To her delight and amazement Leander had not only supported her idea, he had even got straight on the phone to the agency to tell them the nurse they had been asked to provide would not be needed.
‘After all,’ Leander had said, ‘who better to care for a man than his wife?’
Leander, Becca decided, had a strong sentimental streak in him. But, as he had never met her when she had been in his employer’s life, then he obviously didn’t know that sentimental was the last way that Andreas would feel about his particular wife. But she didn’t disillusion him. Having Leander on her side was more than she could hope for, and just that one small gesture of support had made her feel that she could stay. That she might just be able to handle this—and hope to save baby Daisy as a result. She had even started to relax just a little.
But that had been before Andreas had appeared in the room, stiff-necked and scowling, with dark fire in his eyes, and ordered her to pack up and go, destroying all her hopes in a single moment.
‘I wasn’t flirting.’
Somehow she imposed the control she needed over her voice and made it sound calm and just a trifle indignant. She had to keep the pain of the last eleven months out of her voice. That would give her away for sure.
But Andreas’ current lover—the mistress he assumed her to be—would feel much more able to cope with his temper and his jealousy.
‘No?’
The mocking lift of one black eyebrow questioned her response in a way that almost shook her confidence. But she couldn’t let him get to her. For Daisy’s sake she had to be strong—for Daisy’s sake she had to make sure that she stayed here. ‘No!’
The forceful emphasis got his attention, making those deep-set eyes widen just for a moment before his handsome features settled back into their expression of cynical scepticism.
‘Can I point out that you were the one who told me to come downstairs…?’
The affronted tone was a good idea. It was quite clear that he hadn’t expected her indignation and was decidedly taken aback by it.
‘The one who lo…’
No, don’t mention the locked door or protest about it—that would take things to a deeper level. One that was clouded by the past between them that he remembered nothing about.
‘The one who told me not to fuss.’
That actually won her a tiny sign of acknowledgement from the dark, distant man before her. Not a nod, that would have been too much of a concession, but the proud head inclined faintly to one side and something flickered in the black eyes that might have been respect.
‘Kyrie Petrakos…’
It was Leander who spoke, inserting his words carefully into the tensely silent stand-off that had come between them. He said something in Greek, speaking swiftly and, Becca thought, rather nervously. Obviously Leander felt that his job was on the line—so would he continue to support her?
Andreas’ response was in the same language, sharp and obviously dismissive—a dismissal that was repeated when the younger man hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable and unsure.
‘It’s all right, Leander,’ Becca put in, turning to him, wanting to reassure him. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’
Out of the corner of her eye she could sense Andreas’ head snap round, feel the dark fire of his eyes burning into the back of her head as she spoke, and she could see the reflection of the furious glare in the concern on Leander’s face. But she made herself smile, pretending at a composure she was far from feeling.
‘Really…’ she said. ‘This isn’t your problem.’
As she watched Leander leave, the silence behind her seemed to grow all the more ominous, all the more oppressive, and she held her breath as the door swung to after him, waiting for the inevitable explosion that she had sparked off with her response.
CHAPTER FOUR
TO HER astonishment it didn’t come. Instead there was a faint, soft sound. The sound of Andreas drawing in his breath and letting it out again in a deliberate attempt at control.
‘So who put you in charge?’ he drawled cynically. ‘Who gave you permission to give my staff orders?’
‘Not orders.’
Becca caught her own breath, aiming to match his cold-toned restraint as she made herself turn round, coming to face him. She wouldn’t let his imposing stature, the arrogant set of his jaw, or the cold light in his eyes overawe her. If she did then he would win and she knew that Andreas Petrakos had never lost this sort of a battle in his life. He hadn’t almost tripled the family fortune in his thirty-three years by being anyone’s pushover, least of all any woman’s. But she had to manage this somehow; had to win herself at least permission to stay. The repercussions for Daisy if she didn’t were too terrible even to consider. She wasn’t going to let herself even imagine the possibility of defeat.
‘You’d already told him to leave. I was just making sure that he didn’t feel obliged to stay to protect me.’
‘You understand Greek?’
Just for a moment Andreas sounded so taken aback that Becca actually allowed herself the smallest hint of a smile. Typical male—typical Greek male, she told herself. He made assumptions from his lordly position in charge of everything and was stunned to find that perhaps those suppositions and his assessment of the situation were not quite as perfect as he believed.
‘I don’t have to know precisely what words you used to know just what you meant,’ she pointed out. ‘So tell me, do you always order everyone around as if they were a dog that was yours to command?’
‘Leander values his job too much to do anything stupid.’
‘Leander knows that you’re in a vicious mood and liable to bite his head off if he didn’t do as he was told. You surely didn’t really think that I was flirting with him? You have to know that…’
Yikes, no!
Mentally Becca screeched to a halt, slamming the brakes on the foolishly betraying words she had almost let slip. Don’t go down that road—just don’t!
