by Nicola West
You'd what? Flair longed to ask. But she kept silent, knowing instinctively that this might drive him just too far, knowing that she would be totally unable to control any subsequent events. Her heart hammered so loudly that she was sure he must hear it. She wanted to run, to get away, as far away as possible, even while her common sense told her there was nowhere to run to. But it wasn't her common sense that kept her rooted to the spot. It was something else—a sheer paralysed inability to move and, somewhere deep inside, a tremulous excitement.
Luke turned back. His face looked suddenly haggard, but no less attractive. He came a step nearer, laid his hands lightly on her shoulders and looked gravely down into her face.
'Just answer me this, Flair, and answer it honestly,' he said quietly. 'Do you really intend sleeping out there on that Heath Robinson contraption of chairs you've set up? Or are you just playing? I'm serious now, Flair. If you want to share the bed, this is your last chance to say so.'
Afterwards, Flair was proud of the way she didn't hesitate. Staring straight back at him, her chin lifted almost in defiance, she answered with a steadiness that didn't extend to her heartbeat.
'No, I'm not playing,' she told him, a tiny flame of triumph licking at her taut nerves as she spoke the words. 'I'm sleeping alone. Tonight—and every night.'
He continued to probe her eyes with his; then he dropped his hands and turned away from her. His face was averted as he said harshly: 'You'd better go, then. We've got a heavy day tomorrow.' He didn't look round as Flair, somehow deflated, crept to the door; nor as she drew it to a close behind her. And although she lay awake for some time on her uncomfortable makeshift bed, listening to his movements as he showered and made ready for bed, he did not—as she had half expected—open the door and come into her room.
The tiny flame of triumph had died away, a fire that had never really lived. Flair's dreams, when she finally—and fitfully—did sleep, were a confused jumble in which Luke Seager figured largely and disturbingly. At least twice she woke convinced that his arms were about her. But when morning came and she struggled reluctantly to awareness of a new day, she realised fully that he had taken her at her word, and left her severely alone.
But that's what you wanted, she told herself savagely as she rose wearily and made her way to the kitchen for a drink of cool orange juice. Wasn't it?
So why the feeling of regret ... of disappointment . . .?
CHAPTER FOUR
A night's restless sleep on a makeshift bed did not, Flair soon realised, prepare one for a day's intensive work on an Australian island. As she sat in the kitchen, sipping slowly at her orange juice, she did feel some strength returning, but knew that she would be fit for very little that day and looked forward with some dread to a second and maybe even a third night on the chairs.
Not that a night in a comfortable king-sized bed seemed to have, done much more for Luke. He appeared a few minutes after Flair, looking much as she felt—drawn, hollow-eyed and weary. They might as well have spent the night his way, she reflected wryly, if looks were anything to go by! Or perhaps his haggardness was due to the fact that they hadn't done so . . . much as, if she were honest, she had to admit that hers was. . . .
Shrugging aside that unwelcome thought, she offered him a glass of orange juice and went through to the shower-room, unable to help noticing the tumbled look of the bed as she passed it. It certainly looked as if he had had a restless night—she only wished that she had had as much room in which to toss and turn. Armchairs, she had discovered, however well padded and comfortable for lounging in, were far too restrictive for any length of time.
The shower revived her and she felt more alive when she was dressed, this time in fresh jeans and loose blue shirt. While Luke showered, she prepared breakfast and while they ate it they discussed the day's work; both, Flair felt, instinctively avoiding any more personal issue. And it continued that way as they went on with their examination of the complex, concentrating today on the bedrooms in the hotel before working through to the gymnasium and games rooms.
Lunch was a snack of rolls and cold chicken, put up by Flair as Luke made his final preparations for the day. As she ate, Flair found herself growing increasingly sleepy. The interest of the morning's work had banished her tiredness; having stopped, she now felt inexpressibly weary, her body aching as if she had been bruised, and a longing for rest swept over her.
