The fact that she was head over heels in love with him, crazy about him in a way that made her a fool to herself, weakened all her defences and left her totally vulnerable where he was concerned. That she hadn’t been able to say no to the thought of being with him just one last time.
‘A mad moment?’ she said flippantly, trying desperately to distract him from the way that he was thinking. ‘After all, we were always good—great together that way. You said it yourself—no one ever made you as hot as I do.’
The way his black brows drew together in a dark frown alerted her to the fact that she’d said something he didn’t like. And she winced inwardly as she realised just what it was.
He’d flung those exact words at her in the appalling row on the day of their marriage, destroying all her hopes and dreams in one blow.
I married you for sex—for that and nothing else. No other woman has ever made me feel as hot as you do. ‘A mad moment, hmm …’
He had come too close. If she was not careful, then surely he would see the truth in her face, read it at the backs of her eyes.
‘Mad, certainly, but not totally crazy.’
Andreas flung himself down into the chair opposite and sprawled back against the cushions, long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, elbows resting on the chair arms, long fingers steepled together under his chin.
‘Which is what you’d have to be to have come here just for that.’
His brilliant black gaze seemed to sear into her skull, trying to pull out the truth whether she was prepared to give it to him or not.
‘My, you do think a lot of yourself, don’t you?’ Becca used defiance to try to hide the way she was really feeling. ‘Do you really think that I’d travel all this way just for a quick tumble into bed with you?’
‘No.’
Andreas’ wickedly slow smile told her how easily she had fallen into the trap he had dug right at her feet.
‘I really do not think that—which is why I keep asking the question that you seem to want to go to any lengths possible to avoid. You’re not drinking your coffee,’ he added in a way that sounded like an afterthought but which left Becca very much afraid that he knew exactly why she wasn’t drinking.
‘I don’t fancy it.’
‘The coffee or telling me why you’re here?’
‘Either, if you must know!’
She really had to stop trying to be flippant. It was getting her nowhere and was obviously starting to rile him. The way that he compressed his lips into a thin, hard line told her that he was fighting to hold back the sort of acid retort that would be capable of flaying half the skin from her ears just to hear it.
‘So what is it you have to hide?’
‘Nothing—it’s just…’
‘Rebecca!’ Andreas’ tone was low, almost soft, but it was the softness of the hiss of a hooded python, just before it struck with deadly force, and it made Becca flinch inwardly simply to hear it. ‘Tell me … tell me now why you are here or pack your bags and get out of my life—and this time make it for good.’
If she did that then she would never be able to help Daisy—and she would never be able to see him ever again. Right now, Becca couldn’t begin to think which of those two possibilities hurt most. But then the truth was that when her heart was one mass of pain, how could she tell if any one particular spot was worse than any other?
‘Can’t you guess?’ she muttered, low and uneven.
‘I want you to tell me,’ Andreas returned, face rigid, expression unyielding.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she no longer cared if she sounded desperate; it was how she felt. ‘You always said I’d come back for money and—well, here I am.’
‘You came for money?’ He actually sounded—what? He couldn’t be disappointed but that was the note that was in his voice.
‘Don’t sound so surprised, Andreas—you always knew this would happen! You should have made that bet you wanted—the one where you said that I’d come looking for cash before the year was up. Because you’d have been right. Here I am and it’s money I’m after.’
It was the only way she could get it out. She couldn’t go on her knees and beg. And for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to talk about Daisy—not yet. She didn’t feel strong enough, brave enough, to open herself up to him like that. Not after all that had happened and the brutal damage he had inflicted on her heart. So she’d gone on to the attack, wanting to lash out, repay hurt with hurt.
‘Money for what?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘To me it does.’
‘But you’ve been proved right. That should give you immense satisfaction. I’ve shown myself to be the greedy—’
‘It gives me no satisfaction,’ Andreas cut in, cold and flat. ‘No satisfaction at all. If you want the truth I would rather you had stayed away for ever than that you turned up here like this—for this.’
How the hell could anyone think it would give him satisfaction to be proved right like this? He had once loved this woman, once wanted her to be in his life for ever—and she had betrayed him even before the vows had been spoken.
Wasn’t that what his dream had been about? About the way that he had had warning of what she was really like and yet had gone ahead with their wedding all the same. He had wanted to believe in her, to trust her, to put his faith in the one woman he had ever loved with all his heart. And so because he had loved her he had married her, convinced that the terrible things he had heard about her were lies.
And found out that they were the truth.
Did she think that he really would enjoy going through that hell all over again?
‘So tell me—what is it for? Have you gambled yourself into ruin? Spent a fortune you don’t possess? Developed an appalling cocaine habit?’
‘I would never do that!’ Becca protested, looking horrified that he would even consider it. ‘No, none of those.’
At least that was some sort of a relief. But it still left the other, less endurable reason why she might want the money.
‘Then why do you want the money so badly? Who do you want it for?’
