Page 17 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

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?’

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