Winning the Heiress' Heart

by Susanne Bellamy

  Something niggled in her brain but the thought was elusive as his mouth captured hers. A second button popped open. His fingers brushed her neck—her bare neck—and she shuddered at the deliciousness of his touch on her skin. The firm fit of her wool-knit bathing suit loosened. She moved her head and her tangled hair caught on a button. The tug pulled her out of her dreamy state to full awareness. Luc was undressing her. One more button and he’d feel and see the scars she’d hidden for so long.

  She wrenched her mouth from his and pushed backwards off his lap. “No, Luc. Don’t, please.”

  His eyes flew open, and he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t—you mustn’t—I—” Tears pricked her eyes and she tipped her head back, refusing to let them fall. How could she forget where she was and whom she was with?

  He reached out to touch her and she held out a hand to stop him. He dropped his hand to his thigh, his fingers curling into a fist, muscles tensed with leashed power. “I thought we both wanted this. Was I wrong?”

  He was oh, so right. She wanted him like he couldn’t imagine. She gulped down her despair and the longing for him that could never be. “I’m sorry if I misled you, Luc. I’m—not good at relationships.” Under the mass of wet curls, she fumbled, seeking the buttons of her suit. Damn the buttons and damn her for being a fool. What had she expected, coming here with him today?

  “Correct me if I’m wrong but I thought we were both enjoying that kiss. What am I missing here?” His voice was soft and controlled but she recognized the effort he was making to understand her abrupt refusal. Perhaps she had deserved her ex-beau’s insults.

  She gave up searching for the buttons and ran both hands over her hair, smoothing it into place. Somehow she had to slip back into her mask, the one she presented to the rest of the world. The one that said nothing and no one could touch her, while on the inside her stomach flipped and clenched.

  Poor Luc. No wonder he was puzzled at the mixed signals she was sending. “Look, what is it they say in those American movies? ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Well, it is me, Luc. I’m little Miss Frigidaire. You don’t want to tangle with me because you’ll get frostbite.” She tried, God how she tried, to keep the bitterness out of her voice. After all this time, her ex-fiancé’s label still had the power to hurt.

  His gaze narrowed on her face and it was all she could do not to squirm under that concentrated appraisal. “Liar.”

  She pressed her clasped hands to her lips and drew a slow breath to steady herself. The truth couldn’t be ignored or glossed over any longer. She lied to Luc by offering what she couldn’t give him. And she’d lied to herself when she thought she could be with him like this and have nothing happen. Truth was she’d wanted it to happen but it hurt more than she expected to hear him call her on it. Softly, she answered him. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

  “Because you are. You’re not an ice queen. You put on a mask to hide the real you but by God, woman, in my arms you’re heat and passion. There’s not one damned thing about you that’s cold.”

  He was right. In his arms, she was that woman and together they were incendiary. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re hiding scars that you don’t you want the world to see.”

  So gentle, his tone. So inviting to confide her darkest fears and share the burden of her disfigurement. And then what? A happy-ever-after because he felt sorry for her? Sympathy sex was not an option.

  “You know about the scars—I mean—” Words deserted her.

  He frowned and when she dared peek at him, his eyes were fixed on her face. “I was talking about emotional scars from the loss of your family but that’s not what you mean, is it?”

  She drew a shaky breath and shook her head. “No.” Her voice emerged in a whisper, all but lost on the breeze that rippled across the lagoon. Escape was impossible but she needed to get away from Luc and his damned caring tone. She surged to her feet. Luc grabbed her hand and tugged her back into his arms.

  “Stop running, Eva. Whatever your demons, let me help you face them.”

  “Let me go.” She pushed against his chest.

  He wrapped his arms more tightly around her. “I’m not letting go until you answer me. Is that why you wear your hair down all the time? To hide a scar?”

  “None of your damned business.” She bucked and wriggled in vain. His hold on her would not be broken. Oh, God, the irony of it wasn’t lost on her.

  “You hide behind your hair in more ways than one. Why?”

