Page 26 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

‘And now I suppose you’re going to say that, as my nurse, you can’t approve of my behaviour just now?’ he commented cynically. ‘Isn’t this your cue to tell me that it wasn’t at all sensible—?’

‘I wouldn’t dare say anything of the sort!’ Becca flung back at him, the uncanny way that he had almost read her mind unsettling her even more. She might have been thinking it but she certainly wasn’t saying it, not knowing the reaction she would undoubtedly get.

She just hoped that Andreas would believe that irritation was uppermost in her mind and so accept it as the explanation for the way her voice went up and down in the most embarrassing way. She had felt bad enough a moment earlier and the thought that he might recognise her response as one of purely physical awareness of the body floating lazily in the water, the tense muscles in the hard forearms, the glisten of water drops on the bronzed skin was more than she could handle right now. The drenched black hair clung so close to his scalp that it formed a severe frame for those devastating features, emphasising wide, carved cheekbones, the long, straight nose, hard jaw and almost shockingly softly sensual mouth. Her pulse was already racing in double time, making her heart catch tight in her throat. She couldn’t take another of his sensual onslaughts on her, any more of those devastating, breath-stealing, soul-destroying kisses.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Andreas retorted drily, hauling himself up onto the side of the pool and sitting on the edge with his long legs dangling over the side, feet in the water. ‘Because you seem so determined to revert to the nursing role that I was beginning to wonder if perhaps we ought to discuss your salary.’

‘I don’t want that!’

Sheer horror and the knowledge of just what she was hiding pushed the words from Becca’s mouth in an urgent rush. Scrambling down beside him so that she was on a level with him, she caught hold of his arm, looking earnestly into his face.

‘You don’t have to pay me! After all, I’m not doing anything to earn it…’

Her voice trailed off in shivering embarrassment as she felt a tide of heated blood flood her face, making her cheeks burn at the thought of the other way that her words might be interpreted.

‘I didn’t mean…You don’t have to pay me to…’

Oh, hell, she was making matters so much worse. Her tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its size, tangling up in her mouth so that she couldn’t get another syllable out, either to explain or to apologise. And the lazy smile that crossed that hard-boned face only made matters worse, the laughter in his eyes mocking her confusion and embarrassment.

‘Not pay perhaps, but I have a reputation for generosity to my mistresses.’

My mistresses.

If he had fired an arrow straight at her heart, piercing it brutally, it couldn’t have had a more painful effect than just hearing him speak so casually.

My mistresses.

That was all he thought of her as; all she would ever be; all he wanted her to be. Andreas only thought of her as someone with whom he wanted a sexual relationship—a mistress, nothing more. And he had said mistresses—using the plural. Which meant that he thought in terms of more than one relationship, of women who had come before her and…Her throat closed up, making it difficult to breathe…Women who would come after her.

And since their wedding day?

There was the burn of hot tears at the backs of her eyes as she forced herself to face an even less bearable thought. The idea that once he had rejected her, he had replaced her with someone else—maybe more than one someone else. How soon after her broken-hearted departure had he brought a new woman into the house that was supposed to have been her marital home? How quickly had he found someone new to warm his bed, fill his days?

How many of them had there been since she had been driven away from him?

The tears that stung at her eyes welled up even more, fighting for release. And with grim determination Becca fought them back, struggling to force them down, refusing to let them fall. But she could only manage the control she needed by gritting her teeth, refusing to blink, swallowing as hard as she could.

‘Becca?’

She wished she could say something—anything to make him look away. Preferably something light and throwaway that would distract him, make him laugh, direct that too intent, too searching scrutiny somewhere else. How could she recover her composure, get back her self-possession when he was watching her as if she was some particularly fascinating specimen under a microscope? One he wanted to dissect and analyse completely.

She knew that her cheeks were burning painfully. The struggle to fight back the tears had added to the already embarrassed colour in her skin. Mortified beyond bearing, she lifted a hand and brushed it across her face, praying that the small gesture would at least break the focus of that concentrated stare.

‘You’re hot,’ Andreas said quietly, the note of concern in his words almost destroying her completely. ‘And no wonder when you’re wearing too much clothing.’

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