Bought for His Bed

Fleur remembered the nurse’s comment that they’d thought his new house meant a marriage. ‘I suppose there are disadvantages to everything, but that seems a minor one compared to the advantages. How did everyone get to be related?’

He told her of the ancestor who’d landed on Fala’isi only to find it almost depopulated by diseases brought by Europeans. His description of that first wild seafarer’s forced marriage to the only surviving child of the paramount chief’s family fascinated her. The story—sometimes brutal, sometimes unexpectedly lightened by flashes of compassion and kindness—was utterly compelling.

Finally he said, ‘I have to go out in a few minutes, but we’ll meet for a drink before dinner.’

He got to his feet, and once again Fleur realised how tall he was—a naturally dominant man, lean and big, who moved with the powerful litheness of a predator at the top of the food chain.

She took a deep breath and stood up, too, holding herself desperately erect, but when she took her first step she managed to sabotage herself by stumbling against the leg of her chair.

Like the predator she’d likened him to, he moved fast, his hand fastening onto her arm and holding her upright. His closeness stirred her physically and in other, more subtle ways—she wanted to lean against him, to absorb some of that strength and power, to let him—

Alarm bells clanging in her mind, she thought desperately, Get out of here! Now!

She flinched and tried to step free, making a soft sound of dismay when she found that her legs refused to obey her brain’s command.

‘I think probably the best way to do this is for me to carry you,’ Luke said judicially, and, ignoring her shocked objection, he picked her up as effortlessly as if she’d been a child and strode into her bedroom.

Fleur wanted to command him to put her down, but her bones were too heavy and she felt waves of tiredness wash over her. For the first time since her father had left her and her mother, she felt a sense of utter security. She might not approve of Luke Chapman’s ruthlessness, but she felt utterly safe in his arms, her fuzzy brain accepting him as though it had been waiting for him for years.

‘I’m fine,’ she blurted.

He didn’t put her down until they reached the bed. ‘Rest until later in the afternoon,’ he commanded, looking down at her with complete confidence that she’d do exactly as he ordered. ‘And in case you feel like doing something stupid—walking out, for instance—the staff know that you’re staying. You wouldn’t get far.’

Incredulously, Fleur lifted her head off the pillows to meet his uncompromising eyes. ‘I hope you’re not insinuating that I’m a prisoner here.’

‘I’m not insinuating anything,’ he returned, assessing her with an enigmatic gaze. ‘I’m telling you that the staff know that you’re not fit to leave, so they won’t let you. Only a Leo would call that being taken prisoner.’

She said irritably, ‘I’ll bet you’re a Scorpio.’

‘You’re an astrologer?’ he asked with a hint of cynicism.

‘No, but I know a Scorpio when I meet one. You all have that innate arrogance.’

He laughed. ‘I draw the line at you telling me that I share some of my genetic traits with one-twelfth of the population. My mother says it’s a Chapman characteristic.’

‘She should know,’ Fleur said crisply.

Luke found himself admiring her. According to the information Valo had pulled together she was penniless after her mother’s long illness, her future without prospects, yet although she wasn’t yet up to par she was full of fight. Her cool, still pride, oddly at variance with that mane of red-gold hair, both amused and touched him.

‘Are your parents here?’ she asked remotely.

He heard the rapid chill in the voice that should be slow and warm, with its lazy, sensuous undertone that made him think of cool sheets on a hot summer night…

‘No,’ he said, irritated by the reaction from a part of his body that had no right to be responding. ‘They’re holidaying in the Caribbean. If they were here, you’d have been staying with them.’

Fleur felt as though she’d been put firmly in her place. A nuisance.

Chapter Three

ONCE he’d gone Fleur was sure her roiling mass of emotions would prevent any rest, but now she was on that supremely comfortable bed sleep claimed her with voracious speed.

She woke to the seductive cooing of doves, their tranquil notes floating on the drowsy air. Tropical scents—sweet, heavy, sharpened with the all-pervading perfume of vanilla—summoned a long, slow sigh to her lips, followed by a wavering smile. Not since before her mother’s condition had rapidly worsened a year ago had she slept like that.

How strange, she thought, listening to the muted roar of the waves on the reef. In spite of everything—her prickly reaction to her arrogant host, her experience of living rough—she could sleep as soundly as though she’d reverted back to her childhood, when her world had been bright and shining and seamless.

