Bought for His Bed: Virgin Bought and Paid For / Bought for Her Baby / Sold to the Highest Bidder!

Chapter Eight

‘I’M ENJOYING the evening very much,’ Fleur said sedately. ‘I think it’s a great way to raise money for charity. Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time.’

Luke’s arm flexed as they swung around in an elegant pivot that brought her even closer to him. Another feverish shiver drove every thought from her head.

‘I don’t think sensible is the right word to use for us at the moment,’ he said thoughtfully, as though they were discussing some matter of politics.

The hand in the small of her back moved a few inches lower, holding her against him so that she felt every movement of his big, lean body.

Still with that considering inflection, he went on, ‘Stimulated might be the right word, or perhaps aware—extremely aware. Your hand’s trembling.’

Fleur swallowed to ease her dry throat and looked at the hand on his upper arm. It was clenching, and the muscles beneath were like iron.

She forced her fingers straight on the white sleeve of his jacket and said thinly, ‘I’m scared.’

‘What of?’ This time his voice was cold and sure and very formidable. ‘You’re completely safe, Fleur.’

‘From—this?’

He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. ‘Yes,’ he said crisply. ‘I don’t go in for casual affairs and I despise people who do. I’m attracted to you, but you’ve made it quite obvious that although you feel the same way you don’t want to act on it. That’s fine.’

She should have been relieved instead of feeling let down. Collecting her thoughts, she said, ‘I didn’t think you were going to leap on me or anything, but…’

‘You wondered,’ he supplied when she dried up, her tongue tangling with the words as she realised where her thoughts were tending. ‘You don’t strike me as being very experienced. Or could it be that you’ve had some bad experiences?’

‘No,’ she said uneasily. Apart from the usual high school crushes, she’d had no experience at all.

She closed her mouth with a determination that came close to a snap. Until instinct leaped into the breach and warned her that such frankness might be dangerous, she’d been about to admit that she’d never felt like this before. She went on clumsily, ‘I do trust you.’

‘I’m glad. Trust me further, and rest your head on my chest,’ he said, and when she obeyed, he lowered his head so that his breath fanned across her skin. ‘Nobody can see what we’re talking about, and it looks good.’

Fleur almost cringed. Here she was, afire with dangerous, forbidden need, yet he was so controlled he could talk about how they appeared to onlookers.

She caught the flash of a bulb. ‘I didn’t realise there’d be photographers here.’

‘Some people like being in magazines,’ he said aloofly, his tone revealing he wasn’t one of them.

Surprised, she watched a woman working the crowd while Luke said, ‘She has strict instructions. No shots of anyone dancing, and permission has to be given first. And the magazine is donating a hefty sum to the charity.’

‘So everyone wins. From your tone, I gather you didn’t want them here.’

‘They leave a nasty taste in my mouth. I’ve been stung too many times by magazines that use innuendo and gossip to sell copies. Apparently people actually believe what they print,’ he said, each word edged with contempt. ‘If I’d bedded as many women as I’ve been linked with I’d be dead of exhaustion by now. Apart from anything else, I’m too busy.’

‘So you won’t be selling the rights to your wedding to one of them,’ she said.

‘Believe it. When I get married it will be here, where I can control the exposure.’ He paused, then said, ‘And when I decide to marry I want what my parents have—a good marriage based on complete trust.’

‘You’re lucky,’ she said bleakly, trying to ignore the surge of pleasure building deep inside her, insidious as a fire smouldering beneath the earth. ‘My parents taught me that marriages fall apart and that children can be used as weapons.’

Luke lifted his head and looked down at her bright crown of hair. Her dossier had been brief; she’d led a blameless, rather constricted life after her parents had divorced. Money had been scarce as her father had skipped to Australia to avoid paying support. The bitter parting was probably the reason she’d had no relationships in her year at university. Looking after her invalid mother meant that she’d had no time for any since then.

Was she a virgin?

A pang of fierce desire tightened his body. Hell, he thought disgustedly, he was turning into a satyr. He’d always steered clear of innocents, preferring lovers who were satisfied with what they were getting—fidelity as long as the relationship lasted, generosity and good sex. Most of them were still friends.

‘That’s tough,’ he said quietly. ‘Divorce is bad enough, but kids need to know they mean more to their parents than convenient weapons.’

‘I’m over it now. Tell me, who is Janna? I asked before, but you managed to avoid answering.’

