Bought for His Bed: Virgin Bought and Paid For / Bought for Her Baby / Sold to the Highest Bidder!
She could feel his cold anger, and wondered why Prudence had provoked it. To make an impression? Possibly. If so, it had backfired—unless Luke would rather be doing this to the other woman and was angry that he had to keep up the pretence with Fleur?
Who cares? she thought bluntly. He’d set this situation up. If he wanted to bed the luscious executive, with her outdated slang and overt willingness, he had only himself to blame that he couldn’t.
Although he was anointing her with skill and experience, there was nothing sensual about the slow strokes of his hand. Not for him, anyway. He was doing a job and getting it done as quickly as he could, while through her little rivulets of fire ran from nerve to nerve, sweeping everything before them in honeyed enchantment. Her breath quickened, and she fixed her unseeing eyes on the swimmers in the lagoon.
Until a movement caught her eyes and she said sharply, ‘Luke!’
His hand stopped immediately as he followed her line of sight. ‘What—?’ He bit back an imprecation and got to his feet in one lithe movement.
She catapulted off the lounger, and ran behind him down the white sand and into the water. Although he forged ahead, she swam on, keeping him in sight until he reached deeper water, where he dived.
Thank God the lagoon was as clear as crystal; by the time she got there he’d already hauled the swimmer—a woman—to the surface, ruthlessly controlling her struggles and holding her head well clear while she coughed and retched.
‘I can do this,’ Fleur said, panting. ‘We need a boat out here.’
Luke demanded, ‘Can you keep her upright?’
‘Yes.’
‘Show me.’
Fleur slid her arm around the swimmer in the classic life-saver’s hold. The woman had stopped struggling and, although she was blue around the lips, her breathing was already stabilising.
Luke said briefly, ‘Good girl.’ He turned his head to the shore. ‘Where the hell is the boat?’
The sound of the engines warned them of its imminent arrival. It came roaring up, stopping rather suddenly when Luke held up his hand in a command that couldn’t be ignored.
‘All right?’ he asked Fleur.
She nodded. ‘The West Coast Beaches junior lifesavers would be proud of me,’ she said lightly, because the woman in her arms was choking back tears.
Luke smiled. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he said, and swam to the idling dinghy, hauling himself over the side with a whoosh that nearly capsized it.
He brought it carefully up to the two of them in the water, where he and one of the crew from the yacht helped the coughing woman into it. Then Luke bent over and hauled Fleur up, holding her for a spectacular second against his sleek, lean body.
‘Are you all right?’ he demanded, studying her face with half-closed, searching eyes. ‘No after-effects? No exhaustion?’
Surprised, she said, ‘No. No, I feel fine. Just a bit puffed, but I haven’t been swimming recently.’
And because her body was reacting very oddly to being held in a close embrace, she said, ‘Truly, I’m fine. I’ve fully recovered from my faint.’
‘Collapse. Good, let’s get ashore,’ he said, releasing her after a swift, hard hug.
Back on the beach, the other guests had gathered in a knot just above the wave line.
‘We’ll use one of the loungers as a stretcher to carry her up to the house,’ Luke said. He nodded at Fleur. ‘We’ll need you.’
The house was small and sparsely furnished, clearly used only for holidays. The four men who’d carried the still weeping woman up set the lounger down carefully in the shade of the terrace and stood around a bit awkwardly.
Addressing one of them, Fleur asked, ‘Can you find and bring up her clothes, please?’ She looked at the rest of the men and said firmly, ‘Thank you so much. I’ll come down and let you know when she’s ready to have visitors.’
They left, and the woman said between sobs, ‘I don’t know why I’m crying!’
‘Because you’re in shock,’ Fleur said robustly. ‘I’ve been there—I know what it’s like. What you need is a warm shower—’
‘Some brandy first,’ Luke said, appearing from the house with a small glass. He gave Fleur a swift, challenging grin that curled her toes, then held out the glass to the woman. ‘Here, Ms Baxter, drink it down even if you hate it.’
‘I do hate it,’ she said, ‘but I certainly need something!’ She drained it, shuddered, and then lay back on the lounger. ‘Stupid,’ she said wearily, and shivered again. ‘I really thought I was going to drown—I swam out to look at the coral and I got cramps in both legs. I’ve never had it before.’
‘How do you feel now?’ Fleur asked.
