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‘Keep drinking,’ Fleur chorused with her. ‘Thanks very much for everything you’ve done for me.’
After that she joined Sue Baxter in her room. When she woke they chatted quietly, and during the long intervals when the patient slept Fleur read a variety of magazines—mostly elderly—while the afternoon slipped by. None of them, she was grateful to discover, had anything about Luke in them, although his beautiful sisters featured largely in one that reported a very aristocratic ball and wedding in England.
Eventually the door into the private room opened to reveal Luke, big and totally competent, accompanied by the hospital superintendent.
The following ten minutes were filled with Sue’s attempt to express her appreciation to both Luke and Fleur.
She ended by saying, ‘You’ve done enough now—off you go, Fleur, and have some fun. I’m so sorry for spoiling your day!’
‘Please don’t say that,’ Fleur said, and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better.’
‘Just relax and let us look after you,’ Luke said. ‘Someone will be here tomorrow morning to help you, and if the doctor agrees you’ll be taken back to Australia tomorrow afternoon. All you have to do is get better.’
‘My boss will want to thank you,’ Sue said, her lashes drifting down. ‘And so will I—coherently—when whatever they’ve given me finally wears off and I can keep my eyes open for more than five minutes!’
Outside, Fleur waited while Luke spoke to the superintendent, then the security guard escorted them down in the lift to the car park beneath the modern building.
And there a journalist lurked. Young, rather earnest, he approached a little diffidently.
Although Luke frowned, he listened to his request for information. To Fleur’s surprise he said, ‘One of my guests got cramp while swimming and had to be airlifted back to hospital. She’s fine now. Miss Lyttelton rescued her and stayed with her until she was comfortable.’
The reporter looked even more diffidently at Fleur. ‘You are a lifeguard, miss?’ he asked.
‘I trained with a surf lifesavers’ club when I was growing up in New Zealand,’ she said, wondering how much Luke would be expecting her to say. ‘But Mr Chapman is being very modest—he got to her before I did. All I did was help him.’
‘If I could have a photograph…?’ the reporter suggested, his expression revealing that he expected to be turned down.
But Luke shrugged. ‘If you want one.’
So he and Fleur posed for a photograph against the blank wall of the hospital, and the journalist went away happy.
The car had darkened windows, and as they were driven off Fleur said, ‘If that’s the local paparazzi you breed reporters differently on Fala’isi.’
‘Don’t be fooled,’ Luke returned. ‘He’s an extremely clever, persistent man, and the fact that he was waiting for us makes me wonder what he’s heard.’
She glanced at him. His expression was hard and intent, as though he was mentally running through a variety of options, none of which he found satisfactory.
Intrigued, she asked, ‘What he’s heard? Do you mean about the possibility of exploring for minerals?’
‘Not necessarily,’ he said, but absently. Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. ‘I have a hunch,’ he explained with uncharacteristic vagueness, and gave her a smile of such blazing charm it made her toes curl and set off a cathedral full of warning bells.
It wasn’t fair that he could use his inbuilt magnetism to scramble her brain and send secret, forbidden messages to every part of her body.
Trying to ignore that most intimate betrayal, Fleur sent him a direct look. She had a hunch, too—that he was evading some issue. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you dealt much in hunches. Logic seems more your line.’
‘My father has a saying—when logic fails, follow your instinct.’
‘And does logic often fail?’
‘Very rarely, but when it does, I take his advice. So far it’s worked.’ He shrugged again. ‘Thank you for everything you did this afternoon.’
‘You’ve already thanked me, and so has Sue. It was nothing,’ she returned. ‘Somebody had to go with her, and if you had I’d have had no idea how to deal with all those people.’
He inspected her face in a long, slow survey that sent little chills across her skin. His unusually grey eyes were almost translucent, yet she thought they could see right through her.
‘You’d have coped,’ he said finally. ‘You have a definite talent for organisation and quick thinking.’
Pleasure pinked her cheeks. Flippantly she said, ‘When I leave I might ask you for a reference saying just that. As for thanks—you should thank the lifesaving association—or send them a donation. In New Zealand we don’t have paid lifeguards.’
His lashes drooped. ‘I’ll suggest Sue’s company donates to the lifeguards,’ he said. ‘Why do you need a reference?’
‘I have to find a job.’
‘Is it likely to be difficult?’
‘No.’
It was the truth; her old job in a fast food shop was waiting for her if she wanted it. Or she could do the work her mother’s illness had trained her for—work in a rest home or take nursing training.
Whatever, one day she’d finish her degree and find a job that would pay off the student loan she’d have to increase.