Luke thought of the message he’d been handed as they left the house. ‘She’s an old friend,’ he said, ‘who happens to have hair the same colour as yours, only hers isn’t natural.’

She looked at him with raised brows and a hint of mockery that gave her green eyes a swift, inviting feline quality. ‘What makes you think mine is?’

‘The fact that you blush so easily.’ Sure enough, her magnificent cheekbones heated under his amused scrutiny.

‘You know it’s the bane of my life,’ she said ruefully. ‘Were you expecting her to visit you? Is that why the man took me to your house when I fainted in front of the car?’

He shook his head. ‘Collapsed. And, no, I wasn’t expecting her.’

‘But?’

Luke settled for telling her as little as possible. ‘But nothing. There’s a superficial resemblance, which is why my driver—who’d never seen her in the flesh—thought you were her. However, he’d have picked you up and brought you home anyway.’

‘Does everything that happens on Fala’isi land on your doorstep?’

‘Not when my father’s here,’ he said evenly.

She’d become rigid again, holding herself away from him, and he was surprised at the irritation he felt at her subtle withdrawal.

Deliberately he drew her close, smiling down into her face, his lashes drooping so that only she could see the determination in his eyes. She stiffened a second, then relaxed, her slender body pliant in his arms.

She felt strangely right there, he thought, nodding to Guy Bagaton across the dance floor.

Fleur was fighting back a pang of frighteningly bitter jealousy. Just what was his relationship to this Janna person? Past lovers? Almost certainly.

She followed him through a particularly complex manoeuvre, then the music wound up to a triumphant conclusion, and everyone clapped and began to leave the floor.

After that Fleur danced with the other men of their party, sat out the energetic ones with the Princess—who was amusing, interesting company—and shared more dances with Luke, where they playacted for everyone to see. She pretended not to watch when Luke danced with Gabrielle, but she realised that Luke had been right; the girl was definitely possessive about him.

A little later she came across Fleur in the ladies’ room and said graciously, ‘I hope you are enjoying yourself.’

‘Very much,’ Fleur replied with a smile.

Gabrielle looked at her with raised brows. ‘You are not his usual sort of woman.’ She flashed a smile that was close to feline. ‘Do you realise he is using you?’

Unprepared for such an open attack, Fleur turned on the tap and let cold water play over her wrists. ‘My relationship with Luke is nobody’s business but ours.’

Gabrielle stiffened. ‘You are wrong. I am telling you this because I like you, but if you are hoping that this liaison is more than a temporary fling you will be wrong, because eventually he and I are to be married. Did you know that?’

How on earth did she deal with this? Fleur said, ‘Do you really think Luke would flaunt a lover in front of the woman he’s engaged to?’

The younger woman sketched a very Gallic shrug. ‘You are a romantic, so naturally you don’t understand our way of conducting marriages. This has been decided for ever—it is a matter of honour to both families, and of course there is a lot of money tied up in it, too. My dowry will be my grandfather’s business interests—Luke is already in charge of them, but when we marry they will become his. Luke is more French than English in his attitude towards such things.’

Fleur turned off the tap and said neutrally into the silence, ‘It sounds very pragmatic.’

It also sounded very possible. Luke hadn’t mentioned anything about business interests when he’d persuaded her into this charade. And she’d agreed to it without thought—because she trusted him.

No, she thought, her mind working furiously. Why on earth would he have suggested the masquerade if he planned to eventually marry Gabrielle and her inheritance? It would make him a horrible man…

Perhaps he was.

Gabrielle finished applying lipstick and smiled. ‘We are a pragmatic race. But it will be a good marriage, and there will be no divorce. Our children will have a happy home life. Of course he will probably always enjoy chasing little redheads and, yes, I will mind a little, although I will always know that such adventures mean nothing. You have no chance of marrying him. He is a Chapman; his great-grandmother was descended from the old aristocracy of France. He knows what is due his position.’

And it’s not some insignificant New Zealander with no family and no money, her tone implied.

Fleur bristled, but to her great relief the Princess’s arrival put an end to the conversation. Nevertheless, it left Fleur with a nasty taste, especially when she saw Gabrielle flirting skilfully with the film star as they danced. She certainly didn’t look as though her heart was touched by Luke’s supposed betrayal.

