Available in October 2009
from Mills & Boon® Desire™

High-Society Secret Pregnancy by Maureen Child & Front Page Engagement by Laura Wright

Spaniard’s Seduction by Tessa Radley & Cole’s Red-Hot Pursuit by Brenda Jackson

Claiming His Runaway Bride by Yvonne Lindsay & High-Stakes Passion by Juliet Burns

Claiming His Runaway Bride
by Yvonne Lindsay

“I don’t know you.”

“Ah, that’s where you are wrong, my beautiful wife. You know me. Intimately.”

With that he bent down. She was momentarily aware of the almost driven expression on his face before the distance between them closed and the coolness of his firm lips captured hers. She bunched her hands into fists to stop herself from lifting her arms, from curling them around his shoulders and pressing her body against his to ease the ache.

Abruptly Luc pulled away.

“See, we’re not such strangers after all.” His eyes glittered, daring her to deny the way her body had awakened in response to his kiss.

High-Stakes Passion
by Juliet Burns

“I’ll see your ten and raise you, um, this whole stack of money,” Audrey said triumphantly.

“I don’t have any money left,” Mark said.

“Well, I guess you could bet something besides money.”

“Like what?”

Audrey stopped smiling and looked directly into Mark’s brooding blue eyes. “If I win…you stop drinking,” she said, “and you shave that awful beard!”

“What the hell kind of bet is that?”

“If you don’t think you can do it -”

“OK, Ms High-Stakes Player, let’s say we up the ante.”

“What do you mean?”

It was Mark’s turn to look smug as he clasped his hands behind his head. “I’ll see your bet by shaving my beard and I raise it by getting off the booze. Now, see my raise by wagering something I want, or fold.”

Surely he didn’t want…“Um, what do you have in mind?”

His smouldering gaze slid down her body. “I think you know exactly what I want. Now, do you fold, or play?”

CLAIMING HIS
RUNAWAY BRIDE

BY

YVONNE LINDSAY
HIGH-STAKES
PASSION

BY

JULIET BURNS

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CLAIMING HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE

New Zealand born, to Dutch immigrant parents, Yvonne Lindsay became an avid romance reader at the age of thirteen. Now, married to her blind date and with two surprisingly amenable teenagers, she remains a firm believer in the power of romance. Yvonne feels privileged to be able to bring to her readers the stories of her heart. In her spare time, when not writing, she can be found with her nose firmly in a book, reliving the power of love in all walks of life. She can be contacted via her website, www.yvonnelindsay.com.

Dear Reader,

As a child I always loved fairy tales—in fact, I never tired of reading them over and over again. Having children of my own was a chance to relive those tales of wonder—of the course of true love never running smooth, of happy ever after. One story that always spoke to my heart, as a child and as an adult, was Beauty and the Beast. I think it’s the whole “Love Conquers All” that just gets to me—the unwavering belief that true love can break the wickedest of spells and redeem the hardest of hearts. Anyway, suffice it to say that I’ve always been a bit of a romantic, and when I first started thinking about Claiming His Runaway Bride it was a simple matter to go for a Beauty and the Beast theme. My convoluted mind just couldn’t help but add an amnesiac runaway bride to the mix.

When I start my romance novels I always think very hard about the setting, and in all the beauty that is New Zealand I’m spoiled for choice. A part of the North Island I’ve always loved has been the Taupo district. Lake Taupo is the largest lake in the country, and the scenery around the area is exquisite in its beauty and diversity. Tourists travel from far and wide to appreciate the splendour of the countryside—especially those who enjoy outdoor pursuits. My “Beast” needed his own castle and domain, and what better area than the rugged strength and power of the hills to the southeast of Lake Taupo, where hunting, fishing and tramping reign supreme. And so Luc’s Tautara Lodge was created as an exclusive luxury adventure-holiday empire.

I hope you enjoy my own version of a modern fairy tale.

Best wishes,

Yvonne

This one is for my beautiful girls, Morgan and Tegan. One day your prince/s will come…:)

One

His wife?

How could she have forgotten something like that?

Someone like him?

Belinda eyed the silent stranger standing beside her father at the foot of her hospital bed. Tall, and looking as if his designer clothes were just a little too large on his frame, the stranger stood with his left hand in his trouser pocket, his right hand resting on the knob of a shiny black cane.

She didn’t even know his name. How could she be married to him and have no knowledge of it? Fear choked her throat.

His glittering green eyes never left her face. An intangible thread of something—was it anger?—burned just below the surface. His expression remained inscrutable. The hard lines of his face spoke of an iron will—this was not a man who tolerated fools.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t know him—how could they expect her to go home with a total stranger? Belinda cast a frightened look at her father. The smile he returned seemed strained; the lines on his face deeper than usual. Suddenly her desire to be released from her room here at Auckland City Hospital fled, and the place she’d itched to be free of assumed proportions more in line with a much-sought-after sanctuary.

A disturbing thought occurred to her.

“If you’re my husband why haven’t you been here at my side, like my parents have? It’s two weeks since I came out of the coma.” Her challenge rang hollowly across the room.

Belinda intercepted a glance between her father and the man who claimed to be her husband, saw the imperceptible nod her father gave.

“Well?” she demanded, her hands fisting in the bedclothes.

“The accident that took your memory also caused me injury. I am fit to return home now. With you.”

There was a great deal he wasn’t saying, and what he left unsaid caused her more anxiety than the realisation he too had been hospitalised. She’d been treated with kid gloves by the medical staff and her parents since she’d regained consciousness, everyone prepared to give her medical answers but nothing else. Not even the details of the accident that had left her in a coma for four weeks. Throughout the past two weeks of tests and examinations, her doctors had tried to find the cause of her amnesia and had come to the conclusion it was not a direct result of the blow to her head that she’d sustained in a car accident. She’d overheard the words “traumatic amnesia” and “hysterical amnesia” being discussed in low tones.

The last had made her shudder. Did that make her crazy, she wondered, that she chose to forget a part of her life that for anyone should have been full of excitement, fun and passion? Or did she have good reason to want to forget?

She looked again at the stranger. The slightly less-than-perfect fit of his clothing now made sense if he had been stuck in hospital. Had he been too incapacitated to see her? Did a lengthy stay in bed explain his gauntness? She had no doubt that he was the type of man who paid attention to every detail, and that under normal circumstances his clothing would conform to his body as if tailor-made.

Another thought skittered through her mind. Had they timed her release to coincide with his? Protest flared inside.

She’d been railroaded.

“No, I won’t do it. I won’t go home with you. I don’t even know you!” Her voice sounded shrill, panicked.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed, a muscle worked in the side of his jaw.

“I’m Luc Tanner, you are Belinda Tanner—my wife. Of course you’ll come home with me.” He nodded in her father’s direction. “Do you think your father would allow you out of his sight if I was a threat to his precious child? Rest assured, you know me well.”

There was an undercurrent in his tone she couldn’t quite nail, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. She shook her head slightly to rid herself of the sensation. What the stranger—Luc, she corrected herself—said made sense but a cautionary niggle played at the back of her mind.

“Why can’t I go home with Dad? At least until my memory returns.” She was grasping at straws, and she knew it.

“And if your memory never returns? Are we to forever forget our marriage? Our vows to each other?”

There was a thread of steel in his tone that sent a chill through her. It was a good question. What if she didn’t get her lost months back? And why, when she could remember so much else, could she remember nothing of their courtship, their marriage? The love they’d supposedly shared.

A spear of something else shot through her body. Had they been intimate? They must have been, even now her body warmed to his with a physical recognition her mind refused to accept. He was a very attractive man despite that air of aloofness he wore like a warrior’s mantle. A flush of heat suffused her cheeks as she studied his features—the slightly shadowed line between cheekbone and jaw bisected by a thin pink scar, the straight blade of his nose, the sensual curve of his lips. Had they lain together, delighted in each other’s scents, reactions, pleasure? Had she clutched that shortcropped sable-coloured hair as she’d held him to her body?

The stranger’s voice was like the sensual stroke of velvet across her skin as he changed tactics in the face of her refusal to go with him. “Belinda, I know you’re afraid, but I’m your husband. If you can’t trust me who can you trust? We will work through this,” he cajoled gently. “And if your memory never returns, we will make new memories.”

New memories. Why did the very thought strike dread into her heart?

She shot an imploring look at her father. “Dad?”

“You’ll be fine, my sweet. Besides, you know your mother and I had planned to travel for a bit. We postponed the trip because of the accident. Now that you and Luc are well again we can set our plans back on track. Go home with Luc, honey. Everything will be all right.”

Was it her imagination or were her father’s words just a little too emphatic?

“The doctor has seen fit to discharge you. It’s time for you to come home.” Luc held out his left hand to her, a hand that bore a glint of gold on his ring finger. A ring she’d supposedly put on him while declaring her love for him before witnesses.

Belinda was suddenly aware of her own naked hand. There wasn’t even so much as a dent in her skin to show where a ring had encircled her finger.

“Ah, yes, of course. Your rings.” Luc slid his hand inside the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted two rings. He limped forward to the side of her bed. “Let me.”

His fingers were surprisingly warm to the touch. They curled about her hand in a gentle, yet undeniably possessive grip. Something perverse inside her encouraged her to pull from his touch. As if he anticipated her action his fingers tightened as he helped her to her feet—his grip holding her hand captive.

He slid the platinum band, inlaid with baguette-cut white diamonds, onto her ring finger. As the overhead light caught the sparkle and fire in the stones, Belinda fought to control the tremor that quaked through her body, the sensation of having been branded Luc Tanner’s property. A shocking sense of déjà vu swamped her as the image of Luc placing the ring on her finger in another time and place filled her mind. A remembered thrill of excitement and anticipation surged through her.

She fought to hold on to the impression, the fleeting consciousness of her lost months, but it dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving her feeling empty and alone.

Belinda became aware of Luc’s long fingers sliding another ring on her finger, bringing it up over her knuckle to nestle against the wedding band. The radiant-cut blue-grey diamond burned with cold fire, the shoulders of its setting decorated with smaller baguette-cut white diamonds. She gasped aloud at the size and beauty of the stone.

“Did…did I choose this?”

Luc’s dark brows pulled together, making him appear even more formidable than before. “You don’t remember this, either? For a moment I thought you did.”

Somehow he’d sensed her flash of memory when he’d put on her wedding band. The implication of how well he understood her was unnerving, more unnerving perhaps than even the knowledge that she couldn’t remember a single thing about him.

“No,” she replied on a whisper. “I remember nothing.”

“I commissioned the ring for you the day I met you.”

“The day we met? But how…?” Belinda looked up at him in surprise.

Luc’s gaze held hers. “I knew from that day you would be my wife.”

Her laugh sounded forced, even to her ears. “And did I have any say in the matter?”

“Belinda.” He pronounced each syllable of her name with care, making it sound like a caress. “You loved me before. You will love me again.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. His lips were surprisingly cool and an unexpected quiver of longing spread through her. What would it feel like if he kissed her? Would that unlock their past, the memories entrapped within her mind?

Luc drew her to his side, the imprint of his body heat seeped through her light clothing and deeper, to her skin. She pulled away, just enough to break the unnerving contact that had already sent her pulse into an erratic beat. His body felt unfamiliar, yet she was drawn to him at the same time. Surely if they had been married, been intimate together, she would have some physical memory imprinted in her psyche?

“The helicopter is waiting. We can’t obstruct the hospital helipad for any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Helicopter? We aren’t driving? Just how far are we going?”

“Tautara Estate is southeast of Lake Taupo. Perhaps being back there will assist in triggering a memory for you.”

“Lake Taupo, but that’s almost a four-hour drive from here. What if…?” Her voice trailed away helplessly. What if, indeed? There’d be no one there to help her if the fears that plagued the edge of her consciousness became more than she could bear.

“What if…?” Luc prompted, his lips a thin implacable line across his face.

“Nothing.” Belinda dropped her head slightly, allowing the fullness of her hair to cover her face, to hide the sudden tears that stung her eyes. Everything inside her screamed that this was wrong, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember why. The doctors had told her her memory should return in time, that she should stop trying to force things, but right now the black void in her mind threatened to overwhelm her.