‘Better. I only went under twice—Luke dragged me up from the second time. I might have made it up again, but I don’t think so. I didn’t think anyone had seen me, and I knew the waves on the reef made it impossible for anyone to hear me.’
‘Fleur saw you,’ Luke said. ‘I’ve just checked with the hospital on the mainland, and they agree that you should be seen as soon as possible, so a chopper is on its way.’ He ignored her instant objection. ‘Sorry, but that’s island policy after an incident like this. There’s a risk of serious complication later unless proper medical care is given.’ He smiled at her woebegone face. ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, but a night in hospital will reassure all of us that you’re fine.’
His smile seemed to work its usual magic. ‘I feel so stupid,’ the patient said weakly, lying back and closing her eyes.
‘Cramps can happen to anyone,’ Fleur said. She smiled down at the woman. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’
‘I—no,’ the woman said, her voice fading. ‘You’re needed here.’
Luke said easily, ‘I’ll manage without her.’
‘I’ll just get our bags,’ Fleur said. ‘I refuse to go for my first helicopter flight in a bikini.’
His eyes kindled, but he turned and called to one of the staff, his voice sharper than normal.
When the chopper arrived, he said, ‘Thank you for this. I’ve arranged with my PA to attend to all the paperwork, but Sue Baxter is still shocked, and I think she’d like to have you with her at least until she’s seen a doctor.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said briskly. ‘You can’t go, and no one else has offered.’ Besides, she knew what it was like to wake up in a strange place and wonder where she was and what had happened.
‘She’s a senior executive from one of the big Australian companies. Unfortunately she’s here on her own,’ he told her. ‘Her company’s been notified.’
To her astonishment he bent and kissed her, his arms tightening around her and his mouth taking hers in a dominant stamp of possession.
Flushed and breathless, Fleur hustled into the chopper, and as it rose saw the reason for his final embrace—a woman was watching the chopper pad. Prudence of the hungry eyes and determined mouth. Fleur wondered bleakly if she’d try more of her wiles on Luke.
Chapter Six
SOME hours later Fleur’s attention was attracted by a nurse who appeared in the doorway of the private room waving a mobile phone.
Startled, Fleur raised her brows and pointed to her chest. The nurse nodded vigorously. It had to be Luke. Her mouth suddenly dry, Fleur got up from her seat beside the sleeping woman’s bed and went across to the door.
‘Mr Luke Chapman,’ the nurse mouthed, and sighed as she held out the phone.
Handling it rather as if it were a snake, Fleur said into the mouthpiece, ‘Hello?’
‘Ah, Fleur.’ His voice was impersonal, he could have been talking to his PA, but her heart performed an odd revolution before pumping at a much faster pace. ‘How is Ms Baxter?’
‘She’s sleeping now. The tests didn’t show any damage, and there’s no sign of complications, but the doctors want her to stay in overnight.’ Her voice sounded weird, almost croaky, and her pulse picked up even more speed.
‘I suspected they would. The chopper’s on stand-by if you want to come back.’
So this was how the very rich lived—every available aid waiting for them. She glanced at her watch. ‘You’re leaving for home in an hour or so, aren’t you?’ she asked. ‘It doesn’t seem worth it.’
‘I’ll collect you myself, then. Don’t leave the hospital until I come.’
He spoke perfectly normally, yet a barely discernible undertone in his voice lifted the hair on her skin. ‘Why?’
After a pause so slight she wondered if she’d imagined it, he told her, ‘Because the last time you were let out on your own you collapsed. Humour me, all right?’
Fleur swallowed. ‘OK,’ she said tautly. ‘I’ll stay put.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘See you soon.’
Fleur switched off the phone and went to the door, noticing for the first time the tall islander standing on the other side of the corridor. He smiled respectfully, and she realised with a jolt that he was security of some sort. She smiled back and set off to the nurses’ station with the telephone.
‘All right?’ the nurse asked, looking up from sheets of paper.
She nodded. ‘Mr Chapman wanted to know how Ms Baxter is.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ the nurse said professionally, eyeing Fleur with interest. ‘He’s a good man, Luke Chapman—sexy, too! You look a bit stiff when you move. Did you drag her out?’
‘Helped,’ she admitted.
The nurse said, ‘You look as though you need a shower. Why don’t you use the bathroom down the corridor—it’s well past the patients’ showering time.’
