One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (37 page)

‘You think I'll stay for that?' she asked.

‘I don't think you'll stay for anything. In fact, let's make this easy for you—let me help you on your way.'

Marching into the hall, he flung open the big wooden door, letting in the warm evening air where the shadows were now gathering.

‘Andreas, you can't do this! You married me today—we—we just consummated our marriage.'

But what sort of marriage was it when the man she adored had just baldly announced that he didn't love her?

‘If you divorce me then it will cost you even more…'

It was meant to bring him to his senses. To get him to see that if she was only after him for his money, then he was going the right way about making sure that she got as much as she could possibly want. Surely the thought that she would get half of his vast fortune would make him stop and think and see where he was going wrong.

Thinking
looked like the last thing that Andreas was capable of. And stopping was obviously the last thing that was on his mind. She'd never seen him like this before in her life. She could almost see the red mist of fury behind his eyes, and his dark face was so contorted into a snarl that she barely recognised him as the man she had loved so deeply. The man she had vowed only that morning to love, honour and cherish.

The man who had vowed the same while all the time he had a lie in his heart. He hadn't meant a thing.

‘I married you for sex—for that and nothing else.'

He didn't love her. Did she really want to be married to a man who felt that way, no matter how much she cared about him? What sort of a marriage would she be tying herself to?

‘Andreas, I'll be entitled to half of everything you own—and I'll take it.'

She wanted to shock him; prayed it would bring him to his senses. Perhaps she could…

‘It'll be worth it to get rid of you.'

Whirling round, he snatched up her suitcase, which still stood at the foot of the stairs where he had deposited it on their arrival. With a violent movement he tossed it out of the door and then turned back to face her, challenge stamped into every hard line of his dark, savage face.

‘Now, are you going to follow it or do I have to throw you out myself?'

It was then that Becca gave up, gave in. She had no more fight left in her, and besides, she didn't know what she was fighting for.

Was she going to beg—to plead with him to let her stay? Even if she managed to convince him that she had married him because she loved him, what difference would it make? He had made his position brutally plain. He had married her for sex and that was all. He wouldn't care if she loved him—the only thing he gave a damn about was his money.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she imposed a control on her quivering mouth, her burning eyes, that she didn't know she was capable of. She didn't know how she
looked,
but she knew how she wanted him to think she
felt
and prayed she was communicating that with her demeanour, her expression.
Please
let it show in her eyes. She was determined not to let a single tear fall, no matter how bitterly they stung at the backs of her eyes, how hard she had to fight not to blink them away.

‘Oh, I'm going—don't worry. There's nothing here to stay for. I think I've got all that I wanted from this relationship.'

‘Oh, I'll just bet you have. But don't think you'll be able to go for any quickie divorce. There will be no annulment—I've already made sure of that.'

Something in his voice caught on the raw, bleeding edges of Becca's heart, making her see just what was really behind the callous declaration.

He'd known already, she realised. Somehow, though God knew how, he'd found out about Roy Stanton before their marriage. And, thinking that he would trap her in a marriage that meant nothing to him, he had gone ahead and married her after all, knowing all the time that he was going to let it come to this.

Becca had no more fight left in her. All she knew was that she had to get out of here right now, before she broke down completely. If she let Andreas see how much she was hurting, then he would know that he'd won.

Somehow she made herself go past him to get to the door. The faint brush of her arm against his as she passed almost undid her, making her body run hot and then shiveringly cold as if she was in the grip of some terrible fever. She could only pray that her legs would hold up beneath her until she was actually out of the door and heading away, far, far away from the villa. She made it outside and into the warmth of the night, where, thankfully, the darkness hid the misery in her face, the tears she was fighting a losing battle to hold back.

It was then that Andreas flung his final, unbelievable comment after her.

‘Well, money I'll give you—but nothing else. Not a damn thing else.'