Had she really been about to say to Andreas’s face that he had to know that when he was in a room—anywhere nearby—any other man just didn’t have a chance? That beside his incandescent male sexuality, every other male within a hundred miles became just a shadow of himself, fading into insignificance beside Andreas?
‘I have to know that what?’ Andreas enquired with silky menace when she caught herself up, biting hard on her foolish tongue. His brilliant dark eyes had narrowed sharply, the look he turned on her from them shrewdly assessing, and to Becca’s horror she felt a rush of embarrassed heat flooding her cheeks.
‘That I’m with you,’ she managed to force out.
Her voice grew stronger as she recalled her thoughts of moments before, putting them into words to get herself out of the hole she had dug for herself. If she was his current mistress, then she would probably laugh off Andreas’ overreaction just now.
‘And even if you don’t want anyone to fuss, if you’re determined to dismiss your staff like that, then someone needs to keep an eye on you.’
‘And you’re happy to do that?’
‘Of course.’
Did his question mean that perhaps he was reconsidering? That he would let her stay after all? Behind her back, Becca crossed her fingers secretly. She didn’t know what she would do if Andreas still insisted that she leave.
‘You should sit down.’
She waved a hand towards the nearest chair, cursing the way that, in her own eyes at least, her fingers’ unwanted tremor gave away too much to that cold-eyed scrutiny.
‘And would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee?’
‘Wine?’
It was a deliberate provocation and a wicked gleam in his black eyes told her that he was testing her. But he moved towards the chair just the same.
‘You’re just out of hospital after a nasty accident. Do you think wine is a good idea? How about thinking of something else?’
‘I would but you’d probably veto that as well,’ Andrea
s tossed at her surprisingly lightly, but Becca noticed that he took the seat she’d indicated all the same.
He sank down into it with every appearance of ease and lounged back, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He looked as if he was simply relaxing but there was a slight tightness to his mouth, a shadow on his skin that reminded her he was still convalescent. Pushing back her own chair, she got hastily to her feet.
‘I’ll get you some water, then.’
‘If that is all that you’re offering…’
Andreas’ reply stopped her in mid-flight to the kitchen, and she froze for a moment before she turned slowly back again. Had she heard right? Was that note in his voice what she thought it had been?
Was it possible that Andreas was actually flirting with her?
She realised what had happened. She had taken the route in the conversation that she would have done when they were together and an argument had broken out. She had stood up for herself, refused to give in to his anger, then she had moved the subject away and on to another topic entirely—and Andreas had followed her. Just as he had used to do when they were together, he had let himself be eased out of his bad mood and into another, very different one.
But was this different mood any less dangerous than before?
There was one thing she did know and that was that the way to make Andreas reveal his hand when he was determined to keep it hidden was to challenge him—call his bluff. And although he might not remember her or their life together, this was still Andreas, wasn’t it? She had to know where she stood and she thought she knew the way to go about it.
‘Water…’ she said firmly, hoping she sounded more confident than she actually was as she headed into the kitchen.
He didn’t need a drink—well, definitely not water, Andreas reflected as Becca marched into the kitchen, hunted around and found some bottled water in the fridge, but if she wanted to get him water then he was quite happy to let her. Anything so that he could watch her, enjoy the sway of her hips in the delicate blue dress as she walked, the way her breasts swung gently as she bent down to look in the fridge, the neat, precise movements of those soft hands—the hands he still remembered resting on his when she’d stood beside his bed—as she twisted open the bottle of water.
The truth was that he enjoyed sitting here and watching her move around his home, letting her take care of him. He was even enjoying his body’s instinctive reaction to having her around. The insistent clamour of his senses, the way he became hard just watching her might be frustrating and uncomfortable on one level, but at least he felt alive in a way that he hadn’t known since the accident. She was a hell of a lot more attractive than Leander or Medora, his devoted but matronly housekeeper. Medora might be the closest thing he had ever had to a mother, but she wasn’t a delight to watch like this woman.
This beautiful woman.
This beautiful, sexy woman.
This beautiful, sexy woman whom he wanted more than…
Hell and damnation, how could he say that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted her in the time they had been together, when he only remembered the smallest part of that time? The first weeks after they had met. And the most vivid memory he had of that time was of wanting this woman in his bed, just as he did now.
So was anything different in any way? He just knew that he wanted her so badly that it had made him act like a fool.
Andreas sighed and raked both his hands through his hair as he went back over the way he had behaved, the way that he had lost his temper so completely when he had seen Becca with Leander. Seen them talking together—laughing—flirting, he had believed. His anger had been like a red mist before his eyes. A burning mist that had pushed him into action without stopping to think.
But now that he’d calmed down he was going to have to apologise to his PA for snarling at him like a savagely jealous dog guarding a particularly juicy bone.
Andreas’ mouth twisted wryly.
Jealous?
