‘Water …’ she said firmly, hoping she sounded more confident than she actually was as she headed into the kitchen.
He didn’t need a drink—well, definitely not water, Andreas reflected as Becca marched into the kitchen, hunted around and found some bottled water in the fridge, but if she wanted to get him water then he was quite happy to let her. Anything so that he could watch her, enjoy the sway of her hips in the delicate blue dress as she walked, the way her breasts swung gently as she bent down to look in the fridge, the neat, precise movements of those soft hands—the hands he still remembered resting on his when she’d stood beside his bed—as she twisted open the bottle of water.
The truth was that he enjoyed sitting here and watching her move around his home, letting her take care of him. He was even enjoying his body’s instinctive reaction to having her around. The insistent clamour of his senses, the way he became hard just watching her might be frustrating and uncomfortable on one level, but at least he felt alive in a way that he hadn’t known since the accident. She was a hell of a lot more attractive than Leander or Medora, his devoted but matronly housekeeper. Medora might be the closest thing he had ever had to a mother, but she wasn’t a delight to watch like this woman.
This beautiful woman.
This beautiful, sexy woman.
This beautiful, sexy woman whom he wanted more than …
Hell and damnation, how could he say that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted her in the time they had been together, when he only remembered the smallest part of that time? The first weeks after they had met. And the most vivid memory he had of that time was of wanting this woman in his bed, just as he did now.
So was anything different in any way? He just knew that he wanted her so badly that it had made him act like a fool.
Andreas sighed and raked both his hands through his hair as he went back over the way he had behaved, the way that he had lost his temper so completely when he had seen Becca with Leander. Seen them talking together—laughing—flirting, he had believed. His anger had been like a red mist before his eyes. A burning mist that had pushed him into action without stopping to think.
But now that he’d calmed down he was going to have to apologise to his PA for snarling at him like a savagely jealous dog guarding a particularly juicy bone.
Andreas’ mouth twisted wryly.
Jealous?
Was that how he felt when he was jealous? The problem was that he had nothing to compare it with. He couldn’t honestly say if he had ever felt like that before. Had he ever been reduced to that sort of fury because he thought someone else had what he wanted? Had he set out to ruin a good thing because he felt so savagely angry?
Because Becca could be a good thing. He didn’t need to have any past reference points to tell him that; the effect that she had on him—on his body—on his senses—in the present was quite enough.
And he didn’t need telling that that was why he had been so blackly angry. Because he wanted her so damn much that it had clouded his judgement.
He’d make it right with Leander tomorrow. But he’d also make it clear that the younger man should keep his hands off. Becca was his and he wouldn’t allow anyone else to interfere.
She was coming back towards him now, the glass in her hand, and if the back view had been good then the front was so much better. The determination in her walk drew attention to those slender, curving hips and under the soft cotton her even softer breasts moved in a way that made his mouth dry. Her head was held high, stubborn little chin tilted deliberately and the fire in her eyes made him smile to himself at the enticing prospect of the battle to come.
‘Your water.’
Becca thrust the glass at him without finesse or ceremony and only the fact that his reflexes were swift and accurate stopped it from upending all over him.
‘I prefer it in the glass,’ he murmured drily, earning himself an expected glare of reproof that made those sea-coloured eyes flash like polished gems. The trite cliché ‘You’re beautiful when you’re angry’ hovered on his lips but he swallowed it down with a sip of the water, opting for not provoking her any further, and murmured carefully polite thanks instead.
‘You’re welcome,’ Becca retorted in a voice that made a nonsense of the courteous reply. ‘Enjoy your drink.’
It was as she swung away from him, turning on her heel with a dismissive little gesture of one hand, that he suddenly had the clear idea that he knew exactly what she was going to do. Her determined steps towards the door confirmed as much, making his lips twitch in suppressed amusement.
‘Are you going somewhere?’
She spared him another of those swift, flashing glares over her shoulder.
‘To my room—to pack, seeing as you’ve made it so plain that you don’t want me here. It would have been easier if you’d told me before I emptied my case.’
He let her get right to the door, waiting a carefully calculated moment, watching for the almost imperceptible hesitation in the fingers that reached for the handle … closed over it … flung it open…
‘You can stay,’ he said quietly, stopping her dead halfway out the door.
For a second or two he thought she hadn’t heard. Her foot was actually still held out in front of her, preparing to take the next step. But then, very slowly and silently, she lowered it to the ground, and stood still.
‘What did you say?’ she asked, not looking at him but staring straight ahead of her, into the now shadowy hallway. ‘I said you can stay.’
For a moment Becca couldn’t move. She felt as if she didn’t know what to think—how to think. She had the strangest feeling as if time had suddenly gone backwards and she and Andreas were back in the past, in the time when they had been together, before they were married.
Her strategy had worked exactly as she had planned it would. She had called his bluff, made it appear that she was about to leave, and he had let her get so far and then called her back. He was going to let her stay.