If this was the fabled spell of the Pacific, she was hooked.

Yawning, and feeling much more human, she got up and showered in the white-tiled bathroom with its wooden shutters, sprays of orchids and air of restrained opulence.

Now, she thought, what on earth am I going to wear if I have to stay here for another week?

Even if by some miracle her pack turned up with its contents intact, she had nothing suitable. She hadn’t been able to afford new clothes for this ill-fated holiday. Her sundresses, shorts and the couple of tops were all several years old, and fitted a more rounded woman than the one who’d cared for her mother these past years.

A soft tap at her door swivelled her around.

But of course Luke Chapman wasn’t there. Instead, Susi, in a pareu of bold scarlet and dark blue, said, ‘Luke would like it if he could join you on the terrace outside in half an hour, miss. I’ll collect you then.’

And that, Fleur decided as she watched the door close, was definitely an order.

So why was her heart skipping unevenly and a slow, sensuous warmth stealing through her veins like a drug?

Glowering at her reflection, Fleur wished she’d surrendered to the seduction of some sexy little silk tee-shirts she’d seen in the market. But, cheap as they were, they’d still been too expensive for her. And even if she had bought one, it would have been stolen like the rest of her gear.

Besides, tee-shirts were not for her. Her mother used to say she had an Edwardian hourglass figure, a small waist emphasised by maternal hips and breasts that were slightly too ample for the rest of her. Tee-shirts clung and made her look conspicuous.

At least the colour suited her. Whoever had chosen the outfit had known that camel silk would go with her bright hair and pale skin. After a last defiant look at her neat, uninteresting reflection, she tucked a stray strand of hair back into place just as the housekeeper tapped at the door.

However, it was Luke who stood in the corridor outside, not Susi. ‘If I give you an arm, do you think you could make the few yards to another terrace?’ he asked, his expression noncommittal.

Fleur’s heart gave another of those peculiar jumps in her chest. ‘Of course,’ she said brightly, and fixed her eyes on the magnificent portrait at the end of the hallway—an elegant woman of the thirties.

‘My great-grandmother,’ he said, following her gaze. ‘She was French.’

No wonder she radiated that sleek, effortless chic. ‘She looks fascinating.’

‘She was.’ His tone was affectionately reminiscent.

There were resemblances—the midnight hair, and possibly his brilliant clothes sense. Luke’s shirt matched his steel-grey eyes, and his trousers had been tailored to reveal his long, powerful legs. But where had his boldly chiselled face come from, underpinned by the magnificent bone structure that gave him such authority and that intimidating air of mastery and force? Add that to a lithely powerful body, and you had the sort of man women dreamed of.

So the rapid thud of her heartbeat in her ears was quite understandable, as was the heat that crept into her skin when he gave her a lazy smile after he’d tucked her into a chair at their destination, a long terrace with a sunset view over the lagoon.

‘You look infinitely more yourself,’ he said gravely.

‘I must have looked pretty dreadful before.’ Her green glance gleamed in challenge.

‘Exhaustion has that effect on people,’ he agreed. ‘According to Dr King, alcohol would be all right if suitably diluted. I can offer you a very weak gin and tonic, if you’d like that.’

‘Could I just have something nonalcoholic and not too sweet? Fruit juice will be fine.’

‘We have plenty of fruit juice.’ He poured her a glass.

Fleur sipped it gratefully. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said with a smile. ‘Perfect.’

‘I’m glad you like it—it’s Susi’s secret recipe. Pineapple, of course, and papaya and mango, and some spices she refuses to divulge.’

‘Vanilla, perhaps?’ When he looked quizzically at her she said, ‘The whole house is delicately scented with it.’

‘The whole island,’ he corrected. ‘We grow it for export. It’s an orchid, and we’re lucky to have just the right conditions for it to flourish.’

A dove flew down onto the lawn a few feet away and pecked, the contrast of its white plumage and the vivid coarse green grass almost startling.

Fleur let out a long, soft sigh. ‘This is so beautiful,’ she said quietly, watching the sun dip towards the horizon.

While the great, flaming disc edged its way into the sea, Luke told her about the green flash that was part of the folklore of the tropics.

