Bought: Damsel in Distress

After the way he’d walked out yesterday evening she wouldn’t be at all surprised if he didn’t show up this afternoon, despite Anna’s assurances. Anna hadn’t seen the stunned expression on his face when he’d agreed to go with her, as if he’d been as startled by his answer as she was. Nor had she seen his face darken in a way that suggested he’d regretted his decision the moment he’d made it. So if he was waiting for her downstairs, what mood would he be in?

Oh, well, thought Emily, there was only one way to find out. She picked up her clutch bag, pulled her shoulders back and glanced at herself in the mirror. If there was one thing she was certain of, she told herself, taking a series of deep, steadying breaths and checking her teeth for lipstick, the next few hours were going to be anything but boring.

CHAPTER THREE

FUN. Was that what this was supposed to be? Luke asked himself grimly, pushing through the hotel’s revolving door and stalking across the gleaming marble floor. Fun was supposed to be light, nothing more than a passing diversion. It was not supposed to knock him for six, and it was not supposed to derail his focus to such an extent that his clients had asked him if he was all right in the middle of the meeting.

Luke scowled as he scanned the lobby in case Emily was early, and then flung himself onto the sofa, picked up the first magazine his fingers found and flicked to an article on interest rate forecasts in south-east Asia.

He didn’t need to look up to know that Emily had walked into the lobby. He hadn’t heard the lift ping, he hadn’t heard the swish of a door drawing back, yet he knew. By the way the tiny hairs at the back of his neck leapt up. The words blurred on the page. The tapping of her heels on the marble echoed louder and louder as they came towards him. Deliberately taking his time, Luke closed the magazine, looked up, and his mouth went dry.

She was standing on the very spot where they’d kissed yesterday, wearing some kind of green wraparound dress the exact colour of her eyes. It fell to her knees and clung just about everywhere. His gaze roamed up, taking in the elegant sweep of hair that was caught up with an arrangement of feathers and tumbled in glossy waves over her shoulders, and then he continued his appraisal down over her curves to the very high sandals that made her long legs even longer.

Running a finger around the inside of the collar of a shirt that was suddenly choking him, Luke got to his feet. Her scent threaded towards him, and he was gripped by a lust so strong that he had to jam his hands in his pockets to stop himself from throwing her over his shoulder, bundling her back into that lift and locking them both in her room for the rest of the weekend.

‘You look beautiful,’ he managed hoarsely, giving her a tense smile and then clearing his throat.

Emily returned his smile with a sunnier one of her own and he was struck by a deep sense of foreboding. Telling him to get out of here now. Head straight back to Monte Carlo as fast as Pierre could get him there.

‘Thank you,’ said Emily, giddy with relief that he’d turned up to meet her and buzzing at his compliment. ‘So do you.’

Luke Harrison dressed for a wedding was devastating. The fact that he looked tired and drawn did nothing to detract from his dark good looks, and did nothing to diminish the effect he was having on her pulse.

But, although he was staring at her as if he wanted to devour her, he didn’t offer her a kiss on the cheek and she suddenly felt uncharacteristically awkward. He had an edge about him today that made her feel as if she could be walking on eggshells, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask him what the ‘Oh dear’ had meant. If she did, it would stir up memories of that kiss, and Luke didn’t look as if he was in the mood to discuss it. Much better to pretend it had never happened.

‘Would you like a drink before we go?’

God, no, thought Emily. Who knew how long it would be before she stepped too heavily on those eggshells? Two hours in a confined space with him would be bad enough as it was. Why prolong the agony? ‘Would you mind if we just went straight there?’

‘Not at all.’ Luke put a hand on her elbow to lead her out to his car. His chauffeur-driven car, if the well-built man dressed in a dark uniform and cap and standing by the rear door was anything to go by. ‘Give the address to Pierre and he’ll put it into the navigation system.’

Emily fished the invitation out of her bag and presented it to Pierre with a flourish. ‘Voilà,’ she said, smiling up at the driver, who took it with an inclination of his head and then held the door open for her. Emily swung into the car as if she never travelled any other way, while Luke stalked round to the other side and folded himself onto the back seat beside her.

