Claiming His Runaway Bride / High-Stakes Passion

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.