The Price of a Wife

She was just preparing to walk over to the horribly expensive-looking bags that took up the whole of the sofa in the small sitting room when a knock sounded on the door, and in the next moment Luke had opened it, amusement etched in every line of his rugged face. 'Yours, I think?' He handed her the briefcase and folder, gave a mocking bow and turned to leave, giving one last parting shot as he did so. 'I will see you at the pool in exactly ten minutes,' he said over his shoulder. 'OK?'

Once he had left, and she was alone, she examined the contents of the bags, which all had exclusive designer names and contents to match. 'He must have spent a fortune,' she mumbled helplessly to herself as she shook out first one, then another, then another beautifully made garment.

There were four bikinis in all, each with matching sarong, shirt and trousers and all quite exquisite. She sat gazing at them for a full minute, her mind racing as she told herself she couldn't possibly accept them, and then she realised with a start of panic that five minutes had elapsed since Luke had left.

She gathered up the nearest bikini—a dainty creation in vivid green silk with soft swirls of mauve and blue—and the corresponding shirt and trousers, and raced into the bedroom, stripping off her clothes and donning the new ones in a fever of fumbling fingers that just wouldn't obey her. She looped her hair into a high knot on the top of her head, glancing at herself in the mirror as she did so and then freezing at the sight of the reflection that stared back at her.

That old saying, 'clothes maketh the man' has a lot going for it, she thought in stunned amazement, or in this case 'maketh the woman'. The loose trousers and open shirt were beautiful and looted as though they had been made for her, deepening the colour of her eyes to a soft, glowing gold in which the flecks of green stood out with a luminescent quality that highlighted her clear, creamy skin and delicate colouring.

A minute to go. She suddenly came out of her trance and reached for a pair of low backless sandals before leaping across the room and out of the door as though the devil himself were after her. She didn't doubt for a moment that Luke was quite capable of following through on his outrageous threat, and although she was changed now, and quite decent, she didn't want to be alone with him in such intimate surroundings. In fact she didn't Want to be alone with him at all, she thought ruefully. He seemed to have the knack of making her do exactly what she didn't want to do.

When she reached the pool area she thought at first that Luke wasn't there, until he called her name from where he was stretched out in idle relaxation on a cushioned sun lounger, his hands behind his head and dark glasses shading his eyes from the sun's powerful rays.

'A minute or two late, but I won't hold that against you.' He took the glasses off as he spoke, and then became quite still in much the same way she had a few moments earlier. 'You look beautiful,' he said softly. 'Very beautiful. Those colours suit you.'

'Thank you.' She was suddenly very conscious of the open shirt revealing the bikini top as his eyes lingered for a moment on the soft swell of her breasts against the silk, and was then absolutely mortified as she felt her body respond to the heavy-lidded stare.

She jerked the loose folds of cloth around her middle as she plumped down on the sun lounger next to his, but her breasts were still straining against the thin material, their points hard and aroused as the hot tide of sensation she had no defence against washed over her in waves of awareness. 'I— It's still very warm,' she muttered weakly, hoping he would attribute the heat in her cheeks to the sun's golden rays.

'Yes, it is.' She glanced at him then. His tone had been gentle, tender almost, with none of the caustic mockery of the afternoon. 'Have you put any suncream on?' he asked softly.

'What?' For a moment his words didn't register over the panicky beating of her heart, and then she took a deep breath and prayed for composure. 'Oh, no, no, I haven't, but it's nearly half past five. The sun won't be a problem now, will it?'

'In July the sun still burns out here until dusk,' he said quietly, 'but I have some here for you.' He reached by the side of his lounger and lifted a bottle, unscrewing the cap as he did so. 'Take the shirt and trousers off,' he said calmly, 'and I'll rub some on.'

He'd do what? The blood rushed and pounded in her ears, but the knowledge that she had already made a fool of herself in more ways than one that day gave her the strength to slip out of the clothes with a casual elegance that suggested she was used to near-naked men rubbing her with oil every day of the week. She lay face-down on the lounger, gritting her teeth as she nerved herself for his touch.

Her skin was hot but his hands were slow and cool as he smoothed the first drops of lotion into her tense back, his touch rhythmic and deliberately caressing. She wanted, she really wanted to remain oblivious to what his nearness and the slow, stroking action of his hands were doing to her, but it was no good. Even with her eyes tightly closed and her lips pressed together, little trickles of fire were flowing under his skilful fingers, creating havoc wherever they ran— and they were running pretty far, she thought desperately as her lower stomach began a dull throbbing that was both pain and pleasure.

He took his time working the sun-warmed liquid into every inch of her back, and by the time he had finished she felt fluid beneath his subtle fingers, the world closing in until it was just the two of them in the golden darkness behind her closed lids.

When he began on the sensitive silky skin of her upper legs she almost moaned out loud, before biting her lip so hard that it hurt, his sensual stroking of her soft flesh more voluptuous than she could ever have imagined. How did he know? she asked herself helplessly as waves of mingled pleasure and desire had every nerve-end pulsing. How did he know exactly where to touch her to make her flesh quiver? She couldn't stand it, not without giving herself away. She just couldn't…

The caress moved slowly to the delicate, tender area behind her knees, and she was unable to suppress the slight moan which his fingers drew forth. The lazy eroticism was shockingly sweet, and although she knew it was a cleverly planned strategy, another ploy he had no doub

t used many times before with equal effect, she was helpless to prevent what it was doing to her body.

He had risen from his kneeling position at her side to sit on the edge of the lounger at some time during the proceedings, and now, as he tent and stretched across her pliant form, on the pretext of smoothing more lotion into the vulnerable area at the back of her neck, she became aware that he was hugely aroused.

This was fire. She was playing with fire. All the warnings were there but, blanketed by a wave of desire so strong, she had no defence against it.

'Right, turn over…' His voice was thick and husky and she shivered at the sound of it. He was breathing hard and she knew, without opening her eyes, that he was willing her to open herself to him. And she wanted to…

The thought should have shocked her out of the sensual lethargy that had taken hold but it didn't. She wanted him. She might regret it bitterly in the days ahead—in fact it was almost a sure-fire bet, she thought dizzily—but at this moment in time all she wanted was for his hands and mouth to continue the magic his touch had already created.

'Josie, turn over…'

And it was just as she began to move, her eyes opening the merest crack, that Madame Marat's weighty voice cut into the moment like a knife through butter. 'Monsieur?'

The area where Luke had positioned the sun loungers was in a semi-circle completely surrounded by flowering bushes, which was why she had been unable to see him when she had first arrived. The pattern was repeated at intervals round the pool's edge, and they were completely hidden from the housekeeper's view. Nevertheless, Josie shot back as though she had been burned, her face scarlet, as Luke swore once, very explicitly, before straightening.

'Yes?' His voice was cold.

'Pardon, monsieur.' There followed a spate of words in rapid French before Luke stood up slowly, after wrapping a towel around his lean hips.

'I'll be there shortly.' Josie heard the sound of Madame Marat's large feet clicking away, but she hadn't opened her eyes throughout the conversation and didn't now. 'I have an urgent call from the States I've been waiting for,' Luke said softly to her rigid back. 'I won't be long.'

'Fine.' Her voice was muffled against the cushions and there was a moment's silence before he spoke again.