She would run and run and she would never come back.
She should never have come back. Never, ever have come back to the island, to the villa—to the man she had once loved so deeply and so desperately.
What could have possessed her to even think that she could talk to him, persuade him to listen to her, to help her…?
She was almost at the top of the stairs when the word ‘help’ sounded in her thoughts again, stopping her dead, reminding her of the real reason why she was here. The reason she had forgotten.
Oh, how could she have forgotten Macy? And most of all, how could she have forgotten little Daisy?
Daisy was just a baby—and her life, her tiny, precious life, depended on the way that Becca acted now.
Without her help, Daisy would die. And Becca had promised that she would do anything she could—everything she could—to help.
Standing with her hand on the newel post, fingers clenching tight over the polished wood, Becca sighed, half turned, looked back at the still slightly open door into the bedroom from which she had just fled in a panic-stricken rush.
She had promised—and she would keep that promise, no matter what it took. She needed Andreas’ help and she would have to get that help, whatever she had to do to get it. She had no choice.
If the only way she could stay in the villa, the only way she could get close to Andreas and stay there until at last he remembered who she was and what she had asked of him—the money he had promised to provide—was to pretend to be the mistress that he believed her to be, then she was going to have to do it. She would play the part to the best of her ability and pray that it wouldn’t take too long for Andreas’ memory to return.
She had to—for Daisy’s sake.
Drawing in a long, ragged breath and letting it out again on a heartfelt sigh, she made herself place first one foot on the staircase and then another, straightening her shoulders, holding her chin up high as she headed downstairs.
CHAPTER THREE
ANDREAS turned up the power and the temperature on the shower so that it pounded down savagely onto the top of his head, thudding onto his skull, leaving him incapable of thinking.
At least that was the plan. But somehow, when he needed it most, the plan didn’t seem to be working.
He wanted to forget about the moments out in his bedroom when he had touched Becca.
When he had wanted to do so much more than touch. Certainly much more than fasten his hand around hers, or to stroke his fingers along the peachy softness of her cheek.
He had wanted to kiss her so badly. The hunger to take her lips with his had been like a nagging ache throughout his whole body, adding further discomfort to the already painful bruises that made his muscles throb, tugged at his ribs when he drew in his breath sharply. He wanted to hold her, caress her. He had felt his heart kick up, his blood pulse through his veins.
He had felt himself come alive for the first time in days.
In the days that he could remember anyway. The days that had registered in the void that had been his mind since he had come round from the unconsciousness that that car crash had put him into.
And for the first time since the accident he had felt like a man again, passionate and burning with a hot, hungry desire.
But a desire he really shouldn’t give in to.
‘Hell and damnation!’
Andreas swore viciously and reached up to change the temperature of the water yet again, shuddering as this time an icy blast thundered onto his soaked hair, his bare shoulders. A long cold shower was what he needed to cool the heat in his blood, the fire that threatened to destroy his ability to think at all.
Any desire he felt would be crazy, stupid—madness to act upon, no matter how strongly he felt it, how urgently it called to him to appease it. He didn’t need any further complications in his life. Things were already complex enough.
Wasn’t it bad enough that he couldn’t remember anything about the past twelve months? That anything he had learned about that year, and his accident, was something that he had had to take on trust, both in the hospital and since arriving home?
Home.
This time Andreas snapped off the shower completely and stepped out of the glass-walled stall, shaking his head like a big, angry dog, trying to drive away another flurry of unwanted thoughts that assailed and tormented him.
‘Home!’
He flung the word like a curse at his reflection in the huge, steamed-up mirror, scowling blackly into the dark blur of his eyes as he did so.
This was his home; he knew that at least. But from the moment that he’d arrived at the door, he had had the appalling feeling that something was very wrong. And that feeling had stayed with him as he’d walked through the house.
What he’d not been prepared for was the sheer wave of desolation that had overwhelmed him at just the thought of going into the obvious room, the master bedroom. There was no way he’d been prepared to admit to it, so he had turned instead and headed for the bedroom that was furthest away from it.
Which was why he had ended up in here.
Shaking his head again, he snatched up a towel and began to dry himself, his movements rough and almost aggressive as if he could wipe away the frustration of his lack of memory along with the water drops.
‘Damn!’
An unthinking movement caught the towel on a particularly dark-coloured bruise, making him draw in his breath in a sharp hiss between his teeth. But the stab of pain was easily dismissed, pushed out of his mind. It would heal. Another week or so and he would be back to normal. In his body at least.
But what about his mind?
Another string of curses, darker and even more vicious, spilled from his lips as he considered the prospect.
Without a memory or any knowledge of what had happened in the past year, how could he even think of any sort of relationship with a woman, even just the physical one that his hungry senses had been urging him on to? How could he ever allow himself any sort of emotional life when he knew nothing about the past one? He’d recognised Becca—remembered how he had felt about her. But what stage was that relationship at now?
That was certainly not a question he was ever going to ask Leander. There were some things that were too personal even for a personal assistant.
