Page 12 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

‘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 inside 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.

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