even closer to him as she returned his stare. Now there was no air between them, her body was against his, length to length. Had he pulled her closer, or had she crossed that final barrier of distance without realising it herself? The long, strong muscles of his thighs pressed against hers, her pelvis cradled his slightly narrower hips, the soft curve of her belly moulded against the washboard hardness of his.
His pupils dilated and she felt his indrawn breath as if it had come from deep inside her own chest. Maybe it had. Already the lines between where she began and ended were blurred as she parted her lips, moistening their suddenly dry surface with the tip of her tongue. His own lips were set in a firm line, his brows drawn together slightly.
“Luc?” Her voice broke from her throat as more of a plea than a reassurance, and she felt the tension in him break as he lowered his head and caught her lips in a kiss that threatened to knock her hard-fought equilibrium six ways from Sunday.
If anything she felt more light-headed than she had in the garden when she’d regained consciousness, yet something still held her back, prevented her from committing fully to his touch. She drew back, feeling the loss of him like a physical ache as he let go her hand and she no longer absorbed his heartbeat or his heat.
He turned away from her and tunnelled one hand through his short-cropped hair in a gesture that told her more than any of his carefully calculated words. So, her cool, calm and collected husband could be rattled. Somehow the knowledge didn’t give her the power she had hoped.
“I’m going to shower before our dinner arrives. Join me.”
His invitation—or was it more of a command?—hung on the air between them as he limped up the shallow stairs toward their bedroom, his cane stabbing at the thickly carpeted surface like some kind of weapon.
Belinda’s throat constricted on her words of denial. They were husband and wife, no matter how foreign the words felt to her. Dare she bare herself to a man who was essentially unknown to her? Would she find familiarity in his touch? She took a tentative step toward him, then halted as fear overtook her need for the truth.
“Belinda. I meant what I said about you not being out of my sight.” Luc paused at the top of the stairs, his body vibrating with a tension that was almost palpable. “You don’t need to shower with me if it makes you uncomfortable, but I want you there. In the room with me.”
A thrill of something charged through her veins. Was this a test of some sort?
“Fine,” she answered unsteadily. “But I think I’d rather have a bath.”
“I’ll draw it for you.”
“I can manage myself.”
“Of course you can.” His voice was conciliatory. “But let me do this for you. For my wife. I’ve been able to do little else for you in the past six weeks.”
She sensed a hidden message in his last words and it left a prickle of discomfort running across her scalp. She shook her head lightly to rid herself of the sensation. She was being overly sensitive. Not surprising really when only this morning she’d been safely ensconced in a private room in hospital. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to immerse herself in clean, soft water, to rid herself of the remnants of any lingering scent from her stay in hospital.
As she entered the bedroom she saw his jacket already casually thrown onto the bed. She could hear the thunder of water in the voluminous spa bath.
A shudder ran through her. What if he changed his mind and decided to join her in the bath? A throb pulled deep inside her womb at the thought, even as her mind insisted its denial. She forced her feet toward the bathroom. Luc was bent over the bath, pouring a splash of perfumed bath foam into the water and swirling it with a sweep of his hand. She watched as he inhaled the fragrance, the expression of sheer longing on his face striking hard to her core.
She hadn’t stopped to think how this had all been for him. To be married and then to have lost her to this frozen wasteland of not remembering even the smallest thing about their life together.
“I’ve missed this,” he said as she entered the spacious room. His voice dropped an octave. “I’ve missed you.”
“I…I’m sorry, Luc. I’m trying to remember.” Her hands fisted in frustration at her sides and her voice became more insistent. “And I did! I remembered the garden. That’s when the headache became unbearable.”
“Don’t force it, Belinda. We don’t want a recurrence of your blackout. Let it come back to you in its own time.” He reached down and turned off the faucet, his movements fluid—just hinting at the muscled strength beneath his clothes. “There, your bath is ready.”
Without a second glance he turned away from her, pulling his shirt free of his trousers and unbuttoning it. She couldn’t tear her eyes away as he shrugged the fine cotton off his shoulders exposing the long lean line of his back. His skin still held a warm golden tan. As he unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his trousers she felt a deep longing rise within her, right up until the moment he exposed the long angry scar that laid an undeniable stripe from his hip down his right leg.
She couldn’t hold back the cry that broke from her lips.
“Ugly, isn’t it?” Luc half turned toward her, a flash of anger sparking in his eyes. “I’m told it will fade, and this one, too—” he gestured to the surgical scar on his abdomen “—in time. But I’ll always have a limp.”
“Is it still painful?” Belinda managed to ask, her gaze still riveted to the wound site. A stab of guilt lanced through her. So wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t considered what he’d physically been through.
“Sometimes it’s worse than others,” he admitted flatly before reaching into the shower to turn on the water. “Go on. Enjoy your bath.”
He stepped into the large shower cubicle, and she watched as the water cascaded over his body, rivulets running through the light dusting of hair on his chest and arrowing down lower, past his taut stomach. Even though he’d obviously lost some weight in hospital, he still had a commandingly powerful build. As he lathered shower gel over his skin, she suddenly wished she’d had the courage to join him in the shower. To be the one stroking the glistening liquid soap down his chest and across the ridged hardness of his abdomen, and lower.
A flush of heat suffused her body. What was she thinking? Only hours ago she’d been terrified at the prospect of travelling with him, of leaving the virtual safety of her hospital room. Now here she was, little more than an opportunistic voyeur as he luxuriated under the pounding water of his shower.
She wheeled about and focused instead on the bath he’d drawn for her. She needed to twist her hair up, and unerringly she opened the correct drawer where her hair accessories were lined up. It should give her some comfort, she decided, that she instinctively knew where such things were. With a modicum of movement she pinned her hair up, undressed and lowered herself into the warm fragrant water. As the foaming bubbles closed over her body, she relaxed. They offered her some privacy for when Luc came out of the shower, but something inside her begged to attract his attention, something she couldn’t control.
And that, right now, was her greatest fear. She didn’t recognise the woman who’d fallen in love with Luc Tanner and agreed to marry him. Clearly it wasn’t the Belinda Wallace she believed herself to be.
Something within her had changed in the past several months. Something drastic. It had seen her uplift herself from