‘You’re not telling me the truth,’ he said shrewdly, and took her chin in his hand, turning it so that he could scrutinise her face.
Thoughts danced crazily in her brain. She stared at his mouth, cruelly beautiful, sculpted to seduce and woo, and her heart flipped and her blood sang in her ears.
Unable to speak, her lips formed one word. ‘Don’t.’
Followed, when he still stared at her as though trying to drag her soul from her body, by another word. ‘Please,’ she whispered.
Luke let her go, his hand falling to his thigh, where it clenched into a fist. After a moment he said harshly, ‘You pack a hell of a punch, Fleur.’
She did? Fleur swallowed to ease her dry throat. ‘So do you,’ she said with bleak honesty, and scrambled for another subject, anything to relieve the tension that crackled between them.
Staring out of the window, she realised the car had just gone past the gates of his parents’ house. Relieved, she blurted, ‘You said your parents were away. Are they on holiday?’
‘Having another honeymoon,’ he said, his tone telling her that he knew exactly what she was doing.
She managed a cracked little laugh. ‘Sounds romantic.’
‘They’re a very romantic couple,’ he said coolly. ‘A testament to the fact that two strong-willed people can live happily together.’
‘Some people have all the luck,’ she said on a flippant note.
‘Luck?’ He considered the word. ‘Luck that of all the people in the world they met at the right time, perhaps. But after that it isn’t luck that makes a marriage like theirs.’
Did he believe in the romantic ideal? If his parents were still lovers after many years, possibly he did—and possibly she might, too, if she hadn’t seen first-hand how marriages could shatter, leaving nothing but shards of lives. Her father had believed in romance—she remembered huddling in her bed as he’d told her mother, not wanting to hurt her yet unable to resist the great passion he’d found.
‘Good for them,’ she said brightly as the car drew up outside the porticoed front entrance of his house.
Once inside he said, ‘The charity dinner I told you about is being held here tomorrow night. It will be followed by an after-dinner dance at a mystery venue. Wear something elegant with sparkles.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked tentatively.
‘I shouldn’t think so.’ He scrutinised her. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Fine,’ she said a little blankly. ‘I seem to have fully recovered from dehydration. I just feel a bit tired, that’s all. I think the doctor was overreacting when she said I shouldn’t go home yet.’
He shrugged, penetrating grey eyes still scrutinising her face. ‘I don’t. And tonight I suggest you have dinner in your bedroom and go to bed early. Tomorrow night is likely to be very late, although of course we can come home if you get tired.’
He went on, ‘Gabrielle and her grandfather are arriving midmorning. They’re bringing another couple—friends of mine—with them.’
The second couple of friends turned out to be royalty—Prince and Princess Guy of Dacia, an island realm in the Mediterranean. Thrown this bombshell when Luke introduced them, Fleur wondered feverishly if she should curtsey, but a few moments spent talking to them soothed her. They were charming, the Princess a tall Englishwoman with milk-white skin and black hair and eyes like silver crystals, while her even taller husband’s face and tawny eyes revealed his Mediterranean heritage.
‘You’re from Northland?’ the Princess—Lauren—said enthusiastically. ‘Oh, it’s a gorgeous place. I’ve spent some wonderful holidays in the Bay of Islands. Do you know Lucia Radcliffe?’
‘I’ve heard of her,’ Fleur said noncommittally.
Her home village on the wild west coast of Northland was an hour’s drive and another world away from the cosmopolitan tourist centre of the Bay of Islands. She had never met—or even seen—the Dacian princess who’d married a New Zealander and appeared in magazines from time to time, although never of her own choice. Apparently she was very happy with her two children and her handsome tycoon of a husband on their huge estate in the hills north of the Bay.
Lauren smiled. ‘She loves New Zealand, too. How are you enjoying Fala’isi?’
This she could deal with. ‘Who wouldn’t? It’s my first visit to the tropics, and it’s even more beautiful than the photographs.’
‘Isn’t it just!’ But the Princess’s smile slipped a little, and her husband was instantly at her elbow.
Luke said to the couple, ‘I’ll show you to your room.’ He looked at Fleur and gave her a slow, heart-stopping smile that melted her bones. ‘Perhaps you could order tea for us all out on the terrace.’
Which left Fleur entertaining an elderly Frenchman whose keen eyes saw too much, and his granddaughter, a beautiful creature who viewed her with a mixture of irritation and aristocratic hauteur.
As Fleur led the way out onto the terrace and seated them, she wondered how on earth she’d let herself be talked into this masquerade. Damn Luke and his calm assumption that the world was his to command!
