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