‘Who?’
Becca’s head came up and she stared into his face with obvious confusion clouding her eyes. ‘Who would I—?’
‘Let me make it plain so you have no chance of misunderstanding: tell me that this money is not for him—not for Roy Stanton.’
‘Roy … no—no, it’s not!’
It was almost convincing but he had seen the way that her eyes had dropped, just for a split-second, her sea-coloured gaze sliding away as she gathered herself, thought hastily and then nerved herself to face him again.
‘It’s not for him.’
Andreas couldn’t sit there any longer looking into her beautiful face, into those wide, brilliant eyes, and know she wasn’t telling the truth. He couldn’t stand to watch those soft, full lips frame the lies that made his disgust a fury of rage inside his head.
He didn’t want to remember the number of times he had kissed those lips, all unknowing of the lies that had come to them so easily. He didn’t want to be tempted by the fact that all he had to do was lean forward, take that sexy body into his arms, press his mouth to hers, and in the fiery explosion of sensuality that was sure to follow they would both forget about the reasons why she was here, the past and all that had come between them.
If only he hadn’t taken her to bed this afternoon so that the memory of the passion that could flare between them at a touch was now so fresh in his mind. He only had to look at her and his body ached with need; he was hot and hard just thinking of her. His hands yearned to touch, his lips to kiss, every one of his senses clamoured for appeasement of its hunger. He had tried telling himself that she was not as gorgeous as he remembered, but taking her again after so long had only made him realise how wrong he had been. Once had not been enough—it could never be enough. All it had done was to serve to make him realise how much he wanted her again and a
gain, more than ever before.
The satisfaction he had known in her bed this afternoon had totally evaporated already. It had only been enough to show him that he could never, ever sate himself on this woman, if he was to spend a lifetime trying.
‘Tell the truth, damn you!’ The hungry demands of his body made his words harsher and rougher than before.
Flinging himself to his feet, he made himself move across the room, putting as much distance between himself and Becca as possible, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers to conceal the way they had clenched into tight, angry fists.
‘Don’t lie to me, Rebecca! Never lie to me—not if you want to have any hope of getting what you want.’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘You are if you tell me that Stanton has nothing to do with this.’
That got through to her. Her face went white, all colour deserting her cheeks, and her mouth fell open in shock. So he’d been right in his suspicions. It didn’t make him feel any better to know it. Instead, he felt sick with contempt.
‘I’ll ask you again—does Stanton have anything to do with the reason why you want this money?’
How did she answer that? Becca thought miserably. Because she knew that just mentioning the name Roy Stanton was like setting a match to paper-dry tinder where Andreas was concerned, and she’d tried to dodge the truth once—not actually lying but avoiding answering with strict veracity as far as she could. Now that he’d changed the question, there was no hope she could do that again.
‘Don’t bother to say anything, Rebecca.’
She’d hesitated too long and Andreas had jumped to the inevitable conclusion.
‘I can see your answer in your face.’
She would have sworn that it was impossible for Andreas’ face to close up any tighter, his eyes to get any colder, or his expression any more distant, but somehow he had managed it.
‘I think you’ve had a wasted journey, Rebecca. You should have stayed at home and spared yourself the effort of coming all this way for nothing. You might have thought that deceiving me into believing that you had come to look after me so that you could worm your way into my bed would enslave me sexually again so that I could deny you nothing—’
‘It wasn’t like that!’ Becca protested sharply, but Andreas continued without pausing, speaking over her as if she had never tried to say a thing.
‘Unfortunately for you, I got my memory back before you could really work on me, but I think you should know that you were foolish even to try. I don’t put my head into that sort of noose twice.’
‘I didn’t …’ Becca tried, but Andreas shook his head, his refusal to listen stamped into every line on his face.
‘If you’re wise, you’ll leave it there, Rebecca. You will only make things so much worse if you continue.’
Pulling his hands out of his pockets, where they had been pushed deep all this time, he raked both of them through the black silk of his hair, ruffling it wildly, and Becca bit down hard on her lower lip as a sudden yearning desire to go and smooth it down for him caught her painfully on the raw.
Then he was speaking again, heading for the open patio doors as he did so.
‘I threw you out of my life once because of him, and I’m quite prepared to do it all over again. In fact, I would prefer it if you left now. I’m going for a walk on the beach—and I don’t want to find you here when I get back.’
‘Andreas …’ Becca tried but she was talking to his back. He was moving so fast, with such ruthless determination, that he was already outside, already heading away from her physically when he had been so distant from her mentally all the time.
She couldn’t let him go. Not like this. If she did then any hope of saving baby Daisy were gone for good, and she would rather die than let that happen. She had to try and get him to reconsider.
‘Andreas—please …’
But he continued walking, not even glancing round at her. His long, straight back was held so stiffly upright, his proud head so high, that she could almost see her words bouncing off the invisible walls of defence that he had built around himself.
