Bought for His Bed: Virgin Bought and Paid For / Bought for Her Baby / Sold to the Highest Bidder!. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
never hosted a dinner party in my life,’ she said, terrified at the thought of pretending to be Luke’s lover in front of his friends. ‘Do I have to be there? We don’t have to fool them—I can have dinner in my room.’
‘Like a Victorian governess? Your presence here has been noticed,’ he said, adding with crisp ruthlessness, ‘Of course if anyone asks me where you are I can tell your sad little story.’
She drew in a hiss of breath between her teeth. ‘You fight dirty,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I’ll be totally out of my depth and you know it. I’m sure you’re trying to be kind, but—’
Luke gave a short bark of laughter. ‘I’m not, and you know that. I dislike seeing anyone cut off their nose to spite their face—it’s always seemed a pastime singularly lacking in sense or entertainment value. You don’t need to come to the dinner party but I think you’d enjoy it, just as I’m sure you’ll enjoy the day we plan to spend out on the lagoon tomorrow.’
She flushed. ‘I’m being ungrateful, aren’t I?’
Luke had always chosen sophisticated lovers, sure of themselves and their own attractions, yet he found her pride and her embarrassment endearing. She was fresh and charming and her mouth promised erotic delights untold, but everything about her warned him that she was totally lacking in the worldliness he’d always sought in his women.
Coolly he said, ‘I told you before, I don’t want gratitude. And if you’re wondering whether I’d expect you to indulge in overt displays of affection you needn’t worry—I’m not so crass. I merely thought that tonight would be a test run, and that you might be able to think yourself into the part easier if Gabrielle and her grandfather were not here.’
Chapter Four
FLEUR looked up into Luke’s tough, formidable face. What am I doing? she thought in panic.
But she said, ‘Very well, I’ll come. I just hope nothing goes wrong.’
‘Nothing can,’ he said with supreme self-confidence, and glanced at the watch on one lean tanned wrist. ‘Can you be ready to have a look at some clothes in half an hour or so?’
‘I—yes.’ Of course she could be ready! She had nothing else to do. But she was hugely reluctant.
She spent most of that half-hour wondering why on earth she’d agreed to this crazy idea. A sense of obligation carried to extremes, she decided, feeling another flick of panic. Yet Luke had taken her in and cared for her, and although he hadn’t done any of the actual work, he’d assumed responsibility for her when she was incapable.
The least she could do was help him out in turn.
Susi came to escort her to one of the other bedrooms. A selection of clothing was already waiting on racks, along with a woman dressed in a very up-market version of a pareu.
And Luke.
Did he expect her to parade in front of him like a model? Her whole being cringed at the prospect. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing there, only to bite back the words when she met his level, intimidating gaze.
He said easily, ‘Thank you, Susi.’ He waited for the housekeeper to leave before introducing her to the other woman, then said, ‘I’ll leave you to try the clothes on.’
Relieved, Fleur nodded.
Once he’d gone the boutique owner surveyed her with professional expertise. ‘He had the size right. And the colours—clear and warm to complement your astonishing skin and hair. He’s got a good eye, that boy.’
‘Boy?’
The older woman grinned. ‘I’ve known him since he was running around in a faded old lavalava with the other children. He might be almost thirty, but to me he’ll always be a wild kid. Now, let’s see what you like most.’
Given her head, Fleur would have chosen the muted colours she’d always worn, but as she’d tried on the clothes in crisp, clear hues, she realised that Luke had been right; the warm, peachy shades brought her skin and eyes alive, and the crisp peridot-greens turned her eyes into jewels.
Fleur and the saleswoman had a slight, polite tussle over the number of clothes to be purchased. ‘This is enough,’ Fleur said firmly, indicating the small pile she’d settled on.
However much they suited her, she wouldn’t need more than a fraction of the outfits carefully hung on a separate rack. There were no prices anywhere, but she recognised some labels, and the finishing and materials told her they didn’t come from the cheap range.
And then there were the extras—the underclothes and shoes and hats—things she’d only ever wear once or twice.
The older woman said doubtfully, ‘You’ll need more than that. The tropics are pretty tough on clothes.’
‘I can manage,’ Fleur said firmly.
The woman nodded. ‘OK, your decision. Now, can I make a suggestion? Your hair is glorious, but the style isn’t doing it justice. I have a friend who cuts like a genius, and she could come and do it for you now if you want her to. As a favour to Luke.’
Tactfully phrased, but the woman had meant, Your hair looks awful.
Most of the time Fleur kept it tied behind her head in an easy-to-deal-with ponytail, and simply chopped the ends off when it got too long.
She hesitated, and the woman said gently, ‘In a sense, Luke is Pacific royalty. He’s no snob—he’s so completely confident in himself that he doesn’t give a damn for image—but you’ll be judged against pretty high standards. And—forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn here—you’re not like his usual…friends.’ She hesitated a second before the final word, leaving it hanging in the air.
Fleur said as easily as she could, ‘You’re right, of course. Yes, if she can come this afternoon that would be great.’
The woman looked as though she wanted to say more, but a knock at the door heralded Susi, who said that Luke wanted to see Fleur.
In his high-tech office, Luke said calmly, ‘We need to talk.’
Heart jumping, she said, ‘OK, but I’ve made an appointment to have my hair cut here in a couple of hours.’
‘Good,’ he said, his gaze lingering on the bright fall in a sensual assessment that tightened Fleur’s skin. ‘Make sure she doesn’t take too much off. Do you ride?’
The abrupt change from frank male appreciation to a tone of courteous enquiry made Fleur blink. ‘Yes, although it’s been years since I’ve been on a horse.’
‘It’s like swimming; you never forget. Do you feel up to it yet?’
‘I’d love to,’ she said, her spirits lifting.
He smiled. ‘Change into trousers and I’ll collect you in ten minutes. Make sure you wear a hat that won’t fall off.’
Half an hour later Fleur drew in a deep breath and gazed around. They were riding through a papaya plantation, the big oval fruit hanging in green clusters against the trunks. It was hot, but the horses were acclimatised; Fleur had noticed only a faint sheen of sweat on her mount’s chestnut withers, and the mare had plenty more action in her.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ Luke said. ‘Where did you grow up?’
‘Waiora, a little town on a tiny harbour on Northland’s west coast.’
He nodded. ‘What career did you take up?’
‘I spent a year at university in Auckland.’
He was wearing an old pair of riding trousers that clung to his heavily muscled thighs like a second skin, and a blue shirt, rolled up to reveal strong forearms tanned the colour of teak. Fleur’s heart had performed a couple of erratic orbits when she’d seen him swing up