One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (42 page)

‘Red will be fine.'

‘I'll get it. I will be back in a moment.'

He was gone much more than a moment. How long did it take to find a bottle, open it—pour? Becca paced around the room like a restless cat, unable to settle, too uneasy to sit still.

Was he ever coming back?

It was as she thought the words that the door opened again and Andreas came back into the room. And at once for Becca it was as if the world had suddenly righted itself again, in a way that had nothing at all to do with the reason why she was here, the question she was waiting for him to answer.

The truth was that she was so desperately in love with this man that simply to be with him, in the same room, so that she could see him, watch him, know he was there, was enough for her. She could see how the burning light from the sunset fell on the raven's-wing darkness of his hair, burnishing it with glowing red tones, look into the blackness of his eyes and see their brilliance in spite of the shadows of the room. She could hear his soft breathing, the pad of his still bare feet on the wooden floor. And the ozone tang of the sea was still on his skin and hair from the time on the beach.

And from wanting things to hurry up, from needing an answer to her questions as quickly as possible, she suddenly knew an overwhelming desire to drag this confrontation out for as long as she could. She had just realised that this was probably going to be the very last conversation she ever had with Andreas. The last time she would be able to be with him and talk to him at all. After this, whatever his answer was, then they would go their separate ways. She would go home to England, to Macy and Daisy and some sort of life she would live there, and Andreas would stay here. And she would never, ever see him again.

The thought burned in her throat, closing it up so that she had to struggle to breathe, concentrating so fiercely that she didn't hear Andreas speak even when he repeated the words more loudly.

‘I—I'm sorry?'

‘I said, would you like to sit down?'

Andreas gestured towards the settee with one of the wine glasses he held.

‘Isn't it usual at this point to say—do I need to?' she managed, aiming for a joking tone.

But then she looked into Andreas' sombre, shadowed face and all trace of laughter, real or pretend, fled from her thoughts at once.

‘Do I?' she asked on a note of anxiety.

‘Sit down, Becca,' Andreas said and it was a command not a suggestion, one that had her slumping down onto the big leather settee without daring to protest or question any further.

‘All right…'

Andreas sat opposite as he had before, placing both glasses of rich red wine on the table and pushing one towards her. Becca reached for hers, picked it up, then hesitated, looking down into the ruby-coloured liquid. She had the nasty feeling that if she tried to swallow it, her throat would constrict even more, choking her, and she would simply splutter the drink everywhere. With a faint sigh she set it down again and waited.

‘So tell me about the baby. About Daisy.'

It was the chance she had wanted, that she had prayed for. But now that it was here she hardly knew where to begin.

But Andreas had used the baby's name. He'd called her Daisy. So surely he couldn't be going to turn his back on the little girl. Not when that seemed to mean that she was becoming a real person to him.

‘I have a photograph—it's upstairs in my…'

She had been getting to her feet, anxious to go and fetch it, to show him her beautiful baby niece, but she stopped when he shook his head, sank back down into her seat instead.

‘I want to hear about her from you.'

For a second Becca couldn't find the words, didn't know where to begin, but then she started hesitantly, and suddenly everything just came pouring out. How reluctant her sister had been to admit that she was having a baby. The way that Macy had neglected herself during her pregnancy…

‘She's always been in danger of being anorexic and when she started getting bigger with the baby, she hated it. I tried to get her to eat, but she was always saying she was too fat. She never ate enough to keep herself alive, never mind let the baby grow healthy. Then she went into labour early—too early. Daisy was born prematurely…'

She choked off the words, unable to continue, staring in front of her with unfocused eyes as she remembered the tiny little scrap of humanity that the baby had been at that time.

‘They managed to save her—but there are problems with her heart. We were told that the operation she needs isn't available in England—it's too new, too specialised. Before this babies like her just died—no one could do anything for them. But there's a surgeon in America who has been working wonders on tiny babies just like her. If we could just get him to operate on her.'

‘And for that you need money.'

Becca could only nod silently, her heart too full for speech. Putting Daisy's plight into words like this had brought it home to her how desperate the situation was; made her remember just how fragile the little girl's life could be.

‘And that is why you came to me?'

There was a note in his voice that she couldn't interpret, and his eyes were bleak as ice floes.

‘I—I wrote to you about it,' she managed and Andreas nodded slowly.

‘I remember that now—a letter that arrived just before the accident. Those days are still not clear.'

He frowned faintly, rubbing at his temples, obviously trying to recall things from before the car crash.

‘The distant past is something I remember better. But I sent an answer, I believe.'

‘Yes. You told me to get in touch with your solicitors—write down exactly what I needed and why and you would con—consider my request.'

That frown was back between Andreas' black brows, but it was more pronounced now.

‘Then why are you here? Why didn't you just do that?'

‘Because…' Becca began then broke off sharply as something Andreas had said a moment earlier hit home to her.

Those days are still not clear…The distant past is something I remember better.

Did he not remember that he had been asking for her? That was the one reason she was here. A reason that she had been forced to decide had just been Leander imagining things, because nothing in Andreas' behaviour seemed to fit with a moment like that.

