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Just when Fleur had had her fill of water the door opened again and the man walked in, effortlessly dominating his surroundings. It helped, Fleur thought raggedly, that his casual clothes were superbly tailored to fit his big lean frame, but even in a tee-shirt and board shorts he’d give off that same primal, disturbing magnetism.
Luke. His name was Luke, heir to all this beauty and wealth. Fleur stiffened, then set her jaw. Magazine and newspaper photographs hadn’t done justice to a face that made him some dark prince of fantasy, its arrogant, uncompromising bone structure honed by tanned skin.
He came across to the bed and smiled at her. It packed a punch, Fleur thought, surprised at the odd little chill that tightened her skin. The swift smile had everything—humour and concern and a smidgeon of sexual interest. It was dangerous.
And so, she thought with a flash of insight, was Luke Chapman.
‘You’re looking much better,’ he said in that deep, exciting voice. ‘Breakfast’s on its way. Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said weakly. ‘Thank you. I don’t remember what happened, but…’ Her voice trailed away.
He said something in the liquid Polynesian language of the island, and the nurse left the room.
Gaze locked with his, Fleur heard the almost silent closure of the door, leaving her alone with Luke Chapman.
He stood looking down at her, his hooded eyes contrasting with that unsettling, charismatic smile. ‘You fainted on the road,’ he said in a bland voice, ‘just as my driver was passing. He brought you here.’
A frown drew her brows together. ‘Why here?’ she asked, forcing herself to meet that penetrating stare.
Luke resisted the temptation to shrug. She wasn’t going to accept any smooth lies, and although he applauded her caution he wasn’t going to tell her that she’d been mistaken for the woman he’d had a brief affair with two years previously.
This morning, a faint wash of pink over her cheeks set off her eyes and mouth. With more colour along those high cheekbones and her stunning hair properly cut she’d be more than appealing, he thought with involuntary masculine appreciation. Rehydration had restored an ethereal bloom to her skin, and her green eyes were huge in their thickets of dark lashes.
‘Because the house was closer than the hospital,’ he said, and in answer to the question he saw forming on her lips he went on, ‘You spent the night here because the hospital is small and needed for real emergencies. We’re in the midst of a flu epidemic, and although you probably feel rotten you’re not exactly sick, simply dehydrated and exhausted.’
It didn’t satisfy her, he could tell. That frown still puckered her brows as she said with automatic politeness, ‘Thank you so much, but I have to go.’
‘Why?’ he asked, intentionally brutal. ‘So you can go back to sleeping on the beach? We have laws prohibiting that, you know. How did you get through Immigration without proof of accommodation?’
The delicate colour warmed her face, then faded, leaving her cheekbones standing out too prominently. Not only had she been sleeping rough, he thought with a spurt of irrational anger, but she’d been starving herself as well.
However, she met his eyes steadily. ‘I had a holiday cottage booked,’ she said. ‘But when I arrived there, it appeared that the person who arranged the trip—’ she had difficulty saying that ‘—had made a mistake in the dates. The cottage is occupied.’
‘So why not find somewhere else to stay?’
Fleur hated the fact that she blushed so easily—it made people think she was shy and easily manipulated. She wasn’t going to tell Luke Chapman that her mother had organised the holiday just before she died. That pain was still too raw.
It was hard to meet those steely eyes, but pride kept her voice level. Ignoring her heated skin, she said, ‘I don’t have enough money.’
One black brow climbed with calculated affect. ‘It didn’t occur to you to go to the New Zealand consul here, or ask if someone could help?’
She shook her head, then winced and shut her eyes hastily. It would have been the sensible thing to do, but once she’d discovered that her non-refundable air ticket meant she couldn’t get an earlier flight home, she’d thought that in this glorious climate sleeping rough would be fine.
And it had been, until—
Quietly, but with a merciless note in his voice, he stated, ‘You had no money in your bag. None at all. And where are your clothes?’
When she didn’t answer, he asked again with a little more emphasis, ‘Fleur, what happened to your money and your luggage? I assume you had some when you arrived?’
Opening her eyes she said, ‘I had—have—a pack. I took it with me when I went to the market to buy some food. I put it down to get my money out of it, and someone came up and offered me a lei made of frangipani flowers—actually slung it around my neck while the stall owner was weighing out the fruit.’
His frown deepened. ‘So you bought the pretty lei and when you turned around your pack had gone?’
Her eyes sparked. ‘I didn’t buy it, but, yes, that’s what happened.’ When she saw his incredulous look she added in selfdefence, ‘I only took my eyes off it for a second.’
Straight black brows met over his nose. ‘That’s all it takes. When did this happen?’
Her mind felt sluggish. She hesitated, trying to count back. ‘Three days ago, I think.’
‘Did you go to the police?’