She should feel triumphant—she should feel happy. Andreas’ change of heart meant that she could have a hope of talking to him about Daisy—about the money so desperately needed to give her baby niece a chance of life. But she only knew a tiny glimmer of triumph and her other feelings were so complicated and mixed up that they kept her frozen, her eyes wide and sightless. Before she could talk to him about Daisy he would have to recover his memory and the momentary glimpse she had just had into a past where they had been together—happy together—tore at her heart with the reminder of how it would be when he recalled the truth. He had thrown her out of the house, out of his life, because he believed she was only after his money. The thought of his reaction when he learned that she was only here now because of money again drained the blood from her limbs, making her legs tremble beneath her.
‘Becca? Did you hear what I said?’
She had hesitated too long, arousing Andreas’ suspicions. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of the fact that he had got up fromhis chair, looked as if he was about to come towards her.
‘Yes, I heard.’
Slowly she turned back to face him, her expression carefully blank.
‘You want me to stay as your nurse or as…?’
She couldn’t find a word to express the alternative—lover—partner—mistress—wife?—and so she just let the sentence trail off unfinished.
‘As whatever you want.’
Then an arrogant flick of his hand dismissed the question.
‘Definitely not my nurse! You know what I think of that idea. So why don’t you just stay—as my guest? Then if you think you need to keep an eye on me you can.’
‘And what would I do the rest of the time?’
‘Oh, I feel sure that we will think of something.’
‘Like what?’ Becca demanded, eyeing him warily.
A note in his voice told her that the flirtatious mood of a short time before had not, as she had thought, evaporated when she’d called his bluff
by heading for the door. In fact every instinct she had ever had where this man was concerned was screaming at her that the lazy sensuality of his smile was deceptive in its indolence. The black eyes might be hooded and partially hidden under heavy lids but she could see enough of the gleam in them to know that his thoughts were not on the idea of her taking care of him—in the nursing a convalescent meaning of the words, at least.
‘Like this,’ Andreas murmured with misleading softness and before she was even aware of the fact that he had anything planned, or could even think of taking any avoidance moves, he took several long, firm strides forward, covering the distance between them in a matter of seconds.
This time she had no warning. This time there was no change in his voice, no hint from the look in his eyes. This time he took her completely by surprise and so instantly had the upper hand, with total control over the situation.
‘Like this,’ he said again, low and rough.
His hand came under her chin, holding it tight. He lifted her face towards his and his mouth came down hard on hers, taking it in a burning, searing kiss that made her thought processes stop dead, then shatter into a million tiny fragments.
She couldn’t think; she could only feel. And what she felt was heat. The heat of his mouth, his breath on her skin. The heat of his arms coming round her, that long, powerful body so very close to hers. But it wasn’t just a physical heat that blazed through her. There was the burning fire of response, the sensation of her blood temperature climbing higher and higher with each accelerated beat of her heart. Her whole system was going into meltdown, her mind seeming to cease to exist, her nerves, her skin, even her bones becoming molten with desire so that she sagged against him, unable to hold herself upright, and it was only the strength of his support around her that kept her from collapsing in a trembling and abandoned heap right at his feet.
‘Andreas—’ she began against the pressure of his lips, but the attempt to speak, to try to form some sort of protest that she was incapable of sustaining, gave him the opportunity he was waiting for.
In the moment that her mouth partly opened, Andreas seized his chance and deepened the kiss with sensual deliberation. Her parted lips were crushed even more under the passion of his, his tongue sliding into the exposed warmth, the soft moisture, tangling with hers in an intimate dance that made her senses swoon, had her fingers closing over his arms, clenching tight.
But this time it wasn’t the need for support that had her holding him close, as close as she could. This time it was pure physical need that made her clutch at him this way. The need to feel his lean, hard frame against hers, feel the pressure of the strong bones of his chest, his ribcage against her breasts, the curve of his pelvis cradling her hips. And because of that closeness there was no way she could be unaware of the swell of his forceful erection, hot and hard against her, communicating need and passion in a way that no words ever could.
Cold need and heartless passion.
The icy little voice of reason slid into her mind, stopping the heat of her reaction dead, so fast that it made her head spin.
Andreas Petrakos was totally capable of coming on full and hard with his mouth, his tongue, his body, when no part at all of his mind was involved—and least of all his heart!
Hadn’t he shown that when he had brought her here the first time, just after their marriage? When he had brought her into the house, barely stopping to shut the door as he went through it. When he had kissed her as they mounted the stairs and taken her into the bedroom, his mouth practically welded to hers. And with his hands hotly, hungrily busy on her body, finding the fastenings of her clothing blind, dealing with them with rough haste, discarding them like a Hansel and Gretel trail leading from the hallway to his room.
And in that room he had made the hottest, most ardent, most passionate love in the world to her, waking a matching hunger in every inch of her quivering body, showing her pleasures she had never believed possible, taking her to heights of ecstasy she had never known before.