'You're just about flat out,' Luke said abruptly, and her head jerked up as she realised he was watching her.
'I'm not,' she denied hastily. 'It's just the sun— it's so much warmer today.'
Luke grunted. 'It'll get a lot warmer than this. This is only spring sunshine. If you're going to find it affecting you this much --'
Flair opened her mouth to deny that it did, then taught his mocking glance and subsided. He had almost trapped her then. Though why she shouldn't admit she was tired wasn't altogether clear to her— except that it might involve them in another argument about the bed and who was to sleep in it that night. And just at present the thought of that huge spread of mattress, topped with its light, cosy duvet, was almost alluring enough for her to give in, whatever else that might entail. . . . She stifled a yawn and turned her head away from Luke's gaze.
'I'm afraid I can't give you the afternoon off,' he remarked sardonically, and Flair stiffened.
'I'm not asking you to.'
'It would only mean stretching out our stay here even longer,' he continued as if she hadn't spoken, and Flair sighed with exasperation.
'I told you, I'm not asking for time off, I'm perfectly ready to start work again as soon as you are, and I shall be only too pleased when we can get this whole job finished and get back to the mainland. Blue Island Leisure Centre will be very nice, I'm sure, when it's finished and there are some people here—just at present it's more than a trifle dull, don't you find?'
She jumped to her feet and turned to stare defiantly down at him, but Luke stayed where he was, sprawled at ease in the shade of a peppermint tree. He was dressed in a workmanlike way today, with faded jeans and a white shirt left unbuttoned almost to the waist. The hairs on his chest glinted gold where the sun caught them. He looked up at her, his eyes the same intense blue as the sky, and she felt a twinge of annoyance at the mockery in them.
'Dull?' he said thoughtfully, as if the question needed some cogitation. 'No, I can't say I've found it dull. Strenuous, perhaps; certainly more than a mite frustrating. But dull—no, I wouldn't say so.'
'Oh, you're just being deliberately aggravating!' she exclaimed, turning abruptly away. She heard a quick movement behind her then and felt an iron hand on her wrist. Then she was turned, none too gently, and made to face the hard face of her employer.
'Maybe you'd rather I was deliberately something else,' he grated. 'There just isn't any pleasing you, is there, Flair? You don't like it when I'm friendly— you don't like it when I keep things cool. Just what is it you want—or don't you even know that?'
'Let me go!' she panted furiously. 'Why do you have to take everything to extremes anyway? Your idea of being friendly goes a lot farther than mine, can't you realise it? Or haven't you ever met a woman who can say no to you? I don't suppose you have,' she went on more slowly, remembering again the words of the woman on the plane. 'They call you Lucifer, don't they? They say when you kiss a woman you brand her for life. They say you're irresistible. Well, you're not—because I can resist you, and all too easily. And that's what really bugs you, isn't it? It's nothing to do with me, personally. I'm just another conquest, another scalp you want to hang on your belt. And you just can't stand the thought that I might turn out to be the one who got away!'
She almost cried out as Luke's fingers tightened round her wrist, burning the tender flesh. But the look in his eyes silenced her protests. This time, she knew with a twist of fear, she really had overstepped the mark. She was about to experience the full force of his anger—and she quailed at the thought.
But Luke said n
othing. His eyes bored into hers, searching out her innermost thoughts until she felt like a snail with its shell stripped from around it. His fingers were bands of iron round her wrist; his face was like stone.
'My God,' he said at last, his voice rough and grating. 'You certainly do get around, don't you? If that's what you manage to pick up in two weeks, what little titbits are you going to have gathered in a month—a year? Just where do you get these tasty little items from, anyway?'
'I don't go around gossiping, if that's what you mean,' Flair retorted, some of her courage returning. 'And it's hardly my fault if you get gossiped about, anyway. Maybe you ought to be more careful what you do, if you don't want talk. There's a saying that there's no smoke without fire, or haven't you heard it?'