“Then let’s go.”

Belinda walked two steps with Luc then halted, her sudden stop sending him slightly off balance. She noticed he used the cane to regain his stability. Was he fully recovered himself? She already sensed it was a question she couldn’t ask, sensed he was too proud to admit to physical failure or weakness. Pulling from Luc’s hold, she turned to her father, holding her arms out for a hug.

“I’ll see you later, then, Dad. You’ll give my love to Mum?” She searched his face once more for any inkling of why she felt as if she’d been shucked off like last year’s haute couture, but he refused to fully meet her gaze. Instead he wrapped her in his arms and held her as if he’d never let her go.

“Yes, I will. She wasn’t up to today’s visit but we will see you soon,” Baxter Wallace said, his voice thick.

“Baxter.” Luc’s voice cut through the air with the precision of fine steel, and her father’s arms dropped to his side.

“Go on, darling, everything will be all right. Just wait and see,” he urged.

“Of course everything will be all right. Why wouldn’t it be?” Luc tucked Belinda’s arm in the crook of his and guided her out the door.

Later, as the helicopter lifted from the pad, Belinda tried to remember why she’d been so excited when the doctor had told her she’d be discharged this afternoon. Now she felt anything but. She had nothing with her but the clothes on her back and the rings on her finger—rings that felt as foreign to her as the man who was her husband. She didn’t even have so much as a pair of sunglasses to ward off the sharp late-summer-afternoon light.

She cast a glance forward to her husband who sat next to the pilot in the cockpit. Her husband. No matter what they said, he was a stranger, and deep in her heart she knew he’d remain that way for a long, long time.

You loved me before. You will love me again.

His words echoed in her mind and as they did it occurred to her he’d said nothing of his feelings for her. Not one word of love had passed his lips from the moment she’d set eyes on him. The realisation sat like a cold ball of lead in the pit of stomach.

Relief poured through Luc’s aching bones as his Eurocopter Squirrel neared Tautara Estate—so named because of its position on the hilltop overlooking a small tributary river to New Zealand’s largest lake. He consciously fought to stop himself from rubbing his hip to ease the ache of sitting in the confines of the cockpit of the helicopter. He’d accepted he was unable, at this time anyway, to pilot the craft himself. His recovery from the broken hip and torn spleen had taken longer than expected when a bone infection had delayed his rehabilitation.

The knowledge that his wife lay only a couple of floors away from him, locked in a coma that had baffled her doctors, had done much to hasten his recuperation. Her emergence from the coma had come just as he commenced intensive physical therapy and had begun to welcome the challenge of restoring his body to its customary strength. He’d had no desire to appear as a cripple the first time she saw him after the accident. He’d pushed himself hard this past fortnight, but it had been worth it. He was nearly home.

With her.

The chopper followed the path of one of the lake’s tributaries, where he often hosted trout fishing expeditions for his celebrity guests, and Luc took comfort in the familiar landscape, the energy of the land below reaching out to him. Yes, he’d heal more quickly here, in charge of his own progress. In charge of his life. The way it should be.

He cast a look backward to where Belinda sat staring out the side window. A fierce wave of possession swept through him. She was his. Lost memory or not, things would return to the way they should have been all along—before the accident.

Her misty blue-grey eyes were serious as she gazed at her surroundings, her face pale, her hands curled into tight fists in her lap. She’d barely moved for the duration of the flight. Frozen in the past he supposed. She didn’t remember meeting him, their courtship or their wedding. She didn’t remember the crash. A part of him hoped she never would.

As the helicopter gained height, then circled over Tautara Estate, Luc allowed a smile of satisfaction to play across his lips. The estate was a monument to his success and power and was renowned worldwide amongst the wealthy, the famous—even royalty—for its facilities and attractions. And it was home in a way he’d never had a home before. The words his father had beaten into him on a regular basis—“You’ll never amount to anything. Nothing you have will stay yours.”—echoed in his head.

“You were wrong, old man,” he swore silently. “I am and I have everything you never were or ever had.”

Yes, now they were back all would be well again.

The pilot set the chopper down on the designated pad and Luc disembarked, turning to help Belinda from the cabin. They walked in silence toward the main house, which sprawled before them. Belinda halted beside him.

“Is something wrong?” Luc asked, forcing himself not to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to the front door through his sheer will.

“I’ve been here before?” she asked, her voice tentative.

“Of course. Many times before our wedding.”

“I should remember something, but I don’t. There’s…nothing there.”

Luc sensed the frustration that held her in its grip and unbidden, felt a brief but undeniable pull of sympathy for her. The feeling left him as quickly as it had come.

“Come into the house, perhaps something there will jog your memory.”

He took her hand in his and felt a measure of relief when her slender fingers curled around his, almost as if she was frightened to take the next step without him at her side. A grim smile settled on his face, and the fingers of his other hand gripped the head of his custom-made cane, its solid weight against the palm of his hand a reminder of the disability that would forever remain a legacy of their short marriage.

Whether she remembered again or not, he had her back at Tautara Lodge, where she belonged. As they crossed the threshold onto the New Zealand native parquet floor in the imposing cathedral-ceilinged entrance, Luc fought to hold back a roar of triumph. Nothing would interfere with his plans now.

No one reneged on Luc Tanner and got away with it—least of all his beautiful wife.

Two

Belinda stared around her. She felt as if she’d been totally displaced in her world. Nothing about the ornate stained-glass and rimu wood-framed doors at the front entrance felt familiar, and as her heels clicked on the highly polished wooden floor the faint echo rang out as a taunting reminder of the echoes in her mind. Fleeting. Intangible. Lost in a moment.

“Let me show you our suite.”

“Our suite?”

“Yes, I run Tautara Estate as a luxury lodge for overseas visitors. They pay handsomely for their privacy, I demand mine. Our rooms are to this side.”

Luc led her through another set of panelled rimu doors and down a wide, high-ceilinged, carpeted corridor. To her left was a panel of floor-to-ceiling glass windows giving an exquisite view down through the valley, with Lake Taupo, sunlight glinting off its surface, far in the distance. The tranquil beauty of the scene lay in direct contrast to the nerves leaping and dancing in her stomach.

At the end of the corridor Luc swiped a key card and thrust open the door. Belinda stifled a gasp at the stepdown lounge that spread before her. It was twice the size of her parents’ formal sitting room at their palatial St. Helier’s Bay home in Auckland. Twice the size and, by the looks of it, twice as expensively comfortable.

She walked down the stairs ahead of Luc. Her hand stroked the fronds of the potted palms that guarded the base of the shallow stairs and trailed over the surface of the baby grand piano nestled in an alcove of the room to her left.

“You play?” she asked.

Her fingers grazed the cool ivory of the keys, sending a single discordant note to hover on the air.

“After a fashion,” Luc answered noncommittally.

Belinda lifted her head and met his gaze fully for the first time since they’d left the hospital.

“Did you play for me?”

Suddenly she needed to know. The piano was a beautiful instrument—an instrument of passion, capable of expressing deepest desires and yearnings even when words failed. As she waited for Luc’s response his eyes changed, deepening in colour, becoming the stormy green of a storm-tossed lake. The scar across his cheek paled and she noted the tension in the set of his jaw.

“Luc?” she prompted.

“Yes. I played for you,” he finally ground out.

The light in his eyes changed again, reflecting a heat that flared to unexpected life from deep within her body. She saw the muscles working in his throat, the twin spots of colour that marked the slant of his cheek-bones—sensed the unleashed power of his body. Had he wooed her with music? Had she been seduced by the power of his long-fingered hands as they’d coaxed perfection from the keys of the baby grand? Had he then coaxed perfection from her?

A shiver of longing played down her spine, and she felt her breathing slow, her blood thicken languidly in her veins.

Belinda forced herself to break eye contact, to step further into the room with its luxurious fittings and deeply comfortable furnishings. Despite the value of each piece it was obviously a room that was used and enjoyed. Or at least it had been until they’d been hospitalised.

“I’ll show you the rest of the suite.” Luc’s voice cut sharply across her thoughts.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” she replied as she followed him up the shallow stairs on the other side of the lounge, to the informal dining area and small but functional kitchen. “So you’re completely self-contained here,” Belinda observed as they passed through to another corridor.

“We are.”

Belinda couldn’t help but notice his subtle emphasis on the word “we.”

Luc continued. “The lodge has its own gym and indoor pool, and you can see the tennis court through there.” He indicated a deep-set window that framed a vista out toward the back of the main section of the lodge where a full-size tennis court stood in readiness. “My office is located in the main section of the lodge.”

“Do you have any guests here at the moment?”

“No. Not since the accident.”

Belinda furrowed her brow in confusion. “Is it your off season or something? Couldn’t your staff still have been able to provide their services and the full range of your facilities even while you were in hospital?”

“Certainly they could. I wouldn’t employ them otherwise.”

“Then why?”

“This time had been booked up for personal reasons.”

She hesitated, noting how his hand had tightened on the head of his cane. His limp seemed more pronounced.

“Personal reasons?” she probed.

“Our honeymoon, to be precise.”

He bit the words out as if they were poison past his lips and Belinda flinched at his tone.

Their honeymoon?

“Just how long have we been married?” Her voice shook as she asked the question.

“Not long.”

“Luc? Tell me.” Belinda pushed her back against the wall behind her, certain she’d need its support.

“Belinda, the doctors said you need time. You must take things slowly.”

“How long have we been married?” she insisted, enunciating each word as clearly as she could through a mouth that felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool.

“Just over six weeks.”

“Six weeks? But then that means…” Her voice trailed away weakly. Her legs threatened to give way on her, and she braced her hands against the solid strength of the wall behind her.

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

Luc stepped toward her, but Belinda threw up one hand in protest as he leaned forward to touch her.

“No! Don’t. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. It was just…unexpected, that’s all.”

Six weeks? That meant they’d been involved in the accident shortly after their wedding. But then why would no one give her any details about it? Why couldn’t she remember?

Luc remained silent, his eyes flicking over her, searching for proof of her affirmation that she was indeed all right. He took a step away and turned to throw open double doors that led into a sumptuous bedroom. Her eyes were inexorably drawn to the king-size pedestal bed that dominated the room, dwarfing the exquisite outlook from the French doors that lined the outside wall.

Despite the generous proportions of the room and the bank of glass that allowed the crisp sunlight to warm the air, she felt the walls close in on her as the tension between them tautened like a drawn bow. Belinda could barely tear her eyes from the expanse of fine linen, the teals and blues of the damask duvet cover mirroring the tones and textures of the water in the far distance and the flora outside. She hadn’t stopped to think about their arrangements once they arrived here. What if he expected to sleep with her?

An image imprinted in her mind of her body entwined with Luc’s. Her throat dried, making it difficult to formulate her next words.

“Is this the only bedroom?”

“Yes. When we start our family we will extend this part of the lodge. I already have the plans drawn up.”

“I would prefer to sleep somewhere else.”

“Impossible.”

“What?”

“You’re my wife. You sleep with me.”

“But—”

“Are you afraid of me, Belinda?”

Luc stepped close enough to her that she could smell the subtle tang of his cologne, the lime and spice intertwined into something that sent her pulse skittering through her veins. He lifted a hand to stroke a tendril of her hair back behind her ears. She tilted her head slightly, breaking the tenuous contact even as it began, but not soon enough to halt the heated tingle that danced across the surface of her skin.

“Afraid? No. Not at all,” she lied. Afraid? She was terrified. As far as she was aware, their acquaintance, their knowledge of each other—be it physical or mental—had started from the moment he’d walked into her hospital room only a scant few hours ago.

“Then you think I would force my attention on you?” He cupped the back of her head, stroking her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “I don’t know you.”

“Ah, that’s where you are wrong, my beautiful wife. You know me. Intimately.”

With that he bent down. She was momentarily aware of the almost driven expression on his face before the distance between them closed and the coolness of his firm lips captured hers. She went rigid at the contact and felt his fingers tighten imperceptibly at the nape of her neck. Her lips parted on a gasp of shock and despite her determination not to return his caress she found herself unable to halt the answer of her body to his. The pressure of his kiss firmed, demanded more, and like an automaton she gave it.