  Persistent, insufferable man. His determination to wrest long-buried secrets from her cracked her resolve. “You want to know—really?” She eased an arm free from his hold. “This is why.” Defiantly, she tugged her hair to one side and turned her back to him. With fingers that trembled on the last button, she flicked it undone.

  And waited.

  The iron band around her heart tightened as she waited for his gasp of horror, his withdrawal from her damaged self. She pressed her lips together. He would not see her cry.

  Resolutely, she kept her back to him and spoke over her shoulder so she didn’t have to see his disgust or, worse, his sympathy. It didn’t matter which now. “I had a fiancé who dumped me faster than you can say Christopher Robin when he learned all he’d gotten for his bargain was an imperfect me and not the manor house. What’s the matter? Have I struck you dumb?”

  “No. But why cover it up?”

  “It’s hideous.” She reached back to draw the edges of her suit together.

  Luc’s hands covered hers, foiling her attempt. He shifted closer behind her, his breath puffing past her ear. “It’s part of who you are. You’re a survivor and you are a beautiful woman.”

  Feather-light, his mouth touched her scarred back in a kiss that stole her breath and shocked her to her core. Eyes closed, Eva tipped her head to accommodate him. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders and eased her onto his lap. Soft lips moved an inch higher and kissed her again, his breath cool across her damp skin. The tenderness of his touch threatened to spill her tears. He trailed his fingers over her bare skin and unwound a curl that had snagged around the buttons then slipped her strap off one shoulder. “I want you, Eva.” Low and sexy, his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Gently, he turned her to face him.

  Her gaze traveled up his face, from his firm jaw to lips that could make her forget the rest of the world. She searched for signs of sympathy, anything that would tell her this wasn’t real. Long lashes framed chocolate-brown eyes afire with lust and longing.

  For me? Yearning for Luc filled her, a wanting so deep, so fierce it was all she could do not to reach for him. Years of hiding and humiliation made it hard to give up the notion that any man could want her. Especially a man like Luc. “How can you bear to look let alone touch—me?”

  “It’s a mark that you survived. Did it happen during the war?”

  Struggling with survivor guilt had been a constant for so long that his perspective turned her self image on its head. Disconcerting, it was also oddly comforting. She nodded. “A bomb in the heart of London killed my parents and Phillip’s wife. I’d gone out the back of the restaurant to the ladies toilet. The bomb that killed them blew the door off the outhouse. Luckily for me, because the roof was on fire. It caved in on me but I was pulled free although not quickly enough to prevent the burns on my back. I had months of operations and rehabilitation before the doctors said there was no more they could do.”

  She closed her eyes as memory swirled back, the noise and confusion, sirens and smoke. And the rats fleeing the nearby sweets factory. And agonizing weeks lying on her front when any touch was torture.

  Softly, he cupped her cheek, his touch banishing the painful memories. His voice recalled her to the present and soothed an ache she’d carried far too long. “I’m sorry for your losses, but you can’t let that guilt ruin your life or stop you being intimate. You are a very beautiful woman and your scar is part of who you are. You deserv
e to be loved and I want to make love to you. Now.”

  No longer wanting or able to hide, she opened her eyes. He kneeled before her and he was real and glorious and he desired her.

  “Eva?”

  Every hidden desire she’d ever craved was wrapped up in Luc. “Yes.”

  She melted into his arms. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss like she’d never known. Nerve ends tingled beneath his touch and her wanton body, starved of a lover’s touch, clamored for skin on skin contact. With a tenderness at odds with the demands of his lips on hers, he eased her onto the blanket and lowered himself over her. He drew back a little and she missed his body heat as he rested on his forearms and waited until she opened her eyes. “Do you trust me, Eva?”

  Lost in lust, it took several heartbeats to register what he was asking. Did she trust him?

  “If you’ve got any doubts tell me now because soon I won’t be able to stop.”

