Page 19 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

‘No…’ she tried again, managing to make it actually sound like a word this time. But she still couldn’t put any real force into it. She still couldn’t make it sound like the word that was ringing inside her head, screaming to be heard.

No, no, no, no! that voice said. Loud and clear and savagely honest. A voice that no one could doubt she meant.

But that voice was the voice of panic. The voice of pain. The voice of the woman who had once loved this man so desperately that she had rushed into marriage with him without stopping to think. It was the voice of the woman whose heart he had broken. The voice of the woman whose love had turned to hatred in the black, terrible moments as she forced herself to walk away from him—fighting a cruel bitter war with her longing to turn back, to see him just once more.

It was the voice of the woman that she couldn’t let Andreas see.

Not now, not ever, at least until he had his memory back and he knew once more who she was. Not until she had had a chance to talk to him, to ask him for help for Daisy. To save the baby’s life.

And even then she couldn’t—wouldn’t ever let him see just what he had done to her. She couldn’t let him begin to guess how much he had destroyed her life.

And she most definitely couldn’t do it now.

‘No?’

For a moment she thought it was still her own voice screaming inside her head. But then on a jolt of her heart, she realised that it was Andreas and that he had put a darkly questioning note onto the word.

One that meant she had to find an explanation for her sudden change of mood. A reason why she had been a willing, an eager partner one moment and then slammed the brakes on hard the next. And even in her own mind, looking at her actions, she saw with a shiver how her behaviour might be interpreted. How it could seem that she didn’t know her own mind or—worse—was some sort of tease who had now decided to call a sudden halt.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘YOU—upstairs—you said you thought this was a bad idea.’

Looking into his face, she felt her heart skip a beat as she saw the way he frowned, the black, straight brows snapping together over the brilliant eyes. Eyes that she could see were burning with frustration, with refusal to admit the need to stop. For a second she thought that he was going to argue with her but then, slowly, he nodded…

‘It is a bad idea when I don’t know who I am or the first thing about our past together. And you’re not going to tell me about that, are you?’

That at least was easy to answer, but still Becca couldn’t find any words, only managing a silent shake of her head as a reply.

‘I understand. I know the doctors have said that it’s better I wait for things to come back by themselves—if they come back. And that does complicate matters.’

He might be agreeing with her but he still wasn’t letting her go. And somehow the fact that he wasn’t actually kissing her made the way he was holding her so tight, so close, even more intimate than before.

His voice might be calm and civil, his expression controlled, but there was nothing remotely restrained or civilised in the swollen flesh that pressed so hard against her. And equally primitive was the hungry reaction that was raging through her as senses and nerves tantalised awake by the touch of Andreas’ hand, the force of his kiss, were forced to adjust to the sudden loss of the heated pleasure, and protested wildly at having to do so.

‘But only in that way.’

Black eyes blazed down into Becca’s upturned face, the heat in them seeming to scorch her skin and making her shift uneasily from one foot to another. Andreas’ intense gaze flickered for a moment as he watched the small movement, but he didn’t release her or adjust his position at all. If anything he held her tighter. So tight that she could hear the heavy, powerful thud of his heart so close to her cheek, echoing her own restless pulse rate that refused to settle down into normal again.

‘In every other way it felt right. So right that I don’t want it to stop…’

He was drawing her close again but then, for a moment, his voice hesitated, that intent focus of his eyes seeming to blur and look clouded.

‘Andr…’ Becca began then let the rest of his name evaporate in a rush of sheer panic. Her heart seemed to stop, actually stand still and then lurch back into movement at a violent, uneven pace as the reason for his sudden abstraction hit home like a blow to her mind.

Was he remembering her? Starting to recall anything about his past—and about the part she had played in it?

Upstairs, in the bedroom, in the moment she had known that he wanted to kiss her and before he had run his hand down her cheek in the gesture that had torn at her heart, he had had just this sort of a look on his face. His eyes had seemed to become unfocused then as if his thoughts were not on the present but somewhere else, in the past, in the life he could not remember.

And that was what she wanted—wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Or was it?

She needed him to know what had happened between them before she could even start to have a hope of asking him for help. Before she could tell him about Daisy and the vital operation the baby needed. And if kissing her—more than kissing her—jolted his memories back into place then why not go along with it, at least for now?

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