But if he didn't remember…

‘Because?' Andreas prompted harshly.

Leaning forward, Becca snatched up her glass of wine again and took an unwary gulp. It was enough to clear her head.

‘Because I thought it was best to explain the situation to you face to face. You deserved that at least if you were going to help us.'

‘But when you got here, you found that I didn't remember your letter—or you.'

‘And so I let you think that we had never split up. I'm sorry,' Becca put in hastily and sincerely. ‘I couldn't think of anything else to do.'

Andreas didn't seem to be listening. He was reaching into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He tossed it onto the table beside her wine glass.

‘What's this?' Becca looked at him, puzzled.

‘Open it and see.'

She picked up the paper with hands that shook, opened it with difficulty. But she couldn't make head or tail of the contents. Even when she held the document directly under the lamp, it still didn't make any sense and the words and figures on it—especially the figures—danced and blurred in front of her eyes.

‘What is this?'

‘Instructions to my bank—I faxed them just now. They will release the money—anything you need.'

‘Anything I need…'

Becca couldn't believe that this was happening. Was it true. Had Andreas really said…?

‘You're going to help?'

‘I always said I would give you any money you needed.'

‘Oh, thank you!'

It was hopelessly inadequate to express the way she felt. She wanted to dance for joy—she wanted to fling her arms around Andreas and kiss him…but a careful look into his dark, shuttered face made her rethink that idea hastily. Instead she reached out across the table and caught both of his hands in hers, holding them tightly.

‘
Thank you
! Thank you so much!'

‘My pleasure.'

The words meant one thing, but the expression in those glittering black eyes and the way that he pulled his hands from her grasp said something else completely and a lot of Becca's euphoria evaporated as he got up and moved away.

Of course—he was prepared to help Daisy, but not her. Though there was something he had said…

But before she could quite grasp what it was, Andreas had spoken again and his words pushed all other thoughts from her mind.

‘So now you've got what you came for…'

How she wished that Andreas hadn't got to his feet because now he seemed to tower over her, dark and forbidding, as she registered what he had said.

She'd got what she'd come for and now he wanted her to leave. She'd been right that he couldn't let Daisy suffer for the division that had come between them, but his actions hadn't indicated any healing or even a hope of peace. He'd provided the money she needed; he wasn't offering her anything more.

‘Of course.'

She stumbled to her feet in a rush, refusing to let the anguish in her heart show in her face. She might be falling apart inside at this speedy, cold-blooded dismissal, but outwardly she was determined to be as brisk and businesslike as possible.

‘I'll leave at once. If you'd just give me time to pack, I'll be on my way. And if you call me a taxi—'

‘No.'

It was hard and coldly savage, slashing into her words as she tried to get them out.

‘No. That's not the way it's going to be.'

‘It isn't?'

The sun was almost totally below the horizon now and the room so dark that she could scarcely see his face. But one last, lingering ray of light fell on the coldly glittering eyes, the start of his tightly clamped jaw. There was no yielding in him, no gentleness at all, and her heart quailed at the thought of just what he was about to say.

‘You're not leaving.'

It was so unexpected that she almost laughed. But she caught back the betraying sound with an effort and managed to control her face so that the shocked astonishment she was feeling didn't show on it.

‘Of course I am.'

She had to get home, tell Macy the wonderful news, get the hospital to put things in motion…

‘You can't want me to stay.'

She blinked in astonishment as an autocratic flick of Andreas' hand brushed aside her protest in a second.

‘That is where you are wrong,
agape mou
,' he told her with deadly intensity. ‘I very much want you to stay.'

‘But why…?'

‘Oh, Becca, Becca…' Andreas reproved and the softness of his tone made an icy shiver crawl all the way down her spine. ‘You are not so naïve that you have to ask that question. You know why I want you here, what I want from you.'

And of course she did.

‘Sex,' she stated baldly and saw a frown draw his black, straight brows together.

‘I prefer to call it passion.'

‘You can call it what you like.'

The pain that was clawing at her heart made her voice harsh; the fight to hold back tears roughened it at the edges.

‘But sex is what you mean and…'

Her voice failed her as a terrible truth dawned in her thoughts, the horror of it taking away all her strength.

‘Is this about the money? Is this what you're demanding in return for helping Daisy—your conditions for the loan? Is it what I have to do to ensure she gets the operation?'

She knew she was wrong as soon as she'd spoken. Even the shadows in the room couldn't disguise the way his head went back, the hiss of his breath between clenched teeth.

‘What sort of a brute do you think I am?'

The vein of savage anger in Andreas' voice made her blood run cold. There was no room for possible doubt of his sincerity. But she didn't have the strength to take the words back, particularly not when his hand flashed out, clamped tight around her wrist and pulled her towards him with a rough, jerky movement.

‘Your sister and her child, the money for the operation—money that is a gift, not a loan—all that is dealt with. You can get on the phone to your sister—to the hospital, tell them arrange everything—and then that is done. Finished.
This
is between you and me. And nothing is finished between the two of us.'

‘But…' Becca tried to interject but Andreas ignored her weak attempt at speech.