Kitabı oku: «Bought for His Bed», sayfa 2

Chapter Two

THE return of the nurse with cereal and tropical fruit was a relief.

Settling the tray on Fleur’s knees, she said cheerfully, ‘Eat it all, the doctor said. Why didn’t you ask for food if you couldn’t buy it? No islander would have let you go hungry, and there’s plenty of food for everyone.’

It was kindly meant, no doubt, but it seemed to Fleur that everyone on Fala’isi felt the need to question her. ‘I had enough to eat mostly,’ she said defensively.

‘Doesn’t look like it. What I want to know,’ the nurse said with genuine interest, ‘is how you managed to hide from everyone that you were sleeping on the beach. The islanders usually know exactly what’s happening in their own areas, and you’d have been picked up on any of the resort beaches.’

Fleur flushed. ‘I found a tiny bay with only two houses in it—both of them seemed empty holiday houses.’

‘About a kilometre away on the road back to town?’

Fleur nodded. ‘No one seemed to live there.’

‘It’s owned by a family who are in Australia for a wedding. They’ll be back in a couple of days, so you’d have been found then.’

‘I slept under a big tree so even if anyone was on the beach at night they wouldn’t see me.’ She redirected the conversation. ‘This looks delicious, thank you.’

‘Coffee or tea?’

The thought of coffee made her stomach roil. ‘Tea, please.’ And asked impulsively, ‘Where am I?’ At the nurse’s astonished look she added, ‘I’ve seen photos of the Chapman house—a lovely old house. This seems much more modern.’

‘Oh, you’re thinking of Luke’s parents’ house, the old mansion.’

Unconsciously Fleur must have hoped that this was a new wing built onto the old plantation-style house, and that any moment Luke’s mother might come to see her. The knowledge that she was in Luke’s house produced an odd kind of panic, mingled with an even stranger excitement.

Chattily, the nurse went on, ‘Luke had this one built a couple of years ago when he came back from overseas and decided he needed his own place. We hoped he might be getting married, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen for a while yet.’

Perhaps realising that this was moving too close to gossip, she smiled and reiterated, ‘Eat up everything! Then you can shower. I’ve brought you a wrap to wear, and a proper nightgown. You need something a bit nicer to wear than Luke’s tee-shirt.’

Which brought more heat to Fleur’s cheeks. It seemed somehow sinfully decadent to be clad in her reluctant host’s shirt.

‘Where did you get the wrap and nightgown?’ she asked.

‘Luke’s housekeeper gave me the money, so I suppose it was from Luke.’

Fleur vowed to pay him back, no matter how long it took, but when she thanked him for them he said matter-of-factly, ‘Don’t worry about that now. Concentrate on eating and sleeping and drinking!’

That day set a pattern for the several that followed, except that she was allowed up for progressively longer periods each day, although both nurse and the doctor when she visited each evening kept a close eye on her welfare.

Luke came in twice a day, bringing with him that instant awareness, a charge of vital energy she’d never experienced before. When he walked through the door she felt invigorated, every sense newly alert, as though previously she’d lived in a kind of stupor.

Apart from those moments, she spent most of her time reading. He had a very good library, she discovered enviously, and once he’d asked her tastes he chose a book for her each day. She also watched videos and the local television station. And she looked wistfully at the wonderful garden she could see from the windows.

She also found that she was too wobbly on her feet to entertain the thought of going out. But the days were long and she disgusted herself by thinking far too much about Luke, and was shocked at the eagerness with which she waited for him to call in night and morning.

The day she was allowed up the nurse arrived with an armful of colour.

‘Pareus,’ she said. ‘In Fiji they call them lavalavas. My daughter sent them along for you.’

‘They’re beautiful,’ Fleur said, ‘but I can’t wear your daughter’s clothes.’

Patiently the older woman told her, ‘They’re not clothes, they’re just a piece of material. She’s got dozens. Look, all you do is drape the length right round you and tuck it in. Hold your arms out.’

Feeling both ungrateful and ungracious, after an embarrassed second Fleur obeyed. Deftly the nurse wound the fine cotton around her and showed her the way to tuck it in.

‘Won’t it come undone?’ she asked doubtfully.

‘Not unless it gets rough handling,’ the nurse said cheerfully. ‘Our girls wear them all the time, even swim in them. Now, watch while I show you how to fasten it again.’

Once satisfied that Fleur knew how to do it, she said, ‘I’ve brought some underwear for you, too—Luke told me to buy what you needed. I even found the right bra in one of the shops in town!’

‘Thank you,’ Fleur said, her pride taking yet another battering.