The Provence countryside had been whizzing by for about an hour before Emily had finally had enough of the crackling silence. Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to be on edge and tense? Her ex-fiancé was, after all, within a hair’s breadth of marrying another woman. To add insult to injury, she was bound to bump into people who’d taken his side after the split and whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since. Yes, she was the one who should be trembling in trepidation. But, bizarrely, she felt fine. Amazingly calm and collected and ready to face whatever the afternoon held in store for her.

Luke, however, who should be relaxed and looking forward to spending the afternoon drinking champagne at someone else’s expense, was radiating unease and sitting unnaturally still. He was staring into the distance, probably totally unaware of the quaint towns and swathes of fields zipping past.

What on earth was the matter with him? Yesterday, for the most part, he’d been charming. Today he was decidedly unsociable and it was unsettling her. To hell with the eggshells. This silence was driving her nuts and the thought of another minute of it was unbearable.

Emily swivelled round and studied his profile. ‘How were your meetings?’

Luke barely blinked before replying. ‘Productive.’

Hmm, not a promising start. She tried a different topic. ‘Where do you stay when you’re here?’

‘I have offices in Monaco.’

‘Handy. But that’s not what I asked.’

‘One of the rooms has been converted into a bedroom. It has an en-suite bathroom and a dressing room.’

‘You sleep in your office?’ Emily couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.

‘It makes for an easy commute,’ said Luke, twisting round and shooting her a humourless smile.

‘You have a chauffeur. Commuting should be a cinch.’

‘He’s on loan for this evening. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink.’ His face hardened and his jaw set as if in preparation for something unpleasant.

She could sympathise. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘I doubt it,’ he said harshly.

Emily frowned. ‘Don’t you like weddings?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Not even the church part?’

‘Especially not the church part,’ he said, with a vehemence that made Emily flinch.

‘Why not?’

‘I just don’t.’

Which was one way of saying mind your own business, she supposed. ‘When was the last time you were in a church?’

‘Three years ago.’

‘That’s a long time.’

‘Too long.’ His voice was bleak, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know any more. Invisible barriers were springing up all around him, warning her to back off, not to pry any further.

So she sat back and contemplated what might cause such a strong dislike of churches and weddings. According to one of her girlfriends, the mere mention of either had a tendency to cause most men to break into a sweat. It certainly had with Tom, even after he’d proposed. Although he’d managed to get over that particular fear with unflattering speed.

Perhaps Luke Harrison was a commitment phobe. That might explain why he was still single when he was handsome, wealthy and intelligent.

‘How on earth did you slip through the net?’ she murmured, and then gasped in horror when she realised she’d said the words aloud.

‘What net?’

There was no way she could pretend she didn’t understand what he was talking about. Not when his eyes had narrowed and were trained on her face.

Emily gulped nervously. ‘The marriage net. I’d have thought someone would have snapped you up years ago.’ Why, oh, why hadn’t she kept quiet? Eggshells were beginning to shatter all over the place.

A muscle started ticking in his jaw. ‘Marriage isn’t for me,’ he bit out.

Something about his stillness, the flash of desolation in his eyes, made Emily yearn to find out why he was so against marriage. But she’d already gone way too far.

Desperately seeking to lighten the atmosphere, she gave him what she hoped was a conspiratorial smile. ‘I agree. Commitment, responsibility, a relationship...’ She shuddered. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’

After several minutes of more thundering silence Luke rubbed a hand over his face, and when he looked at her again something seemed to have shifted inside him. The tension ebbed from his frame and his eyes cleared. ‘Talking of commitment, you’d better fill me in on this wedding we’re going to.’

Emily swallowed and looked out of the window. ‘I know the groom. Tom’s a—er...a friend of mine.’ Quite why she was reluctant to reveal the nature of their relationship to Luke was a mystery. He’d find out soon enough. With any luck after she’d had a glass or two of champagne.

‘Why didn’t you want to go?’

‘Oh, well, I—er—haven’t seen him for a while. There didn’t seem much point.’

‘Why was Anna so keen for you to come?’