She bunched her hands into fists to stop herself from lifting her arms, from curling them around his shoulders and pressing her body against his to ease the ache that made her breasts throb with need. Luc deepened the kiss, his tongue probing past her lips to gently stroke the soft inner recess of her mouth. A spear of desire drove through her from deep within her core. She fought the near overwhelming craving to be touched by him. To be dragged from the fugue of not knowing, to full aching awareness of Luc—of his taste, of his touch.

Abruptly Luc pulled away.

“See, we’re not such strangers after all.” His eyes glittered like chips of aventurine as he pinned her with his unblinking stare. Daring her to deny the way her body had awakened in response to his kiss. “There will be no force, I can assure you.”

He limped toward the door, leaving Belinda standing there, alone.

“Where are you going?” she blurted. As unsettling as she found his presence, and her reaction to it, the prospect of being left alone was even more so. He was the only thing even vaguely familiar to her.

“Missing me already?” His lips fleetingly curved into an approximation of a smile. “I have business to attend to.”

“Business? But surely it can wait. You must be tired. You’re limping worse than before.”

As soon as the words escaped her lips she knew she’d made a mistake. Luc Tanner was not the sort of man who liked to be reminded of his all-too-human frailty.

“Why, Belinda, you sound just like a concerned wife.” He flashed her a smile that had nothing to do with humor. “My business has waited too long already. I suggest you rest until dinnertime.”

He wheeled around on his good leg and left the room, leaning heavily on the cane she instinctively knew he had come to hate with all the seething passion she sensed beneath the cool surface he projected to the world. The seething passion he’d held in check while provoking a clamour in her that she knew already only he could answer.

Who was this man who was her husband? What had drawn her to him? And what on earth about her had drawn him in return?

She pressed shaking fingers against her lips. Had their attraction been purely physical? If her incendiary reaction to his kiss had been any indicator, she could certainly have believed that. But she’d never been overtly sexual. Her relationships had always been…civilised, for want of a better word. She had the feeling that any pretension to civilised behaviour from Luc was a mask. Beneath the surface, at grassroots level, he was indomitably feral.

So what was it, then? Had she been so drawn to the wildness in him, been so desperate to escape the confines of her “safe” world? She’d worked darned hard being the perfect hostess for her father in recent years, years in which her mother’s health had steadily declined. She’d sublimated her own burgeoning career as a landscape designer, settling for the occasional showpiece job for her father’s wealthy cronies. Jobs that had left her feeling as if she’d been appeased, like a fractious child. No matter how many magazines her gardens had been featured in, her family, including her two older sisters, had continued to condescendingly treat it as her little hobby.

Belinda sank down onto the comfortable two-seater couch, positioned to make the most of the expansive view across the valley. She knew everything about her life up until the point where she’d met him. Why couldn’t she remember anything about that time?

Couldn’t remember, or wouldn’t?

The question chilled her to her bones.

She pushed herself up and out of the seat, determined to find something that would trigger a memory. He said she’d been here before, many times. Surely she’d left a piece of herself here. Something familiar.

She hesitated a moment before pulling open a door, almost fearful of what she would find behind it. It was one thing to want to know what had happened in the past, it was quite another to discover it.

A sigh of relief rushed past her lips as she viewed the luxuriously appointed bathroom. A massive spa bath lay along one glassed wall, a double vanity lined another, and set into an alcove was a large shower stall with multiple showerheads. Clearly, everything here was designed with two in mind.

She smiled as she identified her Chanel products in the shower stall, on the bathroom vanity. Her favourite fragrance and lotion nestled side by side as if they had done so forever. She reached out and grabbed the lotion, squeezing out a small blob and smoothing it over her bare arms, taking comfort in the familiarity of its scent.

Inside a drawer she recognised makeup and personal effects. All undeniably hers. Bit by bit the tension inside her started to ease away. As strange as Luc felt to her, this was her home. These were her things.

Emboldened by her discovery, Belinda went to investigate what lay behind the other door from their room. She laughed quietly. Already she was calling it theirs. It must be right.

A spacious dressing room with his and hers large wardrobes set on either side revealed an extensive array of clothing—for both of them. Formal wear, casual wear, in between. Belinda’s fingers lingered over the array of fabrics and designs, hoping for a “ping” of memory. An image to hold on to.

A tremor ran through her as she reached for a garment, still shrouded in the cheap plastic dry cleaner’s bag, and pulled it away from the rest. Even through the protective covering the myriad of crystal beads sparkled like tears embroidered against the cross-over bodice of the ivory satin bridal gown.

Belinda dragged the cover off. Her wedding dress. She should feel something, anything but this emptiness. Surely some sensation, some remembrance should linger in her mind. She shook out the full train of the dress and held the gown to her and studied herself in the full-length mirror. She tried to imagine herself in it, walking toward Luc, ready to pledge her love and her life to him.

Nothing.

A frown furrowed her brow and she felt the beginnings of a headache start to pound. In frustration she haphazardly shoved the bag back over the dress and pushed the hanger back onto the rail. As she did so her hand caught on the dry cleaner’s ticket, attached to the bag. She pulled it off and her stomach lurched as she saw the box that had been ticked for special attention—remove bloodstains—and the handwritten note saying the removal of stains was successful.

Blood. Had it been hers or Luc’s?

She rubbed her forehead and gave a hard mental push through her mind, but all it elicited was a sharper edge to what had started as a dull pain behind her eyes. Whatever she’d locked in the past determinedly remained there.

It wasn’t until she had gone through a few drawers of underwear and other clothing that she found a disreputable pair of jeans and a handful of T-shirts that, despite being laundered, were streaked with green stains. She sank to her knees as she pulled them from the drawer and unfolded them.

Her gardening gear. Her heart began to race. Finally she recognised something. Her hands shook as she kicked off her shoes and peeled away the clothes she’d worn home from the hospital—clothes her parents had brought up to her the night before—and stepped into the jeans. They fit. A little on the loose side, but that was only to be expected after her stay in hospital. She searched for a belt and put it through the loops, adjusting it a couple of notches tighter than the wear on the belt suggested was usual. A smile pulled at her lips as she pulled on one of the T-shirts. Yes, this felt right, and if she could get into the garden maybe she’d remember more.

Leaving her discarded clothing on the floor, Belinda slipped on a pair of rubber-soled flat shoes from the shoe rack and headed for the French doors across the bedroom. She flung them open, stepping out onto the private deck, and inhaled the herbaceous scents on the air.

Stairs led off the deck from the right-hand side, down into the impeccably landscaped gardens. As she danced down them, she cast her eyes around, waiting for that same spark of recognition that had struck when she’d found the gardening wear, but it continued to elude her.

The grounds were extensive and the sun was low in the sky when she found the herb garden. Crushed-shell pathways, edged with old bricks, formed a complex Celtic knot pattern, with lush foliage of a variety of herbs—their scents rich in the evening air—filling the spaces in between. At its central point a sundial was mounted, casting long shadows into the boxed rosemary nearby.

Rosemary—for remembrance. She’d have laughed out loud if the irony hadn’t been so painful. Yet of all the places she’d explored in the garden this was the one area she felt most at home. Absently Belinda snapped off a sprig of rosemary and, rubbing it between her fingers, brought the fragrant herb to her nose and inhaled deeply.

Suddenly she knew. This was her garden. She’d planned and painstakingly directed the position of each plant in its place. The parsley she’d planted herself—she remembered that much—laughing at the time at something her sisters had said about how each time they’d planted parsley they’d fallen pregnant. The hope she’d felt that the old wives’ tale would come true for her struck her square at her centre, and she staggered to the bench seat positioned to make the most of the final rays of the sun.

She remembered. Oh, God, she remembered the garden. It had taken months to get it to this state, but what of the rest? What of the time she must have spent here with Luc, of their growing relationship and their plans for a future together—their love?

The pounding behind her eyes changed in tempo, sharpening to a vicious stab that made her flinch. As her eyes uncontrollably slid closed and Belinda began to lose her grip on consciousness, a question echoed in her head: was this the pain of remembrance or the pain of regret?

Three

Luc threw his Mont Blanc pen on his desk with scant regard to the limited-edition, eighteen-karat-gold masterpiece. He pushed his chair back from the desk. Damned if he could think straight today, and he knew whose fault that was.

Belinda.

A fierce sense of possession swirled deep inside him. He’d had to force himself to walk away from her earlier, to give her space, when all he’d wanted to do was imprint himself back into her mind, her body. He could have done it. She’d welcomed his kiss, participated fully in the duel of senses. But some perverse sense of honour embedded in his psyche insisted she come to him again willingly.

He pushed himself up and out of his chair and crossed his expansive office to the window overlooking the gardens. His first thought on seeing the young woman in tattered jeans and a T-shirt was that they had a trespasser on the property, but the quickening inside him told him exactly who it was. He’d had the same visceral reaction the first time he’d laid eyes on her and decided she’d be his. He smiled.

Expanding the existing kitchen garden had been the impetus to orchestrate her arrival at Tautara Estate. He’d done his research and known she would never be able to resist the opportunity to create an herb garden to rival any other in the country. Didier, the chef he’d unabashedly poached from a Côte D’Azur five-star hotel, had long bemoaned the lack of an extensive array of fresh herbs to use in his sumptuous cuisine and had theatrically fallen to the ground to kiss Belinda’s feet once the garden had been planted.

Her lengthy stay at Tautara, punctuated by trips back to Auckland to act as hostess for her father’s enumerable functions, had set the scene for his successful campaign. She had been away often enough to miss him—enough to realise she loved him and belonged here, at his side. It had taken time, but he’d achieved his goal.

But then Luc Tanner was the kind of man who always got what he wanted and he’d wanted Belinda with a gut-deep need that surpassed anything he’d known before. He thought back to the first time he’d seen Belinda, at a boutique hoteliers’ function hosted by her father.

Rather than approach her directly, Luc had gone instead to her father, Baxter Wallace, who’d laughed in Luc’s face at his request for an introduction to his precious youngest daughter and turned him down flat. Undeterred, Luc had bided his time, always watching from afar, knowing, eventually, he would succeed in his quest. And the time came, as it always did.

When, several months later, Baxter was fleeced to the tune of several hundreds of thousands of dollars in a credit-card scam targeting boutique hotels and chains, his bank had happily entered into extensive loans to rectify the situation. But by the time Baxter’s wife had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, requiring expensive treatment overseas not covered by their insurance company, the banks had already capped their financial well. So to whom had a desperate Baxter turned?

Luc Tanner.

No one else had the resources, or the motivation, to help. And much as it had obviously galled Baxter Wallace to turn to the one man he’d spurned, he’d succumbed in the end.

They’d come to an agreement, one that had suited them both. One that now hung on whether or not Belinda regained her memory.

Luc’s eyes narrowed as he saw Belinda drop to the surface of a bench seat in the garden, one hand pressed to her head. Something was very wrong. He propelled himself toward the door, calling to Manu, his majordomo, for assistance even as she slid to the ground.

Manu reached her first. Luc’s hand ached from his grip on the head of his walking cane and he silently and vehemently cursed the disability that had prevented him from being at his wife’s side when she needed him.

“What do you think? Is she okay?” Luc asked, as the one man he trusted above all others checked Belinda’s vital signs.

“She’s coming round, it’s just a faint, I reckon.”

Luc clumsily dropped to his knees, ignoring the shaft of pain that speared through his hip, and brushed the hair from Belinda’s face just as her eyes fluttered open.

“Luc?” Her voice was weak, her eyes unfocused.

“You fainted. Manu’s checking you over to make sure you haven’t hurt yourself. Don’t worry. I trust him with my life.”

“She looks fine, Luc. No sign of any bumps on her head. No grazes anywhere.”

“How do you feel?” Luc wrapped his arm around Belinda’s shoulders as she struggled to sit up.

“I…I don’t know what happened. One minute I was okay, with a bit of a headache, the next it was excruciating pain. Then you guys were here.”

“And now? The headache. Has it gone?” As soon as he had her back inside the house he would call her neurologist. He didn’t like the sound of this headache. Not if it had the capacity to render her unconscious.