Accustomed to the protectiveness with which her mother’s hospital had guarded its facilities, Fleur said uncertainly, ‘Will that be all right?’
‘Of course!’ The nurse grinned. ‘The Chapman family set up this hospital and they provide a lot of money for its running. In fact, there’s some big charity do soon that’s fundraising for a cancer ward here. Nobody’s going to object if you use a bit of our water and electricity.’ She eyed Fleur. ‘Are you keeping up your water intake?’
‘How did—?’ Fleur stopped, because of course everyone on the island would know by now that she’d fainted dramatically in front of Luke’s car. And if they didn’t know that, they certainly knew she’d been living in his house.
The nurse laughed. ‘Oh, like any small community we keep tabs on people, but I’ll make sure some lime juice goes to Ms Baxter’s room for you. Keep drinking it—we don’t want Mr Luke mad at us for not looking after you.’
The power of the Chapman name, Fleur thought as she collected her bag on the way to the bathroom. Not just here on their home territory, either. If she’d learned anything during her stay here, it was that Luke was sought after by people all around the world.
The shower was bliss, and the iced lime juice waiting in the ward was delicious, too. Not quite so good was the fact that after checking Sue Baxter out, the doctor insisted on doing the same for Fleur, finally saying, ‘What it is to be young and healthy. You’re in good shape, but have a rest every afternoon, and—’
‘Keep drinking,’ Fleur chorused with her. ‘Thanks very much for everything you’ve done for me.’
After that she joined Sue Baxter in her room. When she woke they chatted quietly, and during the long intervals when the patient slept Fleur read a variety of magazines—mostly elderly—while the afternoon slipped by. None of them, she was grateful to discover, had anything about Luke in them, although his beautiful sisters featured largely in one that reported a very aristocratic ball and wedding in England.
Eventually the door into the private room opened to reveal Luke, big and totally competent, accompanied by the hospital superintendent.
The following ten minutes were filled with Sue’s attempt to express her appreciation to both Luke and Fleur.
She ended by saying, ‘You’ve done enough now—off you go, Fleur, and have some fun. I’m so sorry for spoiling your day!’
‘Please don’t say that,’ Fleur said, and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better.’
‘Just relax and let us look after you,’ Luke said. ‘Someone will be here tomorrow morning to help you, and if the doctor agrees you’ll be taken back to Australia tomorrow afternoon. All you have to do is get better.’
‘My boss will want to thank you,’ Sue said, her lashes drifting down. ‘And so will I—coherently—when whatever they’ve given me finally wears off and I can keep my eyes open for more than five minutes!’
Outside, Fleur waited while Luke spoke to the superintendent, then the security guard escorted them down in the lift to the car park beneath the modern building.
And there a journalist lurked. Young, rather earnest, he approached a little diffidently.
Although Luke frowned, he listened to his request for information. To Fleur’s surprise he said, ‘One of my guests got cramp while swimming and had to be airlifted back to hospital. She’s fine now. Miss Lyttelton rescued her and stayed with her until she was comfortable.’
The reporter looked even more diffidently at Fleur. ‘You are a lifeguard, miss?’ he asked.
‘I trained with a surf lifesavers’ club when I was growing up in New Zealand,’ she said, wondering how much Luke would be expecting her to say. ‘But Mr Chapman is being very modest—he got to her before I did. All I did was help him.’
‘If I could have a photograph…?’ the reporter suggested, his expression revealing that he expected to be turned down.
But Luke shrugged. ‘If you want one.’
So he and Fleur posed for a photograph against the blank wall of the hospital, and the journalist went away happy.
The car had darkened windows, and as they were driven off Fleur said, ‘If that’s the local paparazzi you breed reporters differently on Fala’isi.’
‘Don’t be fooled,’ Luke returned. ‘He’s an extremely clever, persistent man, and the fact that he was waiting for us makes me wonder what he’s heard.’
She glanced at him. His expression was hard and intent, as though he was mentally running through a variety of options, none of which he found satisfactory.
Intrigued, she asked, ‘What he’s heard? Do you mean about the possibility of exploring for minerals?’
‘Not necessarily,’ he said, but absently. Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. ‘I have a hunch,’ he explained with uncharacteristic vagueness, and gave her a smile of such blazing charm it made her toes curl and set off a cathedral full of warning bells.
