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

She moved uncomfortably. ‘A father in Australia,’ she admitted. ‘And at least one half-sibling, I’ve been told. No one else.’

The corners of his beautifully chiselled mouth lifted in a wry smile. “The thing about relatives is that they have a vested interest in every aspect of your life and an opinion on everything you do.’

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.