‘So it’s only ever seen at sunset?’ she marvelled.

‘Even then conditions have to be absolutely right. No one seems to know what causes it.’

‘It sounds—amazing,’ she said quietly. ‘Have you seen it?’

‘A couple of times.’

The swift tropical dusk was falling as darkness swept in from the east. Luke got to his feet and lit candles at the table; their soft, romantic light flickered a little in the breeze that ruffled across Fleur’s acutely sensitised skin. The small lights settled, washing gold over the dark planes of his face.

A stab of some unknown sensation took Fleur by surprise. She knew she was attracted to him, but attraction didn’t describe this fierce hunger that seemed to blast out of nowhere and take her over.

Fortunately he didn’t notice. Over the drink they talked of nothing much, the sort of light conversation that sophisticated people like Luke Chapman did so well. Fleur was grateful to him for his tact; the past year had been spent almost entirely in conversation with medical personnel, and she’d nearly forgotten how to do idle conversation. He made it easy for her, and although over dinner she realised he was learning a lot about her, she responded easily.

Until she found herself talking about her mother.

Then her voice faltered; tears ached behind her eyes and she took refuge in the glass of water he’d poured for her.

‘I’m sorry,’ Luke said quietly.

‘It’s all right.’ She set the glass down and fought for composure. He didn’t seem embarrassed, and he didn’t try to hurry her up.

Eventually she said in a brittle voice, ‘It’s just that—she died about six weeks ago, after spending five years fighting a progressive illness. She organised the holiday and paid for it before she died—she used to worry about me not having any fun.’ Her throat thickened. ‘She’d have been h-horribly upset if she’d known that the travel agency had got the dates wrong.’

‘She’d probably have been more horrified if she’d known you were going to tough it out by sleeping on the beach,’ he said grimly.

She flashed him an indignant glance. ‘I didn’t sleep on the beach. I had a comfortable nest under some bushes nearby, and I felt perfectly safe.’

‘You were lucky. We work damned hard to keep the island free of crime, but even so, we can’t vet every tourist who comes in. Or, unfortunately, all of the islanders. Once you’d lost your money you should have realised you were in an untenable position. People can survive starvation for much longer than they realise, but it was stupid to emulate them when there was no need. Any islander would have given you food.’

‘I was managing. I ate fruit from the trees on the side of the road. I only fainted—’

‘Collapsed,’ he interjected uncompromisingly.

‘I only fainted,’ she repeated with more emphasis, ‘because I’d walked a long way in the heat and stupidly I’d forgotten to fill my water bottle.’ And then she remembered something that had completely skipped her mind. ‘Who is Janna?’

His brows drew together. The frown lasted only a second, and his voice was easy and pleasant when he answered, ‘She’s a friend of mine. Why?’

‘When I woke I thought you called me Janna. No, someone else did.’ She searched her brain, thinking out loud. ‘You said, “This is not Janna.” But that’s who your man thought I was, and that’s the reason he brought me here. I’d forgotten until now.’

‘He brought you here because it’s a half-hour drive to the hospital and he was worried,’ Luke said evenly. ‘I wasn’t here, but when you didn’t regain consciousness the staff decided to call the doctor. By the time I got home she’d checked you over and fixed up the drip. If you hadn’t collapsed in front of the car you could well have become dangerously ill—most people don’t realise how much water you need to drink in the tropics.’

Soberly she said, ‘I realise now, believe me. It’s not an experience I want to repeat.’ She looked at him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for taking me in. I’m truly grateful—’

‘It’s not necessary,’ he interrupted curtly, getting to his feet. ‘And you’re looking smoky around the eyes, so I suggest it’s time for you to go to bed.’

Of course she acquiesced, and it wasn’t until just before tiredness overwhelmed her that she realised he’d told her nothing about the mysterious Janna, the woman she apparently resembled closely enough for almost everyone at the house to have believed that was who she was. Except for Luke, who’d known instantly that she wasn’t.

His lover?

Almost certainly, she thought as she slid into sleep. That air of authority was underpinned by a compelling sexuality. Somehow, without him being at all overt, any woman meeting him knew that he’d be a superb lover…

Luke put down the receiver and swore luridly in a mixture of Polynesian and English. Then he stood and walked across to the window and stared out into the darkness, his mind racing furiously.