It wasn’t fair that he could use his inbuilt magnetism to scramble her brain and send secret, forbidden messages to every part of her body.
Trying to ignore that most intimate betrayal, Fleur sent him a direct look. She had a hunch, too—that he was evading some issue. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you dealt much in hunches. Logic seems more your line.’
‘My father has a saying—when logic fails, follow your instinct.’
‘And does logic often fail?’
‘Very rarely, but when it does, I take his advice. So far it’s worked.’ He shrugged again. ‘Thank you for everything you did this afternoon.’
‘You’ve already thanked me, and so has Sue. It was nothing,’ she returned. ‘Somebody had to go with her, and if you had I’d have had no idea how to deal with all those people.’
He inspected her face in a long, slow survey that sent little chills across her skin. His unusually grey eyes were almost translucent, yet she thought they could see right through her.
‘You’d have coped,’ he said finally. ‘You have a definite talent for organisation and quick thinking.’
Pleasure pinked her cheeks. Flippantly she said, ‘When I leave I might ask you for a reference saying just that. As for thanks—you should thank the lifesaving association—or send them a donation. In New Zealand we don’t have paid lifeguards.’
His lashes drooped. ‘I’ll suggest Sue’s company donates to the lifeguards,’ he said. ‘Why do you need a reference?’
‘I have to find a job.’
‘Is it likely to be difficult?’
‘No.’
It was the truth; her old job in a fast food shop was waiting for her if she wanted it. Or she could do the work her mother’s illness had trained her for—work in a rest home or take nursing training.
Whatever, one day she’d finish her degree and find a job that would pay off the student loan she’d have to increase.
‘You’re not telling me the truth,’ he said shrewdly, and took her chin in his hand, turning it so that he could scrutinise her face.
Thoughts danced crazily in her brain. She stared at his mouth, cruelly beautiful, sculpted to seduce and woo, and her heart flipped and her blood sang in her ears.
Unable to speak, her lips formed one word. ‘Don’t.’
Followed, when he still stared at her as though trying to drag her soul from her body, by another word. ‘Please,’ she whispered.
Luke let her go, his hand falling to his thigh, where it clenched into a fist. After a moment he said harshly, ‘You pack a hell of a punch, Fleur.’
She did? Fleur swallowed to ease her dry throat. ‘So do you,’ she said with bleak honesty, and scrambled for another subject, anything to relieve the tension that crackled between them.
Staring out of the window, she realised the car had just gone past the gates of his parents’ house. Relieved, she blurted, ‘You said your parents were away. Are they on holiday?’
‘Having another honeymoon,’ he said, his tone telling her that he knew exactly what she was doing.
She managed a cracked little laugh. ‘Sounds romantic.’
‘They’re a very romantic couple,’ he said coolly. ‘A testament to the fact that two strong-willed people can live happily together.’
‘Some people have all the luck,’ she said on a flippant note.
‘Luck?’ He considered the word. ‘Luck that of all the people in the world they met at the right time, perhaps. But after that it isn’t luck that makes a marriage like theirs.’
Did he believe in the romantic ideal? If his parents were still lovers after many years, possibly he did—and possibly she might, too, if she hadn’t seen first-hand how marriages could shatter, leaving nothing but shards of lives. Her father had believed in romance—she remembered huddling in her bed as he’d told her mother, not wanting to hurt her yet unable to resist the great passion he’d found.
‘Good for them,’ she said brightly as the car drew up outside the porticoed front entrance of his house.
Once inside he said, ‘The charity dinner I told you about is being held here tomorrow night. It will be followed by an after-dinner dance at a mystery venue. Wear something elegant with sparkles.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked tentatively.
‘I shouldn’t think so.’ He scrutinised her. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Fine,’ she said a little blankly. ‘I seem to have fully recovered from dehydration. I just feel a bit tired, that’s all. I think the doctor was overreacting when she said I shouldn’t go home yet.’
He shrugged, penetrating grey eyes still scrutinising her face. ‘I don’t. And tonight I suggest you have dinner in your bedroom and go to bed early. Tomorrow night is likely to be very late, although of course we can come home if you get tired.’
He went on, ‘Gabrielle and her grandfather are arriving midmorning. They’re bringing another couple—friends of mine—with them.’
