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'Of course. It suits you,' she said hastily, wishing she had never brought the subject up as she turned and continued walking again, Luke falling into step by her side and suiting his long stride to her smaller one. But at least it had defused what had had the potential of being an acutely embarrassing moment.
He hadn't needed to tell her he wanted her; she knew that, she thought bleakly. But wanting wasn't loving—or even liking, she corrected quickly, horrified at the way her thoughts had swung. She didn't want Luke to love her, of course she didn't, she affirmed quietly in her mind, but mutual respect and friendship had its place in an intimate relationship, surely? Or else the human race were little better than animals.
She wished she hadn't come here. As they reached the house, still without exchanging another word, the thought was hot and fierce in her mind. He lived in a different world from her, with different values, rules, principles… But then even if he hadn't, even if he'd been a perfectly ordinary man who was looking for more than a casual affair, what difference would it have made? Either way it was no go, for her.
She glanced at him, smiling her thanks as he held the door open for her to walk into the house, and she recognised hunger in the silver-grey eyes. She turned away quickly. No, she shouldn't have come, but she had had no choice. All she could do now was be strong. She had been strong for the last thirteen years; it shouldn't be so very difficult now…
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dinner was another gastronomic treat, and as Josie finished the last of her dessert, a sweet batter pudding called clafoutis that was crammed with fruit and, Luke informed her lazily, a specialty of the Limousin region where Marie, the cook, had been born, she stretched slowly like a small and very satisfied cat.
'It's a wonder you aren't as fat as a pig,' she said lightly as she caught Luke's amused glance across the table. They were sitting on the veranda again, at her request. 'I would be if Marie was my cook.'
'If Marie was your cook that would mean you would be my wife, and I would not allow you to get fat,' Luke said smoothly as he poured them both a cup of coffee from the tray Josephine had just brought to the table. 'Except when you were with child, of course, and even then I would monitor your progress carefully.'
'You don't like plump women?' she asked carefully as the training of years prevented any pain from showing.
'I like plump women, thin women, tall women, short women,' he replied easily, 'as long as they are what suits them. But being fat would not suit you, Josie; you are too tiny, too fragile. You would look like…'
'A barrel?' she suggested drily as he paused for thought.
'Not at all.' He actually looked shocked.
'Well, don't worry.' She accepted her coffee with a nod of thanks, the aromatic wisp of steam from the cup rich and satisfying. 'With the sort of crazy job I've got I burn up the calories as soon as I've swallowed them, so no doubt I'll go into middle age with my figure intact.' Her meaning was clear and he stared at her for a long moment before indicating the quiet gardens beyond the rose bower.
'Drink that and we'll go for a wander down to the beach. It isn't dark yet, and the water looks wonderful on an evening like this as the light fades.'
'Does it?' She wasn't aware that both her voice and her face adequately expressed her apprehension, and when Luke laughed, a harsh, almost violent sound in the quietness, she started visibly.
'Don't do me any favours, Josie,' he said brutally as he watched her colour rise until her cheeks were bright pink. 'I'd hate to think there was any danger of you actually enjoying yourself in my company.'
'That's not fair—'
'The hell it isn't,' he said grimly, before standing up, moving round to her chair and hauling her out of her seat and into his arms before she could find breath to object.
He was angry. Very angry. That much registered as his mouth ground down on hers with a harshness that made her arch away from him, but she was far too tiny to make any impression on the hard steel of his body, and he subdued her effortlessly as he drew her even deeper into him, moulding her against him as he ran his hands down her shape with ruthless disregard for her struggles. And then his mouth softened, the punishing kiss turning into something hot and sensual as he groaned deep in his throat.
No, no, this can't be happening, she told herself frantically as she felt that sweet, consuming flood of sensation take hold of her again, weakening her resolve to fight and turning her legs to jelly. 'I hate you,' she muttered helplessly as his mouth moved to her throat, his lips burning her flesh with thrills of desire.
'No, you don't…' His lips returned to her mouth, probing the sweet moisture within as her lips opened to receive him in spite of herself. 'You want me. You might not like it, or me, but you want me as badly as I want you, and that's not hate.'
He kissed her again, fiercely and with a fire that sent trembling shivers down her spine, until she was soft and shaking against him. Her arms moved up to his broad shoulders and she hung on to him in a world that was pure sensation. She could feel the hard thrust of his arousal against her softness and she was both terrified and thrilled, her breath coming in sobbing pants against his mouth.
She had never understood, never dreamed that a man could wield such complete power by the touch of his hands, his mouth. It had been beyond her comprehension and was all the more shockingly exciting now because of all the closeted years when she had been unawakened.
Luke was breathing hard, and she could feel the trembling in her body reflected in the tremors that were sweeping his own as he cupped one full breast in his hand. Dragging his mouth from hers, he groaned again. 'I can't believe what you do to me, Josie.'
He stroked her skin through the soft silk of her dress, and she had to bite her lip until she tasted blood to stop herself moaning out loud as his fingertips brushed against the swollen, tender nipple, which was engorged and hard and hungry for more than the touch of his fingers.
'You're so perfect, so beautifully perfect…'
Perfect? She froze, an icy dread snaking over the heat that his touch had aroused and freezing it in its path. So he thought she was perfect? And she had let him think that, revelled in his touch, behaved as though she was free to offer more…
She had wrenched herself from his grasp before she finished thinking, turning and running swiftly from the veranda with a suddenness that took him completely by surprise. She heard him call her name once, his voice husky and broken, but she didn't stop until she reached the sanctuary of her room, falling through the door and locking it behind her before she collapsed onto the thick, soft carpet in an agony of pain and shock.
Perfect. The word stuck in her throat and reverberated in her head with a noise that was deafening. He thought she was perfect. She lay there for long minutes without moving, her face wet with tears that were hot and acidic. And that was why he wanted hen Why a man as rich and powerful and magnetic as Luke Hawkton had even spared her a second glance. Because the outward shell had fooled him. Had convinced him that she was a real woman…
'I am, I am..' She fought back against the cruel, merciless voice in her head, shocked that it had reared up with such a vengeance when she hadn't thought such damning thoughts for years. She was a real woman, she told herself painfully. She might not be able to have children, to conceive and bear fruit from male seed, but that didn't make her any less herself. Her intellect, her inner self, her personality, her soul—all those facets that made the whole-were still unimpaired and alive.
