Pushing her hair back from her face, Fleur asked, ‘Then why does Gabrielle believe that she’s as good as engaged to you?’ Too late, she realised she sounded like a jealous woman and tried to temper her question with a swift addition. ‘I think she really believes that, Luke. I don’t know her, of course, but either it’s her own fantasy she’s convinced will come true, or it’s something she’s been told.’
‘Not by me.’ Luke’s tone poured scorn on any such suggestion. ‘I’ve just endured a somewhat embarrassing attempt on her part to seduce me.’
Appalled by a violent desire to pull the French girl’s hair out then send her packing, Fleur said woodenly, ‘I see.’
He frowned. ‘I didn’t realise things had gone this far. They’re leaving tomorrow morning, with Lauren and Guy, but I’ll deal with the situation before they go.’
‘How?’
He glanced across at her. ‘First of all, I’ll spend the night in here,’ he said evenly, his tone daring her to object. ‘That will convince her grandfather, if not her, that she has no hope. He’s a man of the old school, and he’ll know that I wouldn’t flaunt a mistress in his face if I were planning to marry his granddaughter.’
Fleur’s stomach dropped in a mixture of headstrong excitement and fear as she scanned his flinty, implacable face. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to; she had no choice. Whatever, she’d find herself sharing a room.
She fought back a bubble of anticipation, bright and fragile and eager, and demanded, ‘And will he be able to convince her she has no hope?’
‘I imagine so. I’ve already made it more than clear to her that I play no part in her future. Before they leave tomorrow I’ll make sure her grandfather understands this, too.’
A shiver ran through Fleur at his tone—cold and utterly ruthless. Yet, in the long run, wouldn’t it be crueller not to do what was necessary to squelch Gabrielle’s forlorn fantasy?
Making a final stand, she said, ‘She told me she wouldn’t care if you still chased redheads.’
‘Did she?’ he returned, his tone frigid. ‘I find that damned insulting. When I marry I want a wife who loves me enough to be jealous.’
Surrendering, Fleur said bitterly, ‘Heaven preserve me from dominating men!’
‘And me from recalcitrant women.’ He allowed a gleam of amusement to appear in his eyes. ‘Take off your wrap and get into bed. Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of the opportunity. I prefer my women willing.’
Oh, she was willing enough, but not—not like this, she thought confusedly. She tried one last time. ‘How will she know that you’ve spent the night here?’
His brow lifted in sardonic amusement. ‘I’m prepared to bet that within twenty minutes there’ll be a tap on the door and she’ll be there, ready to ask charmingly for something feminine she’s neglected to pack. Now, just in case she comes sooner rather than later, get into bed.’
She obeyed, wondering how on earth she’d let herself get into this pickle.
But when she hauled the covers up, she realised he was coming towards her. Fleur froze, watching him with eyes that grew wider and wider. Surely he wasn’t…No…
But he kept on coming. When he pulled back the bedclothes on the other side of the bed she bolted up and said furiously, ‘You said you wouldn’t—’
‘And I’ll keep that promise,’ he said between strong white teeth, obviously thoroughly fed up, ‘but if Gabrielle arrives I need to establish that I’ve actually been in this bed with you. It would be better, of course, if the bedclothes were in tatters across the floor and you and I were lying in naked abandon in each other’s arms, but somehow I don’t see that happening, do you?’
Chapter Nine
COLOUR scorched Fleur’s skin. She could have shrunk into a heap of embarrassment, but an angry pride kept her upright.
‘No, I thought not,’ Luke said, with a silky distinctness that sent a shiver running the length of her spine. He sounded dangerous, and she didn’t blame him.
After all, none of this was his fault, just as it wasn’t hers.
He went on sardonically, ‘So if you feel you’ll be contaminated by being in a bed with me—even with my clothes still on—you’d better get out for the five or ten seconds it’s going to take me to rumple the pillow and the sheets.’
‘Oh, all right!’ Humiliated, she scrambled out, snatching up her wrap to sling around her shoulders.
From beneath her lashes she watched him lower himself into the bed and stretch out full length, her throat drying at the easy litheness of his big body beneath the white shirt and narrow black trousers. Lord, but he was big! Even dancing with him hadn’t prepared her for the sheer physical impact of him. Little needles of sensation tingled through her and she felt a suspicious meltdown of electricity at the junction of her thighs.
He moved his dark head on the pillows, making sure there was an indentation.
Dragging her mind away from the startling, exciting contrast of his black hair on the white pillows, Fleur said with a twisted smile, ‘It’s just as well you know more about this sort of thing than I do.’
‘Sex?’ He registered her slight start with a cynical smile.
‘Yes,’ she said on a snap.
He didn’t say anything more, and the silence dragged, became taut and filled with unspoken words and emotions.
Finally he got out and looked down at the impression left by his body. ‘All right, you can get back in now,’ he said, and strode with that swift, noiseless panther stride across to the window.
Fleur scurried back into the bed, but the linen sheets carried the faint, earthy scent of his natural odour, a sexy hint to women that indicated his strength and his potency.
‘What happens now?’ she asked, carefully not looking at the side of the room that held him. The corners of her eyes caught movement; she suspected he was taking off his clothes. A wave of hot desire clutched her low down in the pit of her stomach, making her move uneasily.
‘I’ll strip off and lie down on the sofa. Don’t worry, it won’t be long before she comes.’
‘You seem to know an awful lot about Gabrielle if you’re so sure she’ll do this.’
His laugh was low and cynical. ‘I know a fair amount about women, yes. When she knocks I’ll come across and get in beside you.’
Her heart jumped in her chest.
She wondered if he could hear her breathing, and lay concentrating on breathing slowly and steadily. He didn’t stir. He’d probably gone to sleep, she thought crossly.
She wished he’d snore. Snoring would make him ordinary. You couldn’t possibly get into a lather over a man who snored.
Frowning she tried to think of home and what she was planning to do when she got back, but New Zealand seemed so far away, so thin and insubstantial, and her mind slipped into forbidden pathways.
What sort of lover was Luke? She wiped the ironic grimace from her lips. Superb, of course.
She suddenly thought of something and sat up. ‘Luke, what about…?’
The words evaporated from her brain, because he instantly switched on the light and got to his feet. The swift blossoming of the lamp