Before dropping her right down to earth again with a sickening, agonising thud, just a few, devastatingly short hours later. She still had the scars on her heart where his black cruelty had slashed into it.
And with the memory everything inside her froze in an instant. The rush of heat that had flooded her body ebbed away as fast—faster—than it had come, taking all the passion with it.
‘Becca?’
Andreas had sensed her withdrawal, her stillness, and his kisses stopped, adding another terrible sensation to the thousands of whirling feelings in Becca’s head and in her heart.
‘No …’
It was all that she could manage and it was just a whisper. A thin thread of sound that did nothing to express what she really felt deep inside: the searing agony of loss, the desperation of knowing that she was so weak—too weak—the bitter despair of knowing that Andreas had only to touch her, to kiss her and she had fallen into his arms, into his control like a foolish child, one that had not yet learned that fire burned—again and again and again.
‘No …’ she tried again, managing to make it actually sound like a word this time. But she still couldn’t put any real force into it. She still couldn’t make it sound like the word that was ringing inside her head, screaming to be heard.
No, no, no, no! that voice said. Loud and clear and savagely honest. A voice that no one could doubt she meant.
But that voice was the voice of panic. The voice of pain. The voice of the woman who had once loved this man so desperately that she had rushed into marriage with him without stopping to think. It was the voice of the woman whose heart he had broken. The voice of the woman whose love had turned to hatred in the black, terrible moments as she forced herself to walk away from him—fighting a cruel bitter war with her longing to turn back, to see him just once more.
It was the voice of the woman that she couldn’t let Andreas see.
Not now, not ever, at least until he had his memory back and he knew once more who she was. Not until she had had a chance to talk to him, to ask him for help for Daisy. To save the baby’s life.
And even then she couldn’t—wouldn’t ever let him see just what he had done to her. She couldn’t let him begin to guess how much he had destroyed her life.
And she most definitely couldn’t do it now.
‘No?’
For a moment she thought it was still her own voice screaming inside her head. But then on a jolt of her heart, she realised that it was Andreas and that he had put a darkly questioning note onto the word.
One that meant she had to find an explanation for her sudden change of mood. A reason why she had been a willing, an eager partner one moment and then slammed the brakes on hard the next. And even in her own mind, looking at her actions, she saw with a shiver how her behaviour might be interpreted. How it could seem that she didn’t know her own mind or—worse—was some sort of tease who had now decided to call a sudden halt.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU—upstairs—you said you thought this was a bad idea.’
Looking into his face, she felt her heart skip a beat as she saw the way he frowned, the black, straight brows snapping together over the brilliant eyes. Eyes that she could see were burning with frustration, with refusal to admit the need to stop. For a second she thought that he was going to argue with her but then, slowly, he nodded…
‘It is a bad idea when I don’t know who I am or the first thing about our past together. And you’re not going to tell me about that, are you?’
That at least was easy to answer, but still Becca couldn’t find any words, only managing a silent shake of her head as a reply.
‘I understand. I know the doctors have said that it’s better I wait for things to come back by themselves—if they come back. And that does complicate matters.’
He might be agreeing with her but he still wasn’t letting her go. And somehow the fact that he wasn’t actually kissing her made the way he was holding her so ti
ght, so close, even more intimate than before.
His voice might be calm and civil, his expression controlled, but there was nothing remotely restrained or civilised in the swollen flesh that pressed so hard against her. And equally primitive was the hungry reaction that was raging through her as senses and nerves tantalised awake by the touch of Andreas’ hand, the force of his kiss, were forced to adjust to the sudden loss of the heated pleasure, and protested wildly at having to do so.
‘But only in that way.’
Black eyes blazed down into Becca’s upturned face, the heat in them seeming to scorch her skin and making her shift uneasily from one foot to another. Andreas’ intense gaze flickered for a moment as he watched the small movement, but he didn’t release her or adjust his position at all. If anything he held her tighter. So tight that she could hear the heavy, powerful thud of his heart so close to her cheek, echoing her own restless pulse rate that refused to settle down into normal again.
‘In every other way it felt right. So right that I don’t want it to stop …’
He was drawing her close again but then, for a moment, his voice hesitated, that intent focus of his eyes seeming to blur and look clouded.
‘Andr …’ Becca began then let the rest of his name evaporate in a rush of sheer panic. Her heart seemed to stop, actually stand still and then lurch back into movement at a violent, uneven pace as the reason for his sudden abstraction hit home like a blow to her mind.
Was he remembering her? Starting to recall anything about his past—and about the part she had played in it?
Upstairs, in the bedroom, in the moment she had known that he wanted to kiss her and before he had run his hand down her cheek in the gesture that had torn at her heart, he had had just this sort of a look on his face. His eyes had seemed to become unfocused then as if his thoughts were not on the present but somewhere else, in the past, in the life he could not remember.
And that was what she wanted—wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
Ultimate Heroes Collection Page 21