Forgiven but Not Forgotten?

by Abby Green

  Siena sank back down onto the end of the bed and crossed her arms over her belly.

  She wanted to hate Andreas for this…but she had no real reason to hate him. So he’d used her five years ago, when she’d all but thrown herself at him…? What young red-blooded man wouldn’t have done the same? It wasn’t his fault it had meant nothing to him. She was the one who had imbued the situation with a silly fantasy that something special had happened between them. Had he deserved to lose his job and be beaten up over it? No.

  She shivered when she thought of that young beaten man, getting on his bike to ride away that dawn morning, and the man he’d become now. For a second that morning, despite his anger, Siena had had a fantasy of getting on the back of that bike with him and fleeing into the dawning light. If she hadn’t had to think of her sister she might well have done it.

  Siena knew very well that if Andreas hadn’t stopped kissing her the other night in her flat he would have had her there and then, realised that she was woefully inexperienced, and most likely walked away without a backward glance, having satisfied his curiosity and his desire for revenge. Treacherously, that thought didn’t fill her with the kind of relief it ought to.

  What happened to her when he touched her was scary. It was as if he short-circuited her ability to think rationally. When she’d woken on the couch earlier and found him staring at her she’d reacted viscerally: her blood humming and her body coming alive. There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation in that acceptance. And then she’d realised where she was and why and reality had come tumbling back…

  Andreas’s restraint towards her told her that he was in far more control of this situation than she was. The thought of going out in public…the thought of Andreas making love to her… Siena would have to call on that well-worn icy public persona—the one her father had so approved of because it made her seem untouchable and aloof. Desirable. Unattainable.

  She clenched her hands to fists. The only problem was, she was all too attainable. The minute Andreas touched her aloof and icy went out of the window to be replaced with heat and insanity.

  * * *

  Much to Siena’s relief, when she woke and went exploring in the morning there was no sign of Andreas initially—but her skin prickled with that preternatural awareness that told her he was somewhere in the apartment. She figured he might be in his study, and made sure to avoid going near it.

  To her added relief there was an array of breakfast things left out in the kitchen, but she didn’t like the way her belly swooped at the thought that he’d done this for her. She poured herself some coffee, which was still hot, and took a croissant with some preserves over to the table and sat down.

  ‘Nice of you to join the land of the living. I was beginning to think I might need a bucket of cold water to wake you.’

  Siena looked up and nearly choked on her croissant. She hadn’t even heard him coming in, and to see him dressed in jeans and a dark polo shirt moulded to his impressive chest was sending tendrils of sensation through every vein in her body.

  She swallowed with difficulty, but before she could say anything Andreas was looking at his watch and saying, with not a little acerbity, ‘Well, it is ten a.m., I expect this is relatively early for you?’

  Siena fought down a wave of hurt as she thought of how hard she’d been working for the last few months. Usually by now she’d have done half a day’s work. But of course he was referring to her previous life. In fact she’d always been an early riser, up before anyone else. What she wasn’t used to, however, was the current exhaustion she was feeling, thanks to the unaccustomed hard work. And that made her angry at herself for being so weak.

  She kept all of this hidden and said to Andreas sweetly, ‘Well, I’d hate to disappoint you. Tomorrow I can make it midday, if you like?’

  He prowled closer, after helping himself to more coffee, and said, ‘I’d like it very much if we were in bed together till one o’clock.’

  It took a monumental effort not to react to his provocative statement. He was so audacious. He sat down at the table, long legs stretched out, far too close to Siena’s. She fought the urge to move her own legs.

  ‘Yes, well, I can’t imagine you neglecting your business to that level.’ After all, she knew well how her father had consistently relegated his children to the periphery, only to be trotted out for social situations.

  She looked away from that far too provocatively close rangy body and concentrated on eating the croissant.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Andreas commented drily, ‘my business is doing just fine.’

  Siena flashed back, ‘At the expense of all those poor people who are losing their jobs just because of your insatiable ambition.’