‘Andreas—don’t …’
She stepped out after him into the heat of the sunny afternoon. ‘The money’s not for me—or for—for him …’
She didn’t dare to actually speak Roy Stanton’s name, knowing the incendiary effect it had on Andreas.
‘It’s for a child—a baby …’
He’d stopped at least. But she still had to get him to turn round. Right now he could still walk on—away from her.
‘Please listen.’
He was turning. Slowly—but he was turning to face her. Her heart leapt with relief, leaving her breathless and shaky.
‘A baby?’
He managed to inject the words with such scepticism, such disbelief that she fully expected him to fling a rejection in her face and move on. She had his attention for now; she had to hold on to it and make him understand.
‘A little girl—Daisy—she’s desperately sick and—’
‘Whose baby?’
It slashed through her words as she struggled to get them out. And at the same time those blazing black eyes seared over her from top to toe, taking in her slender figure, lingering on her waist…
‘No, not mine,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘Daisy’s not my baby—though I love her as if she were. She—she’s my niece. And I would do anything I could to help her.’
‘Niece?’ Andreas echoed as if he did not understand the word. ‘Anepsia? You do not have a niece.’
‘Yes, I do—she’s my sister’s little girl. And before you say that I don’t have a sister,’ Becca rushed on when he opened his mouth, clearly planning to do just that, ‘let me tell you that I do. A half-sister, that is. But I didn’t know about her for years. I only found out about her—quite recently.’
She paused, waiting for Andreas to ask the next question, but he remained silent, hands on narrow hips, black eyes fixed on her face, obviously waiting for her to go on.
‘You know that I’m adopted. That I was born when my biological mother was only sixteen? And my mum and dad adopted me as a tiny baby. I told you…’ she prompted, needing some response from him before she could go on. She couldn’t just pour the whole story out while he stood there, silent and withdrawn, as distant from her as if some huge cavern had opened up on the stone-flagged terrace, separating them from each other.
A faint, brief inclination of his dark head was all the acknowledgement Andreas made and then he was still again, obviously waiting for her to continue.
‘I’ve been trying to find my birth mother—to see if I had any family. Blood family. I thought it was important to know.’
She couldn’t tell him that this search had taken on a whole new meaning and importance from the moment that Andreas had asked her to marry him. That she had really felt the need to know about her family then, to know if she had some blood ties, someone who was linked to her that way. And deep down there had also been a secret, private need to know if there were any health problems she needed to take into consideration if she and Andreas were ever to have children. That was one concern that no longer mattered at all, she told herself miserably.
‘I found that my mother was dead—and she’d never known who my father was. But I had a half-sister—Macy. I managed to get in touch with her—meet her.’
‘And when was this?’
Becca bit her lip in discomfort. She’d known this question would come, but being prepared for it didn’t make it easy to answer.
‘Just before our wedding.’
‘I see.’
Andreas took a step backwards, and the arms that had been at his sides were now crossed over his broad chest. He couldn’t have put a distance between them more effectively if he’d tried.
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’
‘I—couldn’t. Macy had—some problems and she made me promise not to tell anyone.’
; Once, perhaps, she might have explained all this in detail to him. Once he would have been owed the full story. But Macy had been so insistent that no one should know. If she’d breathed a word, she would have lost the sister she’d just found. Macy had only just discovered about Daisy then. And the realisation that there was a baby on the way had made everything so much more urgent; made it so much more important that she stay in touch with her half-sister, and with the baby who was to become her darling niece.
And then Andreas had forfeited the right to know anything more about her when he had declared that he had never loved her and their marriage was only for sex before throwing her out of the house.
‘I would have told my husband as soon as I could—but then you weren’t my husband long enough for that to matter at all.’
Andreas actually flinched as the barb she flung at him went home, and just for a moment some emotion that she didn’t understand flashed across his face. It was there and gone again before she had time to even try to interpret it and the stone-wall look was fully back in place again.
‘So Macy is the mother of this Daisy?’
‘Yes. And Daisy’s just eleven weeks old—’
‘And who is the father?’
The words seemed unnaturally loud in the silence of the sunny garden. The inevitable question. The obvious question. And one she would dodge if she could. She desperately wished that she could.
‘Does it matter?’ she hedged nervously, knowing as soon as she heard it that her voice gave her away, the way it broke in the middle, making it obvious that she had something to hide.
‘The look on your face tells me that it does,’ Andreas told her harshly, his tone as cold as ice. ‘So tell me—who is the father of this baby?’
Becca’s jaw seemed to have frozen stiff so that it was impossible to open her mouth to answer him, even if she had wanted to. And she didn’t want to. Every time she tried to force herself to speak, she looked into Andreas’ dark, shuttered face and a terrible sense of dread overwhelmed her. Bitter tears stung at the backs of her eyes and she blinked hard, trying to force them back. But she knew why they were there. Fear had put them there. Fear of what would happen as soon as she spoke.
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