The second couple of friends turned out to be royalty—Prince and Princess Guy of Dacia, an island realm in the Mediterranean. Thrown this bombshell when Luke introduced them, Fleur wondered feverishly if she should curtsey, but a few moments spent talking to them soothed her. They were charming, the Princess a tall Englishwoman with milk-white skin and black hair and eyes like silver crystals, while her even taller husband’s face and tawny eyes revealed his Mediterranean heritage.
‘You’re from Northland?’ the Princess—Lauren—said enthusiastically. ‘Oh, it’s a gorgeous place. I’ve spent some wonderful holidays in the Bay of Islands. Do you know Lucia Radcliffe?’
‘I’ve heard of her,’ Fleur said noncommittally.
Her home village on the wild west coast of Northland was an hour’s drive and another world away from the cosmopolitan tourist centre of the Bay of Islands. She had never met—or even seen—the Dacian princess who’d married a New Zealander and appeared in magazines from time to time, although never of her own choice. Apparently she was very happy with her two children and her handsome tycoon of a husband on their huge estate in the hills north of the Bay.
Lauren smiled. ‘She loves New Zealand, too. How are you enjoying Fala’isi?’
This she could deal with. ‘Who wouldn’t? It’s my first visit to the tropics, and it’s even more beautiful than the photographs.’
‘Isn’t it just!’ But the Princess’s smile slipped a little, and her husband was instantly at her elbow.
Luke said to the couple, ‘I’ll show you to your room.’ He looked at Fleur and gave her a slow, heart-stopping smile that melted her bones. ‘Perhaps you could order tea for us all out on the terrace.’
Which left Fleur entertaining an elderly Frenchman whose keen eyes saw too much, and his granddaughter, a beautiful creature who viewed her with a mixture of irritation and aristocratic hauteur.
As Fleur led the way out onto the terrace and seated them, she wondered how on earth she’d let herself be talked into this masquerade. Damn Luke and his calm assumption that the world was his to command!
And stupid her, for letting him override her sensible reservations.
Fortunately both Gabrielle and her grandfather had exquisite manners, and all three were talking easily—if with some reserve—when the others came back without the Princess, who’d decided to rest until lunchtime.
Was she pregnant? Fleur wondered, and was horrified at the pang of longing that consumed her. Fighting it, she concentrated on the guests.
Lunch passed pleasantly, but afterwards in her room she allowed herself a small sigh. The Prince and Princess weren’t publicly demonstrative, but their feelings for each other burned like a smouldering fire.
It was foolish and ungracious to let others’ happiness make her envious, especially as such relationships were the exception rather than the rule—well, according to gossip columnists, anyway.
So she’d banish this feeling of being the odd one out, and organise herself for the night ahead. At the thought of dancing with Luke reckless heat consumed her, melting her bones and bringing a dangerous, decadent smile to her lips.
Oh, it would be wonderful. And terrifying. So she had to make sure he didn’t realise just how wonderful and terrifying.
A knock at the door brought her around. It was the maid, her pleasant face creased and anxious.
‘What is it?’ Fleur asked.
‘I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t find Mr Luke, and the tuna hasn’t come for the dinner and the cook is angry.’
‘Mr Luke’s gone riding with the Prince,’ Fleur said. ‘All right, I’ll come along.’
It appeared that the most essential part of the dinner menu, the specially caught and sliced tuna, hadn’t arrived, and no one could tell the apoplectic chef where it was.
‘It has to be marinated in lime,’ he explained at the top of his voice. ‘If it doesn’t get here soon it will be too late and then everything will be ruined.’
‘Everything won’t be ruined because you’ll already have made another starter,’ Fleur said firmly. ‘I’m quite sure that someone with your experience and your skills can do that and still make it a meal to remember.’
He said sulkily, ‘But everything—the wine, the menu—has been specially chosen to meld together to make one perfect meal. Any alteration—any deviation—will bring the whole wonderful edifice crashing down.’
Fleur let her brows drift upwards. ‘Are you telling me you can’t produce another starter that’s just as suitable?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ he said explosively, ‘but I am telling you that Mr Chapman will have to choose another wine and it will have to be chilled.’
‘I’ll make sure that he knows the problem the moment he gets back from the stables,’ she said soothingly. ‘What suggestions do you have for an emergency starter?’