by Abby Green
Siena flushed. She hadn’t been searching for a compliment. Andreas looked more than stunning in a black tuxedo with a classic black bow-tie. His hair gleamed, still slightly damp, and his eyes looked like dark jewels.
He flicked a glance at his watch and then moved towards her.
‘We should go or we’ll miss the first half.’
Those nerves assailed her again when Andreas took her elbow in his hand, and Siena asked, ‘Which opera is it?’
Andreas was opening the main door and he glanced at her. ‘It’s La Bohème.’
Siena couldn’t stop the spontaneous rush of pleasure. ‘That’s my favourite opera.’
Dryly Andreas remarked as they got into the private lift, ‘Mine too. Perhaps we have something in common after all.’
The rush of pleasure died. No doubt Andreas was alluding to the disparity in their upbringings. She didn’t know much about his early life, but she knew it had been relatively humble.
Curious in a way she hadn’t been before, Siena found herself asking when they were in the back of his car, ‘Do you come from a big family?’
Andreas looked at her, but his face was in shadow. She could sense him tense at the question and wondered why.
Eventually he answered, ‘I have five younger sisters and my parents.’
Siena felt her curiosity increase on hearing this. ‘I didn’t realise you came from such a big family. Are you close?’
She could make out his jaw tightening. More reluctance. Clearly he didn’t want to talk about it. Siena confided nervously, ‘It was just me and Serena. I always wondered what it would be like—’ She broke off because she’d been about to say: to have an older brother. But of course she did have an older brother.
Andreas, as if seizing the opportunity to deflect attention, asked, ‘What what would be like?’
Siena swallowed. ‘Just…what it would have been like to have other siblings.’
Andreas arched a brow. ‘More sisters for your father to parade like ice princesses?’ Before Siena could react to that Andreas was saying curtly, ‘My family is not up for discussion. We come from worlds apart, Siena, that’s all you need to know.’
It was like a slap in the face. Siena sat back into the shadows and looked out of the window. That tiny glimpse into Andreas’s life had intrigued her, but she berated herself now for showing an interest, and hated that her imagination was seizing on what it would have been like to grow up in a large family. How being an only son might have impacted Andreas, fed his ambition to succeed.
She didn’t care, she told herself ruthlessly, as they pulled up outside the opera. A long line of beautifully dressed people were walking in ahead of them. Andreas came around to her door and held out his hand imperiously. Siena longed to be able to defy him but she thought of her only family: Serena, in a psychiatric unit in England, depending on her. She put her hand into Andreas’s.
* * *
Three nights later Siena was standing in Andreas’s London apartment, waiting for him to emerge from his room where he’d gone to get changed. She was already dressed and ready as Andreas had been delayed with work.
Since that evening in Paris things had cooled noticeably between them. Not, she had to admit, that they’d ever really been warm. Andreas had barely said another two words to her that night, and when they’d returned from the opera he’d told her he had to do some work and had disappeared into an office in the suite.
When she’d woken the next morning the bed beside her had been untouched, so Andreas must have slept somewhere else. Siena hadn’t liked the feeling of insecurity that had gripped her as she’d waited for Andreas to finish his meetings that morning so they could return to London.
However, when they’d returned to London that evening Andreas had led her straight to his bed and made love to her with such intensity that she hadn’t been able to move a muscle. Siena didn’t like to think of how willingly she’d gone into his arms, or the sense of relief she’d felt. Was she so weak and pathetic after a lifetime of bullying by her father that she welcomed this treatment? She seized on the fact that soon she would be independent again, and that she’d gone into this arrangement very willingly for an end which justified the means.
The following day Andreas had exhibited the same cool, emotional distance, confirming for Siena that this was how it would be unless they were in bed. On one level she’d welcomed it. She didn’t need Andreas to charm her, to pretend to something their relationship would never be.
On both evenings they’d gone out to functions. Last night had been a huge benefit for a charity that provided money for children injured in war-torn countries to be brought to Europe or the USA for medical treatment. It covered all their costs, including rehabilitation.
Siena had had tears in her eyes when a beautiful young Afghan woman had stood up to tell her story. She’d been shot because she’d spoken out about education as a teenager and this charity had transported her to America, where she’d received pioneering surgery and not only survived but thrived. She now worked for the UN.
It was only when the head of the charity had introduced the charity’s patron and invited him up to speak that Siena had realised it was Andreas. She’d sat there, stunned, listening to him speak passionately about not letting the children of conflict suffer. She’d felt absurdly hurt that he hadn’t told her of his involvement.
When he’d come back to the table, Siena had pushed down the hurt. ‘What made you want to get involved in something like this?’
His stern expression had reminded Siena that she was straying off the path of being his mute and supplicant mistress, and in that moment she’d wanted to stand up and walk out. Only thinking of Serena had kept her where she was.
Eventually he’d said, ‘A child in Mexico was caught in the crossfire between drug gangs. Ruben arranged for him to be brought to New York for treatment…unfortunately the child died, despite the doctors’ best efforts. I have eight nieces and nephews and they take their safety and security completely for granted—which is their right. This child from Mexico… It opened my eyes. After he died I knew I wanted to do more…’
Siena had realised then that she could not cling onto any prejudice she’d had about the kind of man Andreas was now she’d met him again. He was not power-hungry and greedy. Or amoral.
