Kate Hardy - Bought for His Bed - Virgin Bought and Paid For / Bought for Her Baby / Sold to the Highest Bidder!

Luke’s shoulders lifted in a shrug that reminded her of his French great-grandmother. ‘I knew most of it, and guessed the rest,’ he drawled. ‘And if staying here galls you so much, you can earn your keep.’

She froze. ‘How?’ The word came more sharply than she’d intended.

‘Not the way you’re thinking,’ he told her with a hint of hauteur. ‘I’ve never had to pay for sex, and I don’t intend to start now.’

Fleur had always thought that the desire for the ground to swallow some embarrassed soul was weird, one that made her shudder. Now she understood the power of total humiliation. If the ground had cracked open in front of her she’d have leapt into the hole without hesitation.

Scarlet-faced, she said, ‘I didn’t think of anything like that until you…made it obvious what you thought I meant.’ Before she got too hopelessly tangled, she took a deep breath, then ploughed valiantly on. ‘I understand that it wasn’t what you meant, but I’m afraid I don’t have any skills to pay for my board.’

‘Let’s get one thing perfectly clear,’ he said, his gaze metallic. ‘I don’t expect you to pay for anything. What I meant by my offhand comment was that I find myself in somewhat of a bind, and if you’re agreeable, you can help me.’

‘I’d like to,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve been very kind to me and I’m not ungrateful.’

‘I don’t want your gratitude,’ he said, his aloofness setting a boundary between them. ‘The situation I’m in is an unusual one. An old friend of my father’s is arriving to stay soon, and bringing his granddaughter with him to a charity affair we’re all attending. Gabrielle is young, very pretty, and I like her, but she’s suffering a massive crush on me, and it’s becoming embarrassing.’

‘They usually are—to both the crusher and the crushee,’ Fleur said tartly. And she didn’t believe for a second that this was an unusual situation for him.

‘This is sliding over the edge into something that comes just a bit close to stalking for my liking. I’ve just read an interview she gave to a fashion magazine. She implied that she and I are engaged, and that I’m just waiting for her to grow up.’

Rapidly revising her impression of a high school Gabrielle, Fleur asked, ‘How old is she?’

‘Nineteen. She’s a model.’

‘I’m surprised. I’d have thought you’d be able to deal with a situation like this.’

‘Normally I would.’ His voice hardened. ‘But her grandfather is old, and it would hurt him if my lawyers sent her a letter telling her to desist, or if I contacted the press with a denial. And I like the girl—I don’t want to humiliate her.’

‘Somebody must have given her the idea that you were in love with her.’

He paused. ‘Not I.’

Fleur was inclined to believe him. After all, with all the women he could pick and choose from, it seemed unlikely that he’d choose one so young. ‘So how do you think I can help?’

He looked enigmatically at her. ‘You’ve been staying here for several days, and it might reinforce that I am not interested in her as wife material if we convince her that we’re lovers.’

‘Lovers?’ Her voice hit a high, shocked note.

He lifted her hand from the table and got to his feet, bringing her with him. ‘Lovers,’ he repeated calmly, a cynical smile tilting the corners of his mouth. ‘As in sharing a bed.’

‘As in being your mistress?’ Her heart was thumping so loudly she could barely hear her words, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, gunmetal grey and direct, yet heated in some mysterious way.

‘Mistress? That’s a very old-fashioned word,’ he said with an odd inflexion. Still holding her hand, he lifted his other one to trace the outline of her lips.

His touch was pure fire, lightning in her blood, a fever on her skin.

‘No,’ he said deeply. ‘Apart from that erotic mouth, you’re not mistress material. In fact, Gabrielle is light years ahead of you in sophistication. A mistress she could deal with. I want her to believe that we’re in love, that this is serious.’

One knowledgeable finger smoothed along one cheekbone. Trying hard to muster her thoughts into some coherent form, she muttered, ‘If she’s so sophisticated she’ll know…she’ll know…’

‘What will she know?’ His voice was amused, and when she lifted her lashes she could see that he was watching her mouth with narrowed, intent eyes.

An electric charge shot through her, setting every cell humming in dangerous intoxication. ‘That…that I’m not the right sort of person for you.’

It was so difficult to articulate her tumbling thoughts. She tried to ignore the compelling fascination of his dark voice, that hypnotic glint in his eyes and the slow, sensuous caress across her skin, the touch she felt right down to her innermost core.

Rallying herself, she said, ‘I mean, I’m not the sort of person you’d be attracted to. I blush all the time. It’s my skin—it’s the sort that shows colour—’

She was babbling and she cut back the words, afraid that she was making a total fool of herself. Pull away, she commanded her body. Step back. He’s only holding one hand—he’ll let you go…

His gaze darkened. ‘Ah, but you’re wrong. I find you very attractive—surely you’ve realised? Your skin is like silk, and the blushes you find so dismaying are charming.’

He released her hand, but before she could take the opportunity to leap backwards he cupped her face with both hands and smiled at her.

Even in her dazzled state, Fleur was aware that he was consciously using his charm and compelling male presence to persuade her. She should be angry—but when he smiled at her she felt its erotic impact zing like lightning through her body.

However, he dropped his hands and took the step backwards himself, a touch of colour along his cheekbones reassuring her that he hadn’t been entirely unaware of her as a woman, even if it had been in the most basic way.

He said, ‘Trust me, if you agree, they will believe that we are in love. The men in my family marry for love. And this will be the least painful way—and probably the only one they’d accept—for Gabrielle to find out that her hopes and dreams are nothing more than fairy gold.’

‘Will she be upset?’

Again his broad shoulders lifted. ‘Almost certainly a little,’ he conceded. ‘But surely it’s better that than to waste several years believing she’s in love with me and that we’re meant for each other, or to suffer public humiliation when I make it obvious that I’m not interested in her as a wife.’

‘I suppose so.’ Although every instinct of self-preservation was howling a warning, Fleur said, ‘Very well, I’ll do it.’

It would be one way of repaying him for some of his consideration. And she’d be quite safe, because you couldn’t fall in love so quickly. You had to know someone to love them, and even then, she thought with a shiver of remembrance, love was often based on illusion. She’d live a fantasy life for a short time and then she’d go back to her everyday life without a regret.

Luke didn’t overwhelm her with effusive thanks. His smile was ironic, a little twisted. ‘Thank you. So treat the clothes as a necessary part of your role. And to establish that, tonight I’m hosting a dinner party for twenty. Don’t look so alarmed, I won’t expect you to be the hostess—’

‘Which is just as well, because I’ve never hosted a dinner party in my life,’ she said, terrified at the thought of pretending to be Luke’s lover in front of his friends. ‘Do I have to be there? We don’t have to fool them —I can have dinner in my room.’

‘Like a Victorian governess? Your presence here has been noticed,’ he said, adding with crisp ruthlessness, ‘Of course if anyone asks me where you are I can tell your sad little story.’