Marching with her head down, her eyes blind, fighting a bitter little battle with herself not to give in, Becca couldn't believe what she'd heard. He couldn't believe that all she wanted was money, and if he did then why on earth, even now, would he say that if she asked for money he would give it to her?

In confusion and bewilderment she turned, forcing herself to make one last, desperate attempt. But even as she swung round, it was already too late. Andreas had stepped back into the house, and as she watched he slammed the door shut, hard and fast, in her face.

She had to have heard wrong anyway, Becca decided. He couldn't have said what she thought he'd said. It didn't make sense.

But then nothing about this whole terrible evening made sense. The day had started out so wonderfully, with so much joy, so much hope. She had been looking into a great future—and now all that potential was over, in the past. Instead, the life she was facing seemed to have nothing to offer. And the future she had dreamed of was dead and gone.

And so she'd made herself keep walking. Walking away from the marriage she'd thought she was going to have. Away from the man she'd thought she'd loved.

The man she now tried to convince herself that she hated.

She'd walked away from the house, dragging her case with her and trying to hate him. She'd made the long journey home back to her stunned family, her bewildered friends, needing to hate him if she was to survive.

And the truth was that coming back here had proved to her in the most painful way that she hadn't succeeded.

She couldn't hate Andreas, in spite of a year of trying; it just wouldn't work. She was still every bit as much in love with him as on the day that she had married him.

A
NDREAS
was sick and tired of waiting.

How long had it been since Becca had headed for the pool house? And how long did it take to get into a swimming costume, for God's sake?

Or was there a problem? She had looked uncomfortable, edgy, when she had been sitting beside him on the edge of the pool. She'd definitely been too hot—and she had such fair skin…

The thought had barely formed in his mind before Andreas pushed himself to his feet from the sun lounger on which he had been relaxing and headed in the direction of the pool house himself, padding silently across the tiles on bare feet.

She was sitting on the wooden bench that ran along the white-painted wall. Her head was bent, her eyes downcast, staring at the floor, and her hands clasped together in her lap. She had changed into the costume and once again he was aware of the pallor of her skin, barely touched by the few days she had spent with him in the sun. And with the thought came a sudden vivid mental image of the two of them in bed together, her pale limbs entwined with his darker, stronger ones.

‘What is it?'

Without thinking he spoke in Greek, the sudden burn of his libido too strong to allow enough thought for translation into English.

The sound of his voice brought her head up fast, sea-blue gaze locking with his in an instant. But there was something in that look that he didn't understand. Something new and different that told him without words that a change had taken place in the time she had spent away from him.

‘Are you all right?'

‘Yes, fine.'

The words sounded all wrong, strangely staccato and somehow unconvincing. And the smile that she turned on him flashed on and off like some neon advertising sign. As soon as it subsided, her face was stiff and unresponsive.

‘Did it fit?'

It must have done—she was wearing the damn thing. So why was she sitting here, inside, instead of out in the sun?

‘Well…yes…'

She gestured to herself with a hand that was not quite steady.

‘I could get into it—but…'

The look in her eyes intensified, turned them into sea-deep pools under a sweep of dark, curling lashes. She seemed wary, as if unsure of how he was going to react.

Of course. She needed reassurance. She felt unsure of herself, of the way she looked.

‘Stand up…let me see.'

At first he thought she was going to refuse and that she would insist on staying where she was. But then, slowly and reluctantly, she got to her feet and turned towards him. For a moment her hands fluttered nervously and then she forced them down to her sides, obviously having trouble submitting to his appraisal. Watching her, Andreas felt his heart take up a heavy, pounding beat, one that sent the blood rushing to his brain and set his thoughts swimming.

He hadn't realised quite what a spectacular body she had been hiding under the loose, floating dresses and skirts she had been wearing since she had arrived at the villa a few days before. It had been obvious that her shape was supremely feminine, curved in all the right places, but he hadn't been able to guess at
this.
If he had noticed the pallor of her skin a moment before, now he saw how the flow of her blood just beneath the surface flooded her smooth flesh with a soft pink glow that gave it a lustre like the finest pearls. Against that paleness, the gleaming darkness of her hair was shocking, especially when combined with the unique soft colour of her eyes.