  She looked into his face and saw desire and tenderness, saw Luc, who had been there for her and Seb from the beginning. He’d been there when she needed him and he was here now, needing her, wanting to make love to her. With her.

  “No doubts, Luc. Make love to me.”

  He donned protection and then he kissed her lips, trailed kisses down her neck, along the neckline of her bathing suit. Easing it off her shoulders, his mouth explored every inch of her body until she could take no more. The ridge of his erection pressed against her thigh, steel covered in satin, hard against her softness. Her last coherent thought before she imploded was to take him into her body. “Now, I need you, now.”

  “Thank, God.” He pulled her leg around his hip and entered in one hard thrust, groaning as her tight sheath welcomed him. He filled her body and soul, and she felt beautiful.

  ***

  Eva gathered the sarong to her chest, passed the length behind her and back to the front. Two quick twists of the ends around one another and she knotted it behind her neck.

  “Like Dorothy Lamour in the Road movies.” Luc chuckled and tugged her into his arms. His expression became serious. “Promise me you won’t hide anymore? Don’t let how you think others might react dictate how you live your life.”

  “Right now, I feel like I could conquer a mountain.”

  He kissed her slowly, his lips soft and sweet like spring rain and rested his forehead against hers. “Much as I don’t want to, we need to leave. This helicopter’s not equipped for flying at night and you have a meeting to catch. Come on.”

  He took her hand and stepped off the blanket, stooped and grabbed one end. “Mind your eyes.” He moved downwind from her and shook it.

  She scooped the barely touched picnic food into the hamper and watched the muscles in his back as he folded the blanket. Her mouth curved into an involuntary smile. Picnicking on Luc would make any day better.

  He turned and their gazes met. He must have sensed the direction of her thoughts. A low growl erupted from him and purred right through her. “Keep looking at me like that, woman, and we might not be leaving here tonight.”

  Warmth rushed into her cheeks and her breath caught in her throat. Yes, please.

  “Eva, I’m serious. I’m within an inch of making love to you again. Is that what you want? To spend the night here on the beach with me?”

  “I’m willing.”

  A muscle spasmed in his cheek and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He folded his arms across his still bare chest. “But I’m not. Think of your reputation.”

  “Then put on your damned shirt and stop tormenting me.”

  “Is that all it takes to turn you on? I must remember for next time.” He donned his shirt, taking his sweet time to adjust it around his shoulders. Still unbuttoned, he looked across at her and grinned. “Better?”

  She strolled across the sand and stopped in front of him, her body close but not quite touching his. Bare chest beckoned and she traced a pathway down the center to his belly button. A whorl of dark hair surrounded it and continued beneath the waistband of his swimming trunks. Pausing at his navel, she walked her fingers around the edge then snapped the band of his trunks. “Two can play at that game, Luc. Remember that.”

  With a toss of her head she turned and sashayed away in her best imitation of Dorothy Lamour. “Are you coming?”

  “Retribution will be so sweet.” If the low rumble of his voice was any indication, their next encounter promised to be very sweet. Her body thrummed in expectation and she understood the appeal of Mae West’s characters. It was a pity they had to leave just as she learned to spread her wings.

  “Big talk,” she called over her shoulder and headed up the beach. Near their landing spot, her foot scraped against a solid object in the sand. A small conch, perfect in shape and coloring, lay partially revealed. She picked it up and shook it. Pale pink inside and with a fluted lip, it would sit on her desk at home, a beautiful reminder of a perfect day.

  As she strolled back to the chopper, Luc slung the hamper and blanket behind his seat and secured them. He checked his watch and turned to the sea beyond the lagoon. “We’d better get underway. As it is, we’ll be cutting it fine to get back for your meeting. Are you ready?”

  She nodded and climbed into her seat. He shut her door and walked around to his side, then stopped and frowned, lifting his head.

  “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “I’ve got to check underneath.” He disappeared below the helicopter.

  Eva jumped onto the sand and kneeled beside him. “What’s that wet patch near your elbow? And that smell. Is this machine supposed to smell like that?”