Ignoring his silent instruction not to pursue this topic, Siena had asked, ‘Do you want children?’
Andreas had looked at her and smiled mockingly, making Siena instantly regret her reckless question. She’d realised then that she’d asked it in a bid to pierce that cool control, because the last time they’d shared any meaningful dialogue it had been about his family.
‘Why, Siena? Are you offering to be the mother of my children? So that you can bring them up to follow in your footsteps and tease men before letting them fall to the ground so hard that their whole world shatters? Maybe if we had a daughter we could call her Estella, after that great Dickensian heroine who beguiled and bewitched poor hapless Pip with her beauty only to crush him like a fly…’
She had been so shocked at this softly delivered attack that she’d put down her napkin and stood up, saying quietly, ‘You’re no Pip, Andreas, and you don’t remember correctly. Estella was the victim.’
Siena had walked blindly to the bathroom and shut herself inside. She hadn’t been able to stop the hot prickle of tears from overflowing. She’d been stunned at how hurt she felt, and at the mixture of guilt and shame that churned in her gut along with the awful image Andreas had just put in her head.
He could never know how cruel his words were. Her deepest, most fervent dream was some day to be part of the kind of family unit she’d never known.
She’d used to look out of her bedroom window in Florence to a park on the other side of the tiny piazza outside their palazzo. There she would see mothers and fathers and children. She’d seen love and affection and laughter and she’d ached with a physical pain to know what that would be like. To love a
nd be loved. To have children and give them all the security and affection she’d never known… She’d never even realised until Andreas had uttered those words how badly she still wanted it.
When she’d felt composed enough to return Andreas had been waiting impatiently and they’d left. He’d looked at her in the dark shadows of the back of his car and Siena had instinctively recoiled, unable to bear the thought of him touching her when she felt so raw.
He’d said roughly, ‘You say Estella was the victim? From where I’m sitting she looks remarkably robust.’
He’d reached for her then, and Siena had resisted with all the strength in her body, hating him with every fibre of her being. But with remorseless skill Andreas had slowly ground down her defences and her anger until desire burned hotter than anything else…
By the time they’d made it to the apartment she’d forgotten all about her hurt and had been thinking only about Andreas providing her with the release he could give her, like someone pathetically addicted to an illegal substance.
‘We should go or we’ll be late.’
Andrea’s terse voice made Siena jump slightly. She’d been caught up in the memory. She turned around and wondered if she’d ever get used to the little shock of awe when she saw him in a tuxedo. Thinking of the previous evening and what had happened made Siena look down, hiding her gaze. She picked up her wrap and bag and for the first time could appreciate the armour of her shimmering black designer dress. The heavy weight of a diamond necklace at her throat, the earrings in her ears and the bracelet on her wrist would keep her anchored tonight. She couldn’t afford to lose herself for a second. Or let him goad her.
If Andreas had a hint of her vulnerability he’d annihilate her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANDREAS WAS DRIVING them to the function in his sports car. It served the purpose of occupying his hands and his mind, so that he wasn’t in danger of ravishing Siena in the confined space of the back of his chauffeur-driven car. He would not debase himself again by proving that he could not last a few minutes without touching her. He didn’t want to think of the amount of times he’d almost made love to her in the back of that car.
It made him think of the other night and how he’d still had to touch her even when she’d detonated a small internal bomb with her question about whether or not he wanted children. He didn’t want to remember how she’d looked when he’d likened her to Estella from Great Expectations not once, but twice. It had worked, though. He’d welcomed the anger sparking in her eyes. Far easier to deal with that than the look in her eyes when she’d asked her question so inoccuously.
Lovers had asked Andreas before if he wanted children, and in every case Andreas had looked at them coolly and mentally ended the affair with little or no regret. Siena had asked and he had felt a primal surge of something very proprietorial. Something very disturbing that wasn’t an immediate and categoric rejection of what should be anathema to him. In that moment he’d felt exposed and reminded of his humiliation in Paris. Had Siena seen something he’d been unaware of? Something that had told her it was okay to ask that question because one week would not be enough for him? Because inevitably he couldn’t help but want more?
Andreas had felt like Pip then, from that great book. Chasing after an ever unattainable beauty. Forever destined to fall short. And so he’d lashed out. Had watched her pale and told himself she was acting.
He needed to maintain the distance he’d instigated in Paris. Too much had made him uneasy there and since: Siena’s insight into why he’d bought that hotel, the hunger for her which only seemed to be growing stronger, not weaker, and the way she’d asked him about his family…making him remember what he’d worked so hard to avoid.
So much of Andreas’s youthful rejection of his family had been brought into sharp focus after his humiliating rejection at her hands. He’d gone abroad with little or no warning, and he knew it had confused and upset his parents. They’d never really understood his hunger to succeed, how he’d had an irrational fear of not making it out of that small town—especially after Spiro had died.