Flinging the wet towel away and snatching up a black towelling robe, Andreas shrugged it on and belted it tightly around himself, ignoring yet another protest from his bruised ribs.
He couldn’t stay in here a moment longer. He twisted the key savagely to unlock the door, his fingers closing tightly over the handle until the knuckles showed white.
Becca was too much temptation for him to be able to face the thought of her staying in the house when he wasn’t able to act on the sensual provocation she offered simply by existing. Just the memory of the way that his blood had heated in his veins as he’d touched her cheek had enough sting to make him fling open the door with unnecessary force.
‘This isn’t going to work…’
The words died on his lips as he took in the empty room, the door out onto the landing standing slightly open, showing which way she had gone.
So at least she’d done as she was told. He had been so sure that she would ignore his instructions and that when he opened the door he would find her still there, waiting for him, possibly even determined to tuck him up in bed again…
‘I’m—not one to fuss unnecessarily…’
The memory of Becca’s voice, soft and unexpectedly husky, speaking the words cut through another flare of sensual heat that surged along his nerves at the thought of being tucked up in bed by the lovely brunette, feeling her cool, soft hand on his brow, her fingers at his wrist checking his pulse. Immediately his pulse throbbed, desire giving him a hard, cruel kick low down in his body.
If it was this bad now, then how would it be if she stayed? What sort of ‘rest and recovery’ as ordered by the doctors would be possible with images such as that blazing insid
e his head? How could he live every day with her when just the sight of her woke a carnal hunger that he could barely restrain?
And how could he give in to that hunger when he didn’t know a thing about the missing months they must have spent together? It was better if she left, at least until he recovered somewhat.
His mind made up, he strode to the wardrobe, began pulling out clothes—a shirt and jeans—taking underwear from a drawer. He pulled on his clothes, and then headed down the stairs, bare feet padding silently on the polished wooden steps. The afternoon was coming to an end, the fierce heat of the day easing a little.
It was the sound of her laughter that caught him first. A light, bubbling sound, it seemed to reach out into the atmosphere and curl around his senses, soft and low. Just for a moment his footsteps slowed, bringing him to a halt a couple of stairs from the bottom as he paused, allowing himself to reconsider.
So what was wrong with a little flirtation—a sensual distraction from reality? They were both adults and she was as attracted to him as he was to her. She hadn’t pulled away from his touch, in fact she had wanted more from him. He had seen it in her eyes. In the way that that luscious pink mouth had parted on a faint gasp. So what if he couldn’t offer her a future? He didn’t think she’d care about that. She’d obviously stayed around for the past year, so she must be happy with what they had.
Her laughter came again, but this time something in the sound grated on him. It sounded different, changed. Was that a flirtatious note that had slid into it?
From nowhere it seemed as if a cloud had invaded his mind. His mood changed, shifted, darkened, his whole body stiffening in the aggressive reaction of a bad-tempered dog that had just seen a stranger invade his territory.
Slowly, silently, he took a single step downwards towards the hall.
From this position he could see into the room, see where Becca was sitting at the table, a glass of some clear liquid in her hand. She was leaning back in her chair, looking so very much more relaxed than at any moment in his room upstairs. Her dark hair fell in seductive disarray around her beautiful, animated face. She’d taken off her lightweight jacket too and it hung, half on and half off the back of the chair, one sleeve dangling onto the floor. She was looking at someone else, those stunning, sea-coloured eyes fixed on whoever it was opposite her, across the table. And she was smiling.
That smile caught on Andreas’ nerves. Caught and held and twisted. He found himself torn between two totally contrasting sensations. In one moment he experienced a real delight in seeing that smile, seeing the way it lit up her face, the way it curved the fullness of her lips, softening the kissable mouth and making it infinitely more tempting than before, and at the same time endured something else. That ‘something else’ was a feeling that was the total opposite of delight, totally at war with pleasure. Without knowing where it had come from, Andreas suddenly found that he was filled with a black fury, racked with a terrible sense of hatred that had him clenching his hands into hard fists at his sides, biting down fiercely on his bottom lip to stop himself from speaking and letting the savage anger that crouched inside him out into the open.
‘I never thought of it that way,’ Becca said and even her voice was very different from the way it had sounded before. It was light and easy, relaxed and touched with a hint of flirtatious teasing. ‘But now that you’ve explained it—it makes total sense.’
‘Of course it does,’ a second voice put in. A deeper, thickly accented voice. A male voice and one that Andreas recognised at once.
It was Leander’s voice. Leander his PA. Leander, his young, tall, dark and handsome PA.
A terrible sense of jealousy ripped through him, driving away all sense of rationality, all hope of calm. His jaw tightened, clamped into a thin, hard line until it ached and he could feel the rage rising in him like lava in a volcano, boiling up to the surface and threatening to spill out over the top, engulfing everything in a blazing, burning flood of fire.
Another slow, silent step downwards moved him to a position where he could see fully into the room. He could see where Leander lounged against the wall, long legs crossed at the ankles, dark face smiling, a glass in his own hand.
‘Never argue Greek legends with a Greek,’ the younger man said now, waving his drink in the air to emphasise his point, his smile seeming to Andreas’ watchful gaze to be intimate, almost conspiratorial.