Five minutes later he picked up the telephone again. His chief of security answered; from the sounds in the background it was obvious he was socialising.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Luke said abruptly. ‘I’ve just heard from a contact in Germany that Eric van Helgen’s disappeared. And yesterday morning I was interviewed by a Common Market journalist, who happened to leave the house at the same time that Ms Lyttelton walked across the lawn in full sight, her hair very much in evidence.’

After a tense silence, the other man said, ‘So Ms van Helgen is in danger.’

‘Possibly. Though I can think of reasons for his secrecy—their break-up has already been splashed through the world’s papers, and if he wants to reconcile with Janna the last thing he needs is paparazzi dogging his every footstep.’

‘What do you think?’

Luke said slowly, ‘I don’t know.’ Janna was spoilt, and she’d been angling for his sympathy. Her story of violence and fear had sounded genuine enough, but Luke had caught her out in previous exaggerations. ‘There’s the fact that the research you did on him didn’t back her story at all.’

‘Not a shred of evidence.’

‘But we can’t ignore her completely. Alert the airport and tell them you want to know if he’s booked on a flight here. You’ve got photographs of him, haven’t you?’

‘Yes. I’ll make sure the immigration officials understand that they need to be on the alert. What do you want to do if he turns up?’

‘Let me know first, and put your best man onto tailing him,’ Luke said. ‘See what he does.’

‘And if he comes with false papers?’

‘If he tries that, he probably assumes that Fala’isi is some tropical backwater where money will get you anything, so he’s not going to be too careful. Let him think he’s got away with it, but again, watch him.’

‘Fortunately we’ve got the perfect decoy to convince him that he’s made a huge mistake by coming here.’

Luke thought of the woman who’d been resident in his house for the past few days. He said curtly, ‘Hell, no. Ms Lyttelton has nothing to do with this mess. Keep looking into his background. Work your links and connections—trawl for anything at all that might back up Janna’s allegations. If you find any dirt at all, or if van Helgen arrives, we’ll get both Janna and Ms Lyttelton off the island as quickly and inconspicuously as we can. If his wife’s story is true he’s a very dangerous man.’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think she made the whole thing up.’ He paused, then added fairly, ‘No, it’s more likely she’s embroidered a quarrel they had and has now convinced herself that her tale is true.’

His man’s frown showed up his voice. ‘So you just want him watched?’

‘For the time being. Oh, and get your wife to bring out a selection of clothes for Ms Lyttelton tomorrow, will you? She needs everything, so a complete new wardrobe is in order.’ He gave the sizes.

Fleur turned away from the mirror with a grimace. During these past few days she’d spent entirely too much time staring at her reflection. But this morning before Luke left the house he’d sent along a note with the housekeeper asking her to join him on the terrace for lunch, and as Susi had whisked away the shirt and trousers she’d worn before, ‘For cleaning, miss,’ Fleur was forced to wear a pareu.

It showed too much of her skin, she thought critically, and the colours—a mixture of orange-red and periwinkle-blue with a light, clear bold purple—were shockingly flamboyant, but somehow they seemed to bring colour and life to her face, while not clashing with her vivid hair. Perhaps the earthy tans and greens she’d always worn had been wrong for her pale colouring.

Or perhaps it was the spell of the tropics.

When Luke greeted her, she saw his gaze go from her face to her breasts in one swift reconnaissance. He didn’t ogle, but she had no doubt that he approved of her change of clothes. Heat fountained up from some previously inviolable place in her body, and she felt an odd tightening in her breasts.

Holding onto her fragile composure with every bit of her pride, she said as she slipped into the chair, ‘Susi persuaded me to wear this. I hadn’t realised how cool they were.’

Yes, that was fine; her voice was steady, her tone light—only the faint pinkness of her skin gave her away. Nothing less than a shroud would cover that, she thought despondently, wishing she hadn’t inherited her mother’s tendency to blushes.

Her senses seemed supercharged, so that she was vibrantly conscious of the man who seated himself opposite her and acutely aware of the air caressing her skin, and the warmth of the sun, and the delicious scent of some flower.

Rest and good food and rehydration had certainly made a difference, she told herself tartly. She felt more alive than she had for years.