“It’s going away. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Her pale face belied her words. Between them, the two men helped Belinda to her feet. Luc felt frustrated that he had to defer to Manu’s unencumbered strength in this situation. Before the accident he would simply have lifted Belinda into his arms and carried her to their suite, but now even such a responsibility was denied him. They walked slowly to the lower entry to the house where an elevator door stood open and waiting. It was a short ride to the next level, where they made their way to Luc and Belinda’s private suite.

“I’ll arrange for your evening meal to be sent through to you,” Manu said as he left them at the door to their rooms.

“Thank you—” Luc clasped his seneschal’s hand “—for everything.”

“Not a problem, Luc. You know I’m here for you, man.”

Luc gave a sharp, brief nod. He and Manu went back further than either of them wanted to admit. The bond they’d formed in their preteens, occasionally tripping on the wrong side of the law in a vain attempt to shake off their respective parents’ unsavoury influence, was immutable.

Belinda dropped into one of the deep leather couches in the sunken living room with an audible sigh.

“I’m calling your doctor.” Luc crossed the room and lifted a cordless handset from a side table. He punched in the private number of her specialist without once referring to the card the man had given him prior to Belinda’s release from hospital.

“No, please. Don’t. I’ll be okay. I probably just overdid things is all. I was trying to force myself to remember. Doing everything I’d been told not to do.” She rose and took the phone from him, firmly replacing it on its station. “Honestly, I’ll be fine.”

“You will tell me immediately if you suffer another of these headaches,” he insisted.

“Yes, of course.” Her eyes briefly met his before fluttering away.

Would she? Her body language told him differently, but he had to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Until I’m satisfied you won’t have a recurrence of today’s episode I don’t want you out of my sight.” It was a vow as much as a statement, and he saw her stiffen at his words.

“Surely that won’t be necessary, besides being totally impractical,” she argued gently.

“Let me be the judge of that. I will at least need to know where you are at all times.” He took her hand and drew her toward him, placing her hand over his heart. The air between them heated with the warmth of their bodies. “I nearly lost you once already. I’m not prepared to take any more chances.”

He saw the shiver run down her spine, the flare of her nostrils, the widening of her eyes as the impact of his words sank in. On the surface he knew they appeared to be little more than what one would expect from a newly wed groom to his bride. Only he knew the difference.

Belinda allowed his words to penetrate into the dark recesses of her mind. She should feel comforted, reassured by his protectiveness, but instead she felt only trepidation. He still held her hand against his chest, and she tried not to focus on the strong, steady beat of his heart, the breadth of muscle she felt beneath her finger-tips.

Or the overwhelming desire she had to flex her hand against his strength, to imprint the shape and feel of him against her palm. Her heart picked up a beat and skittered in her chest as her eyes met his.

His gaze was unbreakable, and she was drawn even closer to him as she returned his stare. Now there was no air between them, her body was against his, length to length. Had he pulled her closer, or had she crossed that final barrier of distance without realising it herself? The long, strong muscles of his thighs pressed against hers, her pelvis cradled his slightly narrower hips, the soft curve of her belly moulded against the washboard hardness of his.

His pupils dilated and she felt his indrawn breath as if it had come from deep inside her own chest. Maybe it had. Already the lines between where she began and ended were blurred as she parted her lips, moistening their suddenly dry surface with the tip of her tongue. His own lips were set in a firm line, his brows drawn together slightly.

“Luc?” Her voice broke from her throat as more of a plea than a reassurance, and she felt the tension in him break as he lowered his head and caught her lips in a kiss that threatened to knock her hard-fought equilibrium six ways from Sunday.

If anything she felt more light-headed than she had in the garden when she’d regained consciousness, yet something still held her back, prevented her from committing fully to his touch. She drew back, feeling the loss of him like a physical ache as he let go her hand and she no longer absorbed his heartbeat or his heat.

He turned away from her and tunnelled one hand through his short-cropped hair in a gesture that told her more than any of his carefully calculated words. So, her cool, calm and collected husband could be rattled. Somehow the knowledge didn’t give her the power she had hoped.

“I’m going to shower before our dinner arrives. Join me.”

His invitation—or was it more of a command?—hung on the air between them as he limped up the shallow stairs toward their bedroom, his cane stabbing at the thickly carpeted surface like some kind of weapon.

Belinda’s throat constricted on her words of denial. They were husband and wife, no matter how foreign the words felt to her. Dare she bare herself to a man who was essentially unknown to her? Would she find familiarity in his touch? She took a tentative step toward him, then halted as fear overtook her need for the truth.

“Belinda. I meant what I said about you not being out of my sight.” Luc paused at the top of the stairs, his body vibrating with a tension that was almost palpable. “You don’t need to shower with me if it makes you uncomfortable, but I want you there. In the room with me.”

A thrill of something charged through her veins. Was this a test of some sort?

“Fine,” she answered unsteadily. “But I think I’d rather have a bath.”

“I’ll draw it for you.”

“I can manage myself.”

“Of course you can.” His voice was conciliatory. “But let me do this for you. For my wife. I’ve been able to do little else for you in the past six weeks.”

She sensed a hidden message in his last words and it left a prickle of discomfort running across her scalp. She shook her head lightly to rid herself of the sensation. She was being overly sensitive. Not surprising really when only this morning she’d been safely ensconced in a private room in hospital. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to immerse herself in clean, soft water, to rid herself of the remnants of any lingering scent from her stay in hospital.

As she entered the bedroom she saw his jacket already casually thrown onto the bed. She could hear the thunder of water in the voluminous spa bath.

A shudder ran through her. What if he changed his mind and decided to join her in the bath? A throb pulled deep inside her womb at the thought, even as her mind insisted its denial. She forced her feet toward the bathroom. Luc was bent over the bath, pouring a splash of perfumed bath foam into the water and swirling it with a sweep of his hand. She watched as he inhaled the fragrance, the expression of sheer longing on his face striking hard to her core.

She hadn’t stopped to think how this had all been for him. To be married and then to have lost her to this frozen wasteland of not remembering even the smallest thing about their life together.

“I’ve missed this,” he said as she entered the spacious room. His voice dropped an octave. “I’ve missed you.”

“I…I’m sorry, Luc. I’m trying to remember.” Her hands fisted in frustration at her sides and her voice became more insistent. “And I did! I remembered the garden. That’s when the headache became unbearable.”

“Don’t force it, Belinda. We don’t want a recurrence of your blackout. Let it come back to you in its own time.” He reached down and turned off the faucet, his movements fluid—just hinting at the muscled strength beneath his clothes. “There, your bath is ready.”

Without a second glance he turned away from her, pulling his shirt free of his trousers and unbuttoning it. She couldn’t tear her eyes away as he shrugged the fine cotton off his shoulders exposing the long lean line of his back. His skin still held a warm golden tan. As he unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his trousers she felt a deep longing rise within her, right up until the moment he exposed the long angry scar that laid an undeniable stripe from his hip down his right leg.

She couldn’t hold back the cry that broke from her lips.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” Luc half turned toward her, a flash of anger sparking in his eyes. “I’m told it will fade, and this one, too—” he gestured to the surgical scar on his abdomen “—in time. But I’ll always have a limp.”

“Is it still painful?” Belinda managed to ask, her gaze still riveted to the wound site. A stab of guilt lanced through her. So wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t considered what he’d physically been through.

“Sometimes it’s worse than others,” he admitted flatly before reaching into the shower to turn on the water. “Go on. Enjoy your bath.”

He stepped into the large shower cubicle, and she watched as the water cascaded over his body, rivulets running through the light dusting of hair on his chest and arrowing down lower, past his taut stomach. Even though he’d obviously lost some weight in hospital, he still had a commandingly powerful build. As he lathered shower gel over his skin, she suddenly wished she’d had the courage to join him in the shower. To be the one stroking the glistening liquid soap down his chest and across the ridged hardness of his abdomen, and lower.

A flush of heat suffused her body. What was she thinking? Only hours ago she’d been terrified at the prospect of travelling with him, of leaving the virtual safety of her hospital room. Now here she was, little more than an opportunistic voyeur as he luxuriated under the pounding water of his shower.

She wheeled about and focused instead on the bath he’d drawn for her. She needed to twist her hair up, and unerringly she opened the correct drawer where her hair accessories were lined up. It should give her some comfort, she decided, that she instinctively knew where such things were. With a modicum of movement she pinned her hair up, undressed and lowered herself into the warm fragrant water. As the foaming bubbles closed over her body, she relaxed. They offered her some privacy for when Luc came out of the shower, but something inside her begged to attract his attention, something she couldn’t control.

And that, right now, was her greatest fear. She didn’t recognise the woman who’d fallen in love with Luc Tanner and agreed to marry him. Clearly it wasn’t the Belinda Wallace she believed herself to be.

Something within her had changed in the past several months. Something drastic. It had seen her uplift herself from her home in Auckland, from her family and from her career. To give all that up for him.

She sank lower in the bath, covering her shoulders and stretching her long legs out before her. As she looked out the window over the valley, bathed in the start of a glorious sunset with swaths of red and purple creeping across the sky, she acknowledged she owed it to herself, and to Luc, to remember what that was.

Four

Despite the misgivings that plagued her about how she’d handle Luc’s exit from the shower, she was surprised to find that it all felt almost impossibly familiar. Even so, tension gripped her shoulders and she pushed her head back against the built-in cushion on the side of the bath, closing her eyes the moment she’d heard him snap off the water and push open the shower door.

Her active imagination painted a very clear picture of how he looked as she heard him drag one of the thick white bath towels from the heated rail and cast it across his body to dry himself. She counted to one hundred, very slowly, before she opened her eyes again.

Luc stood at the vanity, the towel riding low on his hips, his cane resting against the blush-coloured marble countertop. She watched as he smoothed shaving cream across the hard angles of his shadowed jaw and picked up his razor. There was something incredibly sexy about watching a man shave, Belinda decided as she found herself captured by his every movement.

She must have stirred because suddenly he turned and caught her watching him. A slow smile pulled at his lips, a smile that melted her right through to her core.

“Enjoying the bath?” His eyes glowed as he took in the curve of her shoulder, the sweep of her arm as it rested along the edge of the tub and back up again to her throat where her pulse beat rapidly in the slender column of her neck.

If he’d have traced his fingertips along the same path she couldn’t have felt it more distinctly. Beneath the froth her breasts ached, her nipples tightened and her inner muscles clenched in response.

“Mmm, wonderful,” she managed, but as she gazed at him she found herself referring more to the vision of male than the silky-soft environment in which she reclined.

“Hungry?” he asked, sending her mind into overdrive before she realised that she was, indeed, starving.

“Yes, I suppose I’d better get out.”

“No, don’t bother. I’ll check first to see if dinner’s ready yet.” He swiped at his face with a small towel and dropped it into a laundry hamper on his way out of the bathroom.

When he returned he pushed a small wheeled trolley with one hand. As he drew closer to the bath, Belinda spied a large ceramic platter and an ice bucket containing a bottle of one of the Hawke’s Bay region’s finest sauvignon blancs. Two elegantly cut crystal wineglasses stood beside the ice bucket.

“You look like you’ve done this before,” Belinda commented as Luc extracted the bottle from the ice and deftly wiped it with a crisp white serviette.

“I’ve done some waiting in my time,” Luc replied guardedly.

He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to her, then pulled up the vanity stool next to the bath and sat down. His towel dropped away at the side, revealing the length of his right leg—exposing the angry scar. She averted her gaze to stare out the window and past the darkening valley to where the final remnants of the sun slipped beyond the last hill. His very nearness, and nakedness, played havoc with her heart rate. Even the warmth emanating from his body tempted and tormented her.

Belinda focussed on taking a sip of the pale strawcoloured wine, letting the perfectly chilled tropical fruit flavours roll over her tongue and down her throat. She knew from what memory she still clung to with an iron grip that no one else had ever elicited such a powerful reaction from her before.

Was this what had bound her to Luc? The overwhelming physical awareness that simmered constantly beneath the surface?

“Here, try this,” Luc said, interrupting her thoughts.