Apart from that the evening was an enchantment. Fleur looked around thinking wryly that no cliché had been forgotten; the moon shone with unadulterated glory over the island, rollers crashed onto the reef with muted thunder and the perfumes of the tropics suffused the soft night air.

Supper was served on the beach, a magnificent spread of local and imported foods, champagne flowed, and after supper a group of Fala’isian young people danced for them—starting with a war challenge done with flaming torches, and ending in a wild, erotic hula that sent a buzz of interest through the guests.

Heated applause followed the entertainers as they undulated into the darkness, and then the band struck up again, and Luke held out his hand to Fleur. ‘What do you think of our dancers?’

‘They are gorgeous—and they dance brilliantly.’ She moved into his arms with more confidence now. The lights had dimmed, and around them people were drifting into slow easy steps. ‘The challenge was great, and the hula was superb.’

‘You understand Maori, I gather?’ At her surprised glance he expanded, ‘I think you and Guy were probably the only other off-islanders who realised the show was a parody, a campedup version of what tourists expect to see. I saw you laugh at one place.’

‘I have a working knowledge of Maori, and although there are substantial differences between that and Fala’isian I can sort of pick up the gist of a conversation as I go along. So, yes, I got some of the allusions. Can you speak it?’

‘Of course.’ He sounded surprised. ‘My sisters and I grew up speaking three languages—French with our great-grandmother, the local tongue with everyone else, and English with our parents.’

‘You were fortunate.’

His wide shoulder lifted in a shrug beneath her hand. ‘Children learn languages quickly. According to my mother, the trick is to make sure they stick to one at a time. When my sisters and I were small we used to speak a mixture of all three until my parents made quite strict rules. If you started a conversation in one, you had to keep to it and finish it in that language. It made life simpler.’

‘You have two sisters, don’t you?’

He didn’t exactly pause, but she had the feeling he didn’t want to talk about his sisters. ‘Yes, one older and one younger than me.’

‘Do they live here?’

‘One’s in Paris and the other in New York at the moment.’

Rebuffed, she said lightly, ‘I’d have loved siblings.’

‘We get on well,’ he said.

Fleur envied him that simple, confident assertion.

He steered the subject away from his sisters. ‘I understood you to say that your father has another family in Australia.’

‘I don’t even know where they are,’ she told him. ‘When my parents broke up my father told me that if I didn’t go with him I’d never see him again. I stayed with my mother, so that was it. The only reason I know about his other child is that when the divorce came through he wrote to tell my mother that he and his new partner had already had a son.’

Luke’s mouth hardened. ‘Do you have any other relatives—cousins?’

‘In England,’ she said evenly. ‘We exchange Christmas cards.’

He hugged her, a swift contraction of his arms with no sexual implication at all. Oddly touched by his swift response, she smiled mistily up at him. Luke had everything—money, power, a family he loved, outstanding physical attributes, yet he had enough empathy to understand how very lonely it could be sometimes when you had no one.

Fleur felt a quiver in the air—as though something deep and basic had changed between them. His gaze dropped to her mouth and darkened, then flicked up to hold hers. For several seconds they danced slowly and more slowly, until a raucous male voice broke the spell.

‘Hey, Luke, mate, get off the floor if you don’t want to dance.’ A tall, balding man grinned openly as both Luke’s and Fleur’s heads swung around.

Heat burned Fleur’s cheeks. The man’s partner waved at them, her smile sympathetic and slightly envious, and Luke laughed quietly and pulled Fleur close to him, guiding her away.

After a few seconds he said, ‘Time to go home, I think.’

Fleur nodded. ‘The Princess will be pleased.’ Yes, that was fine—her voice was cool and colourless. ‘She’s looking a bit tired, and she hasn’t got up for the last two dances.’

He gave her another sharp look, but didn’t hold it. ‘She’s probably a bit jet-lagged.’

Sure enough, no one objected to the idea of leaving, though Gabrielle gave the film star a regretful glance or two when she and her grandfather got into the second car, driven by a chauffeur.

Luke drove through the silent night. No one said much as the road wound beneath palm groves by the sea, and then over a spur of the central mountain range and down into the bay where Luke’s house sprawled in its exotic garden.

Fleur gazed blindly into the moonlight, every sense alert and tense with a useless anticipation that wouldn’t be squelched, however hard she tried.

Because Luke wasn’t going to make love to her—not with a house full of guests.

‘Tired?’ His voice broke into the silence.

