Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  And the amazing thing was that he could remember her. So she belonged in his life from the time before his memory had been wiped away.

  Becca—Rebecca Ainsworth. The woman he had met at a party in London and who had knocked him for six from the moment he had first set eyes on her.

  And the woman he must still be having a passionate relationship with—Theos, but he hoped it was passionate!—or else why would she have turned up here like this?

  ‘So what took you so long?’

  The look of shock combined with blank astonishment on her fine features told him better than his own ears how aggressive and hostile he had sounded. That was the result of the sudden, violent tug of attraction throwing him off balance with its hint of how things had once been—in the life he could no longer remember.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he added automatically. ‘I don’t find it easy living with everyone knowing more about me than I do myself. It’s just a relief to see a familiar face.’

  But then something about the way she looked, some movement of her head, a flash of wariness in her eyes, hastily concealed, set his nerves on edge and had him clamping his jaw tight shut on the anger that almost escaped him.

  Had he got things wrong? Was Becca here because of what was still between them or had Leander decided to call her as a way of getting round the doctor’s unwelcome suggestion that he have a nurse? If that was the case, then the way that Andreas’ explicit instructions had been so blatantly ignored made anger well up inside him.

  ‘We are still together, aren’t we? Or are you just here as the damn nurse?’

  ‘Am—I …?’

  Becca’s thoughts spun as she saw the way that Andreas’ face had changed. It seemed as if in the few brief moments since he had opened his eyes and focused on her sitting there, watching him, he had swung from one extreme of mood to another with such devastating speed that she had difficulty interpreting his feelings or keeping up with each new change.

  Disbelief she had been prepared for, suspicion too. After all, they had parted on such terrible terms that she couldn’t imagine that he would truly be happy to see her, even though she had been told that he had asked for her. The last memory she had of him was of him standing in the doorway of his villa, this villa, watching her walk away, his face set into stony, unyielding lines, rejection stamped into every muscle in his tautly held body. She had known without even glancing back that his arms were folded tight across his broad chest, his powerful body filling the door space, blocking it, so that there was no hope of her getting back into the house if she had been foolish enough even to try.

  But she hadn’t tried. Even if she had wanted to, she knew she would be a fool to consider it. One glance into those cruel black eyes, seeing the hatred and the dark fury that had burned there, had been enough to keep her feet moving doggedly forward, even though tears blinded her eyes until she could hardly see the path in front of her. And even without that black fury, she had vowed that she was never going back. Never.

  ‘I married you for sex—for that and nothing else,’ he had said, and from somewhere deep in her soul she had dragged up a fierce, savage hatred for Andreas. A hatred that burned away all the love she thought she had felt for him and left it shrivelled into ashes in what remained of her heart. She had clung on to that hatred, and fuelled it by reminding herself over and over and over just what he had said, the way he hadn’t believed her.

  And that hatred, that fury had been enough to get her out of there and into the taxi that he had called to take her away.

  It was only when the car had rounded the corner out of sight of the villa that she had let the bitter tears fall.

  But it seemed from his behaviour now that Andreas remembered nothing of that. It was the only explanation she could think of for the way he was behaving.

  Memory problems, Leander had said and, tense and jittery with nerves, she hadn’t thought to ask for details of what had happened. Now it seemed that she might have to face the fact that to Andreas she was the woman he had known—what? A year before? Fifteen months? It couldn’t be much more than that because they had married after only four months together.

  But it seemed that that wedding and the dreadful events that had followed it had been wiped from his mind. He obviously recalled nothing about their break up—or the reasons for it. So how was she to cope with that—and how was she to behave now?

  ‘Well?’

  The question was snapped out curtly. She’d hesitated too long. Patience had never been a virtue that Andreas Petrakos held in high esteem and it seemed that that at least hadn’t changed.

  ‘Has Leander brought you in to act as the nurse they threatened me with?’

  ‘Do you see having a nurse to look after you as a threat?’ Becca hedged, unable to control the way an instinctive smile curled up the corners of her mouth.

  Of course Andreas saw the idea of having anurse to look after him as some sort of imposition—a threat. He’d hate the thought of needing to be looked after in any way at all. And his pride would make him fight against the prospect of that happening.

  The look her instinctive teasing brought her stabbed like a stiletto. Not because of any anger in it, but because there was a gleam in those deep black eyes that told her he’d caught the faint shake of laughter in her words, the twitch of her mouth.

  It was an expression that forced memories from the back of Becca’s mind where she had tried to hide them away for so very long. Memories of a time when she had thought that she couldn’t be happier; when she had believed that this stunning, devastating man had actually loved her as much as she had loved him. She had been very definitely and very bitterly disillusioned.

  ‘I told the doctor I didn’t need any nurse fussing over me.’

  ‘But you haven’t—been well.’

  To her despair, her voice caught on the words, something sharp and uncomfortable twisting in her heart at the thought of the powerful, muscled body before her being bruised and torn in the car accident she had been told about. Even as she spoke, he shifted uncomfortably, and the movement revealed more bruising, this time along his ribs, and down to the lean waist.