Belinda turned her head toward him, to the morsel of provolone cheese encased in a sliver of prosciutto he offered. Obediently she opened her mouth. If she’d thought for even a minute that she’d regained control of her equilibrium around Luc it was shattered the instant his fingertips touched her lips. Tiny shocks buzzed across her skin at the fleeting contact as the flavours exploded in her mouth.

“Good?” he asked.

“Mmm, delicious. But, Luc, you don’t need to wait on me,” she protested.

“I know,” he answered simply. “Indulge me.” He dipped a slice of crusty bread in aioli. “Here, try this. It’s Didier’s own recipe and made with product sourced solely from Tautara Estate.”

As he brought the morsel to her mouth a drop of oil fell and pooled in the curve of her collarbone right where it met her shoulder.

“Ah, we can’t have that,” Luc murmured.

He leaned forward, his tongue darting across her skin to lick up the single drop. Every muscle in her body coiled tight and she nearly shot out the water at the exquisitely brief caress. Her fingers curled tight around the stem of her wineglass, and she had to consciously stop the reflexive jerk that threatened to snap the delicate stem.

“More?” His lips were by her ear, his breath fanning the suddenly hyperresponsive skin of her neck.

“M-more?” She could barely get the single syllable past her tightened throat.

“Antipasto.” Again his breath was a stroke of heated air over her skin.

“I—”

“Try this.”

Helpless to do anything but open her mouth, she accepted the slice of marinated artichoke heart. Slowly he offered more bite-size delectable delights interspersed only with sips of wine.

Luc carried their conversation, keeping things general. Aside from that one time he’d licked the oil from her skin he didn’t touch her again and, she was shocked to realise, she wanted him to. Oh, how she wanted him to.

When her glass was empty he took it from her and replaced it on the trolley, then leaning heavily on his cane he rose to his feet.

“Our main meal will be ready now. I’ll leave you to get dried and dressed, unless you’d like some help.”

Luc looked down upon her in the cooling water of the tub. A pulse throbbed at the side of his neck. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his brow. It gave her some relief to know that he was as similarly affected as she by the intimacy of their situation.

“No, I can manage. Thanks.”

“Good. Don’t be too long. I meant what I said about you not being out of my sight.”

“Within reason, of course,” Belinda felt compelled to add, suddenly desperate for some control of her racing pulse and the heady sense of seduction he’d transfused through her.

“Belinda, when it comes to you I’m not a reasonable man. Don’t keep me waiting.” His green eyes flared with heat and a self-deprecating smile pulled at his lips.

She stared at the door for several minutes after it closed behind him. His words carried more than a warning. There was an implied threat underwriting his statement, a threat that made her near uncontrollable physical reaction to him a risk to her precarious equilibrium.

He was a conundrum, sending conflicting messages that alternately confused and calmed her. The man who’d shared the antipasto with her was completely inverse to the man who’d brought her home from the hospital today, or the one who’d been at her side when she’d fainted in the herb garden. But which one was the real Luc Tanner? Which one was the man she’d fallen in love with?

By the time Belinda had dried herself and slipped through to the dressing room to select some clothes, Luc was waiting for her in the bedroom. He’d dressed casually in black jeans and a black polo shirt, and the colour made his eyes appear even greener than usual. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Starkly handsome, he was both beautiful and terrifying to behold.

She nervously smoothed her hands over the caramelcoloured linen trousers she’d teamed with the cream silk top she’d chosen.

“Will this do?” she asked, uncomfortable under his silent scrutiny.

“You look beautiful in anything. Come. Manu has set the table for us on our deck so we can enjoy the summer evening while it lasts.”

Belinda followed him through to the living room and out the open French doors. Burning tapers attached to the deck lit a table set with white linen and gleaming silverware. Heated chafing dishes sat on a smaller table to one side, alongside them a colourful tossed salad. For a moment she felt as though she’d stepped into a fairy tale.

Everything was magically perfect—the setting, the darkened valley with the peppering of lights from the far distant Taupo township on its periphery. Even the gentle strains of her favourite opera piped through the ceiling-mounted speakers in the eaves over the deck. It was almost surreal, but the aromas from the chafing dishes gave her a reality check. Not even in her dreams had she smelled anything so divine.

“I told Manu we’d serve ourselves tonight,” Luc said, slipping back the cover on one of the dishes to expose tiny gourmet potatoes garnished with fresh chopped chives and handing Belinda a gold-rimmed plate.

Her experienced eye recognised the pattern of the fine imported china. Was it one they’d chosen together, or was it just a normal part of Luc’s everyday life?

“You’re frowning. Trying to remember again?” Luc’s voice cut across her thoughts.

“I recognise this china. Did we choose it?”

Surprise flitted through his eyes, but was swiftly veiled before he spoke. “Yes, we did. You helped me outfit most of our suite before the wedding. It was important to you.”

And he’d encouraged her, she was sure of it. She had a sense that he’d been prepared to do anything to keep her here—to make Tautara Estate her home as much as it was indelibly his.

“I know.” She hesitated a moment, then continued. “I don’t remember, but in here—” she pressed her hand against her chest “—I know.”

Luc didn’t speak straightaway, but Belinda couldn’t help but notice the sudden tension in his shoulders or the way his eyebrows drew together. Eventually he spoke. “That’s excellent. You’re making great progress.”

Did his hand shake ever so slightly as he dished up for them both? Chiding herself for being fanciful, she applied herself to savouring the grilled trout fillets drizzled with a subtly herbed sauce, baby potatoes and fresh salad greens with the rest of their bottle of wine. It had been so long since she’d had anything with such delicate flavour. If she never tasted a bite of hospital food again it would be too soon. They ate in comparative silence, a silence that could have been awkward but for the beauty of the velvet-dark vista spread out before them.

“It’s so beautiful here.” She sighed. “How do you ever tear yourself away?”

“Sometimes business requires it. For the most part I’m more than happy to remain here. Tautara Estate comprises 6,500 hectares. There’s always plenty to do.” He smiled as Belinda fought back a yawn. “Why don’t we call it a night? You’ve had a tiring day, and I have to admit I could use the rest myself.”

“Your leg is sore?” Belinda felt a sudden surge of guilt.

“No more than usual,” Luc replied with a wave of his hand, dismissing her care.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Luc’s lips firmed into a straight line and she sensed rather than heard his sigh.

“No. Just be yourself,” he replied enigmatically.

What did he mean by that, she wondered, catching the inside of her lip between her teeth as she bit back the words that would ask him precisely that. Be herself. Right now she’d give anything to know what version of “herself” he meant.

Luc leaned heavily on his cane as he stood to get up from the table. She caught the fleeting grimace of pain he swiftly tried to mask.

Was this the way it had always been between them? Him hiding his true feelings and thoughts? She couldn’t imagine that she’d have fallen in love with or married a man who was so closed to her emotionally. It just wasn’t her style. Her family had always been demonstrative, affectionate. They shared their worries and concerns between them—a problem shared is halved, her father always said.

Did she and Luc have that kind of marriage? Something inside her whispered to the contrary, and the inner voice was distinctly unsettling.

Five

When they returned to their private suite, Belinda’s nerves were strung out to screaming point. Inside the bedroom the drapes had been drawn, and the bedside lamps cast a warm inviting glow over the expansive bed. A bed she was now about to share with her husband. Someone had been in the room and dispensed with the throw pillows adorning the head of the bed and had turned down the sheets. A single perfect deep-pink rose stood in a bud vase on the bedside table.

The reality of sleeping with Luc bore down on her with terrifying pressure. Her heart jumped erratically in her chest and she fought to keep her breathing measured. Could she do this? Lord, she didn’t even know which side of the bed he slept on. As if he read her thoughts, Luc gave her a small smile.

“You usually sleep there.” He indicated the side of the bed where the vase stood. “Although I’m happy to change if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

Twin beds would make her feel more comfortable right now, Belinda decided. Even separate rooms. She drew in a levelling breath and forced herself to meet his gaze.

“No, that will be fine. If that’s the way we’ve always done it.”

Luc’s smile froze on his face for the briefest moment before he nodded.

“Belinda—” The chime of his cell phone interrupted what he’d been about to say. He flicked a glance at the caller ID. “Excuse me. I need to take this. I might be a while.”

Belinda watched as he left the room, his murmured tones disappearing behind the closed door. She hurried to the dressing room and grabbed a ruby-coloured nightgown from one of her drawers. With more haste than care she shucked off her clothing and pulled it on. The gown was a filmy piece of next to nothing, with a soft stretch lace bodice that hugged her breasts like a lover’s caress.

She smoothed her hand down over the gossamer-fine material and wondered if she had bought the nightgown as part of her trousseau or whether it had been a gift from Luc. The very idea of his hands caressing the fabric the way her own did now sent a perverse thrill of longing through her body.

What was wrong with her? Inside her mind she reacted like a frightened virgin, yet physically her body yearned for Luc’s touch. Belinda shook her head and hurried to the bathroom. Every step of today had brought her nothing but more questions. She was weary of it all. Bone weary. Suddenly that big, softly lit bed was very inviting indeed.

Catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Belinda wondered whether she shouldn’t have simply chosen a T-shirt to sleep in instead. The tiny spaghetti straps looped over her shoulders lent an impression of wanton fragility, and the warmth of the red fabric made her skin glow like that of a woman welcoming her lover. Belinda huffed in frustration. She was driving herself crazy and it had to stop.

She seated herself at the vanity and grabbed a hairbrush from the drawer and started to brush her long dark hair with punishing strokes.

A movement in the doorway stilled her hand. Luc stepped forward and took her hairbrush from her fingers. “Are you trying to rip it all out?” His censure was as gentle as his touch as he took over from where she’d begun.

“I thought you might have been in bed already,” he commented, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

So he’d recognised her sudden fear. He knew her better than she gave him credit for, but then, of course he would. Right now he knew her better than she knew herself. Sudden tears of frustration sprang to her eyes.

Luc stopped brushing, his hands settling on her shoulders.

“Belinda?”

She blinked away the burning moisture, breaking eye contact with him. He saw far too much.

“I’m okay. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Understandable. It’s been a full day, for both of us.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Go to bed. I’ll be along in a while.”

She couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or disappointed that he wasn’t coming to bed now.

“Aren’t you tired, too?” she asked.

“Yes, but something’s come up. Guests we weren’t expecting until late next week have brought their trip forward to the day after tomorrow. Manu and I have some contingency plans to lay in place.”

“Guests? Already?”

“It’s not ideal, but they can’t be put off. They should only be here a couple of nights.”

“They’re regulars?”

“After a fashion, yes.”

“Then they’ll have certain expectations. We must meet them. You can’t give them less than that. You wouldn’t under normal circumstances,” she said carefully.

Right now Belinda couldn’t think of anything worse, but this was Luc’s business. The fact he’d cancelled out six weeks of patronage for their honeymoon—six weeks they’d lost—meant he would have to get back to business. Besides, the sooner she resumed life as she’d known it, the sooner she might start to remember.

“Spoken like a true hotelier’s daughter. We’ll worry about it in the morning. Now, go to bed.”

He dropped a fleeting kiss on her forehead and turned her toward the bedroom, following close on her heels. When she was settled in the bed, he switched off the lamp nearest her. Belinda suddenly reached out and held his arm.

“Please, leave the other light on until you come to bed?”

“It won’t disturb you?”

“No. I grew used to a light in the hospital.” She stifled a yawn. “Besides, I doubt anything could keep me awake now.”

Challenging heat flared in Luc’s eyes and Belinda felt an answering response in her body. The elasticized bodice of her nightwear felt too small as her nipples hardened and pressed against the fabric.

Well, maybe there was one thing. As wrong as this all felt to her she couldn’t deny there was a powerful magnetic pull between them. Luc straightened and trailed his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, leaving her skin tingling beneath his fleeting touch.

She barely heard the click of the door as it closed behind him. A near overwhelming desire to call him back choked in her throat as Belinda silently admitted she’d never felt so completely lost and alone in her entire life.