‘Yes. They were as helpful as they could be, but nobody had seen anything. They did find the pack behind one of the market stalls.’
‘Empty?’
‘Except for my passport and airline tickets,’ she admitted, feeling stupid.
He dismissed them. ‘They’re not worth anything here. You didn’t tell the police your circumstances?’
‘No,’ she said briefly, irritated by his interrogation into turning her head away.
‘You didn’t think to contact your credit card company?’
‘I don’t have a credit card.’ Her voice was frosty.
His expression didn’t change, and the calm, remorseless interrogation continued. ‘Where do you live in New Zealand, Miss Lyttelton?’
‘In Waiora, a village on the west coast north of Auckland,’ she said as crisply as she could, trying to sound like her normal competent self. ‘Why?’
‘I’m just seeing if the facts match your story.’
Fleur closed her lips over the tumultuous words that threatened to break through, and glared at his handsome, implacable face. It took almost all her strength to say evenly, ‘I’m telling you the truth.’
‘I’m sorry to be so rough on you.’ His voice was as controlled as hers, although, she thought in ineffectual anger, with considerably less effort.
‘I’m taking that for granted,’ she flashed.
At his swift grin her stomach performed an intricate manoeuvre and she felt an alarming shortness of breath.
‘So I needn’t stress it,’ he said. ‘You’re Fleur Lyttelton of New Zealand, twenty-three years old—and a Leo, I noticed from your birth date.’
His smile might be lethal, but it was his voice that got to her. She had to swallow before she could say curtly, ‘I didn’t know men were interested in star signs.’
‘I have two sisters,’ he said with a wry twist to his lips before reverting to an intimidating formality. ‘I’ve put your passport and airline tickets in my safe, where they’ll be completely secure. I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough time. Fala’isi is usually safe, but like any place we have a small number of people who can’t be trusted. As it happens, the police tell me they think the pack was probably stolen by another tourist, possibly someone who’d run out of money. They’d stolen the lei from another stall. If it had been a local, someone would have noticed or recognised them.’ Without changing his tone he asked, ‘Can you sit up without help?’
She stared at him. ‘What?’
‘You’re obviously still thirsty,’ he said, and looped an arm around her shoulders, easing her up against the pillows.
So startled she couldn’t think, Fleur stiffened while the room lurched again. Close up he was overwhelming, and his touch did strange things to her. Heart beating far too rapidly, she suffered another pillow being stuffed down behind her.
Luke said, ‘It’s all right. Just blink a couple of times, and then open your eyes slowly.’
His steady tone gave her confidence, although this time it hadn’t been movement that caused the room to whirl.
He handed her a glass. ‘Keep sipping this. Breakfast will be here shortly, and after that the nurse will help you shower.’
‘No—wait.’ Under his cold steel-grey scrutiny her confidence dwindled into nothingness. ‘I can’t stay here,’ she said, much less trenchantly than she wanted to.
Black brows drew together in an autocratic frown. ‘You’re not able to look after yourself. Dehydration can be a killer if it’s not monitored, and you’re still not out of the woods, so finding other accommodation isn’t an option. Neither is sleeping on the beach.’
Angry yet helpless, she met his eyes. The implacable determination she read in them robbed her of strength, so that she said feebly, ‘You can’t want me to stay here.’
‘Don’t be foolish.’ A note of impatience hardened his voice. ‘Believe me, you’ll be a lot less trouble if you stay here and are being looked after. We have children so sick they’re on oxygen in the hospital. The staff don’t need anyone else there unless it’s imperative.’
‘I—thank you. I think.’ She lifted the glass to her lips, using it as a pathetic shield to bolster her shaky defences against his powerful presence.
‘You’ve nothing to thank me for. If you’d done the sensible thing when you realised your plans had gone astray you wouldn’t be in this situation. In Fala’isi we don’t allow people to starve on our beaches.’
‘No doubt because it doesn’t look good in the newspapers,’ she retorted, and immediately felt ashamed. In his forceful fashion he’d been kind to her.
She expected a cutting reply, but his face didn’t give anything away—well, not if she discounted the unwavering aura of authority and assurance that radiated from somewhere deep inside him.
With an undertone of sarcasm, he said, ‘If it makes you feel better, yes, that’s partly it. We guard the island’s reputation zealously, which is why we don’t encourage freeloaders and would-be beachcombers. But common humanity is a factor, too. This situation isn’t your fault, so the least I can do is help.’
Fleur bit her lip as he walked out of the room, leaving her shaking and wretched. She’d thought she’d cried all her tears before she’d left on this ill-fated holiday, but the let-down from her brief adrenalin rush was churning her emotions into chaos.
Chapter Two
THE return of the nurse with cereal and tropical fruit was a relief.
