I can offer you a very weak gin and tonic, if you’d like that.’
‘Could I just have something nonalcoholic and not too sweet? Fruit juice will be fine.’
‘We have plenty of fruit juice.’ He poured her a glass.
Fleur sipped it gratefully. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said with a smile. ‘Perfect.’
‘I’m glad you like it—it’s Susi’s secret recipe. Pineapple, of course, and papaya and mango, and some spices she refuses to divulge.’
‘Vanilla, perhaps?’ When he looked quizzically at her she said, ‘The whole house is delicately scented with it.’
‘The whole island,’ he corrected. ‘We grow it for export. It’s an orchid, and we’re lucky to have just the right conditions for it to flourish.’
A dove flew down onto the lawn a few feet away and pecked, the contrast of its white plumage and the vivid coarse green grass almost startling.
Fleur let out a long, soft sigh. ‘This is so beautiful,’ she said quietly, watching the sun dip towards the horizon.
While the great, flaming disc edged its way into the sea, Luke told her about the green flash that was part of the folklore of the tropics.
‘So it’s only ever seen at sunset?’ she marvelled.
‘Even then conditions have to be absolutely right. No one seems to know what causes it.’
‘It sounds—amazing,’ she said quietly. ‘Have you seen it?’
‘A couple of times.’
The swift tropical dusk was falling as darkness swept in from the east. Luke got to his feet and lit candles at the table; their soft, romantic light flickered a little in the breeze that ruffled across Fleur’s acutely sensitised skin. The small lights settled, washing gold over the dark planes of his face.
A stab of some unknown sensation took Fleur by surprise. She knew she was attracted to him, but attraction didn’t describe this fierce hunger that seemed to blast out of nowhere and take her over.
Fortunately he didn’t notice. Over the drink they talked of nothing much, the sort of light conversation that sophisticated people like Luke Chapman did so well. Fleur was grateful to him for his tact; the past year had been spent almost entirely in conversation with medical personnel, and she’d nearly forgotten how to do idle conversation. He made it easy for her, and although over dinner she realised he was learning a lot about her, she responded easily.
Until she found herself talking about her mother.
Then her voice faltered; tears ached behind her eyes and she took refuge in the glass of water he’d poured for her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Luke said quietly.
‘It’s all right.’ She set the glass down and fought for composure. He didn’t seem embarrassed, and he didn’t try to hurry her up.
Eventually she said in a brittle voice, ‘It’s just that—she died about six weeks ago, after spending five years fighting a progressive illness. She organised the holiday and paid for it before she died—she used to worry about me not having any fun.’ Her throat thickened. ‘She’d have been h-horribly upset if she’d known that the travel agency had got the dates wrong.’
‘She’d probably have been more horrified if she’d known you were going to tough it out by sleeping on the beach,’ he said grimly.
She flashed him an indignant glance. ‘I didn’t sleep on the beach. I had a comfortable nest under some bushes nearby, and I felt perfectly safe.’
‘You were lucky. We work damned hard to keep the island free of crime, but even so, we can’t vet every tourist who comes in. Or, unfortunately, all of the islanders. Once you’d lost your money you should have realised you were in an untenable position. People can survive starvation for much longer than they realise, but it was stupid to emulate them when there was no need. Any islander would have given you food.’
‘I was managing. I ate fruit from the trees on the side of the road. I only fainted—’
‘Collapsed,’ he interjected uncompromisingly.
‘I only fainted,’ she repeated with more emphasis, ‘because I’d walked a long way in the heat and stupidly I’d forgotten to fill my water bottle.’ And then she remembered something that had completely skipped her mind. ‘Who is Janna?’
His