  Andreas’s eyes narrowed on her and Siena cursed herself. Now she’d exposed herself as having followed his progress.

  ‘So you read the papers? I would have thought that you should know better than to believe everything you read in print. And since when have you been concerned with the poor people?’

  There was ice in his tone, but also something more ambiguous that sounded like injured pride, and Siena felt momentarily confused. A sliver of doubt pierced her. Weren’t those stories true?

  Andreas uncoiled his tall length, and stood up, going to the sink, where he washed out his cup—a small domestic gesture that surprised Siena.

  He turned and said, ‘The jeweller will be here shortly.’

  He’d walked out before Siena could respond, and she watched his broad back and tall body disappear, radiating tension. She felt wrong-footed. As if she should apologise!

  Siena took her things to the sink, where she washed up perfunctorily and thought churlishly that at least she could figure out the taps. Just as she was turning to leave an older lady walked in, smiling brightly. ‘Morning, dear! You must be Ms DePiero. I’m Mrs Bright, the housekeeper.’

  Siena smiled awkwardly and said, ‘Please call me Siena…’

  As accomplished as she was in social situations, Siena was an innately shy person and came forward faltering slightly. The older woman met her halfway and took her hand in a warm handshake, smiling broadly. Siena liked her immediately and smiled back.

  Siena wisely took the opportunity to ask Mrs Bright about the kitchen, and liked the woman even more when her eyes rolled up to heaven and she said in a broad Scots accent, ‘I thought I’d need a degree in rocket science to figure it all out, but it’s actually very simple once you know.’

  When Siena explained about the previous evening Mrs Bright said conspiratorially, ‘Don’t worry, pet. I couldn’t work out which one was the oven either at first.’

  Unbeknown to the two women, who were now bent down by the oven, Andreas had come back to the doorway. He listened for a moment and then said abruptly, ‘The jeweller is here, Siena.’

  The two women turned around and he could see the dull flush climbing up Siena’s neck. He flashed back to the previous evening, when he’d found her looking so defiant in the kitchen, refusing to put the meat in the oven.

  She said thank you to the housekeeper and walked over to him. Andreas caught her arm just as she was about to pass and said, sotto voce, ‘You didn’t know where the oven was. Why didn’t you just tell me?’

  He could see Siena’s throat work, saw that flush climb higher, and felt curiously unsteady on his feet.

  Eventually she bit out, avoiding his eye, ‘I thought you’d find it funny.’

  Andreas didn’t find it funny in the least. He said, ‘You could have told me, Siena. I’m not an ogre.’

  Siena was trembling by the time they got to the drawing room, where Andreas had directed her. Two small men were waiting for them, with lots of cases and boxes around them and an array of jewels laid out on a table before them. Siena noticed a security guard in the corner of the room. She felt sick.

  * * *

  Later that evening Siena was waiting for Andreas. He’d gone to his office that morning after the jewellery show-and-tell, and she’
d been left with a small ransom’s worth of jewellery. A special safe had been installed in Andreas’s office just for her use.

  She still felt jittery. Andreas had insisted that to fully appreciate whether or not the jewellery was suitable Siena should get changed into an evening gown. He’d led her, protesting, into her dressing room and picked out a long black strapless dress.

  ‘Put this on.’

  Siena had hissed, ‘I will not. Don’t be so ridiculous. I’ll know perfectly well what will suit me and what won’t.’

  ‘Well, seeing as I’m paying for the privilege of your company this week, I’d like to see you try out the jewellery in more suitable garb than jeans and a T-shirt—which, by the way, I expect to be in the bin by the end of today.’

  ‘You’re just doing this to humiliate me.’ Siena had crossed her arms mulishly and glared at Andreas, who had looked back, supremely relaxed.

  ‘Put the dress on, Siena, and put your hair up. Or I’ll do it for you. I’ll give you five minutes.’