Her shoulders were softly rounded, curving down to slender arms, and in the vulnerable hollow where they joined the base of her neck—one of the most entrancing parts of a woman, he had always believed—her pulse beat hard and fast, betraying the way she was feeling.

Just for a moment he caught her eyes, saw the way she was watching him and felt his own heart kick hard as her darkened gaze locked with his. Was she really so unsure of herself? He tried a smile, aiming for the encouragement he believed she needed.

‘You look—beautiful.'

And he meant it. Meant it in a way that he would never have thought possible. It was as if, just for a moment, as she'd got to her feet something in the world had slipped, tilted, and then clicked back into place. But it wasn't quite the same now. Not quite as it had been before.

But for the life of him he couldn't say how.

He couldn't think about it now. He didn't
want
to think about it. What he wanted to think about was the woman who stood before him, tall and slender and so, so feminine in the clinging one-piece.

‘Beautiful…'

Her legs were longer that he'd ever imagined, seeming to go on for ever from the high-cut legs of the costume, and the way that it clung to every curve, smoothed over the swell of her breasts, the neat indentation of her waist made his mouth dry with hunger. He wanted to reach for her, pull her towards him, enfold her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Hell, he wanted to do so much more than that!

Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his face and he saw those rich lashes lift even higher as her wary eyes widened.

Her hands fluttered up again, came to rest above the scooped neckline of the costume, crossing over, covering the rich curves of her breasts and the shadowy valley between.

‘No…'

His tone was sharp and, stepping forward, he caught hold of those concealing hands, pulling them away from her, gently but firmly. And although she tensed for a moment, clearly thought about resisting, she gave in and went with him, a faint sigh escaping her as her white teeth worried at the fullness of her bottom lip. A lip that he could see was trembling in spite of her efforts at control.

‘No…' Andreas repeated, more softly this time. ‘No,
agape mou—
never hide yourself from me. Never.'

‘But—you—I…'

Her voice was just a breathless whisper and she seemed to struggle to get the words out. It wasn't just her lip that was trembling now; he could feel the faint tremors that shook the fine lines of her body as his arms came round her, supporting her when she seemed so nervous that she might actually fall.

‘No…' he said again, leaning forward to press the words against her mouth. ‘Never be shy with me. Why would you want to hide such loveliness, when any man would delight in seeing you—holding you…?'

‘I…'

Never be shy with me…

Becca barely heard the words above what seemed like the sound of a million buzzing bees inside her head, humming wildly and loudly as they whirled and twisted in a crazy flying dance that made her thoughts spin, her senses blur. Andreas thought that she was trembling all over because she was
shy;
because she was apprehensive as to what the man she was with would think of her when she first exposed her body in the clinging swimming costume to his assessing gaze. And he couldn't have been more wrong.

Or, rather, he was right but in a back-to-front sort of way.

She was nervous all right, apprehensive definitely, but not for the reasons he thought. Not because it was the first time he had seen her this way, wearing so little—but because of the exact opposite. Because she knew he
had
seen her dressed this way before and she didn't know if seeing her dressed in the costume again would remind him, jar loose whatever blockage was closing off his memory of the past from the reality of today, bring him back to himself in a rush.

And she was scared stiff that he was going to repeat his behaviour of that day and throw her out of the villa before she had a chance to talk to him, to even try to explain.

‘Andreas…'

Her mouth was so dry with fear that his name had an embarrassingly squeaky sound, and she caught herself up, swallowing hard to try to ease the constriction in her throat.

‘Thank you…' she managed, sounding better at least, but not much.

To her astonishment Andreas shook his head, sending the black hair, still wet from his swim, flying around his head.

‘Ochi
—no again.'