Under the nurse’s supervision she showered, then wrapped herself in the pareu.

‘Go and see how you look,’ the other woman said, ‘while I get you a cup of tea.’

Warily Fleur examined herself in the mirror. The pareu was blissfully cool, and although it showed a lot of pale skin it was modest enough, fastening above any cleavage and falling loosely to knee level.

How would Luke Chapman think she looked in it?

‘He probably wouldn’t even notice you’re wearing something different,’ she told her reflection contemptuously. He certainly wouldn’t notice that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath it.

The next evening the doctor said, ‘Right, you don’t need me any more. You’re fully recovered from the dehydration, but I’m not too happy about your general health.’ She paused as though inviting a confidence.

Fleur said tonelessly, ‘My mother died a while ago—I nursed her until she went. I’m fine. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.’

Eyes unexpectedly keen, Dr King waved away Fleur’s thanks. ‘Just doing my job. How long was your mother ill?’

‘Five years.’

The doctor nodded. ‘And you looked after her all that time?’

‘Towards the end she spent quite a bit of time in the hospice,’ Fleur told her, keeping her voice level and unemotional.

‘I see. Well, when you go home, see your own doctor. You’ve been under considerable stress, and this last little problem on the island certainly hasn’t helped. Talk to him and see what he can do for you.’

‘I’m fine,’ Fleur said automatically. What could anyone prescribe for grief?

The pleasant Australian said shrewdly, ‘Your mother had the right idea—she knew you’d be exhausted, and that you’d need a complete change of circumstances to get the full benefit of any holiday. Dehydration and heat exhaustion certainly played a part in your collapse, but there was more to it than that. Nursing someone you love is exhausting in more ways than the physical. I don’t think you should go home until you’re fully rested.’

‘How long will that be?’

Dr King smiled. ‘At least a week,’ she said noncommittally.

Fleur said, ‘Two days.’ When the doctor lifted her brows she explained, ‘I have a non-refundable ticket, and it has to be used then.’

‘I see.’ The older woman frowned, then said, ‘While you’re here, stay in the shade and use sunscreen and moisturiser. The tropical sun’s hard on skin. And keep drinking at least every half hour.’

She could certainly do that, but now that she was all right, where would she spend the next two days until she could go home?

That night she told Luke what the doctor had said.

‘Now you’re worrying about it,’ he said, and smiled.

In spite of everything, Fleur felt herself surrender to the charm of that smile. An aching warmth seemed to burgeon in her breasts, and to her astonishment she felt the nipples peak into tight, expectant buds.

Hoping desperately it wasn’t as obvious to him as it was to her, she said, ‘Thank you very much for your kindness. If I can get a lift into town—’

‘Don’t be silly. It will be dark soon.’ He got to his feet and looked down at her, his eyes cool and speculative. ‘Have a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you’re going to be allowed outside.’

‘I’m so looking forward to that,’ she said, her fears for the immediate future swamped in the pleasure of being able to do something for herself again.

He didn’t come to see her the next morning. Frightened at how much that hurt, she donned a pair of white trousers and a loose cotton shirt—both the right size—spread sunscreen over every inch of exposed skin, and accepted a hat to shade her face.

When she asked who the clothes had belonged to, she was told firmly that they were new. ‘Luke bought them,’ the nurse finished, as though that was all she needed to know.

It galled Fleur’s pride to be a charity case, but again she banished the chagrin by telling herself she’d pay Luke Chapman back somehow, however long it took.

Besides, her spirits were too high now that she was out of the house to brood on something she had no control over. So she reclined in a chair on the private terrace outside her room and read the local newspaper.

Until then she’d only seen the garden from inside. She’d expected tropical gardens to be a riot of colour, and there was indeed a lot of colour there, but it was the form and the myriad shades of the foliage that struck her. As for rioting—well, whoever took care of this garden didn’t allow that! For all the bravura effect of huge glossy leaves in every shade of green and gold and bright red, the garden was an exercise in discipline.

Like its owner, she thought, wondering if anything ever managed to disturb Luke Chapman’s cool, self-contained confidence.

Making love, perhaps? An odd twist of sensation—heat and hunger combined—coiled up from deep within her.

Embarrassed, she forced herself to concentrate once more on her surroundings. Everything about the place—the choice of plants, the furniture along the terrace, even the tray waiting on the table—was like something out of one of those very expensive magazines that captured the lives of the very rich.

You should be enjoying this, she thought reproachfully. Living in the lap of tropical luxury—it’s never going to happen again!

