Читать книгу Claiming His Runaway Bride / High-Stakes Passion: Claiming His Runaway Bride / High-Stakes Passion - Yvonne Lindsay, Juliet Burns, Juliet Burns - Страница 12

Despite the misgivings that plagued her about how she’d handle Luc’s exit from the shower, she was surprised to find that it all felt almost impossibly familiar. Even so, tension gripped her shoulders and she pushed her head back against the built-in cushion on the side of the bath, closing her eyes the moment she’d heard him snap off the water and push open the shower door.

Her active imagination painted a very clear picture of how he looked as she heard him drag one of the thick white bath towels from the heated rail and cast it across his body to dry himself. She counted to one hundred, very slowly, before she opened her eyes again.

Luc stood at the vanity, the towel riding low on his hips, his cane resting against the blush-coloured marble countertop. She watched as he smoothed shaving cream across the hard angles of his shadowed jaw and picked up his razor. There was something incredibly sexy about watching a man shave, Belinda decided as she found herself captured by his every movement.

She must have stirred because suddenly he turned and caught her watching him. A slow smile pulled at his lips, a smile that melted her right through to her core.

“Enjoying the bath?” His eyes glowed as he took in the curve of her shoulder, the sweep of her arm as it rested along the edge of the tub and back up again to her throat where her pulse beat rapidly in the slender column of her neck.

If he’d have traced his fingertips along the same path she couldn’t have felt it more distinctly. Beneath the froth her breasts ached, her nipples tightened and her inner muscles clenched in response.

“Mmm, wonderful,” she managed, but as she gazed at him she found herself referring more to the vision of male than the silky-soft environment in which she reclined.

“Hungry?” he asked, sending her mind into overdrive before she realised that she was, indeed, starving.

“Yes, I suppose I’d better get out.”

“No, don’t bother. I’ll check first to see if dinner’s ready yet.” He swiped at his face with a small towel and dropped it into a laundry hamper on his way out of the bathroom.

When he returned he pushed a small wheeled trolley with one hand. As he drew closer to the bath, Belinda spied a large ceramic platter and an ice bucket containing a bottle of one of the Hawke’s Bay region’s finest sauvignon blancs. Two elegantly cut crystal wineglasses stood beside the ice bucket.

“You look like you’ve done this before,” Belinda commented as Luc extracted the bottle from the ice and deftly wiped it with a crisp white serviette.

“I’ve done some waiting in my time,” Luc replied guardedly.

He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to her, then pulled up the vanity stool next to the bath and sat down. His towel dropped away at the side, revealing the length of his right leg—exposing the angry scar. She averted her gaze to stare out the window and past the darkening valley to where the final remnants of the sun slipped beyond the last hill. His very nearness, and nakedness, played havoc with her heart rate. Even the warmth emanating from his body tempted and tormented her.

Belinda focussed on taking a sip of the pale strawcoloured wine, letting the perfectly chilled tropical fruit flavours roll over her tongue and down her throat. She knew from what memory she still clung to with an iron grip that no one else had ever elicited such a powerful reaction from her before.

Was this what had bound her to Luc? The overwhelming physical awareness that simmered constantly beneath the surface?

“Here, try this,” Luc said, interrupting her thoughts.

Belinda turned her head toward him, to the morsel of provolone cheese encased in a sliver of prosciutto he offered. Obediently she opened her mouth. If she’d thought for even a minute that she’d regained control of her equilibrium around Luc it was shattered the instant his fingertips touched her lips. Tiny shocks buzzed across her skin at the fleeting contact as the flavours exploded in her mouth.

“Good?” he asked.

“Mmm, delicious. But, Luc, you don’t need to wait on me,” she protested.

“I know,” he answered simply. “Indulge me.” He dipped a slice of crusty bread in aioli. “Here, try this. It’s Didier’s own recipe and made with product sourced solely from Tautara Estate.”

As he brought the morsel to her mouth a drop of oil fell and pooled in the curve of her collarbone right where it met her shoulder.

“Ah, we can’t have that,” Luc murmured.

He leaned forward, his tongue darting across her skin to lick up the single drop. Every muscle in her body coiled tight and she nearly shot out the water at the exquisitely brief caress. Her fingers curled tight around the stem of her wineglass, and she had to consciously stop the reflexive jerk that threatened to snap the delicate stem.

“More?” His lips were by her ear, his breath fanning the suddenly hyperresponsive skin of her neck.

“M-more?” She could barely get the single syllable past her tightened throat.

“Antipasto.” Again his breath was a stroke of heated air over her skin.

“I—”

“Try this.”

Helpless to do anything but open her mouth, she accepted the slice of marinated artichoke heart. Slowly he offered more bite-size delectable delights interspersed only with sips of wine.

Luc carried their conversation, keeping things general. Aside from that one time he’d licked the oil from her skin he didn’t touch her again and, she was shocked to realise, she wanted him to. Oh, how she wanted him to.

When her glass was empty he took it from her and replaced it on the trolley, then leaning heavily on his cane he rose to his feet.

“Our main meal will be ready now. I’ll leave you to get dried and dressed, unless you’d like some help.”

