The two men materialised through the throng of people, both turning heads as they came. For the first time in her life Fleur was the recipient of envious looks from other women. A forbidden excitement unfurled from the tight knot of anticipation in her chest. Soon there would be dancing…
She accepted a glass of champagne and sipped it, looking around.
‘What are you thinking?’ Luke’s voice was for her ears only.
‘That it looks like a film set,’ she said without thinking.
Irony tinged his smile. ‘With us as the extras?’
She nodded. ‘It’s so…everything’s right. It’s like a romantic fantasy.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘The committee who organised it worked extremely hard to make it exactly that. Our table’s over here.’
The band struck up and the MC walked into the centre of the empty dance floor and welcomed them, telling them of the amazing amount of money the evening had earned. Everyone cheered and clapped, and then the MC announced the first dance, making a wry comment about the difference between old Europe where the tune was composed and this tropical paradise.
Fleur kept her gaze fixed on the dance floor as the band swung into a waltz.
‘May I have this dance?’ Luke asked formally.
She tried for an airy tone, but to her dismay it came out tense and somewhat forced. ‘Of course.’
Hand in the small of her back once again, he guided her onto the floor.
Fleur blessed the high school in New Zealand that had run dancing lessons before each midwinter ball; she wasn’t an expert, but at least she knew how to waltz. Luke, however, possessed both the knowledge and that intangible something that translated into grace on the dance floor.
After a few seconds he murmured, ‘We’re supposed to be lovers—soon, if not already. I’m afraid you’re not going to convince anyone if you persist in holding yourself a sedate three inches away from me.’
His smile was teasing, but his metallic eyes demanded her compliance. Reluctantly she forced herself to melt against him as his arm tightened around her waist. She kept her gaze on his white dress shirt and tried to relax, to ignore the sensuous shivers running through her as the movement of his lean, assured body worked an enchantment as old as time.
He turned his head so that his voice would reach her ears. At the soft heat of his breath on her earlobe she was assailed by a pang of sensation so sharp and fierce it shocked her into almost missing a step.
‘I hope you’re looking soulful,’ he murmured.
She said in a brittle voice, ‘I don’t think I can quite manage soulful. Would languishing do?’
Amusement deepened his voice. ‘No, too Victorian. You’re not the languishing or soulful sort anyway. Perhaps we should just try talking to each other like sensible beings. Have you enjoyed the evening so far?’
Sensible? How could she mimic being sensible, when a divine recklessness was smashing through her inhibitions and barriers as though they were matchwood?
So she found him hugely attractive. According to the magazines, lots of other women did, too. Why should she be any different?
And accepting that she was just one of many didn’t mean she had to surrender to this tantalising expectancy. She had little enough experience, but she wasn’t stupid; women as well as men could desire without wanting any sort of relationship. She’d only known Luke for a few days—far too early to form any sort of attachment.
Wrap this fierce, uncontrollable response up as prettily as you might—call it desire, fascination, need—but it was only packaging, the longing for closeness and commitment just another manifestation of hormones.
She could cope with it.
Chapter Eight
‘I’M ENJOYING the evening very much,’ Fleur said sedately. ‘I think it’s a great way to raise money for charity. Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time.’
Luke’s arm flexed as they swung around in an elegant pivot that brought her even closer to him. Another feverish shiver drove every thought from her head.
‘I don’t think sensible is the right word to use for us at the moment,’ he said thoughtfully, as though they were discussing some matter of politics.
The hand in the small of her back moved a few inches lower, holding her against him so that she felt every movement of his big, lean body.
Still with that considering inflection, he went on, ‘Stimulated might be the right word, or perhaps aware—extremely aware. Your hand’s trembling.’
Fleur swallowed to ease her dry throat and looked at the hand on his upper arm. It was clenching, and the muscles beneath were like iron.
She forced her fingers straight on the white sleeve of his jacket and said thinly, ‘I’m scared.’
‘What of?’ This time his voice was cold and sure and very formidable. ‘You’re completely safe, Fleur.’
‘From—this?’
He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. ‘Yes,’ he said crisply. ‘I don’t go in for casual affairs and I despise people who do. I’m attracted to you, but you’ve made it quite obvious that although you feel the same way you don’t want to act on it. That’s fine.’
She should have been relieved instead of feeling let down. Collecting her thoughts, she said, ‘I didn’t think you were going to leap on me or anything, but…’
‘You wondered,’ he supplied when she dried up, her tongue tangling with the words as she realised where her thoughts were tending. ‘You don’t strike me as being very experienced. Or could it be that you’ve had some bad experiences?’
‘No,’ she said uneasily. Apart from the usual high school crushes, she’d had no experience at all.
She closed her mouth with a determination that came close to a snap. Until instinct leaped into the breach and warned her that such frankness might be dangerous, she’d been about to admit that she’d never felt like this before. She went on clumsily, ‘I do trust you.’
‘I’m glad. Trust me further, and rest your head on my chest,’ he said, and when she obeyed, he lowered his head so that his breath fanned across her skin. ‘Nobody can see what we’re talking about, and it looks good.’
Fleur almost cringed. Here she was, afire with dangerous, forbidden need, yet he was so controlled he could talk about how they appeared to onlookers.
She caught the flash of a bulb. ‘I didn’t realise there’d be photographers here.’
‘Some people like being in magazines,’ he said aloofly, his tone revealing he wasn’t one of them.
Surprised, she watched a woman working the crowd while Luke said, ‘She has strict instructions. No shots of anyone dancing, and permission has to be given first. And the magazine is donating a hefty sum to the charity.’
‘So everyone wins. From your tone, I gather you didn’t want them here.’
‘They leave a nasty taste in my mouth. I’ve been stung too many times by magazines that use innuendo and gossip to sell copies. Apparently people actually believe what they print,’ he said, each word edged with contempt. ‘If I’d bedded as many women as I’ve been linked with I’d be dead of exhaustion by now. Apart from anything else, I’m too busy.’
‘So you won’t be selling the rights to your wedding to one of them,’ she said.