One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents

by Susan Stephens

  ‘So you do know the name, then?’

  It was too late to deny it. Her reaction had already given her away.

  ‘How—how did you…?’

  ‘How did I find out?’

  An arrogant flick of his wrist tossed away the question as so obvious that it didn’t need an answer.

  ‘An investigation into these things is easy to arrange.’

  ‘You—had me investigated!’ She sounded as appalled as she felt. And she felt even worse when Andreas shrugged off that question too, with even less concern than he had given the first.

  ‘I have every right to know what my prospective wife is doing with the small fortune I’ve given her. And I do not believe that you have the right to judge my actions when what you did was give that money to some other man. Or are you claiming that that’s not true?’

  ‘No…’

  Becca sank down onto one of the wooden benches in the changing room as the bitter memories of that day took all the strength from her legs. Andreas hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He had bombarded her with questions like some brutal counsel for the prosecution, demanding answers to a new one even while she was still stumbling over the answer to the last. And all the time she had been bound by the promise she had made to Macy. The promise to her newly discovered sister. The sister she had never known she had until just a few short weeks before.

  At first Macy had wanted nothing to do with her but then suddenly she had phoned, asking to meet, asking for help. But she had made Becca promise that she wouldn’t tell a soul.

  ‘No, I’m not claiming that.’

  ‘You gave this man money?’ Andreas had thundered. ‘All the money I gave you, by the look of it.’

  ‘You said it was mine!’

  ‘You know damn well that I gave that to you to buy your wedding dress and anything else you wanted for—’

  ‘Are you saying that the dress I wore wasn’t good enough?’ Becca rushed in, jumping to the defensive in a panic as she struggled to think of some explanation she could give him.

  Her mind was reeling in shock at just the thought that Andreas had found out about Roy Stanton. There was no reason at all that he should even know the man’s name. And so she tried to stall him, using any argument she could to distract him while she tried to work out just what was happening and how she could possibly answer him at all.

  But going on the attack was the wrong move—the worst possible move of all. From being icily angry, Andreas’ temper went into meltdown, blazing fierce and furious as a forest fire, engulfing everything that stood in its way. And before she knew what was happening, it seemed that he was accusing her. But of what she was not quite sure.

  ‘The dress was fine—as far as it went. But it could have been more—should have been more…’

  ‘Should have! So now I have to wear what you order just to make sure that—that what? That I didn’t show you up by not wearing something suitable to match your status? Is that it, Andreas? Are you angry because I didn’t marry you in a couture gown—a designer original? One that would show my family—your friends—how wonderfully you can provide for me? That you can give me a fortune to spend on a single dress for a single day…’

  ‘A fortune that you gave to another man.’

  ‘I had my reasons!’

  ‘And what were they?’

  And that simple question brought the whole argument to a crashing halt. The words died on her lips, crushed back down her throat as if someone had put a gag right over her mouth and tied it so tightly that she had no chance of saying a word in her own defence.

  Because the truth was that she was gagged by her promise to Macy. She had sworn on everything she held sacred not to say a word. Not until Macy was safe. And when she had discovered that her already emotionally vulnerable half-sister was also very newly pregnant that vow had become even more important. So, even though it tore at her heart, she had to hold to that promise.

  ‘I—can’t say.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ Andreas snarled and the savagery of his tone had her flinching back, terrified of his rage, the flames of fury that blazed in the darkness of his eyes.

  ‘Andreas—please…’

  How had this happened? How had the wonderful, blissful mood in which they’d reached the villa been turned into this terrible horror, this brutal tearing each other apart?

  ‘It was just money…’

  ‘My money—the money I gave you. And you gave it to him…’

  And then she thought she could see what was happening. In a sudden rush of understanding, she felt she knew just why he was so angry—what had got to him so badly. She had always known about the dark shadow over Andreas’ past. The fact that his mother had only married his father for the money he had, the lifestyle he could give her, and when Alexander Petrakos had lost much of his fortune through some rash and ill-advised stock-market gambling Alicia had taken off with his wealthier cousin, turning her back on her five-year-old son without a second thought.

  Then later, when Andreas himself had rebuilt the Petrakos fortune so that it had more than doubled the original amount, Alicia had turned yet again and tried to come back to the son she had abandoned over twenty years before. As a result, Andreas had always been wary of being used in the same way as his father. The slightest suspicion that any woman in his life might be a gold-digger meant that she was dropped so fast she never had time to even try to change his mind.

  So if Andreas thought—or even suspected—that she had married him for his money…

  ‘Andreas, don’t…’ she tried again. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’

  There had to be a way that she could reach him. A way that they could talk this out. If she could just calm him down, make him see that things could be put right. And then she’d talk to Macy, get her to see that she couldn’t keep her promise. She had to tell Andreas—he was her husband.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’

  ‘No—not if you love me…’

  A sharp pain in her fingers jolted Becca back to the present, where, staring down at her hand, she realised that she had been twisting the stretchy material of the swimming costume round and round until it had tightened about her fingers, digging into the skin.