Somehow his use of his own language made his voice richer, deeper, more sensual, so that Becca caught in her breath as she heard it. And when he laid a single forefinger against her lips to silence her she felt her senses swirl again but in a very different way this time. The scent of his skin filled her nostrils, tantalising her nerves. She had to fight against the urge to open her mouth just so…and let her tongue slide out to curl around it, him, know the taste of his flesh on hers.

‘I am the one who should be thanking you.'

‘For—for what?' Becca questioned against his hand.

‘For staying.'

‘But you asked me to—and I was supposed to…'

‘That is not what I mean.'

Looking deep into her confused eyes, Andreas moved the restraining finger, lifting it to the middle of her forehead and tracing his way along her hairline, stroking a gentle pathway round to her temple and down along her cheek, sliding it under her chin to lift her face to his.

‘Don't you know that in a way you're the person I know best? The others—Leander, Medora—I don't remember the last year I spent with them—but that doesn't matter so much to me. We are as we have always been. But you—you're the one I feel I've come to know in the days you've been here. The one I've grown closer to. And I want to be closer…so much closer…'

‘Oh, don't!'

The cry escaped her in a panic, before she had even considered what she might say if he asked her to explain her reasons for the protest. She couldn't let him go on like this—couldn't…

But Andreas wasn't listening and the next moment any chance she had of saying more evaporated in a rush as those strong fingers under her chin exerted just a little bit more pressure, tilting her face up higher, coming closer to his. And his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that stole all thought away and took her senses with it.

Andreas' kiss started out slow, almost light, but in the space of a heartbeat it had moved from gentle through enticing until it got to hungry and insistent. And in spite of her fears, or perhaps because of them, Becca found that she didn't have the strength to fight him. She didn't
want
to fight him. With the realisation of how much she still loved him right at the forefront of her thoughts, she gave herself up to that kiss, melting into his arms, feeling their strength tighten around her, holding her close.

She was pressed up against him, against the warm expanse of his naked chest, with her head resting on the hardness of his shoulder, under the smooth stretch of tanned, golden skin. The black haze of hair that covered his chest was soft underneath her chin and she sighed and rubbed her face against it, feeling it tickle her. Under the clinging swimsuit her breasts tightened and stung with need, the hardened nipples pushing against the constricting cloth, and desire was a heated, pulsing pool low down in her body.

‘Becca…'

Her name was a raw sound on Andreas' tongue, thick and guttural, the sound of a hunger that matched her own.

This time when he took her lips again his kiss burned and demanded, his arms crushing her to him. And Becca went willingly, the thunder of need in her heart drowning out any weak voice of attempted caution. This was what she wanted; what she needed
now.
She didn't care about the past, had no thought of the future. What she wanted was right here in the present. Hers for the taking.

And she was going to take it.

She had spent almost a year mourning the loss of this passion in her life, hating the way that world seemed cold and hard and empty without it. Now she had one chance—probably one last chance—to experience the scalding pleasure of being here, where she most wanted to be, in Andreas' arms, with his kiss crushing her mouth, his hands hot and hard on her. And it was what she most wanted in all the world.

Those powerful hands were stroking over her skin, moving down along the straight line of her spine, leaving burning trails in their wake as if his touch was actually hot enough to mark her, brand her as his for all time to come. The feel of it made her moan aloud, arching her back like a small, sensual cat that stretched into a caress.

The movement brought her right up against him, against the heated swell of his powerful erection, a potent force that she felt almost as strongly as if she were naked, there was so little clothing to come between them. Just the heat of it made her breath catch in her throat and she swayed softly, turning her whole pelvis into a caress that had him snatching in air in a rush like a drowning man.

‘Becca!'

It was half protest, half encouragement and he clamped his big hands on the tight curve of her buttocks, holding her still, but keeping her pressed hard and tight against his burning flesh.

The words he muttered in her ear were in thick, rough Greek, and so incomprehensible to her, but she didn't need to know the language to understand, at the most basic, primitive level, exactly what he was saying to her. And it was something she wanted to say right back.