‘Would you like coffee?’ he asked. And when she accepted he said, ‘Could you pour for me, please? Black.’

‘Of course,’ she said brightly. ‘Scorpios always have black coffee. It goes with the sign.’

Luke watched her slim, elegant hands as she poured the coffee. They did odd things to him, summoning reckless images that had no place at the lunch table—images of them stroking slowly over his skin.

He’d spent half his life being chased by women and understood them well. He took it for granted that most were far more attracted to his money than to him, but he’d have been an idiot not to know that the genes responsible for his face and body had their own appeal.

So he recognised the signs of physical response in Fleur, though she certainly wasn’t giving him any obvious signals. A pretence of aloofness to pique his interest? He didn’t think so, but his attention was certainly aroused. Apart from his sympathy for what had to have been a traumatic experience, he wanted to know more about her.

He said coolly, ‘I have to apologise for being remiss—it’s been a busy few days, but now the conference is over things will be back to normal. Or as normal as it ever gets here. And, as you can’t continue walking around in borrowed pareus, I’ve organised a local boutique owner to bring a selection of clothes here this afternoon. Choose what you want.’

Fleur wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Outrage warring with a demoralising pleasure, she looked up and met hooded iron-grey eyes. ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ she said stiffly. ‘I can organise my own wardrobe.’

‘Relax, I’m not casting aspersions on either your clothes or your taste,’ he said with infuriating calmness, adding to her anger by finishing, ‘And how are you going to organise a wardrobe without money?’

He looked amused, but Fleur sensed a hard will behind the coolly confident exterior.

Well, her mother had always said she was stubborn. ‘If you lend me a small amount of money I can get a selection of sarongs from the market—they don’t cost much and they’re all I need. Then I can return the ones I’ve been wearing to the nurse’s daughter.’

‘Don’t worry about the cost—you must know that I have more money than I can cope with. Think of it as redressing the balance a bit.’

Green fire glittered in her eyes. ‘Redressing what balance? I don’t want to accept anything more from you—you’ve already been far too good to me. In fact, I feel well enough to go home now.’

‘Did Dr King say so?’

She hesitated. ‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly, after a glance at Luke told her that he knew exactly what the doctor had told her. ‘Clearly she has no hesitation in breaking patient confidentiality.’

Luke’s shoulders lifted in a shrug that reminded her of his French great-grandmother. ‘I knew most of it, and guessed the rest,’ he drawled. ‘And if staying here galls you so much, you can earn your keep.’

She froze. ‘How?’ The word came more sharply than she’d intended.

‘Not the way you’re thinking,’ he told her with a hint of hauteur. ‘I’ve never had to pay for sex, and I don’t intend to start now.’

Fleur had always thought that the desire for the ground to swallow some embarrassed soul was weird, one that made her shudder. Now she understood the power of total humiliation. If the ground had cracked open in front of her she’d have leapt into the hole without hesitation.

Scarlet-faced, she said, ‘I didn’t think of anything like that until you…made it obvious what you thought I meant.’ Before she got too hopelessly tangled, she took a deep breath, then ploughed valiantly on. ‘I understand that it wasn’t what you meant, but I’m afraid I don’t have any skills to pay for my board.’

‘Let’s get one thing perfectly clear,’ he said, his gaze metallic. ‘I don’t expect you to pay for anything. What I meant by my offhand comment was that I find myself in somewhat of a bind, and if you’re agreeable, you can help me.’

‘I’d like to,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve been very kind to me and I’m not ungrateful.’

‘I don’t want your gratitude,’ he said, his aloofness setting a boundary between them. ‘The situation I’m in is an unusual one. An old friend of my father’s is arriving to stay soon, and bringing his granddaughter with him to a charity affair we’re all attending. Gabrielle is young, very pretty, and I like her, but she’s suffering a massive crush on me, and it’s becoming embarrassing.’

‘They usually are—to both the crusher and the crushee,’ Fleur said tartly. And she didn’t believe for a second that this was an unusual situation for him.

‘This is sliding over the edge into something that comes just a bit close to stalking for my liking. I’ve just read an interview she gave to a fashion magazine. She implied that she and I are engaged, and that I’m just waiting for her to grow up.’