  She would feel that way about anyone who was injured, she tried to assure herself. All that it was was a natural compassion for anyone who had been hurt. There was nothing left in her heart to make it any more.

  ‘The hospital believed I was well enough to be sent home, and I do not need any further attention!’

  ‘Not even from someone who doesn’t fuss?’

  What was she doing? Becca’s thoughts reeled as she heard what she’d actually said. She’d practically offered to take on the job of caring for him. And to her horror that was what Andreas obviously thought too.

  ‘You’re saying you’ll never fuss over me?’

  The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, put a gleam in those deep, dark eyes. He couldn’t be flirting with her—could he? The contrast with the memory of the way that she had last seen those black eyes, burning with an icy flame of hatred, made her shift uncomfortably in her seat.

  ‘No …’

  Too unsettled now to sit still, Becca got to her feet, wanting to move restlessly about the room, then suddenly thinking better of her actions and returning to perch awkwardly on the arm of the chair.

  ‘I … I’m not saying that.’

  ‘Then what are you saying?’

  Andreas’ tone had sharpened as his eyes followed her uneasy movements.

  ‘I’m not …’

  The words shrivelled into nothing, drying her mouth so that she had to slick a nervous tongue over her parched lips as she tried to find some sort of answer to give him.

  She didn’t know this Andreas—or, rather, she had known him once but so briefly and so unbelievably that she had to struggle to remember it.

  He hadn’t flirted with her when they had first met. Then he had been focused, determined, his devastating personal power concentrated totally on her, so strongly that she
had found it almost impossible to breathe.

  Certainly, it just hadn’t seemed possible that this stunning man, this multi-multimillionaire with everything in the world that he wanted—a hundred times over—and every woman in the world prepared to fall at his feet could possibly want anything to do with plain, simple, unimpressive Rebecca Ainsworth.

  And it seemed that Rebecca Ainsworth was whom he remembered. Not the fact that she had ever become Rebecca Petrakos. She didn’t know what she could tell him about what had happened in the time he couldn’t recall, but there had to be something. If she announced now, starkly and matter-of-factly that she was his wife—his alienated wife, the wife he had thrown out of his home with the furious order never, ever even to think of coming back there—did she even know if he would believe her?

  She remembered once being told how an amnesia victim ‘forgot’ the time they didn’t want to remember. That the condition could be as much psychological as it was physical. And if that was the case, had Andreas forgotten her because he couldn’t bear to remember that they had been married? Some time soon, inevitably, he must get his memory back properly. And then he would know only too well just who she was.

  Her heart lurched painfully at the thought. But still she wasn’t brave enough to give him the truth and risk her instant dismissal.

  ‘Andreas, you know I’m not one to fuss unnecessarily,’ was all she could manage uncomfortably.

  ‘Then I’m glad you’re here to save me from someone who might.’

  Andreas’ tone said that that was the end of the matter, no chance of discussion, and she was still wondering just how she could take this any further when he shifted in the bed, pulling himself up even more against the pillows.

  ‘Come here.’

  It was pure Andreas; pure command. If he had snapped his fingers he couldn’t have made it any more autocratic. In spite of herself, Becca pushed herself up from the arm of the chair, turning towards him, then hesitated when she saw the way that the powerful hands had closed over the bed coverings, about to throw them back. ‘What are you doing?’

  Her voice went up at the end of the sentence, revealing her shock and unease. When they had been together Andreas had always slept naked and the thought that he might reveal more of his powerful body than he was doing already made her blood run hot and then cold as if she was in the grip of some dangerous fever.

  ‘I have to get up.’

  The black eyes that met her shocked blue ones were wide and steady. No trace of anything other than straightforward openness lurked in their depths and his mouth showed no hint of quirking into any sort of a smile. Any double meanings or ulterior motives were in her own mind, her uncomfortable conscience making her edgy.

  ‘And as I’m not yet as steady on my feet as I’d like to be, it might be advisable if my nurse—you—was close at hand in case of any problems.’

  At least he was wearing pyjama trousers, Becca realised on a shudder of relief as the way that Andreas flung back the coverings revealed his long legs covered in navy-blue cotton. But with his chest and arms bare, there was still far too much of the beautiful olive-toned skin on display for her personal comfort.

  Before the accident, he must have been working out more than ever because every inch of his upper torso was taut and toned, the muscles sharply defined, and there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on the powerful ribcage, the narrow waist. The soft hazing of jet-black hair reminded her painfully of the way that she had loved to smooth her fingertips over its softness, feeling the contrast between it and the satin skin beneath.

  Should she offer a hand to help him? Her pulse jerked at the thought of his fingers closing over hers, her throat drying painfully so that she had to swallow hard to relieve it. After all these months apart from him, she had managed to convince herself that her response to Andreas’ hardcore male sexuality had been a form of mental aberration, a brief spell of madness that had taken her over, driving her out of her sane mind and into a world in which her normal, controlled responses no longer ruled her actions.

