anything was irrelevant.
‘So that is settled,’ the hairdresser said when Fleur gave in. ‘Now, about your hair…’
They discussed the final cut, both women vetoing Fleur’s sudden, defiant request for short hair.
‘Apart from it being a crime against whatever gene gave you that fabulous hair, it wouldn’t suit you,’ the hairdresser stated. ‘Your eyes and mouth and skin would vie for attention and that wouldn’t work at all well. What I suggest is we use that gentle curl and pull the hair back softly to suit your features. Here, I’ll show you.’
And Fleur had to agree that she was right.
Just as she had to marvel when she examined her reflection after being made up with cosmetics that smelt subtly of some exotic tropical flower. Somehow, without being obvious, her eyes seemed bigger and much greener, and the lashes she’d thought too pale were now darker and more defined without being spidery. She’d have loved to buy the products, but their quality warned her they’d be expensive.
‘They’re made on the island, using traditional recipes and scents,’ the assistant told her with pride. ‘My cousin is the manager. At first we sold only to tourists, but the business is expanding and now we sell to North America and Australia. Mr Chapman—Mr Luke—thinks that Asia will be our biggest market soon.’
‘You’ve done a wonderful job.’ Fleur smiled at them, and hoped fervently that they didn’t expect a tip. Fortunately, it seemed Fala’isi was like New Zealand, where tipping wasn’t done. ‘Thanks so much for everything.’
After the two women left Fleur stared at herself a moment more, before turning away from the mirror in embarrassment. It was foolish to be so charmed by what a skilful cosmetician and some truly wonderful products could do; she couldn’t afford them and that was that.
When she went to change her clothes, she stopped, astounded at the sight of rack upon rack of outfits. Everything she’d tried on that morning—not just the ones she’d chosen, but every outfit that had suited her—was there.
Frowning, she spread out the skirt of a silk chiffon evening dress in the softest apricot; it had looked divine, but she’d discarded it because she didn’t need more than one outfit for after dark.
She let the silk sift through her fingers, her frown deepening, then turned to the big chest of drawers. Biting her lip, she scrutinised the drawer full of subtly shimmering underwear. The owner of the boutique must have misunderstood.
Well, it would have to go. But halfway down the hall to find Luke she met Susi, carrying a bag of sophisticated blue and green that contained the cosmetics Fleur had just rejected.
‘Oh, no!’ Fleur stopped. ‘There’s been some mistake—I didn’t buy those.’
‘Mr Chapman says they are for you,’ the housekeeper said, her smile vanishing.
‘No,’ Fleur said, flustered yet determined. ‘I haven’t bought them.’
‘But—’
‘It’s all right, Susi.’
The sound of Luke Chapman’s cool, authoritative voice silenced both women. Fleur’s heart performed the now-familiar flip, then settled into a more rapid pace.
He held out his hand and the housekeeper gladly relinquished the bag. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and waited until she’d gone before saying with courtesy, ‘Come into my office.’
Fuming, Fleur went with him. Once inside she demanded, ‘Did you buy these?’
‘Yes.’ He held up a long-fingered hand and flicked a lock of hair back from her angry face. ‘Stop going off the deep end. You’re reinforcing a stereotype.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ she retorted, incensed by her sharp, excited reaction to his nearness. ‘You don’t know anything about me, and anyway, I’ve never believed that hair colour had anything to do with temperament. My mother was a redhead and she had the most equable temperament of anyone I’ve ever known.’
‘Did she? I thought red hair was genetically linked to a hairtrigger temper.’
His amused tone told her she’d been distracted by an expert. She drew in a calming breath. ‘I didn’t buy these cosmetics, and I—’
‘Why?’
Distracted again, Fleur blinked. ‘What?’
‘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.
Chapter Five
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