  But the tight physical pain was as nothing when compared to the one in her heart as she remembered Andreas’ reaction to her stumbling attempt to put things right, or at least bring about a truce between them.

  ‘Love!’ Andreas’ harsh bark of laughter had been cruel and totally without any humour in it. ‘Love? Who brought love into this?’

  ‘But you—I—you married me…’

  ‘Not for love!’ he flung the word in her face. ‘I don’t love anyone—least of all you! I doubt if I’m capable of the feeling. I married you for sex—for that and nothing else. No other woman has ever made me feel as hot as you do.’

  It was as if some freezing iceberg had suddenly enclosed her so that she could see and hear but she was incapable of moving and, for now at least, the terrible cold had deadened all feeling so that she was numb right through to the soul. Even her heart hardly seemed to be beating at all.

  ‘S-sex?’

  ‘Yes—sex. That thing we just enjoyed upstairs.’

  ‘I didn’t enjoy it.’

  ‘Liar.’

  She wouldn’t have enjoyed it, couldn’t have enjoyed it if she’d known that he had been using her as cold-bloodedly and cruelly as it now seemed. If their whole marriage had been based on a lie and not the real love she believed it to be.

  ‘You had no right…’ she began but her frozen tongue wouldn’t form the words. Her lips were so stiff they felt as if they were carved from wood.

  ‘No right to what?’

  Andreas’ expression was carved from a similar block of ice as the one that seemed to enclose her. His jaw was taut and rigid, eyes freezing black pools.

  ‘To marry me if you felt that way. You have nothing to give me!’

  ‘Nothing!’

&nbs
p; His laughter was so hard that it seemed to splinter in the air around her, making her wince away from the shattered fragments that threatened her face.

  ‘Take a look around you, agape mou.’

  One long fingered hand waved in a gesture that took in the luxurious room, the beautiful pool out beyond the patio doors and the view of the sapphire-blue ocean beyond that again. ‘You call this nothing?’

  Nothing without love.

  ‘Isn’t this enough?’

  ‘Quite frankly, no.’

  Bitterness made her say it. Agony pushed it from her lips in a cold, tight voice that didn’t sound at all like her own.

  ‘I expected more from you.’

  ‘You expected…Well, you can expect all you like but you’ll get nothing else from me—nothing.’

  ‘You think I’ll stay for that?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll stay for anything. In fact, let’s make this easy for you—let me help you on your way.’

  Marching into the hall, he flung open the big wooden door, letting in the warm evening air where the shadows were now gathering.

  ‘Andreas, you can’t do this! You married me today—we—we just consummated our marriage.’

  But what sort of marriage was it when the man she adored had just baldly announced that he didn’t love her?

  ‘If you divorce me then it will cost you even more…’

  It was meant to bring him to his senses. To get him to see that if she was only after him for his money, then he was going the right way about making sure that she got as much as she could possibly want. Surely the thought that she would get half of his vast fortune would make him stop and think and see where he was going wrong.

  Thinking looked like the last thing that Andreas was capable of. And stopping was obviously the last thing that was on his mind. She’d never seen him like this before in her life. She could almost see the red mist of fury behind his eyes, and his dark face was so contorted into a snarl that she barely recognised him as the man she had loved so deeply. The man she had vowed only that morning to love, honour and cherish.

  The man who had vowed the same while all the time he had a lie in his heart. He hadn’t meant a thing.

  ‘I married you for sex—for that and nothing else.’

  He didn’t love her. Did she really want to be married to a man who felt that way, no matter how much she cared about him? What sort of a marriage would she be tying herself to?

  ‘Andreas, I’ll be entitled to half of everything you own—and I’ll take it.’

  She wanted to shock him; prayed it would bring him to his senses. Perhaps she could…

  ‘It’ll be worth it to get rid of you.’

  Whirling round, he snatched up her suitcase, which still stood at the foot of the stairs where he had deposited it on their arrival. With a violent movement he tossed it out of the door and then turned back to face her, challenge stamped into every hard line of his dark, savage face.

  ‘Now, are you going to follow it or do I have to throw you out myself?’

  It was then that Becca gave up, gave in. She had no more fight left in her, and besides, she didn’t know what she was fighting for.

  Was she going to beg—to plead with him to let her stay? Even if she managed to convince him that she had married him because she loved him, what difference would it make? He had made his position brutally plain. He had married her for sex and that was all. He wouldn’t care if she loved him—the only thing he gave a damn about was his money.

  Drawing herself up to her full height, she imposed a control on her quivering mouth, her burning eyes, that she didn’t know she was capable of. She didn’t know how she looked, but she knew how she wanted him to think she felt and prayed she was communicating that with her demeanour, her expression. Please let it show in her eyes. She was determined not to let a single tear fall, no matter how bitterly they stung at the backs of her eyes, how hard she had to fight not to blink them away.