Dutifully Fleur finished the surprisingly hard-hitting pages of local news that included a summary of progress at a conference Luke had presided over—something to do with a Pacific-wide stand on over-fishing. Guiltily she let herself scrutinise a photograph of him. He looked stern and powerful, a truly formidable man—and outrageously handsome.

‘High society indeed,’ she said aloud, and turned the page to start on the foreign section.

Ignoring the headline that screamed ‘MODEL LEAVES HUSBAND OF SIX MONTHS’, she tried to read about turmoil in the Common Market, but gave up almost immediately, putting the paper aside.

She lay back in the indecently comfortable lounger and closed her eyes against the sun. Even though she still felt slightly wobbly, it was wonderful to be outside.

However, there was the question of what to do until she left Fala’isi. Overnight she’d managed to ignore the problem, but she had to face it now. She had no money, no clothes and no place to live. And she couldn’t stay here.

Almost certainly Luke would be glad to see the back of her; she had no claim on him at all, which meant she had to organise some way out of this impasse.

After fruitless minutes of mulling, she came up with nothing. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she whispered, fighting back a rush of debilitating tears.

She squared her jaw. No, damn it, she wasn’t going to dissolve into a puddle. She owed it to her mother to salvage what she could of the situation.

Opening her eyes, she let the peace sink into her and deliberately stored up memories. Her gaze wandered down a long border where tree ferns canopied a lush planting of peace lilies, their white flowers hovering like doves above glossy leaves. Restful in green and white, the border was finished in the distance by a splash of crimson, bright as a skyrocket against the dark green foliage.

‘It’s probably just a hibiscus,’ she muttered.

Her mother used to pick them and put them on the table, frilly and frivolous with their silken petals and pure, saturated colour, enjoying their fragile temporary beauty.

Fleur’s throat tightened. To distract herself, she got up and walked out into the heat to identify that elusive splash of colour.

Halfway there, voices in the distance turned her head. Across the lawn two men were walking along the terrace that surrounded the house. Her unruly heart jumped at the sight of Luke, his tall, lean figure immediately recognisable. She barely noticed the other man, but she felt the impact of Luke’s gaze on her, and for some idiotic reason felt that she should have stayed where she was, safe in the little private patio off her room.

Fleur hesitated, but to turn back would be idiotic—and besides, it would make her look suspicious, like someone casing the joint. Setting her teeth, she walked across to the creeper with its bright splash of colour.

It was beautiful, but although she forced herself to examine the flowers, she couldn’t enjoy them, and too soon she turned and hurried back to the chair.

The haste was a mistake—one she wouldn’t repeat. Head whirling, legs slack and achy, she was sipping water when Luke said from behind her, ‘Are you all right?’

Heart jumping, blood pumping through her in a response that came stupidly close to panic, she said thinly, ‘I’m fine.’

He stopped in front of her, his too-handsome face set. ‘You’re white as a sheet,’ he said abruptly. ‘Didn’t the doctor tell you to take things easily?’

Fleur repressed a gesture of irritation. ‘Don’t you ever stop asking questions?’

‘Once I’ve got the answers, yes.’ He lowered himself into the chair opposite her and surveyed her face with those disconcertingly keen eyes. ‘I saw you walking across the lawn. Was it too far?’

‘I might have taken it too fast.’ She knew she sounded defensive and tried to qualify it with a faint smile. ‘I feel like a wimp.’

‘Dehydration isn’t something to be taken lightly,’ he said uncompromisingly. ‘And in the tropics it’s too easy to forget to drink enough.’

Fleur bit her lip. ‘I’m making up for it now. Apparently I have to drink every half-hour.’

‘Make sure you do, and if you must move about, take things slowly!’

His tone made her bristle, but she restrained her automatic reaction. He was right, the nurse was right, and she was beholden to them both. And the doctor.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, helplessly watching the corners of his mouth lift in that potent smile. Her heart skipped a beat, and she added, ‘The funny thing is that I felt pretty good until a few minutes before I—well, fainted so melodramatically in front of your car.’

‘It wasn’t anything as easily dealt with as a faint. You collapsed,’ he said brutally.

‘Yes, well, I’m better now,’ she said. She sat up straight and squared her shoulders, making her voice brisk and impersonal. ‘Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. I’ll find some other accommodation—’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he drawled, thick lashes shading his eyes. ‘I’ve checked, and the cottage is booked solid for another month. You have no money, and as Dr King wants you to be where someone can keep an eye on you, I told her you’d stay here as my guest until you return to New Zealand.’

‘No!’

‘You needn’t look at me as though I’ve made you an indecent proposition,’ he drawled, an amused glint in his eyes making her squirm. ‘It’s by far the best way to handle the situation.’

