Claiming His Runaway Bride / High-Stakes Passion. Yvonne LindsayЧитать онлайн книгу.
what we specialise in. Decadence. Privacy.”
Luc watched Belinda carefully. Walking away from her earlier, knowing exactly what awaited them around the corner, had been one of the hardest things he’d had to do since he’d collected her from the hospital yesterday. While he’d recuperated in hospital, he’d thought waiting patiently for her memories to return would be easy, but he was not in the mood to be patient anymore. With luck, this planned seduction, the mirror of their first time together, would be the trigger that would restore his life to the way it should have been all along. Perhaps, he dared hope, even better than before.
Seven
Belinda turned to face him. A smile of pure joy slowly wreathed her beautiful face and put a light in her blue eyes. He’d pleased her, and that pleased him. The realisation was a cold, sharp shock that sat at odds with his agenda. As did the sudden pull in the region of his chest—an expansion of warmth he’d instinctively learned to suppress as a child. A feeling he’d trained himself never to acknowledge.
“This is spectacular. Thank you.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.
It was a peck, nothing more, yet with its innocence it stoked the fire that constantly simmered inside him. He watched as she sank down onto the bed of pillows, her hair spreading about her like a silken web of enticement.
Her T-shirt lifted slightly above her waist to expose a band of smooth creamy skin. His fingers itched to trace the inviting line. Down low his blood pooled, his body throbbed with a primal beat that threatened to dominate his careful strategy. He had to remember what had brought them together, and what had torn them apart. He had to preserve the former whatever it took.
He poured a glass of champagne, then lifted the rosebud from its vase before carefully lowering himself by her side.
“Some wine?”
He held the flute to her lips as she propped herself up a little, then took a sip of the bubbling liquid himself.
“Mmm, you said we specialise in decadence, I can’t think of anything more decadent than this right now.” She sighed.
Luc raised an eyebrow and pinned her with his stare. “Really? Nothing else more decadent?”
Her laughter was unexpected, a rich cascade of joy that penetrated deep inside. And there it was again, that glimmer of warmth from within his chest, a sense of rightness. His throat dried and words failed him as he looked down at her. He couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d been here. Couldn’t help but want to draw that memory from deep within its prison in her mind.
He casually trailed the rosebud back and forth across the exposed skin of her belly and watched her skin twitch and contract beneath the intensely coloured petals. The contrast between the pearl-like incandescence of her skin and the vibrance of the rosebud was wickedly appealing. What would it take, he wondered, to provoke her mind? To provoke the memories of physical pleasure the touch of the rose should invoke. After their first time here she’d barely been able to look at a rosebud without a flush of desire staining her cheeks, her throat, her chest.
Under the light touch of a flower such as this, she’d revealed a sensual side of her he’d only dreamed about. It was something he’d been prepared to forgo when he’d planned to make her his wife, knowing that in every other aspect she’d be the perfect complement to his perfectly created personal sphere. Sex, to him, had always been enjoyable but never the driving force of his world—until he’d made love with Belinda for the first time, right here in this clearing.
He would coerce her into remembering. One exquisite tingling sensation at a time.
He knew it was a risk, a huge risk, but the doctors had said several times that while her memory could return at any time, it was unlikely she would remember the details of what happened immediately prior to the accident that had led to her brain injury.
Luc had built his life on risk. Today was no different.
He offered her another sip of champagne.
“To new beginnings,” he toasted.
“To new beginnings,” Belinda repeated and put her lips to the tilted glass, putting her hand over his as she did so.
As she tipped the glass back up and swallowed, Luc softly trailed the rosebud down over the muscles in her throat, dipping into the hollow at its base before tracing a line along her collarbone. A flush of colour stained her cheeks, and her breathing became a little uneven. She relinquished her hold over his hand and let her hand drop to her side. A shudder ran through her as he let the rose drift down to the vee of her T-shirt, to the shadowed valley of her breasts.
She drew in a sudden sharp breath, her eyes flying to his, a stricken expression in them that made him stop what he was doing immediately and toss the rose to the blanket.
“Luc?” Her voice was unsteady.
“What is it? Are you feeling unwell?”
He dropped the flute on the grass, unheeding of the liquid as it drained into the ground, and wrapped his fingers around her hand as she reached for him. He was shocked to discover her skin was cold and clammy.
“Not unwell, exactly, just strange. Like we’ve done this before. It’s sort of like how I felt yesterday, when I remembered about the garden, but different.”
“Tell me, what do you remember?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I…I think we’d been swimming, yes, the water was freezing and you teased me about the goose bumps on my skin. Told me I was soft.”
“Go on,” he coaxed. Would she remember the rest? How he’d helped her from the water hole at the edge of the glade where they were now. How he’d wrapped her in a thick fluffy towel and dried her body, chafing her skin until her circulation had returned—until the light in her eyes had changed and he’d let the towel drop to the grass at their feet and lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed of blankets and pillows just like the one they now lay on. How he’d traced every delectable line of her body with a rosebud, a yellow one that time, teasing her to a peak of aching trembling need before bringing her to the pinnacle of satisfaction with its soft-petalled touch.
Belinda remained silent. Her gazed locked on a faraway place. He watched the expressions flit across her face, the struggle as she fought to draw together the elusive threads that hovered on the periphery of her mind, then the change in her eyes, the blush of heat across her cheeks, down her throat.
She’d remembered. He’d wager the deed to Tautara Estate that she remembered that day and what had happened next.
A fine tremor ran through her body and she turned her gaze upon him.
“It’s coming back to me, Luc. I remember that day.”
Luc felt the warmth begin to return to her fingers, felt them shift beneath his touch. She pulled his hand toward her and drew it to her chest.
“Can you feel my heartbeat? It’s racing a million miles a minute. Luc, can you believe it? My memory is coming back.”
His hand flexed beneath hers, against the softness of the fine cotton of her T-shirt, against the curve of her breast. Through the lace of her bra he felt her response to the memories, to his touch.
“Was that why you planned today like this?” she asked, leaning into the strength of his hand, allowing his palm to shape around the fullness of her breast, to feel the hardness of her nipple as it firmed and crested.
“I had to do whatever I could to get you back. I know I’ve been telling you not to force it, but—”
“Shh.” Belinda pressed her fingers against his lips. “Don’t say any more. It’s okay. I know what I’m remembering now isn’t everything, there are still huge gaps there. But of all the memories I’ve lost, this one is probably the most precious. I even remember how I felt that day, how excited I was that you’d taken the whole day off work to spend with me. How much