  With that chilling command he’d turned and walked out of the room. Siena had fumed and resolved to do no such thing. But then an image of Andreas, striding back into her room and bodily divesting her of her jeans and T-shirt, had made her go hot. He wouldn’t, she’d assured herself. But a small voice had sniggered in her head. Of course he would.

  Gritting her teeth and repeating her mantra—one week, one week—Siena folded her jeans and T-shirt into her small suitcase, with no intention of following his autocratic command to throw them away, and slipped on the dress. It was simple in the way that only the best designer dresses could be, and beautifully made. Gathered under her bust in an Empire line, it flowed in soft silken and chiffon folds to the floor.

  The bodice part of it clung to her breasts, making them seem fuller, and was cut in such a way as to enhance her cleavage. Siena had felt naked. Her father would never have allowed her to wear something so revealing…so sensual.

  She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail and returned to the salon barefoot. When the two jewellers had stood up on her return Siena had barely noticed, only aware of the dark blue, heavy-lidded gaze that had travelled down her body with a look so incendiary she’d almost stumbled.

  Andreas had taken her hand and pulled her in beside him on a small two-seater couch, his muscular thigh far too close to hers through the flimsy covering of her dress. His arm had moved around her, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her shoulder, drawing small circles, making her breath quicken and awareness pierce her deep inside.

  She’d cursed him and tried to move away—only to have him clamp his hand to her waist, pulling her even more firmly against him, so that her breasts had been crushed to his side and she’d been acutely aware of how hard his chest felt. The way his big hand curled possessively around her, fingers grazing her belly.

  The jewellery itself had been a blur of glittering golds and diamonds, pearls, sapphires and emeralds. Andreas had picked things out and taken Siena’s wrist to slip jewelled bracelets on, before adding them to a growing pile. When he’d put necklaces around her neck his hands had trailed softly across her bare shoulders, his fingers lightly touching her collarbone. Siena’s face had flamed. It had felt like such an intimate touch.

  She had tried to hold herself as rigidly as possible, aghast at how much it was affecting her to be subjected to what were relatively chaste touches. They’d been under the beady eyes of the jewellers, but Siena had had to remind herself they were being observed.

  Losing count of the mounting pile of jewellery, Siena had been ready to scream by the time Andreas had tried a simple platinum and diamond necklace and matching bracelet on her and said, ‘Wear this dress and these jewels tonight.’

  She had bitten back a retort—a knee-jerk reaction to being dictated to. Her new-found sense of independence had surged forth, but then she’d reminded herself that he’d bought her. Therefore he could have her any which way he wanted. She’d had a very disturbing image of herself, naked, splayed across Andreas’s bed, dressed in nothing but all these jewels.

  When Andreas had finally declared himself satisfied the other men had started to gather up the remaining jewellery. But Siena had spotted something out of the corner of her eye. A flash of something delicate and golden. Before she could stop herself she’d reached out to touch the necklace, hidden in folds of velvet.

  As she’d lifted it out it had become clear that it didn’t have the same glittering wow factor of the other gems, but it was exquisite: a simple golden chain with a wrought-gold birdcage detail. The tiny filigree door was open and further up the chain was a bird flying, suspended. Siena’s belly had clenched. Something about the bird flying out of its cage had resonated deeply within her.

  The senior jeweller had cleared his throat uneasily. ‘That’s actually not meant to be part of the display we brought today. It was included by accident. It’s by a Greek jeweler…’

  ‘Angel Parnassus.’ Siena had said, half absently. She knew the famous delicately crafted designs of the renowned jeweler and had always admired them.

  ‘Yes…’ the man had confirmed.

  ‘We’ll take that too,’ Siena had heard Andreas say brusquely.

  She’d started to protest, hating that Andreas had witnessed her momentary distraction and vulnerability. She’d looked at him and his eyes had been hard.

  ‘It’s a fraction of the price of the earrings you’ll wear tonight. Have it if you like it so much, Siena.’

