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‘So, where have you been hiding all day? I missed you.’
Jesse went rigid as that deep, mocking voice washed over her and snuck in somewhere very private and vulnerable. She forced herself to be as cool as a cucumber before she turned around to face her nemesis. It was laughable, but right now she felt far more the victim than Luc Sanchis.
She could scent the tantalising aroma of something he’d cooked in the air. No doubt he must relish the thought of her starving.
He was standing with arms folded across his chest, one shoulder propped against the door. He jerked his head back to where he’d been eating. ‘I made a steak. I didn’t think to ask you if you wanted one. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think the prisoner usually cares much about feeding the kidnapper.’
Jesse flushed and willed down the wave of hunger that almost knocked her sideways. She could well imagine that his steak had been as delicious as his breakfast. Churlishly she wondered if this was how he’d wear her down—by acute food envy. And why did the man have to be so proficient in the kitchen anyway? Why couldn’t he conform and be some stereotypical male who was as blind in a kitchen as she was?
‘Now, now—no need to look so fierce.’ Luc straightened up and went out, only to reappear seconds later with a glass of wine and a bottle. He tipped it towards Jesse. ‘Wine?’
Jesse shook her head. On her empty stomach a glass of wine
would be suicide. She backed away and said suspiciously, ‘Why are you so cheery?’
Luc calmly poured some more wine into his own glass, and then came into the kitchen to put the bottle down on the counter-top. He took a sip.
‘Like I said earlier, I’m making the best of a bad situation. As you pointed out, I can’t hope to get off the island, and you’re not going to let me near any means of outside communication, so what else can I do for the moment except feed myself and relax?’
Jesse recalled looking down from her bedroom that afternoon to see Luc stretched out in the family-sized hammock which was hung between two trees. He’d been bare-chested in those low-slung jeans, reading a book with an arm behind his head, showing off his pectoral muscles to great advantage.
She’d been transfixed for far longer than she cared to admit, with a slow upswelling of heat making beads of sweat pop out between her breasts before she’d realised what she was doing and moved away.
Abruptly, almost as if he’d touched her and she’d flinched, Jesse moved back. Angry. ‘I’m not completely helpless, you know. I can make a sandwich or … something.’
She flung open the fridge door again and eyed a loaf of bread balefully. Resolutely she took it out, and then took out some cheese and mustard. Determined to show Luc that she wasn’t to be pitied for being so culinarily challenged, she found a chopping board and set about cutting a slice of bread.
Perhaps it was his intent, mocking gaze on her, or the fact that she was left-handed, which always made her cut things awkwardly, having been brought up to use her right hand, but the knife slipped and sharp pain lanced her thumb, making her cry out.
Instantly she was aware of a blur of movement to her right, and then her hand was being cradled in a much bigger one and she was being led over to the sink. Already the awful numbing tide of sickness was coming over her at the sight of bright red blood. It got worse when Luc ran the water over the cut and she could see it flowing down the sink.
Sweat broke out on her brow as she fought back the wave of nausea. Blood had always sickened her. Ever since she’d seen her own blood running on the floor from the welts on her back and legs.
Seriously weak now, Jesse’s legs were trembling violently. She felt rather than saw Luc cast her a swift glance.
‘What’s wrong with you? It’s only a small nick.’
Jesse’s tongue felt heavy in her head. ‘The blood. I can’t stand blood.’
Her legs gave way just as she heard Luc curse, and then she was being lifted against his hard chest and put down on a chair. His hand was on the back of her head, pushing it between her knees.
‘Just breathe,’ was his curt instruction.
She could feel him doing something to her thumb, wrapping something around it. Slowly the nausea was receding and her stomach was calming down.
She felt him move away from her and attempted to come back up, but he said roughly, ‘Stay down until I say so or you’ll get dizzy again.’
Jesse said nothing, just obeyed, too mortified to come up, too afraid to see what would be on Luc’s face at her pathetic weakness. She couldn’t cut a slice of bread without nearly cutting a finger off, and then she almost fainted. And, not only that, she was terrified of the response that had swept through her like a forest fire at being held so closely to his body as he’d all but carried her to the chair.
Eventually she saw his bare feet appear in her line of vision and heard something being put on the table behind her. She felt his hands on her arms and she was urged upwards. Her head swam for a moment, but then it cleared. Luc was looking down at her, his eyes searching her face.
Jesse could feel heat and colour rushing back. As if satisfied to see it, Luc propelled her chair around and she saw a plate with what looked like a steak sandwich on it and a glass of water.
Luc sat down on the chair nearest to her and motioned to her. ‘Go on—eat. You need something in your belly.’
Jesse saw then that a plaster had been put on her thumb. It was throbbing a little, but there was no sight of blood, thank God.
She looked from the sandwich to Luc. ‘I … I’m sorry. I don’t know what …’