And stupid her, for letting him override her sensible reservations.
Fortunately both Gabrielle and her grandfather had exquisite manners, and all three were talking easily—if with some reserve—when the others came back without the Princess, who’d decided to rest until lunchtime.
Was she pregnant? Fleur wondered, and was horrified at the pang of longing that consumed her. Fighting it, she concentrated on the guests.
Lunch passed pleasantly, but afterwards in her room she allowed herself a small sigh. The Prince and Princess weren’t publicly demonstrative, but their feelings for each other burned like a smouldering fire.
It was foolish and ungracious to let others’ happiness make her envious, especially as such relationships were the exception rather than the rule—well, according to gossip columnists, anyway.
So she’d banish this feeling of being the odd one out, and organise herself for the night ahead. At the thought of dancing with Luke reckless heat consumed her, melting her bones and bringing a dangerous, decadent smile to her lips.
Oh, it would be wonderful. And terrifying. So she had to make sure he didn’t realise just how wonderful and terrifying.
A knock at the door brought her around. It was the maid, her pleasant face creased and anxious.
‘What is it?’ Fleur asked.
‘I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t find Mr Luke, and the tuna hasn’t come for the dinner and the cook is angry.’
‘Mr Luke’s gone riding with the Prince,’ Fleur said. ‘All right, I’ll come along.’
It appeared that the most essential part of the dinner menu, the specially caught and sliced tuna, hadn’t arrived, and no one could tell the apoplectic chef where it was.
‘It has to be marinated in lime,’ he explained at the top of his voice. ‘If it doesn’t get here soon it will be too late and then everything will be ruined.’
‘Everything won’t be ruined because you’ll already have made another starter,’ Fleur said firmly. ‘I’m quite sure that someone with your experience and your skills can do that and still make it a meal to remember.’
He said sulkily, ‘But everything—the wine, the menu—has been specially chosen to meld together to make one perfect meal. Any alteration—any deviation—will bring the whole wonderful edifice crashing down.’
Fleur let her brows drift upwards. ‘Are you telling me you can’t produce another starter that’s just as suitable?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ he said explosively, ‘but I am telling you that Mr Chapman will have to choose another wine and it will have to be chilled.’
‘I’ll make sure that he knows the problem the moment he gets back from the stables,’ she said soothingly. ‘What suggestions do you have for an emergency starter?’
He frowned, and rattled off several alternatives. Surmising that any hesitation on her part would be a bad thing, Fleur chose the only one she recognised. ‘The onion tart.’
He shrugged, obviously handing over all responsibility to her. ‘So, it is decided,’ he said, and turned away to begin barking at the kitchen staff in the island tongue.
Hoping fervently she hadn’t made things worse, Fleur made her way out of the kitchen. The place had been a revelation—huge and ultra-modern, with air-conditioning to cool it. Clearly Luke recognised the value of looking after his staff.
She found the housekeeper competently supervising the setting of a table out on the terrace.
After a quick explanation, Susi said, ‘Of course I will see that a message is left for Luke in the stables.’
No one came to her with any other emergency, so she concluded that the cook had done whatever needed to be done.
After she’d dressed for dinner she ventured forth, feeling incredibly glamorous in a camisole gown that matched her skin. She’d been a bit worried that the ivory silk clung too closely to her curves, and perhaps the neckline showed more cleavage than she was comfortable with, but after sinking her principles enough to try on several other dresses she settled on it because it would move from dinner table to dance floor with grace.
She was walking past the door to Luke’s bedroom when it opened and he emerged, darkly saturnine in evening clothes.
Her wayward heart picked up speed.
‘I hear you dealt with an emergency,’ he said, examining her in a way that sent prickles of pleasure through her.
She managed a laugh, horrified when it emerged low and breathy. ‘I think your cook just needed to be comforted because the tuna hadn’t turned up.’
‘Susi told me you handled him like a pro. Put him on his mettle, then chose the one dish he’s famous for.’
‘Did I?’ She laughed more naturally and confessed, ‘That was a lucky break. I chose it because it was the only one I recognised.’
‘All he wanted was to have his dilemma recognised and to be challenged to work a miracle—you clearly read him perfectly.’ Beneath his amused words ran an intoxicating thread of awareness.
‘Just as well he didn’t need any real help, because I don’t know anything about haute cuisine. I can do good plain farmhouse fare, and that’s it.’
Together they went along to the big reception room that overlooked the lagoon and the western horizon. But once inside he frowned down at her. ‘You look exquisite, but you need something else to go with that gown. Come with me.’
