Bought for His Bed: Virgin Bought and Paid For / Bought for Her Baby / Sold to the Highest Bidder!. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘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,