  Siena hadn’t wanted anything for herself, but she’d had no chance to speak. Andreas had already been standing up, shaking hands with the two men, seeing them out, leaving her with the necklace clutched in her hand.

  Siena heard a noise now and tensed, her attention brought back to the present. Andreas had arrived a short while before, knocking on her door to check that she was nearly ready. When she’d swallowed the frog in her throat and assured him that she was, he’d disappeared—presumably to get ready himself. Siena was waiting in the drawing room, feeling ridiculously nervous at the thought of the evening ahead. This was a situation she’d never experienced before.

  She was wearing the black dress, as decreed by Andreas. But when it had come to the jewels Siena had had a moment of rebellion. Instead of the diamond necklace and bracelet he’d wanted her to wear she’d picked out a bold diamond and sapphire necklace, with a matching cuff bracelet.

  Somehow the brashness of the necklace felt like some kind of armour. But then Siena heard a familiar footfall behind her and any illusion of armour went out of the window.

  * * *

  When Siena turned to face Andreas he felt as if someone had just punched him in the belly. For a second he couldn’t breathe. He’d dreamed of her so often like this…as he remembered her… Stunningly beautiful, elegantly aloof. Untouchable in a way that made him ache to touch her.

  Her hair was drawn back and up into a high bun, effortlessly simple and yet the epitome of classic grace. Her make-up was understated, perfect. Nothing so brash as red lipstick. She didn’t need it. The drama came from her cool blonde perfection.

  His eyes narrowed on her necklace and a spurt of something hot went through him. ‘You have defied me.’

  Siena’s chin hitched up minutely. ‘You may have all but bought me for a week, but that does not mean I can’t exercise some free will.’

  Andreas inclined his head and tamped down on the hotness inside him. ‘Indeed. That necklace is equally…beautiful.’

  He had to admit that it set off her rather understated appearance with just the right amount of élan. The thick collar piece was studded with tiny diamonds and it curled around her neck and throat in a sinuous line down to where an enormous sapphire pendant hung against the creamy pale skin of her upper chest. The dark blue of the precious stone inevitably made the lighter blue of her eyes pop out.

  Andreas pushed down the niggling vague doubts he’d had all day, ever since he’d overheard the conversation between her and Mrs Bright in th
e kitchen, when he’d learned that Siena had preferred to appear like a spoilt brat rather than reveal she didn’t know where the oven was.

  And then her reaction to the jewellery hadn’t been the unmitigated greed and glee he’d expected to see. Siena had barely looked at the impressive array of jewellery, and the one thing that had caught her eye had been a simple gold pendant. Exquisite, yes, but not in the same league as the other jewels at all.

  Andreas put such disturbing thoughts out of his head now. She hadn’t shown much interest in the jewellery because she would be converting it all into cold hard cash within days. How could he forget that?

  More importantly, by tonight all that cool, untouchable beauty would have come undone. She would be bucking against him and begging for release. She would no longer look so pristine. She would be as naked and sated as he intended to be. Flushed and marked by his passion.

  His blood surged. He put out his hand. ‘Come. It’s time to go.’

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, after a sumptuous sit-down dinner, Siena was standing at Andreas’s side and it felt as if her skin was slowly going on fire. Since he’d taken her hand in his in the apartment to lead her out he hadn’t stopped touching her. Even if it was just a hand at the small of her back to guide her into the ultra-luxe Grand Wolfe Hotel, where the charity dinner banquet was taking place.

  For someone who generally shied away from physical contact, because she’d never really experienced it growing up, Siena was dismayed at how much her body seemed to gravitate towards Andreas’s touch. She wished pettily that she could break out in a rash, allergic to his touch.

  ‘Drink?’

  She looked at Andreas to see him holding out a glass of champagne. Siena shook her head. After a couple of glasses of wine with dinner, and an aperitif of Prosecco when they’d arrived, her head was feeling woozy enough. Andreas merely shrugged and put the glass back on a passing waiter’s tray.

  ‘Uncomfortable?’