Andreas reminded himself that this wasn’t a relationship like any other. With other lovers Andreas made an effort, small-talked, was witty and charming. With Siena it was about settling a score, sating the fever in his blood, exorcising the demons. He conveniently blocked out the fact that he appeared to be no closer to his goal than he had been a few days ago…
* * *
A couple of hours later Siena was feeling pain in the balls of her feet from the high heels. She wondered what Andreas would say if he knew that, contrary to his opinion of her, she’d give her right arm never to go to one of these functions again. Just then a tall, very good-looking man with dark hair approached Andreas and the two men greeted each other warmly. Siena found herself transfixed by Andreas’s wide smile. She’d seen it so rarely since they’d met again, and never directed at her.
He was introducing the stranger. ‘This is Rafaele Falcone, of Falcone Industries. He’s recently moved to London to extend his domination of the motor industry.’
Siena recognised the name of the iconic Italian car company and put her hand out. She smiled at the other man, who matched Andreas in height and build. He truly was sinfully gorgeous, with astonishing green eyes, and Siena had a fleeting moment of wishing he would have some effect on her which might prove that Andreas didn’t dominate her every sense. But when their hands touched there was nothing—despite the fact that Rafaele held her hand for a split second longer than was necessary, with a smile that made Siena feel like apologising because its effect was wasted on her.
‘If you find things getting dull with Xenakis, do give me a call.’
He was handing her a card, flirting outrageously, and Siena found herself smiling at his chutzpah with genuine amusement. She was reaching for the card out of politeness when it disappeared into Andreas’s fingers. His arm had come around her waist and brought her to his side in a way that had her looking at him, bemused. He’d never claimed her like this in public before.
Rafaele Falcone was putting up his hands in a gesture of mock defeat and backing away. ‘We’ll talk soon, Xenakis, I’ll be interested to hear how that deal goes, and I have a new car being launched next month that I think you’ll like…’
His gaze encompassed Siena and she flushed, suddenly not liking the way he was all but telling her of his interest if she were not with Andreas. She wasn’t really used to this kind of casual interplay. Her father had always been so protective.
When he’d turned and walked away Andreas let Siena go and turned to her. He was livid, and Siena took a step back.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
Siena was genuinely confused. ‘Think about what?’
Andreas jerked his head in the direction of his departing friend. ‘Falcone is off-limits.’
Rage filled Siena, and she knew it was coming from a dangerous place—more from Andreas’s dogged coolness in the past few days than what he’d just said. His possessiveness made her feel something altogether much more disturbing.
‘How dare you? When we’re done I can do what I like, and I intend to. If I think that includes having a rampant affair with Rafaele Falcone then I’ll be sure to give him a call.’
For a second Andreas looked so feral that Siena felt fear snake down her spine. He looked capable of violence.
‘You’re mine, Siena,’ he growled. ‘No one else’s.’
She lashed back. ‘One week, Xenakis. I’m yours for one week. You’re the one who put a time limit on it.’ Realisation hit her then, along with something very hollow. ‘And that one week is up in two days—or have you come to enjoy my company so much that you’d forgotten? Perhaps you want more?’
Siena wasn’t sure what was goading her when she said waspishly, ‘If you’re so concerned with keeping me out of other men’s beds it’s going to cost you a lot more than a few baubles.’
‘So this is how you’re funding yourself
after our father’s spectacular crash and burn? I shouldn’t be surprised.’
It took long seconds before Siena realised that it wasn’t Andreas who had spoken in his deep voice. It was another voice—one that rang the faintest of bells. She tore her eyes from Andreas and looked to her left. She felt the blood drain from her face.
Rocco DeMarco. Her brother.
Siena barely heard Andreas acknowledge him tersely, ‘DeMarco.’
Her brother’s dark brown eyes left Siena momentarily to flick to Andreas, and he inclined his head slightly. ‘Xenakis. I see that my little half-sister Siena has found a benefactor to keep her in the style to which she’s accustomed.’
His resemblance to their father stunned her anew, as it had all those years before, and Siena wanted to weep with the ill-timing of this meeting. It was effortlessly confirming his worst opinion of her.
Faintly she said, ‘You recognise me.’ It wasn’t a question.
Those dark eyes went back to her. His mouth curled. ‘I followed the demise of our father in the press with great interest. You and your sister were featured prominently, but it would appear you’ve landed on your feet.’
Feeling weak, Siena said, ‘This…it’s not what it seems.’
Disgust was evident in Rocco’s expression, ice in his eyes, and Siena felt an ache in her heart. He was her flesh and blood.
‘Did you really think I would ever forget you? After you and Serena stepped over me like a piece of trash in the street? And as for our father… Tell me—have you heard from him?’
Siena shook her head, feeling sick. How could she explain here and now to this man that she hated her father as much as he did?
Just then a petite and very pretty red-haired woman joined Rocco, slipping her hand into his arm. The change in her brother was instantaneous as he drew her close and looked down at her, warmth and love shining from his eyes. When he looked back at Siena the ice returned and she shivered.
‘This is my wife—Gracie. Gracie, I’d like you to meet Siena. My youngest half-sister.’