'I've heard it,' he gritted. 'And I'd still like to know where you picked up that faradiddle you were kind enough to repeat just now.'
'As a matter of fact,' she said icily, 'I heard it before I even landed in Perth. From a perfect stranger—a woman who sat beside me on the plane. And she'd never met you—it just seemed to be common knowledge.'
'I see.' Abruptly, he let go of her wrist and Flair backed away rubbing it tenderly. 'And, naturally, you believed it. Took it all in, all wide-eyed and innocent. And then decided to teach me a lesson, perhaps? Teach me that I wasn't God's gift to womankind?'
'Nothing of the sort,' Flair said weakly, uncomfortably aware that this was very much the tenor of her thoughts over the past few days. 'I told you, I'm --'
'Not interested in that kind of thing,' he finished for her. 'The single-minded career girl—or maybe just a foolish virgin. Well, whichever it is, Miss Pattison, we'd better get back to work, don't you think? Or you're going to be incarcerated here with me for even longer than I'd planned. And neither of us would enjoy that . . . would we?'
At the patronising tone in his voice, Flair's fingers clawed instinctively and she ached to hit him. But the memory of his hand around her wrist prevented her; she wasn't at all sure that Luke's code included not hitting a woman. A shiver touched her spine at the thought of what rousing him to real fury might entail, and she turned away, picking up her notebook from where it lay and making a supreme effort to become the cool, efficient personal assistant.
Neither of them spoke much more that day, except about the work in hand. Luke drove them both mercilessly to get as much done as possible and Flair would have protested had she not known that he was as exhausted as she was. In any case, she knew that it would only lead to further argument. But there was more than one occasion on which her thoughts turned with longing to that big comfortable bed.
At last dusk fell and Luke declared work over for the day. Wearily, they retraced their steps to the chalet. Almost too tired to care about food, Flair opened the fridge and stared inside. She felt Luke close behind her and stiffened; but to her astonishment, he said only in a curiously gentle voice:
'Go and put your feet up, Flair. I'll deal with supper.'
'But --'
'Do as you're told,' he said with mock severity. 'I'm capable of grilling a steak and washing a bit of lettuce, you know.'
Flair hesitated for one more brief second, then gave in gratefully and sank into one of the armchairs. Her mind was too dulled to think; she merely lay there, her feet on the footstool, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Presently the aroma of grilling steak floated out from the kitchen, but Flair didn't smell it. Thankfully, easily, she had fallen asleep.
She was only half aware of Luke coming into the room with two plates; only dimly realised that she was roused enough to eat a few mouthfuls and drink a glass of wine. Then she was drifting away again. And smiling in her dreams as she thought she felt strong arms lift her as if she were a baby, carry her into the other room and lay her gently on the bed. Barely conscious but revelling in the longed-for comfort, she spread herself out on the mattress, snuggled under the duvet, and slept soundly then throughout the night.
The chattering of a flight of Twenty-Eight parrots brought Flair back to consciousness the next morning. The light was just beginning to filter through the curtains. She opened her eyes slowly, aware of the refreshing feel of having enjoyed a good night's sleep. And then she frowned.
It hadn't been a dream, then. She was in the bed. Someone—Luke—must have carried her in and laid her here. So where had he slept?
She knew as soon as the thought entered her mind that it wouldn't have been on the chairs. Luke had needed his sleep as much as she had, and his six-foot length would have been even more uncomfortable than she had been. In any case, he wasn't the type to give in that far. ...
Slowly she turned her head. The hump of the duvet beside her told her the answer. Like it or not, she and Luke had shared the bed right through the night. And, just at present, with the delicious warmth and comfort still surrounding her, she really didn't feel like objecting.
Hardly knowing what she did, Flair shifted a little nearer to Luke. She could feel the warmth of his body and she sighed and wriggled sensuously, letting all her barriers go for this stolen moment that might have to last her the rest of her life. It was, she thought, like daring the lair of a dangerous animal— a grizzly bear, for instance, or the tiger she had first likened him to. The sense of delight was heightened by the danger. Just for once, with Luke asleep and unconscious of what was happening, she could allow herself the luxury of pleasure in his nearness. The moment he woke she would be away like a frightened bird.
