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

‘Why didn’t you buy them?’ he asked patiently.

‘Because I don’t need them,’ she said, wincing at the note of defiance in her voice. She dragged in another breath and forced her voice into a tone that almost sounded reasonable. ‘And I don’t need the extra clothes that have miraculously found their way into my wardrobe.’

He shrugged. ‘I can afford them. And as you’re here because I asked you to stay, and you’re entering this charade for my sake, it’s up to me to bear the cost.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ she said between her teeth, because she was going to lose this fight, she knew it, and behind the compelling mask of his face he was laughing at her silly little principles. In his world the amount of money the cosmetics and clothes represented was chicken feed, and he was making sure she understood that.

She felt that gulf between them—huge, uncrossable—and it hurt. Which scared her.

‘Besides, you need clothes,’ he said smoothly, as though paying for her clothes and cosmetics was a perfectly logical thing to do.

Perhaps in his world it was, but for services rendered, she thought waspishly. A shiver of anticipation ran through her at the thought of what those services might be.

Holding her riotous emotions in check, she said more calmly, ‘I don’t want the clothes and the cosmetics. I know you’re trying to be helpful, but I feel—’ She stopped again, searching for the right word.

‘Bought?’ Luke supplied helpfully.

FLEUR flinched, her gaze flying to meet his. He didn’t look amused now; those angular features were set in a forbidding expression.

‘I suppose so,’ she muttered, because how idiotic was she being?

‘And you’re afraid I might demand to be recompensed?’ Luke asked in a level voice that didn’t hide a disturbing note beneath the cool disdain.

Flushing, she shook her head. ‘No!’ And, trying to grab some dignity from the situation, she gabbled, ‘I don’t like being dependent on you.’

‘Dependent?’ The word rang with irony. ‘I suspect that’s only part of it. Do you honestly think that I’d go to such an elaborate charade just to get you to stay in my house and—presumably—in my power?’

Put like that, her inchoate suspicions sounded ludicrous. He was experienced; he must know she found him sexually attractive. Hell, she blushed every time he came near her! But he didn’t need to be so unforgivably crude as to haul her feelings out into the light of day so he could make her feel stupid and embarrassed.

Proudly lifting her head, she said, ‘No, I don’t.’

He leaned back and inspected her, his smile arrogant. ‘Then what exactly is your problem?’

That infuriating heat scorching along her cheekbones, she set her jaw. ‘I’m not a charity case or a Cinderella. I don’t need all those clothes.’

‘Then don’t use them,’ he said, allowing a note of impatience in his voice.

‘That’s not the point. I know I agreed to this, but I’m thinking it’s not a good idea.’

‘You gave me your word,’ he said in a steely voice.

Fleur sent him a quick, startled glance, her spine tightening when she met narrowed eyes and saw his lips compress into a thin, hard line. He looked—dangerous and exceedingly intimidating.

She stiffened. ‘And now I’m reconsidering,’ she said indignantly. ‘I agreed to a—a charade, not a complete loss of autonomy!’

Luke’s shoulders lifted in that quick, essentially Gallic shrug. ‘I can’t, of course, force you to do it.’

His tone was cynical. The heat faded from her skin, leaving her somewhat shaky. He looked as though he’d expected her to do this—agree, then go back on it. And once again, she realised, she’d been steered away from the fact that he’d paid for the clothes and cosmetics she’d discarded. The fact that this time she’d done the steering didn’t appease her.

She said, ‘I won’t wear those clothes.’

‘Cutting off your nose to spite your face again?’ he said lightly, his smile not reaching those hard eyes. He’d clearly lost interest, and his final remark was tinged with irritation. ‘I don’t care what you do with them—they’re there if you need them. As are the cosmetics. If you want to appear au naturel, by all means do so.’ He let his gaze roam her indignant face and taut body, and drawled, ‘Well, perhaps not entirely. My male guests would probably be delighted if you decided to go completely buff, but I’d rather you didn’t.’

He held her gaze for several seconds more, and added with another faint, satirical smile, ‘Unless you want to do so for my sole delectation. But, whatever you do, keep the clothes and the cosmetics.’

She said fiercely, ‘I don’t want them—that’s what this is all about! I don’t need payment! And although I agreed to this charade, I can’t help wondering if it’s too close to lying. And lying, even in a good cause, is lying.’

His brows drew together. ‘If you really want to back out, that’s fine. I don’t want you compromising your principles.’

Balked, she stared at him. The silence thickened, gathered into a presence, and finally she made a gesture of surrender. ‘You’d make it easier for me if you threatened me,’ she finally muttered.

‘So you’d give in to threats?’ he drawled.

‘No, then I could summon up my righteous indignation and storm away and feel good about it. As it is, now I keep thinking about that girl who believes she’s going to be your wife. You’re probably right, the best way to deal with it and leave her pride intact is to just pretend we’re…’

‘Lovers,’ he said laconically when she came to an abrupt stop. ‘Or if that’s too much, would-be lovers. Or, even soon-will-be lovers. I don’t care.’ He held her gaze for several intense moments. ‘Let’s just take it as it goes, all right? Don’t imply anything, don’t lie, don’t do anything but blush enchantingly whenever I speak to you, and everyone will draw their own deductions without either of us saying a word.’

At the mention of her stupid blushes her cheeks reddened again, and she clapped her hands to them and said in deep mortification, ‘One of these days I’m going to learn to control this or die trying.’

‘Why? You blush beautifully. Anyway, I believe the tendency fades with more sophistication.’

All pretence at dignity gone, she glowered at him. ‘Thank you. You don’t have any women’s magazines around with pictures, do you, so I can see what Luke Chapman’s girlfriend would wear to an intimate dinner party for twenty?’

His smile widened into laughter. ‘No, you witch,’ he said. ‘Just wear what you like—something floaty and light and shortish will do. Tonight’s dinner is for a small trade delegation from Australia who are here to try and talk us into letting them prospect for minerals in the mountains, so prepare to be bored. All right?’

‘Yes, all right.’

But it wasn’t. He’d got his own way with almost indecent ease, and somehow managed to make her even more aware of him—and her own reactions to him—than before.

Luke Chapman was magnetic, and she was perilously close to thinking herself in love with him. Telling herself you couldn’t fall in love so quickly didn’t help; her brain knew that, but her body persisted in thrilling whenever she thought of him, and her heart was melting ominously fast.

However, she took his advice, choosing the silk chiffon in apricot, but ignored the cosmetics—until a glance in the mirror forced her to realise how naked her face looked with nothing but lipstick. At least cosmetics might camouflage her stupid blushes!

So she unearthed the make-up and did her best to follow the instructions she’d been given that afternoon. It took her a while, but in the end she inspected her reflection with something like relief. She looked all right.