She smoothed her hand down over the gossamer-fine material and wondered if she had bought the nightgown as part of her trousseau or whether it had been a gift from Luc. The very idea of his hands caressing the fabric the way her own did now sent a perverse thrill of longing through her body.
What was wrong with her? Inside her mind she reacted like a frightened virgin, yet physically her body yearned for Luc’s touch. Belinda shook her head and hurried to the bathroom. Every step of today had brought her nothing but more questions. She was weary of it all. Bone weary. Suddenly that big, softly lit bed was very inviting indeed.
Catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Belinda wondered whether she shouldn’t have simply chosen a T-shirt to sleep in instead. The tiny spaghetti straps looped over her shoulders lent an impression of wanton fragility, and the warmth of the red fabric made her skin glow like that of a woman welcoming her lover. Belinda huffed in frustration. She was driving herself crazy and it had to stop.
She seated herself at the vanity and grabbed a hairbrush from the drawer and started to brush her long dark hair with punishing strokes.
A movement in the doorway stilled her hand. Luc stepped forward and took her hairbrush from her fingers. “Are you trying to rip it all out?” His censure was as gentle as his touch as he took over from where she’d begun.
“I thought you might have been in bed already,” he commented, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror.
So he’d recognised her sudden fear. He knew her better than she gave him credit for, but then, of course he would. Right now he knew her better than she knew herself. Sudden tears of frustration sprang to her eyes.
Luc stopped brushing, his hands settling on her shoulders.
“Belinda?”
She blinked away the burning moisture, breaking eye contact with him. He saw far too much.
“I’m okay. Just tired, that’s all.”
“Understandable. It’s been a full day, for both of us.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Go to bed. I’ll be along in a while.”
She couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or disappointed that he wasn’t coming to bed now.
“Aren’t you tired, too?” she asked.
“Yes, but something’s come up. Guests we weren’t expecting until late next week have brought their trip forward to the day after tomorrow. Manu and I have some contingency plans to lay in place.”
“Guests? Already?”
“It’s not ideal, but they can’t be put off. They should only be here a couple of nights.”
“They’re regulars?”
“After a fashion, yes.”
“Then they’ll have certain expectations. We must meet them. You can’t give them less than that. You wouldn’t under normal circumstances,” she said carefully.
Right now Belinda couldn’t think of anything worse, but this was Luc’s business. The fact he’d cancelled out six weeks of patronage for their honeymoon—six weeks they’d lost—meant he would have to get back to business. Besides, the sooner she resumed life as she’d known it, the sooner she might start to remember.
“Spoken like a true hotelier’s daughter. We’ll worry about it in the morning. Now, go to bed.”
He dropped a fleeting kiss on her forehead and turned her toward the bedroom, following close on her heels. When she was settled in the bed, he switched off the lamp nearest her. Belinda suddenly reached out and held his arm.
“Please, leave the other light on until you come to bed?”
“It won’t disturb you?”
“No. I grew used to a light in the hospital.” She stifled a yawn. “Besides, I doubt anything could keep me awake now.”
Challenging heat flared in Luc’s eyes and Belinda felt an answering response in her body. The elasticized bodice of her nightwear felt too small as her nipples hardened and pressed against the fabric.
Well, maybe there was one thing. As wrong as this all felt to her she couldn’t deny there was a powerful magnetic pull between them. Luc straightened and trailed his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, leaving her skin tingling beneath his fleeting touch.
She barely heard the click of the door as it closed behind him. A near overwhelming desire to call him back choked in her throat as Belinda silently admitted she’d never felt so completely lost and alone in her entire life.
The meeting with Manu had been productive, and Luc let himself back into their suite with a tired sigh of relief. Their guests would arrive the day after tomorrow around lunchtime, in time for drinks followed by an al fresco luncheon on the deck. Then, if Belinda was up to it, she’d accompany the female member of the party to Taupo by helicopter for a couple of hours’ shopping while he and Manu took her husband fly-fishing in one of the rivers that ran through the property.
The female member.
Luc clenched his jaw against the curse that fought to rip from his throat. He had no doubt that Demi Le Clerc had trouble up her sleeve when she’d had her assistant phone the estate to change her booking. His unease had magnified when Manu reported he’d tried to contact the award-winning jazz singer to inform her that the booking couldn’t be altered but apparently she and her new fiancé were “in transit” and therefore unavailable. With modern communication being what it was, Luc very much doubted she was unreachable, rather that she’d informed her staff of her intention to be that way. How she’d found out so quickly that he’d returned home said a great deal for her spy network.
Manu had already agreed to check amongst the staff to find out if that particular spy network had been fed by one of their own. Confidentiality and loyalty were sacrosanct. If anyone had abused either, they were in breach of their employment contract and would be dispensed with immediately.
Luc swallowed against the bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of Demi and Belinda meeting. He was reluctant to expose her to Belinda while his wife was still in such a vulnerable position, but then, it may well work to his advantage. What harm could Demi possibly do when Belinda remembered nothing of their time together? Belinda had no idea their marriage had been the catalyst that had seen Demi break tabloid records with the speed of her engagement to aging billionaire oilman Hank Walker.
He’d been a fool to ever let Demi think there was more to their relationship than casual friendship. He’d never once entertained the idea of marrying her, despite her attempts to entice him into commitment. They’d made love just the once—a coupling that provided physical release only, with little else to recommend it.
Luc moved restlessly toward his piano in the dimly lit room. He was too wound up to sleep. He closed his eyes and let his fingers drift gently across the keys, the haunting quality of the music he played flowed over him—relaxing his muscles and his mind.
Playing had always had that effect on him, even back in his teens, although he was never the kind of teenager who’d have admitted to this particular skill. No, hotwiring cars and breaking and entering were more his style then. It had been during a B&E that he’d been sprung by the owner of the house—an elderly gentleman who’d seen right through Luc’s attitude and invited him back, through the front door next time. It had taken six weeks but Luc had found his feet retracing the path to Mr. Hensen’s home. The retired pianist had sensed Luc needed an outlet, a change of direction in his path of self-destruction. He’d insisted on giving Luc lessons—lessons that had been emphatically refused until the