Emily stifled a sigh of exasperation. Couldn’t he just let it go? ‘She thinks I need to get out more,’ she said firmly. And that was as much as she was willing to say on the matter.

Luke acknowledged her determination to change the subject with a tiny nod. ‘Who’s he marrying?’

‘A woman called Marianne du Champs,’ she replied, adding ‘perceptive’ to the long list of his attributes. ‘I believe she may be a countess.’

She leaned towards the window as Pierre pulled the car up opposite a huge looming church. Everywhere she looked guests were milling around, the women dressed up to the nines in the latest designer outfits, the men elegant in traditional wedding attire.

‘Ah, look,’ said Emily, ‘a nice, small, intimate wedding.’

She spied two of Tom’s friends, who up until a year ago had been her friends too. A tremor shook through her and her confidence wobbled. She brushed her palms against her dress and fought back a sudden attack of nerves. Perhaps this was going to be more gruelling than she’d imagined.

Luke climbed out of the car, walked round the bonnet and opened the door for her. Emily swung her knees round, put her hand in his, and in one fluid movement she was on her feet.

‘That was beautifully done,’ he said, offering her his arm.

‘Thank you,’ she replied, taking it. ‘If you’re trying to boost my confidence, you’re doing a good job.’

‘Does your confidence need boosting?’

‘Ask me in an hour.’

Some people would gossip about her presence at the wedding of her ex-fiancé, and the grapevine would no doubt tremble violently. But she’d just stepped out of a chauffeur-driven car and was now on the arm of the sexiest, best-looking man on the face of the earth. As they crossed the road, Emily took a deep breath and rallied her strength.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Luke.

‘Absolutely fine,’ she said firmly. ‘You?’

‘Absolutely fine.’ But he wasn’t. The tension was back and he was staring up at the church, his eyes icy blue and his face frozen.

‘If it helps,’ she murmured, ‘there should be plenty of extraordinary headwear and stained glass to focus on.’

A glimmer of a smile hovered over his mouth for a second before his lips tightened. ‘Do you want to wait out here or shall we go in?’

Emily glanced round and saw that they were attracting considerable attention. Or rather Luke was. But he seemed unaware of the appreciative looks being shot in his direction. She scanned the crowd to see if she could spot anyone she could say hello to, but there were no friendly faces among the guests. She doubted there’d be many inside either, but there was no going back now. ‘Let’s go in.’

He walked up the steps stiffly, and she had the impression that it was only sheer will-power that was moving him forwards and up and through the huge oak doors. As she followed him inside and her vision adjusted to the gloom she noticed that he’d gone alarmingly pale. His fingers tightened around hers and she realised that this wedding wasn’t only going to be an ordeal for her.

But what could be the reason for Luke’s unease? she wondered, taking one of the orders of service that were being held out by an usher. Was a fear of weddings a medical condition? Matrimoniphobia, perhaps? He didn’t strike her as the sort of man who would tolerate a fear, yet he was clutching her hand as if his life depended on it.

He let her go so she could shuffle along an empty pew. Had he been dropped in the font as a baby? Had he too once been to the wedding of someone he’d cared about? A funeral, perhaps? The possibilities were endless, but it was hardly the sort of thing she could ask.

‘I was right,’ said Emily, glancing around before putting her handbag on the floor.

‘About what?’ muttered Luke.

‘Hats and glass.’ She tried to settle herself on the uncomfortable pew.

When Luke didn’t answer she stole a quick peek at him. He was studying the church’s architecture with an almost fierce intensity, but at least some colour had returned to his face. It was as if he’d gone into some sort of zone, she thought, running her fingers over the engraved front of the order of service. She was willing to bet that he was totally unaware of her presence. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.

‘Emily?’ A voice behind her and a tap on her shoulder made her jump. She twisted round and found herself face to face with one of the few people who had stayed in touch when she and Tom split up.

‘Felicity, how lovely to see you,’ she said.

‘Likewise. How are you? It’s been ages.’

‘Too long.’

‘Isn’t this fantastic?’ Felicity waved a hand around to indicate the magnificence of the church. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to a wedding like it. I can’t wait for the reception. Marianne’s lovely, and doesn’t Tom look great?’ There was an awkward pause as Felicity’s expression of delight turned to one of horror. She clapped both hands to her face. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. Sometimes I only open my mouth to change feet.’

