huffed in exasperation. He’d closed up as effectively as a bank vault under siege. There was nothing else for it but to follow him, but instead she stayed right where she was, chewing over his words as she did so. “In her current state.” What the heck had he meant by that? Obviously her amnesia was as frustrating to him as to her, but he had the advantage of remembering their life together—of remembering their love.
For her the only thing she knew was that she desired him, and that was terrifying enough. She’d never been the type to embark on a frivolous relationship, and took the physical side of a relationship very seriously.
If she listened to her body, they would already be lovers again—even though he was a stranger to her. It went against everything she believed in, but she couldn’t deny the truth—not when her blood raced hot and demanding through her body and her core ached with an emptiness she knew only he could fill.
Her cheeks coloured as she remembered again his rejection of her last night. She kicked a stone off the path and watched it tumble down the bank and into the river and sighed helplessly.
“I’m sorry.”
Luc’s voice from close behind her made her jump and turn. He placed his forefinger on her lips, preventing her from speaking.
“Yes, I am sore. Yes, it was that kiss. And yes, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted you before. But I know what our marriage meant to you. I want that back. I want it all back before I make love with you again. That’s why I’m in a foul mood.”
Belinda’s anger melted in the face of his honesty. It was clear how much it had cost him to bare his emotions like that. Sharp lines bracketed his mouth, his eyebrows were drawn in a harsh straight line, his fist clenched on the top of his cane.
“I’m sorry, too. I forget that I’m not the only one who’s lost something here,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.
She slipped an arm around his waist and together they strolled in silence along the path. As they came into another clearing Belinda gasped in surprise. Ahead of them a green-and-white-striped canvas canopy had been erected over a wooden table and two matching chairs. An ice bucket, with a bottle of champagne cooling within it, sat in the centre and was surrounded by a series of covered dishes. A long-stemmed rosebud, this time an intense coral colour, stood in a bud vase next to the ice bucket. Beside the table a sumptuous collection of pillows and fine cotton throws adorned the grass.
“You planned this all along?”
“You like it?”
“I love it. It seems so…decadent.”
“It’s what we specialise in. Decadence. Privacy.”
Luc watched Belinda carefully. Walking away from her earlier, knowing exactly what awaited them around the corner, had been one of the hardest things he’d had to do since he’d collected her from the hospital yesterday. While he’d recuperated in hospital, he’d thought waiting patiently for her memories to return would be easy, but he was not in the mood to be patient anymore. With luck, this planned seduction, the mirror of their first time together, would be the trigger that would restore his life to the way it should have been all along. Perhaps, he dared hope, even better than before.
Seven
Belinda turned to face him. A smile of pure joy slowly wreathed her beautiful face and put a light in her blue eyes. He’d pleased her, and that pleased him. The realisation was a cold, sharp shock that sat at odds with his agenda. As did the sudden pull in the region of his chest—an expansion of warmth he’d instinctively learned to suppress as a child. A feeling he’d trained himself never to acknowledge.
“This is spectacular. Thank you.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.
It was a peck, nothing more, yet with its innocence it stoked the fire that constantly simmered inside him. He watched as she sank down onto the bed of pillows, her hair spreading about her like a silken web of enticement.
Her T-shirt lifted slightly above her waist to expose a band of smooth creamy skin. His fingers itched to trace the inviting line. Down low his blood pooled, his body throbbed with a primal beat that threatened to dominate his careful strategy. He had to remember what had brought them together, and what had torn them apart. He had to preserve the former whatever it took.
He poured a glass of champagne, then lifted the rosebud from its vase before carefully lowering himself by her side.
“Some wine?”
He held the flute to her lips as she propped herself up a little, then took a sip of the bubbling liquid himself.
“Mmm, you said we specialise in decadence, I can’t think of anything more decadent than this right now.” She sighed.
Luc raised an eyebrow and pinned her with his stare. “Really? Nothing else more decadent?”
Her laughter was unexpected, a rich cascade of joy that penetrated deep inside. And there it was again, that glimmer of warmth from within his chest, a sense of rightness. His throat dried and words failed him as he looked down at her. He couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d been here. Couldn’t help but want to draw that memory from deep within its prison in her mind.
He casually trailed the rosebud back and forth across the exposed skin of her belly and watched her skin twitch and contract beneath the intensely coloured petals. The contrast between the pearl-like incandescence of her skin and the vibrance of the rosebud was wickedly appealing. What would it take, he wondered, to provoke her mind? To provoke the memories of physical pleasure the touch of the rose should invoke. After their first time here she’d barely been able to look at a rosebud without a flush of desire staining her cheeks, her throat, her chest.
Under the light touch of a flower such as this, she’d revealed a sensual side of her he’d only dreamed about. It was something he’d been prepared to forgo when he’d planned to make her his wife, knowing that in every other aspect she’d be the perfect complement to his perfectly created personal sphere. Sex, to him, had always been enjoyable but never the driving force of his world—until he’d made love with Belinda for the first time, right here in this clearing.
He would coerce her into remembering. One exquisite tingling sensation at a time.
He knew it was a risk, a huge risk, but the doctors had said several times that while her memory could return at any time, it was unlikely she would remember the details of what happened immediately prior to the accident that had led to her brain injury.
Luc had built his life on risk. Today was no different.
He offered her another sip of champagne.
“To new beginnings,” he toasted.
“To new beginnings,” Belinda repeated and put her lips to the tilted glass, putting her hand over his as she did so.
As she tipped the glass back up and swallowed, Luc softly trailed the rosebud down over the muscles in her throat, dipping into the hollow at its base before tracing a line along her collarbone. A flush of colour stained her cheeks, and her breathing became a little uneven. She relinquished her hold over his hand and let her hand drop to her side. A shudder ran through her as he let the rose drift down to the vee of her T-shirt, to the shadowed valley of her breasts.
She