For a little while she lay there, still in the pleasant haze of early waking. Luke's soft, steady breathing was like a whisper in the room. Outside, the world was coming to life; the chattering Twenty-Eights had been joined by a crowd of kookaburras, roaring with laughter at their own dubious jokes. There was the warbling of nesting magpies too, together with other voices Flair couldn't identify.
Her mind was drifting pleasantly when Luke gave a sudden grunt, rolled over and, before she could move, trapped her in his arms.
Flair lay rigid as two pieces of knowledge forced their way into her mind. One was that Luke was still asleep. The other was that neither of them seemed to have much on in the way of clothes.
With an effort, she controlled her panic. Last night she had been wearing jeans and a shirt, with just a pair of brief panties underneath and no bra because of the heat. Now, she seemed to have just the shirt and panties. So someone had stripped off her jeans, and there were no prizes for guessing who.
Luke himself, as she could tell from the pressure of his warm body against hers, was wearing only a pair of briefs.
Flair closed her eyes and groaned silently. Why, why hadn't she got out while the going was good? Why hadn't she slipped out of bed the moment she woke? How on earth had she come to give way to that inexplicable impulse to stay there, even moving closer to him, luxuriating in the comfort of the bed, relishing the dangerous excitement of sharing it with Luke Seager? What had got into her—had she taken leave of her senses?
There was no chance of getting out without waking him. She could only hope that, just as he had turned towards her in his sleep, so he would turn away. And, meanwhile, try not to wake him with her own quickened breathing and wildly-beating heart.
Luke stirred again and his hands moved on her body. Despite herself, Flair's lips parted and a faint moan escaped her as his fingers slid up under her shirt and just touched her breasts. She felt the fingers tighten on her then and gasped as Luke, still apparently half asleep, drew her closer and claimed her mouth with his own. Flair felt the warmth and the length of him, felt him come slowly to awareness, became disturbingly conscious of the hardness of his masculinity throbbing against her. Her thoughts whirled as her surroundings faded, leaving only a world that was solely composed of two bodies that were merging—that must merge—into one. A world of warmth and desire, where nothing else mattered; where hands and fingers and mouths went where they would and were received with delight and welcomed. A world of increasing urgency, where solid flesh and bone seemed to melt,
to become fluid with the fire of their passion. A world she had never dreamed existed; had rejected without understanding its full meaning.
A strange lethargy invaded her limbs as she turned in his arms, pressing her body close against his, letting her legs tangle with the hard muscles of his thighs. Her mouth parted under his kiss and she let her mouth move freely with his, exploring, tantalising. She felt his mouth leave hers and turned her head to follow his lips, only to gasp with delight as his tongue flicked into her ear and his teeth bit gently at the lobe. Muttering something she couldn't catch, he burned a fiery trail of kisses down her neck to the fastening of her shirt and nuzzled open the top button to fasten hungrily on the hardened nipples that seemed almost to spring towards him as Flair whimpered and moved sensuously against him.
'Luke...' she breathed against his hair. 'Luke...'
Slowly then he withdrew from her, raising himself on his elbow to look down into her face. She saw that his eyes, still shadowed with sleep, were serious, his face grave, and she reached up trembling fingers to stroke the lines from his cheek. He caught at her hand and held it against him, turning to kiss the palm.
'Flair,' he said, and his voice was husky, 'before we go any farther we've got to get one thing clear. I've got to be sure that you know what you're doing—that there'll be no regrets, no recriminations.' He touched her cheek and ran his fingers burningly down the column of her throat to the neck of her shirt, undoing the remaining buttons as he went. 'I've never yet had an unwilling partner. I don't want to start now.' His eyes went to her breasts, swelling towards him, and he groaned and buried his face against them.