  But now all she had had to do was to come into his presence once again—to move closer at his arrogant command—and suddenly it was all happening all over again. It was as if she breathed in the intoxicating drug of seduction simply by being in the same atmosphere as him, drawn to him irresistibly, her senses drugged into instant submission. And coming close to him only made it so much worse. She could catch the intimately personal scent of his skin, see the way that the sunlight glinted on his silky black hair as he moved his head …

  ‘Here …’

  Her voice was gruff and ungracious, made that way by the discomfort of her thoughts as she held out an arm to offer him support. Just at the last minute she suddenly had a loss of nerve that had her angling it so that her forearm, covered in the white cotton of her jacket, came closest to him rather than the bare skin of her hand.

  ‘Thank you … I think.’

  Andreas’ tone of voice, the slightly cynical twist to his beautiful mouth, told her that he had noticed her hesitation, and the careful adjustment, and misinterpreted her reasons for it.

  ‘You were not joking when you said that you don’t intend to fuss.’ ‘I’m sorry—I …’

  Whatever she had been about to say vanished from her mind as she felt him take hold of the support she offered, strong fingers closing around her upper arm, the heat of his palm searing her skin through the soft cotton. It was as if he had attached a live electrical lead to her skin and the resulting current had raced along every nerve, fusing her thoughts. And when he put his weight onto his grip and got to his feet she was lost completely.

  ‘Andreas …’

  His name left her lips in an involuntary gasp as a response burned its way up to her brain and flashed heated memories that she had tried to erase onto a screen in her mind. From nowhere came images of the way that he had touched her before, the effect that the feel of his hand on hers had created—the things that it had led to. Her skin tingled in response to those imagined caresses, her mouth dried in wanting, longing for the feel of his lips on hers, and a rush of liquid heat flooded into her innermost core.

  Without being aware of it she swayed towards him in a moment of desperate weakness, only catching herself as the movement brought her so close to the lean, powerful body that she could catch the scent of his skin, still warm from the bed, inhale the clean, masculine essence of him and feel it burn all the way down her senses. The hyper-efficient air-conditioning in the room became less than useless as a fire of response raged through her body.

  The truth was that a tiny part of her wanted him to realise who she was—wanted to have the real facts out in the open and done with. But at the same time she was terrified of the repercussions of that, personally and healthwise. Until she knew just what had been said about this memory loss that Andreas was suffering from, whether it was temporary or permanent, and what the doctors had recommended, she didn’t dare take any risks. And on a personal level, as soon as he realised who she was then how would he react? Would he even let her stay or would he throw her out of the house as he had done barely a year ago, with the words, ‘If I never see you again it will still be too soon,’ echoing in her ears?

  ‘Becca …’

  Andreas’ tongue seemed to curl around the syllables, turning them into a very different sound from the one she was used to. Hot tears burned at the backs of her eyes, threatening her hard-won composure with the memory of hearing him say her name in that special way as she had lain in his arms, her head pillowed on the broad expanse of his chest, hearing the heavy thud of his heart slow gradually from the hectic pace created by the fierce passion of their lovemaking.

  She didn’t know if her own heart was jolting in sensual response to her memories, his touch or panic-stricken fear of the possible repercussions if—when—he realised how their relationship had changed from the one he believed it was.

  ‘Becca …’ he said again and her shocked senses, dangerously alert to e
verything about him, caught the change in tone, the slight thickening of his accent on her name, the faint roughness of his voice that told her without words that his mood had changed.

  Curiosity had given way to interest, annoyance blending into awareness so swiftly that only someone who knew him well would notice.

  But Becca knew this side of the man too well. It was the Andreas she knew more than any other. The sexually driven man who had taught her all she knew about passion, about desire—and most of all about pleasure. She knew that when his eyes darkened so much that they seemed all black, when his voice rasped in his throat in just that way, that he was turned on, hotly aroused by what he saw.

  And she had enough experience of seeing this response to know when it was directed at her …

  ‘An—Andreas…’ she tried, her voice shaking and sounding almost as rough as his.

  He shook his head, slowly, silently, his eyes dropping down to watch her mouth as she spoke.

  And she knew that look too. Knew the way his own mouth had opened very slightly, the slow, heavily indrawn breath. He wanted to kiss her. Wanted it so much that it absorbed all his thoughts, took all his concentration.

  He wanted to kiss her and she wanted him to do just that.

  Her whole body was one stinging burn of awareness from the toes that curled inside her soft leather sandals to the prickling lift of each tiny hair on her scalp. She barely felt the point at which his hand was clamped around her arm, the warmth of his palm lost in the rush of heat that scoured her skin, stripping away one much-needed protective layer and leaving her raw and yearning beneath.

  But who would he be kissing? The woman he had once asked to be his wife, then flung his wedding vows in her face as he rejected her and forced her out of his house before they had even been married for twenty-four hours? The woman he couldn’t remember. Or would he kiss the girlfriend—the mistress—he believed she was? The woman he didn’t remember ever asking to marry him.