Settling the tray on Fleur’s knees, she said cheerfully, ‘Eat it all, the doctor said. Why didn’t you ask for food if you couldn’t buy it? No islander would have let you go hungry, and there’s plenty of food for everyone.’
It was kindly meant, no doubt, but it seemed to Fleur that everyone on Fala’isi felt the need to question her. ‘I had enough to eat mostly,’ she said defensively.
‘Doesn’t look like it. What I want to know,’ the nurse said with genuine interest, ‘is how you managed to hide from everyone that you were sleeping on the beach. The islanders usually know exactly what’s happening in their own areas, and you’d have been picked up on any of the resort beaches.’
Fleur flushed. ‘I found a tiny bay with only two houses in it—both of them seemed empty holiday houses.’
‘About a kilometre away on the road back to town?’
Fleur nodded. ‘No one seemed to live there.’
‘It’s owned by a family who are in Australia for a wedding. They’ll be back in a couple of days, so you’d have been found then.’
‘I slept under a big tree so even if anyone was on the beach at night they wouldn’t see me.’ She redirected the conversation. ‘This looks delicious, thank you.’
‘Coffee or tea?’
The thought of coffee made her stomach roil. ‘Tea, please.’ And asked impulsively, ‘Where am I?’ At the nurse’s astonished look she added, ‘I’ve seen photos of the Chapman house—a lovely old house. This seems much more modern.’
‘Oh, you’re thinking of Luke’s parents’ house, the old mansion.’
Unconsciously Fleur must have hoped that this was a new wing built onto the old plantation-style house, and that any moment Luke’s mother might come to see her. The knowledge that she was in Luke’s house produced an odd kind of panic, mingled with an even stranger excitement.
Chattily, the nurse went on, ‘Luke had this one built a couple of years ago when he came back from overseas and decided he needed his own place. We hoped he might be getting married, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen for a while yet.’
Perhaps realising that this was moving too close to gossip, she smiled and reiterated, ‘Eat up everything! Then you can shower. I’ve brought you a wrap to wear, and a proper nightgown. You need something a bit nicer to wear than Luke’s tee-shirt.’
Which brought more heat to Fleur’s cheeks. It seemed somehow sinfully decadent to be clad in her reluctant host’s shirt.
‘Where did you get the wrap and nightgown?’ she asked.
‘Luke’s housekeeper gave me the money, so I suppose it was from Luke.’
Fleur vowed to pay him back, no matter how long it took, but when she thanked him for them he said matter-of-factly, ‘Don’t worry about that now. Concentrate on eating and sleeping and drinking!’
That day set a pattern for the several that followed, except that she was allowed up for progressively longer periods each day, although both nurse and the doctor when she visited each evening kept a close eye on her welfare.
Luke came in twice a day, bringing with him that instant awareness, a charge of vital energy she’d never experienced before. When he walked through the door she felt invigorated, every sense newly alert, as though previously she’d lived in a kind of stupor.
Apart from those moments, she spent most of her time reading. He had a very good library, she discovered enviously, and once he’d asked her tastes he chose a book for her each day. She also watched videos and the local television station. And she looked wistfully at the wonderful garden she could see from the windows.
She also found that she was too wobbly on her feet to entertain the thought of going out. But the days were long and she disgusted herself by thinking far too much about Luke, and was shocked at the eagerness with which she waited for him to call in night and morning.
The day she was allowed up the nurse arrived with an armful of colour.
‘Pareus,’ she said. ‘In Fiji they call them lavalavas. My daughter sent them along for you.’
‘They’re beautiful,’ Fleur said, ‘but I can’t wear your daughter’s clothes.’
Patiently the older woman told her, ‘They’re not clothes, they’re just a piece of material. She’s got dozens. Look, all you do is drape the length right round you and tuck it in. Hold your arms out.’
Feeling both ungrateful and ungracious, after an embarrassed second Fleur obeyed. Deftly the nurse wound the fine cotton around her and showed her the way to tuck it in.
‘Won’t it come undone?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘Not unless it gets rough handling,’ the nurse said cheerfully. ‘Our girls wear them all the time, even swim in them. Now, watch while I show you how to fasten it again.’
Once satisfied that Fleur knew how to do it, she said, ‘I’ve brought some underwear for you, too—Luke told me to buy what you needed. I even found the right bra in one of the shops in town!’
‘Thank you,’ Fleur said, her pride taking yet another battering.
Under the nurse’s supervision she showered, then wrapped herself in the pareu.
‘Go and see how you look,’ the other woman said, ‘while I get you a cup of tea.’
Warily Fleur examined herself in the mirror. The pareu was blissfully cool, and although it showed a lot of pale skin it was modest enough, fastening above any cleavage and falling loosely to knee level.