‘I won’t,’ Becca said and the gleam of amusement in her face, the smile she directed at Leander twisted a knife deep inside Andreas.
He could feel his head start to pound, his breath becoming raw and uneven. He didn’t ask himself where the rage was coming from, just accepted it as right, as the way he should feel. Wasn’t this why he had told himself she had to go? That she was trouble if she stayed around?
He’d had enough.
Taking the last two steps down in a single jump, he marched into the room, his black mood showing in every stride, every movement. His attention totally focused on Becca, he saw the way that her head swung round, eyes widening in sudden confusion.
And guilt? Perhaps there was a touch of it. Certainly her face went white enough to make it seem that way.
‘OK, that’s it,’ he snapped, watching her eyelids flutter, her long dark lashes dipping to conceal her gaze just for a moment in a reaction to his appearance that she couldn’t disguise.
‘It’s time you left. Time you were out of here—now,’ he added more forcefully when she simply sat back in her chair and stared at him, her mouth very slightly open, those beautiful eyes now blinking hard in shock as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘But…’
‘Andreas…’ Leander put in but Andreas ignored him and addressed his words straight into Becca’s stunned face.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Oh, I heard all right…’
Becca was having to struggle to keep control of her voice enough to answer him. Her heart had lurched so hard, so violently when Andreas had come into the room that just for a moment she had thought she might actually faint from the shock of it. But even as she recovered a whole new tide of emotions had swept over her, a sense of apprehension so fierce as to be almost total panic being uppermost amongst them.
What was happening? Why was Andreas behaving like this? Earlier that afternoon, upstairs in his room, he had been distant it was true, but polite enough. Now he was in a dark, icy rage, his handsome features set into a mask of total hostility and rejection that made the panic come worryingly closer, her heart fluttering disturbingly and her thoughts whirling out of control.
Had he remembered what had happened? Had something she’d done betrayed her so that Andreas had realised the true situation between them and had now come downstairs in savage rage to turn on the wife he had rejected so brutally twelve months ago and force her out of his home once again?
‘But I’ve only just unpacked.’
‘Then pack again,’ he commanded, eyes like cruel lasers fixed on her confused and worried face.
She knew this mood of old and it frightened her. When he was like this, then Andreas had no intention of yielding anything—he would not be swayed in any way. Harsh memories of the way that he had flung almost exactly those words at her a year before now resurfaced and threatened to take all her emotional strength away at a blow.
At last the haze in her mind was easing enough for her to be able to see him clearly but just the sight of him was enough to rock her composure once again.
His pure white shirt was worn casually loose, clinging to broad, straight shoulders and falling softly over the leather belt at his waist, the narrow hips. The fine cotton contrasted sharply with the hardness of taut muscle underneath, the pale colour throwing the golden tones of his skin into sharp, devastating contrast. His jeans had been worn and washed so many times that they were faded and rubbed, actually beginning to rip in places, and clinging with an almost sensuous closeness to the long, powerful legs. The hems we
re frayed where they fell over long, narrow feet, the toes curling slightly on the polished wooden floor. He looked much more like some untamed, unsophisticated Greek shepherd, or perhaps a fisherman, rather than the urbane and powerful multimillionaire he actually was. And, when he was dressed as simply and as casually as this, it was the sheer physical power of the man that hit home hard and strong, knocking her off balance fast with his appeal to the most primitive, most basic part of her female nature. Her blood was pulsing in her veins so much that she almost missed it when he spoke again.
‘Pack up and get out.’
‘But you said—’
‘I know what I said and I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need a woman in my life and certainly not one who’s going to spend her time flirting with the rest of my staff.’
Flirting…
Well, at least there was one tiny hint of something that might give her a hope that all was not lost. Flirting, he’d said. So if a touch of jealousy was his problem, then perhaps the game was not up after all. Perhaps there was still a chance that he hadn’t realised the truth about who she was.
It would be a bitter irony if he had. After the moment of weakness when she’d fled the bedroom in a panic, she had finally managed to get a grip on herself. It was the thought of Daisy that had done it. The memory of the tiny, frail little body she had last seen inside a hospital incubator, wires and tubes seeming to be attached to each tiny limb, to every inch of the baby’s skin. She could still hear in her head the doctor’s voice, giving them the terrible, the soul-destroying truth.
Daisy was a desperately sick little baby. To save her life she needed a vital operation—an operation that was so new, so experimental that only one surgeon in America had ever performed it successfully. If they could find the money…
Becca shuddered inwardly as she recalled the overwhelming despair that she and Macy had suffered at that moment. There was no way…no way but one.
Daisy’s plight was what had brought her to speak to Andreas in the first place. Surely, even hating her as he did, her ex-husband could not harden his heart against the tiny girl. If only she could stay here long enough for him to regain his memory so that she could ask him for help. That image had stiffened her spine and brought her downstairs fired by a new determination to succeed. It had even given her the courage to tell Leander a version of the truth. That Andreas had been asking for her and so she was here to take care of him.
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