The meeting with Manu had been productive, and Luc let himself back into their suite with a tired sigh of relief. Their guests would arrive the day after tomorrow around lunchtime, in time for drinks followed by an al fresco luncheon on the deck. Then, if Belinda was up to it, she’d accompany the female member of the party to Taupo by helicopter for a couple of hours’ shopping while he and Manu took her husband fly-fishing in one of the rivers that ran through the property.

The female member.

Luc clenched his jaw against the curse that fought to rip from his throat. He had no doubt that Demi Le Clerc had trouble up her sleeve when she’d had her assistant phone the estate to change her booking. His unease had magnified when Manu reported he’d tried to contact the award-winning jazz singer to inform her that the booking couldn’t be altered but apparently she and her new fiancé were “in transit” and therefore unavailable. With modern communication being what it was, Luc very much doubted she was unreachable, rather that she’d informed her staff of her intention to be that way. How she’d found out so quickly that he’d returned home said a great deal for her spy network.

Manu had already agreed to check amongst the staff to find out if that particular spy network had been fed by one of their own. Confidentiality and loyalty were sacrosanct. If anyone had abused either, they were in breach of their employment contract and would be dispensed with immediately.

Luc swallowed against the bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of Demi and Belinda meeting. He was reluctant to expose her to Belinda while his wife was still in such a vulnerable position, but then, it may well work to his advantage. What harm could Demi possibly do when Belinda remembered nothing of their time together? Belinda had no idea their marriage had been the catalyst that had seen Demi break tabloid records with the speed of her engagement to aging billionaire oilman Hank Walker.

He’d been a fool to ever let Demi think there was more to their relationship than casual friendship. He’d never once entertained the idea of marrying her, despite her attempts to entice him into commitment. They’d made love just the once—a coupling that provided physical release only, with little else to recommend it.

Luc moved restlessly toward his piano in the dimly lit room. He was too wound up to sleep. He closed his eyes and let his fingers drift gently across the keys, the haunting quality of the music he played flowed over him—relaxing his muscles and his mind.

Playing had always had that effect on him, even back in his teens, although he was never the kind of teenager who’d have admitted to this particular skill. No, hotwiring cars and breaking and entering were more his style then. It had been during a B&E that he’d been sprung by the owner of the house—an elderly gentleman who’d seen right through Luc’s attitude and invited him back, through the front door next time. It had taken six weeks but Luc had found his feet retracing the path to Mr. Hensen’s home. The retired pianist had sensed Luc needed an outlet, a change of direction in his path of self-destruction. He’d insisted on giving Luc lessons—lessons that had been emphatically refused until the threat of going to the police was coolly raised.

It had been ages since Luc had thought about Mr. Hensen. Ages since he’d allowed himself to miss the old man in a way he’d never missed his parents after their deaths.

As the final note hung on the air, Luc let his eyes open again. Belinda sat opposite him on one of the large cream sofas, her feet curled under her. His eyes raked over her barely clad body, his pulse leaping to instant life. It had been torture to leave her in bed, her body gilded by the bedside lamp, her hair a glorious fan across the fine linen of her pillowcase. He’d wanted to make love with her with a physical ache that had almost driven him to his knees—to imprint himself back in her mind and her body in a way she would never forget again.

He dragged his wayward thoughts under disciplined restraint. Luc Tanner hadn’t gotten where he was today by giving in to impulse. No, everything about his life was about control. He’d learned the hard way what a lack of power did to a person, how it demeaned them—rendered them helpless victims. The helpless had no respect in this world. Pity, yes. But he’d had his fill of pity and well-meaning intentions. Now he commanded respect in all walks of his life.

“You play beautifully,” Belinda said, her voice hesitant, as if she sensed the power play going on inside him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I guess I’m too used to the disruptions and noise of the hospital. The quiet, of all things, woke me. A bit later I heard you on the piano. Did your meeting with Manu go well?”

“Yes, everything’s organised. Are you sure you’re okay with this? I can have them rerouted to another property if necessary.”

“Luc, when I couldn’t get back to sleep I started to think about a few things, and to be honest, as terrifying as it is, I have to get back into my old life if I’m going to move forward. I can’t turn back time and see what happened before, but I can’t stay stagnant like this, either. It’s driving me crazy. Everything around me—” she waved her arm to encapsulate the room “—it’s all new, yet sometimes familiar at the same time. Even the music you played. I know you’ve played it for me before, haven’t you?”

“I have.”

Luc swallowed. Yes, he’d played it for her before. The last time had been the night he’d proposed. They’d spent a day out on the estate together, made love together for the first time on the riverbank during a picnic—his body tightened in remembrance of her welcoming embrace, at how she’d uninhibitedly given herself fully to him. He’d instantly become addicted to her in a way he’d never imagined possible.

He’d never wanted anyone or anything in his life as much as he wanted her. The truth had frightened him until he’d persuaded himself it was because she was the perfect accompaniment to the world he’d built. He couldn’t have been thinking of anything else. By the time they’d driven back to the house, he’d decided to step up his plans and propose to her earlier than he’d anticipated. He still remembered the surge of triumph when she’d said yes.

They’d fallen to the floor, right here in this sitting room, and made love again to seal their betrothal. All she’d worn for the next twenty-four hours had been the blue diamond engagement ring he’d had made for her months earlier.

“Will you play something else for me now?” Belinda’s voice dragged him back from the past.

“Another time,” he said, rising from the piano bench and grabbing his cane.

He offered her his hand to pull her to her feet, and they went through to the bedroom together. By the time he’d undressed and was ready for bed she was curled on her side of the bed, her eyes closed, her breathing even.

She’d fallen asleep after all. But as he slid between the cool cotton of the sheets, she rolled over to face him, her blue-grey eyes massive in her heart-shaped face.

“Luc?”

He lifted a hand to smooth away a strand of her hair that fell across her cheek. “Hmmm?”

“What I said before…” She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “What I said before about getting back into my old life—I meant every aspect of my old life. Obviously we’re not strangers to each other. Whenever I look at you my body tells me that.”

So she still felt the same inexorable pull between them. Luc suppressed the smile of satisfaction that threatened to spread across his face at her words.

He watched as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, clearly choosing her next words carefully.

“Well, what I mean is…if you want to…y’know. Maybe it’ll help.” Her words faded away into the expanding silence of the room.

Luc traced the curve of her brow, then the sweep of her cheekbone with one finger, before bringing it to rest at the cupid’s bow of her lips. He’d wanted her to come to him willingly and now she had. Something foreign warmed and bloomed deep inside him.

“No,” he said quietly, his negative response surprising even himself.

“You don’t want me?” She sounded hurt and relieved at the same time.

“Oh, I want you. When the time is right we will make love again. But tonight isn’t that time. When we make love it won’t be because you want to remember, but because you do.”

Was that relief in her eyes or disappointment? He leaned forward and took her lips gently with his own, holding back the beast that clawed within him to plunder their generous softness. As much as it tormented him, he would wait.

She sighed softly against his lips. “Good night, Luc.”

She rolled over to her other side, and Luc curved his arm around her, pulling her in close against the hardness of his body. He felt her stiffen as the evidence of his arousal nestled along the crease of her buttocks, then felt her relax into him as the truth of his obvious desire for her sank in, secure in the knowledge his rejection of her wasn’t because he didn’t want her.

He lay there for hours, his eyes burning in the dark as she slid into a deep sleep. Her body shaped to his. His instincts screamed to take her and brand her his once more. It would be the ultimate satisfaction, when she remembered everything, for her to know she hadn’t been able to resist him. But he’d meant what he’d said before. When she made love with him again it would be because she remembered what their lovemaking had been like, how it had become a compulsion neither of them could deny. How they’d both resented everything that had come between their opportunities to be alone together. If he could do anything in his power to encourage that memory, he would.

The intense satisfying physicality of their relationship had been an unexpected bonus. An indicator, of sorts, that he’d been right all along when he’d decided to make Belinda Wallace his wife and mistress of Tautara Lodge. His life—his plan—would carry on as before. The hiccup of their accident would fade into a minor blip on the radar of his success.

Six

The next morning Belinda awoke feeling more rested than she had in ages. But with the fresh light of the morning, and the cool empty sheets beside her, anxiety had reasserted itself once more.

Where had the trepidation she’d felt when she’d first seen him at the hospital gone? She’d been forced into close contact with him yesterday—a close contact she hadn’t questioned and which, to be totally honest, had felt right. Was this how victims of Stockholm Syndrome felt? Had that been Luc’s intention all along—to make her completely reliant on him so far away from what little familiarity she had?

Aside from the obvious, the fact she couldn’t remember what was a very important part of her life, why did she still feel as though there was something more overshadowing her mind’s refusal to recall her memories. Even now, as she approached Luc at the dining table, where he sat reading a paper over breakfast, she sensed a closed door deep inside of him, a part of him that lay deep in shadow, and she wanted to know what was behind that door.

The only way she would find out was to keep going. He was her husband. She owed it to them both. Belinda painted a smile on her face and forced herself not to smooth the short-sleeved top she’d pulled on over designer jeans one more time as Luc looked up.

“Good morning,” Luc said, folding his paper neatly and putting it to one side. “You slept well?”

“Very well.” A faint rush of heat bloomed across her cheeks as she recalled how his enveloping arms had held her against him, how her body had reacted to his touch.

“Good.” Luc gave a nod of satisfaction. “Since we’re technically working from tomorrow, I’ve planned some fun for us today.”

“Fun? That sounds intriguing. What have you got in mind?”

Belinda reached for the coffee carafe and poured Luc another cup. She was halfway through pouring when her hand suddenly shook.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if you wanted another.” She stopped pouring and rested the carafe on a place mat on the table.

Luc gave her a searching look. “I always have two cups at breakfast.”

The ramifications of Luc’s reply echoed through her mind. She instinctively remembered that, but she didn’t remember him? How labyrinthine could the mind get? Her neurologist had spoken to her at length about the voids in her memory and how simple everyday matters could appear, as this one had this morning. Being here—being with Luc—obviously stimulated the part of her mind that held her memory captive.

Luc placed his hand over hers, where it rested on the handle of the carafe. She fought not to flinch from his touch, from the spark of physical recognition that relentlessly spiralled through her every time he was near.

“You remembered that without trying. Don’t over analyse it. Just let it come.”

“How can I do that when I don’t know the difference between remembering and not?” Her voice shook slightly.

“We’ll find a balance. Don’t worry. Who knows what might happen today.”

He let go of her hand, took a swig of his coffee, then rose from the table.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we’d take a trip around parts of the estate today. Play hooky.” He gave her a smile. “Are you up for it?”

A sensation, not unlike fear, snaked along her spine. She couldn’t help but feel he had a hidden agenda to his suggestion.

“Just the two of us?” she asked.

“Does that bother you?”

“No, it doesn’t bother me. Should it?” She forced her lips into a smile.

Luc’s eyes narrowed as her question hung on the air. “If you’d rather stay here at the lodge today, that’s okay.”

“No, no! Going out today would be fabulous.”

“Well, if it assuages your fears any, Manu will be driving us.” He rose to his feet and snatched his cane up from by the table.

“I could drive,” Belinda offered.

Luc halted midstride. His face paled measurably and he gave her a searching look that made her heart stutter in her chest. What had she said wrong?

“Or not.” She attempted to lighten the air that had suddenly frozen between them with glacial coolness.

“I think not. Not yet, anyway.” Luc appeared to have recovered his equilibrium and his skin recovered its usual hue. “How soon can you be ready?”

Belinda flicked a glance at the clock above the kitchen stove. “Give me ten minutes, then I’m all yours.”

“All mine?” Luc’s voice deepened and Belinda was suddenly swept with an uneasy sense of déjà vu.

She put out a hand and grasped a chair back to steady herself. Tiny black dots danced before her eyes. She forced herself to breathe, drawing air into her lungs and expelling it again with careful deliberation. She felt Luc’s hand at her back—a reassurance that lent her much-needed strength.

“You okay?” His breath stirred the hair at her nape.

“Yeah,” she said on shaky breath. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go and get ready.”

“Make sure you grab a jacket in case it gets cool later, and wear comfortable walking shoes, okay?”

“We’ll be out all day?”