Fugitive colour burned across her skin. ‘I couldn’t possibly impose on you,’ she said stiffly.

‘You’re not going back to sleeping on the beach,’ he said with ruthless frankness. ‘In fact, you’re not going anywhere for a while. On the doctor’s recommendation I’ve cancelled your return ticket.’

Eyes flashing, Fleur sat up straight. ‘You—she—had no right to do that!’ she spluttered, barely able to articulate.

‘Dr King said that not only were you suffering from dehydration, but that you’re exhausted and run-down and very close, she suspects, to burning out. She doesn’t want to see you travel for at least a week, and possibly a fortnight.’

‘A fortnight!’ Her brain raced frantically, but he looked so arrogantly confident she was reduced to a kind of mental stammering, and could only stare impotently at him.

‘Do you have a home to go to in New Zealand?’

Mutely, Fleur glared at him. ‘I have a room in a boarding house,’ she said. A small, hot room.

Luke’s brow lifted in ironic surprise. ‘So exactly what were you planning to do once you got back to New Zealand?’

She’d planned to take up a temporary job in the local supermarket and regroup, find some direction to her life.

Ruthlessly Luke pressed home his advantage. ‘Dr King doesn’t feel happy about your going back unless you have support waiting for you in New Zealand. Do you?’

Fleur wouldn’t lie, so she folded her lips and stared silently at him.

‘No friends to make sure you’re all right?’

No one close, but she wasn’t going to tell him that, either.

He said sardonically, ‘Of course I can’t keep you here if you don’t want to stay, so I’ll organise a private room for you in the hospital until the doctor says you’re fit to travel. You can go home in the family’s private jet—’

‘No, don’t be silly!’ she spluttered, pressing her palms to her hot cheeks. ‘I don’t want a room in the hospital, not when every one is needed for sick people. It never occurred to me that you even had a private jet!’

‘I’m merely pointing out your options.’

Fleur took her hands away from her face and asked desperately, ‘Surely there’s somewhere else I can stay?’

‘Not in your present state.’ He waited, then said, ‘Look, you won’t be imposing on me at all—as you’ve probably gathered, my staff do the actual work around here. If you stay here both the doctor and I will be reassured that you’re OK, and that you’re eating and drinking properly.’

He made it sound so reasonable, she thought with difficulty. ‘I don’t know…’

‘And when you’re feeling up to par I’ll lend you enough money to see out your holiday—’

‘No,’ she interrupted, the heat fading from her skin. Head held high, she said proudly, ‘I can’t afford to repay you.’

Long black lashes half hid his eyes, but couldn’t mask the penetrating quality of his scrutiny. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

‘No,’ she said, more calmly. There was no way out; she’d have to accept. ‘Now that you’ve cancelled my flight I have no alternative but to accept your offer. I’ll try not to get in your way at all, and if there’s anything I can do to repay you, I will.’

It sounded false even as she said it—because what could she do, penniless as she was, to repay him? But her pride demanded she make the offer.

He didn’t answer, and the silence stretched beyond the normal length. Startled, she looked up. He was watching her, grey eyes like polished steel, intent and probing.

Something hot and reckless that had been smouldering deep inside her burst into flame, burning into the barriers she’d erected against him. And then she realised what she’d said.

Appalled, she thought, Surely he doesn’t think—? Surely he can’t—?

Oh, why did she have to blush every time she got embarrassed?

She stumbled into speech. ‘I don’t mean—that is, I’m not offering—’

‘Yourself?’ The word hung in the air between them.

Fleur crimsoned. ‘Yes. I mean, no, I’m not…’

He suddenly laughed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and that strange intensity vanished. ‘I was teasing. It’s probably just as well you didn’t have brothers—they’d have made your life a misery.’

‘I’d have learned how to deal with them,’ she returned tartly, feeling a total fool.

He grinned. ‘Probably.’ He glanced across the lawn, and said, ‘Ah, here’s Susi with lunch. I suggest we discuss the state of the world while we eat and drink, and then I think you probably should go back inside. Dr King was very firm about not too much exercise and as little exposure to the sun as possible.’

Susi was a large, comfortable-looking woman who looked at her closely when Luke introduced her as the housekeeper. Something about her gaze set Fleur’s teeth on edge, until the big woman relaxed into smiles and offered her hand in a hearty shake.

‘On Fala’isi we introduce staff,’ Luke said when she’d left them. ‘Here everyone is related, and they can usually tell you to an exact degree the degree of relationship.’

‘That must be lovely,’ she said quietly.

‘You sound as though you don’t have much close family.’

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.