Claiming His Runaway Bride / High-Stakes Passion: Claiming His Runaway Bride / High-Stakes Passion

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we go on?”

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

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

“Is it much further?” she asked.

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

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

“It’s nothing. Let’s carry on.”

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

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

“No, it’s not my leg.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You planned this all along?”

“You like it?”

“I love it. It seems so…decadent.”

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

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

Seven

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

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

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

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

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

“Some wine?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He offered her another sip of champagne.

“To new beginnings,” he toasted.

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

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

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

“Luc?” Her voice was unsteady.

“What is it? Are you feeling unwell?”

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

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

“Tell me, what do you remember?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like this?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Just like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Luc, please,” she begged, “please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eight

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

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

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