Bought for His Bed: Virgin Bought and Paid For / Bought for Her Baby / Sold to the Highest Bidder!

His eyes narrowed. Flushing, she looked away—away from the colour that rode his striking cheekbones like a slash of war paint, away from the slightly swollen line of the lips that had taught her in a few short moments what ecstasy could be like, away from the crystalline eyes scanning her face as though she were some new specimen.

From outside came the sound of the tikau’s song, each clear cascade of notes echoing in the room.

Luke said something in the local language beneath his breath, and when she stared at him he said in his usual controlled voice, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I had no intention of touching you. I won’t do it again unless it’s in public.’

‘In public?’

‘To keep up the charade we’ll have to exchange an occasional significant glance. Possibly even a light—but restrained—caress now and then,’ he said, and when she stared at him in dismay, he gave a humourless smile and went on, ‘Don’t worry, I can control my baser urges when others are around. I’ve never considered overt displays of lust to be a spectator sport.’

His contemptuous dismissal of the passion she’d felt hurt ferociously, but she managed to produce a nod.

He said, ‘Are you all right for the picnic tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’ Or as right as she ever would be.

They were taking the mining people to an island that was the Chapman private holiday home. It was to be an informal occasion, with nothing more in mind than the establishing of contacts, some fishing for those who wanted to, and a swim in the lagoon, followed by lunch.

For Fleur it would be a sail into the unknown.

‘Hey, this is fabulous!’ The blonde woman who’d embraced Luke so heartily the night before stretched languorously on the white lounger and smiled up into a sky that was the bright, brazen blue of a sapphire. Turning her head to look directly at Fleur, she let an envious smile touch her lips and purred, ‘Lucky you.’

Fleur said, ‘It’s glorious, isn’t it?’

‘So is its owner,’ the woman, whose name was Prudence, said coolly. ‘You know, I wouldn’t have thought you were Luke’s type.’

‘The world’s full of surprises.’ Fleur managed a casual shrug and a light, coolly dismissive tone. Her companion’s forth-rightness startled her, but she knew instinctively that showing astonishment would be seen as a sign of weakness.

‘Where did you meet him?’

‘At a party,’ Fleur said vaguely.

Prudence sat up and began applying sunscreen in slow, voluptuous strokes. ‘I don’t blame you for being circumspect,’ she said, a note of malice tingeing her voice. ‘He hates publicity. And maybe you are his type—he does like redheads. Is your hair natural?’

The taunt hit home. ‘Every last little wave,’ Fleur said, before she had time to think. ‘Why? Did you think it was a wig?’

‘The colour,’ Prudence said shortly. ‘You remind me very much of one of his previous lovers—Jenny…no, Janna someone. She was pretty, a model who dabbled in acting. Lots of charm but not a brain in her pretty head. He soon got tired of her.’

The implication couldn’t have been more plain. Fleur closed her eyes, opening them a second later when the woman spoke again, this time in a totally different voice. ‘Hello, Luke. What a fabulous place.’

Fabulous, Fleur thought snidely, went out in the seventies, surely? Didn’t she know any other word? She watched Luke smile, and realised that Prudence had managed to irritate him. Now, how did she know that?

Just something about the quirk of his lips when he said, ‘I’m glad you like it.’ He looked across at Fleur, and his expression altered subtly. ‘How long is it since you put on sunscreen?’

‘About half an hour,’ she said. ‘It’s supposed to last two hours.’

‘The tropical sun is tough on skin as delicate as yours.’ He came over to sit beside her on the lounger. ‘Turn your back, and I’ll make sure it’s covered properly.’

‘Would you like me to go?’ the other woman enquired archly.

Luke raised his brows. ‘Why?’ he asked in a pleasant tone, holding his hand out to Fleur for the bottle of sunscreen.

Fleur gave it to him, relieved that he was on her side. He would, she thought, make a bad enemy. He could do more with a slight lift of his brows and a barely perceptible intonation in his deep voice than other men produced with open threats.

Prudence shrugged. ‘Oh, I just thought you might need some privacy.’

Luke let the silence last a heartbeat too long before saying, ‘No.’

And that was the end of that. Without trying to answer, the other woman waved languidly at someone down the beach before donning her sunglasses and lying back on her lounger. Suddenly cold, in spite of the heat of the sun, Fleur shivered while Luke applied sunscreen to Fleur’s back, his hands sweeping the lukewarm liquid across her skin.

She could feel his cold anger, and wondered why Prudence had provoked it. To make an impression? Possibly. If so, it had backfired—unless Luke would rather be doing this to the other woman and was angry that he had to keep up the pretence with Fleur?

Who cares? she thought bluntly. He’d set this situation up. If he wanted to bed the luscious executive, with her outdated slang and overt willingness, he had only himself to blame that he couldn’t.

Although he was anointing her with skill and experience, there was nothing sensual about the slow strokes of his hand. Not for him, anyway. He was doing a job and getting it done as quickly as he could, while through her little rivulets of fire ran from nerve to nerve, sweeping everything before them in honeyed enchantment. Her breath quickened, and she fixed her unseeing eyes on the swimmers in the lagoon.

Until a movement caught her eyes and she said sharply, ‘Luke!’

His hand stopped immediately as he followed her line of sight. ‘What—?’ He bit back an imprecation and got to his feet in one lithe movement.

She catapulted off the lounger, and ran behind him down the white sand and into the water. Although he forged ahead, she swam on, keeping him in sight until he reached deeper water, where he dived.

Thank God the lagoon was as clear as crystal; by the time she got there he’d already hauled the swimmer—a woman—to the surface, ruthlessly controlling her struggles and holding her head well clear while she coughed and retched.

‘I can do this,’ Fleur said, panting. ‘We need a boat out here.’

Luke demanded, ‘Can you keep her upright?’

‘Yes.’

‘Show me.’

Fleur slid her arm around the swimmer in the classic life-saver’s hold. The woman had stopped struggling and, although she was blue around the lips, her breathing was already stabilising.

Luke said briefly, ‘Good girl.’ He turned his head to the shore. ‘Where the hell is the boat?’

The sound of the engines warned them of its imminent arrival. It came roaring up, stopping rather suddenly when Luke held up his hand in a command that couldn’t be ignored.

‘All right?’ he asked Fleur.

She nodded. ‘The West Coast Beaches junior lifesavers would be proud of me,’ she said lightly, because the woman in her arms was choking back tears.

Luke smiled. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he said, and swam to the idling dinghy, hauling himself over the side with a whoosh that nearly capsized it.

He brought it carefully up to the two of them in the water, where he and one of the crew from the yacht helped the coughing woman into it. Then Luke bent over and hauled Fleur up, holding her for a spectacular second against his sleek, lean body.

‘Are you all right?’ he demanded, studying her face with half-closed, searching eyes. ‘No after-effects? No exhaustion?’

Surprised, she said, ‘No. No, I feel fine. Just a bit puffed, but I haven’t been swimming recently.’