Luc looked down upon her in the cooling water of the tub. A pulse throbbed at the side of his neck. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his brow. It gave her some relief to know that he was as similarly affected as she by the intimacy of their situation.

“No, I can manage. Thanks.”

“Good. Don’t be too long. I meant what I said about you not being out of my sight.”

“Within reason, of course,” Belinda felt compelled to add, suddenly desperate for some control of her racing pulse and the heady sense of seduction he’d transfused through her.

“Belinda, when it comes to you I’m not a reasonable man. Don’t keep me waiting.” His green eyes flared with heat and a self-deprecating smile pulled at his lips.

She stared at the door for several minutes after it closed behind him. His words carried more than a warning. There was an implied threat underwriting his statement, a threat that made her near uncontrollable physical reaction to him a risk to her precarious equilibrium.

He was a conundrum, sending conflicting messages that alternately confused and calmed her. The man who’d shared the antipasto with her was completely inverse to the man who’d brought her home from the hospital today, or the one who’d been at her side when she’d fainted in the herb garden. But which one was the real Luc Tanner? Which one was the man she’d fallen in love with?

By the time Belinda had dried herself and slipped through to the dressing room to select some clothes, Luc was waiting for her in the bedroom. He’d dressed casually in black jeans and a black polo shirt, and the colour made his eyes appear even greener than usual. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Starkly handsome, he was both beautiful and terrifying to behold.

She nervously smoothed her hands over the caramelcoloured linen trousers she’d teamed with the cream silk top she’d chosen.

“Will this do?” she asked, uncomfortable under his silent scrutiny.

“You look beautiful in anything. Come. Manu has set the table for us on our deck so we can enjoy the summer evening while it lasts.”

Belinda followed him through to the living room and out the open French doors. Burning tapers attached to the deck lit a table set with white linen and gleaming silverware. Heated chafing dishes sat on a smaller table to one side, alongside them a colourful tossed salad. For a moment she felt as though she’d stepped into a fairy tale.

Everything was magically perfect—the setting, the darkened valley with the peppering of lights from the far distant Taupo township on its periphery. Even the gentle strains of her favourite opera piped through the ceiling-mounted speakers in the eaves over the deck. It was almost surreal, but the aromas from the chafing dishes gave her a reality check. Not even in her dreams had she smelled anything so divine.

“I told Manu we’d serve ourselves tonight,” Luc said, slipping back the cover on one of the dishes to expose tiny gourmet potatoes garnished with fresh chopped chives and handing Belinda a gold-rimmed plate.

Her experienced eye recognised the pattern of the fine imported china. Was it one they’d chosen together, or was it just a normal part of Luc’s everyday life?

“You’re frowning. Trying to remember again?” Luc’s voice cut across her thoughts.

“I recognise this china. Did we choose it?”

Surprise flitted through his eyes, but was swiftly veiled before he spoke. “Yes, we did. You helped me outfit most of our suite before the wedding. It was important to you.”

And he’d encouraged her, she was sure of it. She had a sense that he’d been prepared to do anything to keep her here—to make Tautara Estate her home as much as it was indelibly his.

“I know.” She hesitated a moment, then continued. “I don’t remember, but in here—” she pressed her hand against her chest “—I know.”

Luc didn’t speak straightaway, but Belinda couldn’t help but notice the sudden tension in his shoulders or the way his eyebrows drew together. Eventually he spoke. “That’s excellent. You’re making great progress.”

Did his hand shake ever so slightly as he dished up for them both? Chiding herself for being fanciful, she applied herself to savouring the grilled trout fillets drizzled with a subtly herbed sauce, baby potatoes and fresh salad greens with the rest of their bottle of wine. It had been so long since she’d had anything with such delicate flavour. If she never tasted a bite of hospital food again it would be too soon. They ate in comparative silence, a silence that could have been awkward but for the beauty of the velvet-dark vista spread out before them.

“It’s so beautiful here.” She sighed. “How do you ever tear yourself away?”

“Sometimes business requires it. For the most part I’m more than happy to remain here. Tautara Estate comprises 6,500 hectares. There’s always plenty to do.” He smiled as Belinda fought back a yawn. “Why don’t we call it a night? You’ve had a tiring day, and I have to admit I could use the rest myself.”

“Your leg is sore?” Belinda felt a sudden surge of guilt.

“No more than usual,” Luc replied with a wave of his hand, dismissing her care.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Luc’s lips firmed into a straight line and she sensed rather than heard his sigh.

“No. Just be yourself,” he replied enigmatically.

What did he mean by that, she wondered, catching the inside of her lip between her teeth as she bit back the words that would ask him precisely that. Be herself. Right now she’d give anything to know what version of “herself” he meant.

Luc leaned heavily on his cane as he stood to get up from the table. She caught the fleeting grimace of pain he swiftly tried to mask.

Was this the way it had always been between them? Him hiding his true feelings and thoughts? She couldn’t imagine that she’d have fallen in love with or married a man who was so closed to her emotionally. It just wasn’t her style. Her family had always been demonstrative, affectionate. They shared their worries and concerns between them—a problem shared is halved, her father always said.

Did she and Luc have that kind of marriage? Something inside her whispered to the contrary, and the inner voice was distinctly unsettling.