‘Sorry about what?’

Felicity looked bewildered for a second. ‘Well, you know. Banging on about the wedding. When Tom is marrying Marianne.’

Emily glanced at Luke, but he didn’t appear to be listening. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she assured Felicity, who was staring at her with concern.

‘Are you all right with it?’

‘Heavens, yes.’ She could feel herself going red. She’d been so wrapped up in what was going on with Luke that she had barely given Tom a second’s thought. ‘I’m happy for him. Truly,’ she added at the sceptical look that crossed Felicity’s face.

‘I can well believe that,’ she said, leaning forward. She nodded in Luke’s direction and asked, ‘Who’s your friend?’

Emily caught the appreciative note in her voice and felt a stab of irritation. Whatever Luke was going through, he didn’t need to be subjected to a barrage of questions by an over-flirtatious female.

A rustling behind them saved her from having to answer Felicity’s question. ‘Oh, look, I think the bride’s arrived,’ she said brightly, as the organ boomed the opening bars of the ‘Bridal Chorus’ and everyone stood and turned to watch the entrance of Marianne du Champs.

The organist then launched into the first hymn, and Emily took the opportunity to survey the congregation. As she’d suspected, she didn’t spy many allies among the glamorous throng. Mainly she encountered expressions of surprise. One or two glimmers of sympathy, which she could have done without. And there was enough eyeing up of the man beside her to have her inching towards him in a distinctly proprietorial fashion.

She was just debating whether or not it would be a bit much to thread her arm through his when Tom’s voice poured through the speakers and jerked her head back. Had they got to that part already?

For the first time since the ceremony had begun, and with a faint sense of shame, she turned her attention to what was happening in front of her. Her gaze rested on the man with whom at one point she’d been planning to spend her future. Tall, blond, good-looking and familiar, he was smiling down at the woman in white—the woman who at one time could have been her.

She waited for her heart to lurch, for a stab of pain, perhaps, or regret, but as she watched and heard him say his vows all she could think of was Luke and that kiss.

Which wasn’t right, surely? Even if she was over Tom, shouldn’t she be experiencing some sort of inner turmoil at seeing him standing up there at the altar about to marry another woman, instead of lusting after another man? She frowned. Perhaps her mind had sent her into denial without her knowledge.

Emily emptied her head of all thoughts and forced herself to focus on Tom. He was looking proud, happy and relaxed. Unlike Luke. Oh, no. How could she examine her emotions for turmoil if Luke clouded the issue? She blinked and pushed him to one side.

Now, where was she? Oh, yes. Tom. He was sliding a ring onto Marianne’s finger and staring down at her with an awed expression on his face. Hang on, she thought with a frown. Did her heart just ping? And was that another one? Yes, it was definitely pinging. Thank God for that. Two tugs on her heartstrings was perfect. Just enough to reassure herself that she cared, not enough to cause her pain. What a relief. Now she could dally with Luke without any nasty insecurities popping up at inconvenient times.

And she did want to dally with him. Very much. She looked up at him. He was glowering at a window and a muscle was ticking in his jaw. Desire mingled with curiosity. Whatever the reason for Luke’s phobia of churches, it clearly went a great deal deeper than a simple fear of commitment.

Luke barely heard the music and words echoing through the church, and he wasn’t concentrating on the stained glass. No. He was far too busy gritting his teeth and fighting for control of his mind.

It had been three years since Grace’s funeral. Three years since he’d last stepped inside a church. Of all the things that should be going through his head, skin-prickling awareness of the woman beside him was not one of them.

Yet every time they stood or sat a fresh wave of her intoxicating scent hit his perplexed brain. The memory of her in his arms, her mouth and body moving against his, rolled back into his head and he had to clench his fists to stop himself from reaching for her.

Luke sat down and studied the painting above the altar. Exhaustion. That was it. That was why his mind hadn’t been working properly in the meeting yesterday and wasn’t working properly now. That was why his attraction to Emily was hitting him quite so hard. He should take a break—ease up on his insane workload before he burned out. And maybe he should indulge in the ‘fun’ that Jack kept banging on about.