  “No.” He ran his fingers along a length of tubing, stopped and leaned closer to examine it. His brow crinkled and his eyes narrowed at the length of tube in his hands. He ran a finger around where it joined the body of the engine and rubbed his thumb and finger together. “This hose looks like it’s been tampered with. There’s a slit up close to the tank that’s allowed oil to seep out as the engine cooled.”

  “Where? Show me.” Eva wriggled in closer.

  “It’s a fine, clean cut. Most likely made with a knife.”

  A knife making sparks on a whetstone. A blade tossed in the air and deftly caught.

  As the images flashed through her mind she sucked in a breath and gagged on the stink of aviation fuel. She pushed backwards, banged her head on a metal strut and fell onto a patch of damp sand. Stomach churning, she stumbled several yards into the bushes. Damn it, she was not going to throw up in front of Luc.

  Leaves rustled behind her and his hand rested on her shoulder. He squeezed it gently, reassuring her by simple touch that he was there for her. “Are you okay?”

  Hands pressed to her stomach, she turned and faced him. “The smell. It got to me. I’m okay now.”

  Except for the fact of a knife-cut to their oil line. Deliberate and calculated to ensure that, one way or another, they didn’t return home. Was it intended to kill them or to delay them and buy someone time? To do what?

  “Am I being paranoid or has the helicopter been sabotaged?”

  His gaze rested on hers and a frown formed between his brows.

  “I’m a big girl. I can cope with whatever it is you’re thinking.” At least, she could cope while Luc was around to wrap her in his arms and keep the world at bay.

  “Honestly? I can’t see how that damage could be anything but deliberate.”

  “Do you think we were meant to crash?” Heart thudding painfully in her chest, breath trapped in her lungs, she waited for his answer. Did someone want them—her—dead? Who knew they were flying today, aside from their families and their workers? “I told Seb and Stefan where we were going but no one else.”

  Luc took her into his arms and stroked her hair off her face. His touch released something inside and she sagged against him. In his arms, nothing bad would happen. All she had to do was stay there forever. “I doubt it. Whoever cut that line didn’t want us returning in a hurry though. If we’d flown on to the
volcano first we might have had to make an emergency landing. I’m rather glad we decided to stop here for our picnic.” He kissed her forehead.

  “So, cut oil line, eh?”

  A ghost of a grin softened the stern line of his lips. “Would you believe we’ve run out of gas?”

  “And I thought that only happened in the movies.”

  “We’re not going to get back tonight. I’m sorry.”

  “We’re safe and help will come soon.” She reached up and stroked the side of his face. Five o’clock shadow bristled under her touch. What would it feel like on that sensitive skin between her thighs? “Will anyone come looking for us? I mean, when we don’t return by sunset.”

  “They won’t be able to do anything until morning. There’s no helicopters capable of making night flights at the airport. And the rock walls around the lagoon mean we can’t radio out either. We’re here for the night.”

  “But you logged a flight plan, didn’t you?”

  “Someone will be here in the morning.”

  Her body exulted in the knowledge. They were safe. While the thought of what might have happened was scary, she had a whole night with Luc. “Then it’s a good thing we’ve got plenty of food. Do you want to drag out that hamper and blanket again? We’re going to need them.”

  “Good idea. We’ll set up camp where we had lunch.” He released her and turned to look beyond the opening of the lagoon.

  She followed his gaze. Whitecaps sparkled in late afternoon sunlight while around their sleepy lagoon, shadows lengthened.

  “Gather whatever wood you can find. I’m going to set off a flare from the rocks on the beach, just in case any late flights are heading in. I won’t be long.” He pulled out the emergency kit from the helicopter, removed a flare and tucked a box of matches into his shirt pocket. Grim-faced, he frowned, and then added a knife to his stash before heading off through the opening to the beach.

  Goose bumps marched down her arms and Eva shivered. Seeing the knife in his hands brought memories of the bad things that had happened crashing around her.