  ‘Oh, I’m going—don’t worry. There’s nothing here to stay for. I think I’ve got all that I wanted from this relationship.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll just bet you have. But don’t think you’ll be able to go for any quickie divorce. There will be no annulment—I’ve already made sure of that.’

  Something in his voice caught on the raw, bleeding edges of Becca’s heart, making her see just what was really behind the callous declaration.

  He’d known already, she realised. Somehow, though God knew how, he’d found out about Roy Stanton before their marriage. And, thinking that he would trap her in a marriage that meant nothing to him, he had gone ahead and married her after all, knowing all the time that he was going to let it come to this.

  Becca had no more fight left in her. All she knew was that she had to get out of here right now, before she broke down completely. If she let Andreas see how much she was hurting, then he would know that he’d won.

  Somehow she made herself go past him to get to the door. The faint brush of her arm against his as she passed almost undid her, making her body run hot and then shiveringly cold as if she was in the grip of some terrible fever. She could only pray that her legs would hold up beneath her until she was actually out of the door and heading away, far, far away from the villa. She made it outside and into the warmth of the night, where, thankfully, the darkness hid the misery in her face, the tears she was fighting a losing battle to hold back.

  It was then that Andreas flung his final, unbelievable comment after her.

  ‘Well, money I’ll give you—but nothing else. Not a damn thing else.’

  Marching with her head down, her eyes blind, fighting a bitter little battle with herself not to give in, Becca couldn’t believe what she’d heard. He couldn’t believe that all she wanted was money, and if he did then why on earth, even now, would he say that if she asked for money he would give it to her?

  In confusion and bewilderment she turned, forcing herself to make one last, desperate attempt. But even as she swung round, it was already too late. Andreas had stepped back into the house, and as she watched he slammed the door shut, hard and fast, in her face.

  She had to have heard wrong anyway, Becca decided. He couldn’t have said what she thought he’d said. It didn’t make sense.

  But then nothing about this whole terrible evening made sense. The day had started out so wonderfully, with so much joy, so much hope. She had been looking into a great future—and now all that potential was over, in the past. Instead, the life she was facing seemed to have nothing to offer. And the future she had dreamed of was dead and gone.

  And so she’d made herself keep walking. Walking away from the marriage she’d thought she was going to have. Away from the man she’d thought she’d loved.

  The man she now tried to convince herself that she hated.

  She’d walked away from the house, dragging her case with her and trying to hate him. She’d made the long journey home back to her stunned family, her bewildered friends, needing to hate him if she was to survive.

  And the truth was that coming back here had proved to her in the most painful way that she hadn’t succeeded.

  She couldn’t hate Andreas, in spite of a year of trying; it just wouldn’t work. She was still every bit as much in love with him as on the day that she had married him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANDREAS was sick and tired of waiting.

  How long had it been since Becca had headed for the pool house? And how long did it take to get into a swimming costume, for God’s sake?

  Or was there a problem? She had looked uncomfortable, edgy, when she had been sitting beside him on the edge of the pool. She’d definitely been too hot—and she had such fair skin…

  The thought had barely formed in his mind before Andreas pushed himself to his feet from the sun lounger on which he had been relaxing and headed in the direction of the pool house himself, padding silently across the tiles on bare feet.

  She was sitting on the wooden bench t
hat ran along the white-painted wall. Her head was bent, her eyes downcast, staring at the floor, and her hands clasped together in her lap. She had changed into the costume and once again he was aware of the pallor of her skin, barely touched by the few days she had spent with him in the sun. And with the thought came a sudden vivid mental image of the two of them in bed together, her pale limbs entwined with his darker, stronger ones.

  ‘What is it?’

  Without thinking he spoke in Greek, the sudden burn of his libido too strong to allow enough thought for translation into English.

  The sound of his voice brought her head up fast, sea-blue gaze locking with his in an instant. But there was something in that look that he didn’t understand. Something new and different that told him without words that a change had taken place in the time she had spent away from him.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine.’

  The words sounded all wrong, strangely staccato and somehow unconvincing. And the smile that she turned on him flashed on and off like some neon advertising sign. As soon as it subsided, her face was stiff and unresponsive.

  ‘Did it fit?’

  It must have done—she was wearing the damn thing. So why was she sitting here, inside, instead of out in the sun?

  ‘Well…yes…’

  She gestured to herself with a hand that was not quite steady.

  ‘I could get into it—but…’

  The look in her eyes intensified, turned them into sea-deep pools under a sweep of dark, curling lashes. She seemed wary, as if unsure of how he was going to react.

  Of course. She needed reassurance. She felt unsure of herself, of the way she looked.

  ‘Stand up…let me see.’

  At first he thought she was going to refuse and that she would insist on staying where she was. But then, slowly and reluctantly, she got to her feet and turned towards him. For a moment her hands fluttered nervously and then she forced them down to her sides, obviously having trouble submitting to his appraisal. Watching her, Andreas felt his heart take up a heavy, pounding beat, one that sent the blood rushing to his brain and set his thoughts swimming.