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

‘Keep drinking,’ Fleur chorused with her. ‘Thanks very much for everything you’ve done for me.’

After that she joined Sue Baxter in her room. When she woke they chatted quietly, and during the long intervals when the patient slept Fleur read a variety of magazines—mostly elderly—while the afternoon slipped by. None of them, she was grateful to discover, had anything about Luke in them, although his beautiful sisters featured largely in one that reported a very aristocratic ball and wedding in England.

Eventually the door into the private room opened to reveal Luke, big and totally competent, accompanied by the hospital superintendent.

The following ten minutes were filled with Sue’s attempt to express her appreciation to both Luke and Fleur.

She ended by saying, ‘You’ve done enough now—off you go, Fleur, and have some fun. I’m so sorry for spoiling your day!’

‘Please don’t say that,’ Fleur said, and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better.’

‘Just relax and let us look after you,’ Luke said. ‘Someone will be here tomorrow morning to help you, and if the doctor agrees you’ll be taken back to Australia tomorrow afternoon. All you have to do is get better.’

‘My boss will want to thank you,’ Sue said, her lashes drifting down. ‘And so will I—coherently—when whatever they’ve given me finally wears off and I can keep my eyes open for more than five minutes!’

Outside, Fleur waited while Luke spoke to the superintendent, then the security guard escorted them down in the lift to the car park beneath the modern building.

And there a journalist lurked. Young, rather earnest, he approached a little diffidently.

Although Luke frowned, he listened to his request for information. To Fleur’s surprise he said, ‘One of my guests got cramp while swimming and had to be airlifted back to hospital. She’s fine now. Miss Lyttelton rescued her and stayed with her until she was comfortable.’

The reporter looked even more diffidently at Fleur. ‘You are a lifeguard, miss?’ he asked.

‘I trained with a surf lifesavers’ club when I was growing up in New Zealand,’ she said, wondering how much Luke would be expecting her to say. ‘But Mr Chapman is being very modest—he got to her before I did. All I did was help him.’

‘If I could have a photograph…?’ the reporter suggested, his expression revealing that he expected to be turned down.

But Luke shrugged. ‘If you want one.’

So he and Fleur posed for a photograph against the blank wall of the hospital, and the journalist went away happy.

The car had darkened windows, and as they were driven off Fleur said, ‘If that’s the local paparazzi you breed reporters differently on Fala’isi.’

‘Don’t be fooled,’ Luke returned. ‘He’s an extremely clever, persistent man, and the fact that he was waiting for us makes me wonder what he’s heard.’

She glanced at him. His expression was hard and intent, as though he was mentally running through a variety of options, none of which he found satisfactory.

Intrigued, she asked, ‘What he’s heard? Do you mean about the possibility of exploring for minerals?’

‘Not necessarily,’ he said, but absently. Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. ‘I have a hunch,’ he explained with uncharacteristic vagueness, and gave her a smile of such blazing charm it made her toes curl and set off a cathedral full of warning bells.

It wasn’t fair that he could use his inbuilt magnetism to scramble her brain and send secret, forbidden messages to every part of her body.

Trying to ignore that most intimate betrayal, Fleur sent him a direct look. She had a hunch, too—that he was evading some issue. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you dealt much in hunches. Logic seems more your line.’

‘My father has a saying—when logic fails, follow your instinct.’

‘And does logic often fail?’

‘Very rarely, but when it does, I take his advice. So far it’s worked.’ He shrugged again. ‘Thank you for everything you did this afternoon.’

‘You’ve already thanked me, and so has Sue. It was nothing,’ she returned. ‘Somebody had to go with her, and if you had I’d have had no idea how to deal with all those people.’

He inspected her face in a long, slow survey that sent little chills across her skin. His unusually grey eyes were almost translucent, yet she thought they could see right through her.

‘You’d have coped,’ he said finally. ‘You have a definite talent for organisation and quick thinking.’

Pleasure pinked her cheeks. Flippantly she said, ‘When I leave I might ask you for a reference saying just that. As for thanks—you should thank the lifesaving association—or send them a donation. In New Zealand we don’t have paid lifeguards.’

His lashes drooped. ‘I’ll suggest Sue’s company donates to the lifeguards,’ he said. ‘Why do you need a reference?’

‘I have to find a job.’

‘Is it likely to be difficult?’

‘No.’

It was the truth; her old job in a fast food shop was waiting for her if she wanted it. Or she could do the work her mother’s illness had trained her for—work in a rest home or take nursing training.

Whatever, one day she’d finish her degree and find a job that would pay off the student loan she’d have to increase.

‘You’re not telling me the truth,’ he said shrewdly, and took her chin in his hand, turning it so that he could scrutinise her face.

Thoughts danced crazily in her brain. She stared at his mouth, cruelly beautiful, sculpted to seduce and woo, and her heart flipped and her blood sang in her ears.

Unable to speak, her lips formed one word. ‘Don’t.’

Followed, when he still stared at her as though trying to drag her soul from her body, by another word. ‘Please,’ she whispered.

Luke let her go, his hand falling to his thigh, where it clenched into a fist. After a moment he said harshly, ‘You pack a hell of a punch, Fleur.’

She did? Fleur swallowed to ease her dry throat. ‘So do you,’ she said with bleak honesty, and scrambled for another subject, anything to relieve the tension that crackled between them.

Staring out of the window, she realised the car had just gone past the gates of his parents’ house. Relieved, she blurted, ‘You said your parents were away. Are they on holiday?’

‘Having another honeymoon,’ he said, his tone telling her that he knew exactly what she was doing.

She managed a cracked little laugh. ‘Sounds romantic.’

‘They’re a very romantic couple,’ he said coolly. ‘A testament to the fact that two strong-willed people can live happily together.’

‘Some people have all the luck,’ she said on a flippant note.

‘Luck?’ He considered the word. ‘Luck that of all the people in the world they met at the right time, perhaps. But after that it isn’t luck that makes a marriage like theirs.’

Did he believe in the romantic ideal? If his parents were still lovers after many years, possibly he did—and possibly she might, too, if she hadn’t seen first-hand how marriages could shatter, leaving nothing but shards of lives. Her father had believed in romance—she remembered huddling in her bed as he’d told her mother, not wanting to hurt her yet unable to resist the great passion he’d found.

‘Good for them,’ she said brightly as the car drew up outside the porticoed front entrance of his house.