Was that how he felt when he was jealous? The problem was that he had nothing to compare it with. He couldn’t honestly say if he had ever felt like that before. Had he ever been reduced to that sort of fury because he thought someone else had what he wanted? Had he set out to ruin a good thing because he felt so savagely angry?
Because Becca could be a good thing. He didn’t need to have any past reference points to tell him that; the effect that she had on him—on his body—on his senses—in the present was quite enough.
And he didn’t need telling that that was why he had been so blackly angry. Because he wanted her so damn much that it had clouded his judgement.
He’d make it right with Leander tomorrow. But he’d also make it clear that the younger man should keep his hands off. Becca was his and he wouldn’t allow anyone else to interfere.
She was coming back towards him now, the glass in her hand, and if the back view had been good then the front was so much better. The determination in her walk drew attention to those slender, curving hips and under the soft cotton her even softer breasts moved in a way that made his mouth dry. Her head was held high, stubborn little chin tilted deliberately and the fire in her eyes made him smile to himself at the enticing prospect of the battle to come.
‘Your water.’
Becca thrust the glass at him without finesse or ceremony and only the fact that his reflexes were swift and accurate stopped it from upending all over him.
‘I prefer it in the glass,’ he murmured drily, earning himself an expected glare of reproof that made those sea-coloured eyes flash like polished gems. The trite cliché ‘You’re beautiful when you’re angry’ hovered on his lips but he swallowed it down with a sip of the water, opting for not provoking her any further, and murmured carefully polite thanks instead.
‘You’re welcome,’ Becca retorted in a voice that made a nonsense of the courteous reply. ‘Enjoy your drink.’
It was as she swung away from him, turning on her heel with a dismissive little gesture of one hand, that he suddenly had the clear idea that he knew exactly what she was going to do. Her determined steps towards the door confirmed as much, making his lips twitch in suppressed amusement.
‘Are you going somewhere?’
She spared him another of those swift, flashing glares over her shoulder.
‘To my room—to pack, seeing as you’ve made it so plain that you don’t want me here. It would have been easier if you’d told me before I emptied my case.’
He let her get right to the door, waiting a carefully calculated moment, watching for the almost imperceptible hesitation in the fingers that reached for the handle…closed over it…flung it open…
‘You can stay,’ he said quietly, stopping her dead halfway out the door.
For a second or two he thought she hadn’t heard. Her foot was actually still held out in front of her, preparing to take the next step. But then, very slowly and silently, she lowered it to the ground, and stood still.
‘What did you say?’ she asked, not looking at him but staring straight ahead of her, into the now shadowy hallway.
‘I said you can stay.’
For a moment Becca couldn’t move. She felt as if she didn’t know what to think—how to think. She had the strangest feeling as if time had suddenly gone backwards and she and Andreas were back in the past, in the time when they had been together, before they were married.
Her strategy had worked exactly as she had planned it would. She had called his bluff, made it appear that she was about to leave, and he had let her get so far and then called her back. He was going to let her stay.
She should feel triumphant—she should feel happy. Andreas’ change of heart meant that she could have a hope of talking to him about Daisy—about the money so desperately needed to give her baby niece a chance of life. But she only knew a tiny glimmer of triumph and her other feelings were so complicated and mixed up that they kept her frozen, her eyes wide and sightless. Before she could talk to
him about Daisy he would have to recover his memory and the momentary glimpse she had just had into a past where they had been together—happy together—tore at her heart with the reminder of how it would be when he recalled the truth. He had thrown her out of the house, out of his life, because he believed she was only after his money. The thought of his reaction when he learned that she was only here now because of money again drained the blood from her limbs, making her legs tremble beneath her.
‘Becca? Did you hear what I said?’
She had hesitated too long, arousing Andreas’ suspicions. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of the fact that he had got up from his chair, looked as if he was about to come towards her.
‘Yes, I heard.’
Slowly she turned back to face him, her expression carefully blank.
‘You want me to stay as your nurse or as…?’
She couldn’t find a word to express the alternative—lover—partner—mistress—wife?—and so she just let the sentence trail off unfinished.
‘As whatever you want.’
Then an arrogant flick of his hand dismissed the question.
‘Definitely not my nurse! You know what I think of that idea. So why don’t you just stay—as my guest? Then if you think you need to keep an eye on me you can.’
‘And what would I do the rest of the time?’
‘Oh, I feel sure that we will think of something.’
‘Like what?’ Becca demanded, eyeing him warily.
A note in his voice told her that the flirtatious mood of a short time before had not, as she had thought, evaporated when she’d called his bluff by heading for the door. In fact every instinct she had ever had where this man was concerned was screaming at her that the lazy sensuality of his smile was deceptive in its indolence. The black eyes might be hooded and partially hidden under heavy lids but she could see enough of the gleam in them to know that his thoughts were not on the idea of her taking care of him—in the nursing a convalescent meaning of the words, at least.
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