‘A bit,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been fabulous in the true sense of the word—like something out of a fairytale.’ Only the princes in those fables were a bloodless lot, not like Luke.

‘I’ve enjoyed it, too.’

Casual words, the sort of thing he probably said after any social occasion, yet she hugged them to her heart.

Back at the house the Prince and Princess went to their room. Fleur waited with Luke only until the second car disgorged its passengers, then said her goodnights.

Once in her bedroom, she went across to the dressing table and glanced sideways at her reflection. She looked reckless, she thought warily—all green mysterious eyes and a sultry, beckoning mouth. The cosmetics experts certainly knew their stuff!

And then her eyes fell onto the fabulous pearl pendant Luke had lent her.

Biting her lip, she slipped it over her head, hesitating for a second with it in her hand. The gold and diamonds glinted coldly, but the pearl lay warm in her palm, its lustre as beckoning as the moon.

Another memory, she thought sadly.

She didn’t want the lovely, precious thing in her room overnight; the responsibility was too much. Holding the pendant carefully, she opened her door and saw Luke and the Prince talking down the other end of the corridor.

Although she’d been quiet, the men turned the instant she appeared. She swallowed, because on both dark faces there was the same look—intent, almost predatory, as though two warriors were conferring on tactics.

After a final low-voiced comment to the Prince, Luke strode towards her while Guy Bagaton went into the bedroom he shared with his wife.

Luke kept his eyes on her while they walked towards each other. He wasn’t frowning, but something in that keen, burnished gaze intensified the aura of determination surrounding him, and she shivered in spite of the warmth.

As he came up she held out the pendant. ‘You’d better lock it up.’

He took it from her, his eyes scanning her face. ‘All right?’

‘Yes,’ she said abruptly.

She stepped back and closed the door, wondering bleakly if any other woman had ever shut the door in his face. Probably not, she thought starkly, pulling the lovely silk dress over her head. Like all the other clothes, she’d leave it behind when she left Fala’isi.

She was just coming out of the bathroom when her door opened again, and Luke came in, moving with the noiseless, predatory gait of some big animal. When he saw her, he stopped, and the door swung closed behind him.

‘I did knock,’ he said abruptly. ‘I didn’t realise you were in the shower.’

Shocked into silence, Fleur watched him with enormous eyes. Against Luke’s black and white splendour she felt very undressed in the camisole and matching shorts she wore to bed, and very vulnerable, too, she thought with painful honesty, a pulse beating rapidly in her throat. She looked around for her wrap, but it was in the wardrobe and she wasn’t going to walk across there in her flimsy garments.

Luke said curtly, ‘We need to talk.’

She swallowed. ‘About what?’

‘Something that’s come up.’ His mouth compressed. ‘Where’s your dressing gown?’

‘In the wardrobe. Shut your eyes.’

Shrugging, he obeyed, and she scuttled across the room to the wardrobe and pulled on the crisp cotton dressing gown. Tying the belt around her waist she said, ‘Is this about Gabrielle?’

Luke’s opened eyes were uncomfortably penetrating. ‘Why?’

‘Because if it is I think you should know what she said to me this evening.’

Luke’s frown deepened while she hastily sketched in the substance of the conversation. When she’d finished he said without inflection, ‘I wonder if that’s what her grandfather’s told her.’

‘Is it true?’

Her heart picked up speed while she waited for his answer.

But when it came it wasn’t exactly comforting. ‘I bought everything from him two years ago.’

He went on with harsh distinctness, ‘He didn’t sell his interests to me as a sweetener for a marriage deal. It was a purely business decision, because he has nobody else to leave them to—Gabrielle’s father died young, and Gabrielle herself is more artistic than businesslike. He did suggest marriage in the early stages, but I told him I wasn’t interested.’

Pushing her hair back from her face, Fleur asked, ‘Then why does Gabrielle believe that she’s as good as engaged to you?’ Too late, she realised she sounded like a jealous woman and tried to temper her question with a swift addition. ‘I think she really believes that, Luke. I don’t know her, of course, but either it’s her own fantasy she’s convinced will come true, or it’s something she’s been told.’

‘Not by me.’ Luke’s tone poured scorn on any such suggestion. ‘I’ve just endured a somewhat embarrassing attempt on her part to seduce me.’

Appalled by a violent desire to pull the French girl’s hair out then send her packing, Fleur said woodenly, ‘I see.’