“If you’re up for it.”

She let go of the chair and stepped out of his reach. “I’m up for it.”

“I’ll meet you out front.”

By the time she’d splashed her face and reapplied her makeup, she was heading closer to fifteen minutes than the ten she’d promised, but as she joined Luc at the front door she had at least regained most of her equilibrium. It niggled at her that he hadn’t been keen for her to drive. She’d held her licence since her late teens and had always been a good driver, but he’d looked sick to his stomach at the prospect.

Ah, well, she sighed, at least this way she’d get to enjoy the countryside a bit more than if she had to concentrate on the roads.

She was surprised when Luc sat in the back beside her as they headed off, and said as much. Luc responded by linking his fingers through hers and answering, “I’ve been forced to be apart from you for too long already. Why wouldn’t I want to be by my wife’s side?”

There was an intensity to his words that both soothed and unnerved her. She gave herself an internal shake. What was wrong with her? Everything she felt at the moment was a contradiction to what she’d felt only a moment ago. And underlying it all was the insidious awareness that something wasn’t right, that somehow she was living the wrong life. Maybe she should have let Luc call the doctor yesterday. This weird sense of displacement, the inherent sense of wrongness couldn’t be normal.

Luc dragged her attention to the land that spread out before them and described the extent of the estate’s farming and forestry operations, as they followed the road down the side of the hill, going deeper into the valley with every kilometre. As far as she could see in any direction the land was entailed in Tautara Estate. She started to get a new appreciation of how vast her husband’s business interest here was and how many staff he employed.

“And Luc is being modest,” Manu interrupted as he negotiated a hairpin bend in the road. “We offer some of the best fishing and hunting grounds in the whole of New Zealand, and for the adventurous they can go rafting, too.”

“Sounds like you offer it all,” Belinda commented.

“Yeah, well, we aim to please, don’t we, mate?” Manu’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkled with the smile that wreathed his face.

“We do at that,” Luc answered enigmatically, and gave Belinda’s hand a gentle squeeze.

After just over an hour they reached a clearing and Manu pulled the four-wheel-drive vehicle in and parked, leaping down to open Belinda’s door for her before she could alight.

“Here you are. I’ll head on as we discussed this morning, okay?”

“Thanks, Manu,” Luc answered.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” There was a note of concern in the other man’s voice that alerted Belinda he was not entirely happy to be leaving them here.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Besides, I’ve got this and I’ve got the two-way.” Luc lifted his cane slightly with one hand and patted the small radio clipped to his belt with the other. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Make sure he does.” Manu turned to Belinda, the serious light in his eyes telling her unreservedly that he wasn’t kidding. “I mean it, if he looks like he’s in any pain at all, call me.”

“Stop fussing, Manu.” Irritation laced Luc’s words with acerbity.

“You call being sensible, fussing? Her with her blackout yesterday, you with your hip, both of you just out of hospital and now me leaving you both in the wilderness. I need my head read is what.”

Though he tried to inject some humour into his voice Belinda could see he was genuinely worried. She put her hand out to him, gripping his forearm and meeting his worried gaze full-on.

“I will look after him, don’t worry. And if I feel like I can’t manage, either him or myself, Luc will call you. Okay?”

“S’pose it’ll have to be. Right, then, catch you later.”

Still muttering, Manu climbed back into the four-by-four and wheeled back out onto the private road, heading off in the same direction they’d been travelling.

“He has a point.” Belinda turned to Luc. “We pretty much are the walking wounded.”

“Are you worried?” He gave her a searching look.

“No, not at all. In fact it’s great to be out in the fresh air. Away from walls.”

“I know what you mean. If you want to head back at any stage just tell me.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said with emphasis on the “I,” and left unsaid the query as to whether he could manage. It was clear his strength was an issue of pride; she didn’t want to aggravate him with her concern any more than Manu already had.

“We’ll both be fine. The walk is level and there are plenty of rest stops on the way. C’mon.”

Luc took her by the hand and led her along a welltrodden trail that wound alongside a bubbling river. All around them the sounds of bird life and the ever-present hum of cicadas filled the air. The air was warm and a soft breeze played in the trees. She was glad they’d left their jackets in the car. Despite her earlier fears, Belinda felt herself begin to relax. They took their time, and Luc paused every fifteen minutes or so to point out items of interest—a particular indigenous plant he knew she’d delight in, or the movement of fish in the water.

At one point Luc pulled her down to sit with him on a large fallen tree.

“Let’s rest awhile,” Luc said, rubbing absently at his hip as he propped his cane beside him.

“Is your leg bothering you?” Belinda wondered just how much pain he was in.

“A little,” he admitted. “I’ll be fine after a bit of a rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Besides, it never hurts to stop and just enjoy the scenery from time to time.”

Belinda’s cheeks flushed under the heat in his gaze. Judging by his intensely focused look, he wasn’t talking about the riverbank or its surroundings. Luc lifted a hand to smooth her hair away from her face, and his fingers slid along her scalp to cup the back of her head.

“Tell me you don’t want me to do this.”

His face drew closer, his lips parted ever so slightly. The air around them thickened. Sound retreated. The distance between them closed. Even if she’d been capable of denying him she very much doubted she would.

Without conscious thought she closed the distance between them. His lips were firm and dry as they captured hers, and her senses leaped to sudden and demanding life. When Luc’s fingers tightened on the back of her head, she sank into him, her arms snaking around his waist, her breasts pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

Whatever uncertainties plagued her she couldn’t deny the absolute synchronicity of their physical sense of belonging. Belinda gave herself over to sensation as Luc deepened their kiss. A flame of want kindled deep inside her, pressing her closer against him, welcoming his touch and taste with a sense of homecoming that was as fundamental in its origin as the rising sun each morning.

When Luc pulled away, his breathing was rapid and his eyes shone with the burning clarity of desire. She should feel intimidated by that look, Belinda told herself. She should be telling him “no more.” Instead, her body clamored for his touch, her lips ached for more of the fierce pressure of his lips. She was surprised when he pushed up to his feet and stood, with his hands planted on his hips, and looked out over the river, away from her.

When he turned he was back under control. The light in his eyes had dulled, his breathing returned to normal.

“Shall we go on?”

Confused, Belinda stood and brushed the remnants of bark from the seat of her jeans before answering. “Sure. Let’s go.” What had made him pull back like that? She could have sworn he was as lost in their kiss as she’d been.

Again Luc took her hand, and as they continued on the path, she noticed he leaned more heavily on the cane than he had before.

“Is it much further?” she asked.

“Just around the next bend in the river,” Luc replied, his words clipped.

Belinda stopped in her tracks. “What is it? Why are you angry?” She was talking to his back as he doggedly kept walking.

“It’s nothing. Let’s carry on.”

“Is it your leg? Because I don’t mind resting a bit longer before we carry on. It’s been a long time since I’ve exerted myself this much, and I could do with the rest.”

He stopped and turned to face her, his expression raw with something she couldn’t quite define.

“No, it’s not my leg.”

“Then what is it? Was it the kiss? Did you want me to say no?”

“It wasn’t that. It’s nothing you can do anything about in your current state. Just leave it.” He turned back and started walking again.

Belinda huffed in exasperation. He’d closed up as effectively as a bank vault under siege. There was nothing else for it but to follow him, but instead she stayed right where she was, chewing over his words as she did so. “In her current state.” What the heck had he meant by that? Obviously her amnesia was as frustrating to him as to her, but he had the advantage of remembering their life together—of remembering their love.

For her the only thing she knew was that she desired him, and that was terrifying enough. She’d never been the type to embark on a frivolous relationship, and took the physical side of a relationship very seriously.

If she listened to her body, they would already be lovers again—even though he was a stranger to her. It went against everything she believed in, but she couldn’t deny the truth—not when her blood raced hot and demanding through her body and her core ached with an emptiness she knew only he could fill.

Her cheeks coloured as she remembered again his rejection of her last night. She kicked a stone off the path and watched it tumble down the bank and into the river and sighed helplessly.

“I’m sorry.”

Luc’s voice from close behind her made her jump and turn. He placed his forefinger on her lips, preventing her from speaking.

“Yes, I am sore. Yes, it was that kiss. And yes, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted you before. But I know what our marriage meant to you. I want that back. I want it all back before I make love with you again. That’s why I’m in a foul mood.”

Belinda’s anger melted in the face of his honesty. It was clear how much it had cost him to bare his emotions like that. Sharp lines bracketed his mouth, his eyebrows were drawn in a harsh straight line, his fist clenched on the top of his cane.

“I’m sorry, too. I forget that I’m not the only one who’s lost something here,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.

She slipped an arm around his waist and together they strolled in silence along the path. As they came into another clearing Belinda gasped in surprise. Ahead of them a green-and-white-striped canvas canopy had been erected over a wooden table and two matching chairs. An ice bucket, with a bottle of champagne cooling within it, sat in the centre and was surrounded by a series of covered dishes. A long-stemmed rosebud, this time an intense coral colour, stood in a bud vase next to the ice bucket. Beside the table a sumptuous collection of pillows and fine cotton throws adorned the grass.

“You planned this all along?”

“You like it?”

“I love it. It seems so…decadent.”

“It’s what we specialise in. Decadence. Privacy.”

Luc watched Belinda carefully. Walking away from her earlier, knowing exactly what awaited them around the corner, had been one of the hardest things he’d had to do since he’d collected her from the hospital yesterday. While he’d recuperated in hospital, he’d thought waiting patiently for her memories to return would be easy, but he was not in the mood to be patient anymore. With luck, this planned seduction, the mirror of their first time together, would be the trigger that would restore his life to the way it should have been all along. Perhaps, he dared hope, even better than before.

Seven

Belinda turned to face him. A smile of pure joy slowly wreathed her beautiful face and put a light in her blue eyes. He’d pleased her, and that pleased him. The realisation was a cold, sharp shock that sat at odds with his agenda. As did the sudden pull in the region of his chest—an expansion of warmth he’d instinctively learned to suppress as a child. A feeling he’d trained himself never to acknowledge.

“This is spectacular. Thank you.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

It was a peck, nothing more, yet with its innocence it stoked the fire that constantly simmered inside him. He watched as she sank down onto the bed of pillows, her hair spreading about her like a silken web of enticement.

Her T-shirt lifted slightly above her waist to expose a band of smooth creamy skin. His fingers itched to trace the inviting line. Down low his blood pooled, his body throbbed with a primal beat that threatened to dominate his careful strategy. He had to remember what had brought them together, and what had torn them apart. He had to preserve the former whatever it took.

He poured a glass of champagne, then lifted the rosebud from its vase before carefully lowering himself by her side.

“Some wine?”

He held the flute to her lips as she propped herself up a little, then took a sip of the bubbling liquid himself.

“Mmm, you said we specialise in decadence, I can’t think of anything more decadent than this right now.” She sighed.

Luc raised an eyebrow and pinned her with his stare. “Really? Nothing else more decadent?”

Her laughter was unexpected, a rich cascade of joy that penetrated deep inside. And there it was again, that glimmer of warmth from within his chest, a sense of rightness. His throat dried and words failed him as he looked down at her. He couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d been here. Couldn’t help but want to draw that memory from deep within its prison in her mind.

He casually trailed the rosebud back and forth across the exposed skin of her belly and watched her skin twitch and contract beneath the intensely coloured petals. The contrast between the pearl-like incandescence of her skin and the vibrance of the rosebud was wickedly appealing. What would it take, he wondered, to provoke her mind? To provoke the memories of physical pleasure the touch of the rose should invoke. After their first time here she’d barely been able to look at a rosebud without a flush of desire staining her cheeks, her throat, her chest.

Under the light touch of a flower such as this, she’d revealed a sensual side of her he’d only dreamed about. It was something he’d been prepared to forgo when he’d planned to make her his wife, knowing that in every other aspect she’d be the perfect complement to his perfectly created personal sphere. Sex, to him, had always been enjoyable but never the driving force of his world—until he’d made love with Belinda for the first time, right here in this clearing.

He would coerce her into remembering. One exquisite tingling sensation at a time.