Luke heard the rustle of people standing and automatically got to his feet. He had the feeling Emily could be a lot of fun. Emily was warm and vibrant and attracted to him. Her response to his kiss had been hotter than he could have imagined.

Her arm brushed against his, making him jump as if he’d been poked with a cattle prod. That was it. He’d had enough of only half existing. It was about time he had some fun. He tore his gaze from the cherub he’d been focusing on and turned his head to look down at her. At the same time she looked up. Their gazes collided, and the leap of desire he saw in Emily’s eyes decimated any remnant of doubt he might have had.

Emily nearly collapsed back down on the pew from the scorching heat of Luke’s gaze, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away. Her heart raced. If she combusted on the spot would it be hailed as a miracle? Her head went fuzzy. A flash of white cut across her vision. Didn’t some people see a bright light before passing out? She had to get out of there before she found out.

How much longer would this blasted service go on for? Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, she wrenched her eyes away from Luke’s. And blinked in astonishment. Everyone was moving. The ceremony was over? Already? That look must have frozen them in time. And that flash of white must have been the new Mrs Thomas Green gliding back down the aisle. Nice to know Luke didn’t, after all, have the power to send her into a swoon.

But the dramatic change in his demeanour was odd. From tense and edgy to carnal and predatory. It wasn’t normal. Before she could analyse this any further, Luke took her arm, clamped her against him, and starting pushing them through the crush of people in the aisle.

‘Would you like to go in the car, or shall we walk?’ he asked when they finally managed to get out of the church.

‘Let’s walk,’ she replied. ‘It’s not far, and I love the smell of Provence in summer.’

Luke’s gaze slid down her body. ‘Will you be able to walk in those shoes?’

‘Nope. But I won’t have to.’ She pulled a pair of sparkly flats out of her bag.

‘Practical,’ said Luke, sliding a pair of sunglasses onto his nose.

‘Not a fan of blisters,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘Can I borrow you?’

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his arm and quickly switched shoes. When she was back on her feet, sandals dangling from one hand, there was no reason for her other hand to still be on his arm. But for some strange reason she was reluctant to let him go. He was so warm and hard under her fingers, and she had to force herself to break the contact before her hand started doing something inappropriate—like creeping up his arm to his shoulder, to see if his muscles were as defined as she remembered.

Reluctantly she dropped her hand and lifted her face to smile her thanks. Without the added height of her heels, Luke towered over her. Now that she thought about it, yesterday she’d been wearing three-inch wedges and earlier today the sandals. She hadn’t realised quite how tall and broad he really was. It made her feel dainty and feminine—which, at a generously proportioned five foot seven, didn’t happen often.

‘Let me take your shoes,’ he offered.

She was hit by an image of those big hands holding her delicate shoes, and maybe offering to put them back on when they arrived at the château, his fingers circling her ankle, trailing up over her calf...She swallowed and blinked rapidly. ‘They wouldn’t suit you.’

A hint of a smile curved his mouth and he took her shoes gently from her. ‘Ready?’

‘Lead on.’

She brushed down her skirt and checked herself for dust, and then looked up to find him watching her, his expression dark and serious, the sunglasses lending him a sinister air. ‘What?’ she asked, her heart thumping. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Very wrong.’ His voice had softened, deepened, and it slithered over her like silk.

‘Do I have lavender in my hair?’ Her hands flew up to check. ‘Fluff on my dress?’

He gave his head a quick shake, hooked a finger under the bridge of his sunglasses to slide them off and took a slow step towards her.

Emily’s mouth dried at the look in his eye.

‘It’s occurred to me that I’ve been somewhat remiss,’ he said.

‘You have?’ she said, her voice suddenly hoarse.

‘Mmm-hmm. I forgot to kiss you hello earlier. That wasn’t very gallant.’

‘It wasn’t,’ she agreed breathlessly, backing up against the tree and lifting her chin.

‘But fortunately easily remedied.’ Luke placed his hands either side of her head and leisurely scanned her face, as if deciding where to begin.