He knew it was a risk, a huge risk, but the doctors had said several times that while her memory could return at any time, it was unlikely she would remember the details of what happened immediately prior to the accident that had led to her brain injury.

Luc had built his life on risk. Today was no different.

He offered her another sip of champagne.

“To new beginnings,” he toasted.

“To new beginnings,” Belinda repeated and put her lips to the tilted glass, putting her hand over his as she did so.

As she tipped the glass back up and swallowed, Luc softly trailed the rosebud down over the muscles in her throat, dipping into the hollow at its base before tracing a line along her collarbone. A flush of colour stained her cheeks, and her breathing became a little uneven. She relinquished her hold over his hand and let her hand drop to her side. A shudder ran through her as he let the rose drift down to the vee of her T-shirt, to the shadowed valley of her breasts.

She drew in a sudden sharp breath, her eyes flying to his, a stricken expression in them that made him stop what he was doing immediately and toss the rose to the blanket.

“Luc?” Her voice was unsteady.

“What is it? Are you feeling unwell?”

He dropped the flute on the grass, unheeding of the liquid as it drained into the ground, and wrapped his fingers around her hand as she reached for him. He was shocked to discover her skin was cold and clammy.

“Not unwell, exactly, just strange. Like we’ve done this before. It’s sort of like how I felt yesterday, when I remembered about the garden, but different.”

“Tell me, what do you remember?”

“I’m not sure exactly. I…I think we’d been swimming, yes, the water was freezing and you teased me about the goose bumps on my skin. Told me I was soft.”

“Go on,” he coaxed. Would she remember the rest? How he’d helped her from the water hole at the edge of the glade where they were now. How he’d wrapped her in a thick fluffy towel and dried her body, chafing her skin until her circulation had returned—until the light in her eyes had changed and he’d let the towel drop to the grass at their feet and lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed of blankets and pillows just like the one they now lay on. How he’d traced every delectable line of her body with a rosebud, a yellow one that time, teasing her to a peak of aching trembling need before bringing her to the pinnacle of satisfaction with its soft-petalled touch.

Belinda remained silent. Her gazed locked on a faraway place. He watched the expressions flit across her face, the struggle as she fought to draw together the elusive threads that hovered on the periphery of her mind, then the change in her eyes, the blush of heat across her cheeks, down her throat.

She’d remembered. He’d wager the deed to Tautara Estate that she remembered that day and what had happened next.

A fine tremor ran through her body and she turned her gaze upon him.

“It’s coming back to me, Luc. I remember that day.”

Luc felt the warmth begin to return to her fingers, felt them shift beneath his touch. She pulled his hand toward her and drew it to her chest.

“Can you feel my heartbeat? It’s racing a million miles a minute. Luc, can you believe it? My memory is coming back.”

His hand flexed beneath hers, against the softness of the fine cotton of her T-shirt, against the curve of her breast. Through the lace of her bra he felt her response to the memories, to his touch.

“Was that why you planned today like this?” she asked, leaning into the strength of his hand, allowing his palm to shape around the fullness of her breast, to feel the hardness of her nipple as it firmed and crested.

“I had to do whatever I could to get you back. I know I’ve been telling you not to force it, but—”

“Shh.” Belinda pressed her fingers against his lips. “Don’t say any more. It’s okay. I know what I’m remembering now isn’t everything, there are still huge gaps there. But of all the memories I’ve lost, this one is probably the most precious. I even remember how I felt that day, how excited I was that you’d taken the whole day off work to spend with me. How much fun we had in the water until I got too cold to stay in there any longer. Then you dried me off…”

Luc nodded slowly. Would she remember what had happened next? He wasn’t disappointed.

“You…you picked me up and brought me here, laid me down on the blankets and—” She gestured to the rose on the blankets. “You made love to me, first with the rose and then you covered me with your body.”

Luc shifted across the distance between them, lowering her onto her back and sliding over her until her hips cradled his.

“Like this?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Just like that.”

Beneath him she flexed her hips, pushing her mound against his now-straining erection, forcing him to swallow a groan of need.

Belinda let her eyes slide closed and shook as memories cascaded through her mind, memories and sensations that wound her body tight with need, playing like an erotic dance against the background of her consciousness. She lifted her hands to cup Luc’s face between them, to draw his mouth to hers, to take his lips and delve beyond them with her questing tongue. Another shudder shook her as his tongue grazed against hers, and she relished the taste and texture of him. Relished and, she realised with a thrill of sheer pleasure, remembered the way he made her feel. She drove her hands up into his hair, holding him to her—terrified that if she let go, or if he broke contact, the exquisitely precious memories that flooded her mind would become as ephemeral as the gentle breeze that caressed their bodies.

Sunlight dappled against her closed lids, sending a kaleidoscope of sensuous rich reds to imprint on her retinas. Luc shifted slightly, and she moaned with pleasure as his lips trailed along her jaw, to her earlobe where he took the unadorned piece of flesh between his teeth, letting them graze softly over the surface. Then his tongue dipped into the hollow behind her ear, and her nerves jumped with pleasure.

For everything she’d forgotten it was clear he remembered it all. Remembered every tiny part of her that could send pleasure cascading through her body.

“Luc.” His name was a sigh across her lips as his hands pushed up under her T-shirt, skimming the surface of her skin with a gentleness she wanted to drive to the next level. She didn’t want gentle from him, not now. Not when her memory burned with the remembrance of the first time they’d made love here in this enchanted glade. Where he’d driven her body to heights she’d never dreamed possible, leaving her spent and weak in his arms before doing it all over again.

She shifted slightly as he clenched the fabric of her top in fisted hands, dragging the material up her torso and over her head, dropping it somewhere. She was beyond caring as the soft breeze stroked her skin.

“Open your eyes,” his voice commanded, thick with the desire she felt surging through him like the inexorable journey of the river beside them.

She forced her heavy lids open, met his green-eyed gaze and felt the instant buzz of connection she now knew had been missing in the past twenty-four hours.

“You’re mine. All mine.” The words ground past his lips and she nodded.

“All yours,” she whispered as he bent his head to her breasts, his teeth pulling aside the lacy cup of her bra and exposing her aching nipple to the caress of his tongue, the rasp of his teeth. A spear of pleasure shot straight to her core, and she clenched her inner muscles reflexively against the sensation, the movement setting up a ripple of smaller bursts of pleasure to thrill through her body.

Now she understood why those words had given her that shocking sense of déjà vu this morning. Why it had left her feeling as if she was a boat adrift from its moorings. He’d uttered the same words to her only months ago as he’d worshipped her body on these very blankets. But she no longer felt as if she was adrift. No, she was where she belonged, with the man to whom she belonged. Their reunion felt right on every level, and while she wanted him to hasten, to race her to the completion she knew lay on the periphery of his touch, she also wanted to savour every exquisite second.

She traced the shape of his head with her hands, stroked the cords of his neck, gripped the hard-muscled strength of his shoulders.

She was his. He was hers. How could she have forgotten such a simple truth?

Luc moved lower, his hands now splayed across her rib cage, his tongue tracing tiny circles around her belly button. She ached to feel him inside her again, to feel him fill her, complete her the way she now gloriously remembered. When his hands skimmed down to the waistband of her jeans she sighed in relief. He unsnapped her fly and pushed the denim away from her hips and down her legs.

He dipped his head lower again, his tongue dancing a tantalising line across the waistband of her panties, his hands now sliding beneath her buttocks, kneading the globes of flesh as he tilted her hips up. The contrast between the firmness of his hands and the enticing featherlight touch of his tongue as he tormented her with tiny touches sent her wild. At the tiny hollow at the top of her thighs, in the curve of her hips—everywhere but where she craved him most.

Then, gloriously, his mouth was suddenly, hotly against her. The warmth of his breath through her panties made her arch her back as sensation roared through her. She pressed against his mouth, her head thrashing from side to side, words tumbling from her lips begging him for more. His hand twisted in her underwear, tearing the fabric away from her body, baring her to his touch.

The contrast in sensation between the breeze that swept around them and the heat of his mouth as he closed over her sent a piercing shaft of desire through her. As his tongue swirled over her, at first softly then with increasing pressure, she clutched at the blankets beneath her. Her thighs trembled, and her inner muscles clenched in rhythm with his onslaught until, with a scream that tore from her throat, she went hurtling over the edge.

Luc shifted and Belinda, too boneless to do anything but watch, lay before him—her legs splayed, her skin flushed with orgasm—as he pulled off his shirt and shucked off his jeans and briefs. There was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Framed by his short dark lashes, they gleamed with the heat of his need for her. A need that spiralled again within her, within seconds, as if she hadn’t just climaxed moments before. As he positioned himself between her thighs again, a tremor of anticipation shivered along her spine.

“My wife.” His voice was low pitched, almost guttural.

She could feel the heat of him, his blunt tip teasing her as he hesitated at her entrance.

“Luc, please,” she begged, “please!”

He plunged inside her, driving himself to the hilt, and she hooked her legs around his waist, tilting her hips higher to take him in more deeply. She clung to his shoulders, near mindless with bliss as he slowly withdrew then entered her again, repeating the motion with increasing urgency until she felt him tense and shake, every muscle straining, holding back his climax. He slid one hand between them, where they were joined, before sliding his thumb across her hooded bundle of nerve endings. At his touch she felt the ripple begin within her again, this time with an even more urgent edge than before, and she clenched against him, her hips rising to meet his, forcing him to increase the pressure against her until she fractured apart. As the waves of pleasure undulated through her body, she felt his muscles bunch beneath her hands, heard his raw groan of completion as he shuddered against her over and over as the paroxysms of his pleasure rocked his body.

When he collapsed against her, Belinda could barely breathe, but she welcomed his weight, his total possession. This was how it had been between them—she knew it at a level that was soul deep. She could begin to thank her lucky stars that her memory of this link between them had returned, and from here who knew what would come to her next.

But for now, she decided as she stroked her hand down the line of Luc’s spine and over his buttocks, she’d relish every second of this reunion.

Luc waited for the racing beat of his heart to slow, for clarity to return to his brain. He’d been so overwhelmed by the power of his response to her he’d barely been able to think, but now he realised he was crushing Belinda. He rolled off her and wrapped his arm about her slender waist, dragging her half over his body as he did so. Her long dark hair spread like a silken cloak across his chest. He inhaled deeply, relishing their comingled scents.

This had turned out far better than he’d anticipated. He’d expected some flashes of memory, some insights into their past, but he’d never expected her to remember their lovemaking so vividly. He’d been prepared to do whatever it took to get his wife back into his life—the life he’d carved out of nothing, the life he’d vowed would be his one day—and he’d succeeded. It didn’t matter to him now if she remembered nothing else. If anything it would probably make life easier for them both.

He listened as Belinda’s breathing deepened, as she slid into sleep and he smiled—a grim smile of satisfaction. Their accident had been a short-term derailment of his plan. He was back on track, better than before.

Eight

Belinda stood nervously at Luc’s side near the helipad as the Tautara Estate helicopter came up through the valley. After their rediscovery of each other yesterday—a journey that had taken a sultry afternoon of food, wine and making love to complete—she felt almost resentful of this intrusion on their time together. After all, it wasn’t as if they’d had a honeymoon—at least not one she remembered, and she still sensed Luc was holding back from her. If not physically, then certainly mentally. She wanted to push past that barrier more than anything. She wanted it all.

Luc still steadfastly refused to disclose any details to her of their past together, or of the accident. The gaps that remained, like yawning black holes in her memory, were increasingly frustrating. She edged closer to her husband and linked her fingers through his. She might not have it all back, she thought, relishing the warm, solid strength of him beside her, but what she did remember was like a gift.

Over breakfast he’d outlined the plans they had for today, that after a light lunch on the patio outside the main living room she and Demi Le Clerc would ride in the chopper to Taupo where they’d do a little shopping while Luc took her fiancé, Hank Walker, to the river for some fly-fishing. As daylight saving hadn’t yet finished there’d still be time for Hank to enjoy dangling a few flies for the fish in the river. Tomorrow they’d all travel, again by helicopter, to Hawke’s Bay for a vineyard trail ending the day with Demi singing at a concert at one of the vineyard estates.

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