Page 29 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

But going on the attack was the wrong move—the worst possible move of all. From being icily angry, Andreas’ temper went into meltdown, blazing fierce and furious as a forest fire, engulfing everything that stood in its way. And before she knew what was happening, it seemed that he was accusing her. But of what she was not quite sure.

‘The dress was fine—as far as it went. But it could have been more—should have been more…’

‘Should have! So now I have to wear what you order just to make sure that—that what? That I didn’t show you up by not wearing something suitable to match your status? Is that it, Andreas? Are you angry because I didn’t marry you in a couture gown—a designer original? One that would show my family—your friends—how wonderfully you can provide for me? That you can give me a fortune to spend on a single dress for a single day…’

‘A fortune that you gave to another man.’

‘I had my reasons!’

‘And what were they?’

And that simple question brought the whole argument to a crashing halt. The words died on her lips, crushed back down her throat as if someone had put a gag right over her mouth and tied it so tightly that she had no chance of saying a word in her own defence.

Because the truth was that she was gagged by her promise to Macy. She had sworn on everything she held sacred not to say a word. Not until Macy was safe. And when she had discovered that her already emotionally vulnerable half-sister was also very newly pregnant that vow had become even more important. So, even though it tore at her heart, she had to hold to that promise.

‘I—can’t say.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ Andreas snarled and the savagery of his tone had her flinching back, terrified of his rage, the flames of fury that blazed in the darkness of his eyes.

‘Andreas—please…’

How had this happened? How had the wonderful, blissful mood in which they’d reached the villa been turned into this terrible horror, this brutal tearing each other apart?

‘It was just money…’

‘My money—the money I gave you. And you gave it to him…’

And then she thought she could see what was happening. In a sudden rush of understanding, she felt she knew just why he was so angry—what had got to him so badly. She had always known about the dark shadow over Andreas’ past. The fact that his mother had only married his father for the money he had, the lifestyle he could give her, and when Alexander Petrakos had lost much of his fortune through some rash and ill-advised stock-market gambling Alicia had taken off with his wealthier cousin, turning her back on her five-year-old son without a second thought.

Then later, when Andreas himself had rebuilt the Petrakos fortune so that it had more than doubled the original amount, Alicia had turned yet again and tried to come back to the son she had abandoned over twenty years before. As a result, Andreas had always been wary of being used in the same way as his father. The slightest suspicion that any woman in his life might be a gold-digger meant that she was dropped so fast she never had time to even try to change his mind.

So if Andreas thought—or even suspected—that she had married him for his money…

‘Andreas, don’t…’ she tried again. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’

There had to be a way that she could reach him. A way that they could talk this out. If she could just calm him down, make him see that things could be put right. And then she’d talk to Macy, get her to see that she couldn’t keep her promise. She had to tell Andreas—he was her husband.

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘No—not if you love me…’

A sharp pain in her fingers jolted Becca back to the present, where, staring down at her hand, she realised that she had been twisting the stretchy material of the swimming costume round and round until it had tightened about her fingers, digging into the skin.

But the tight physical pain was as nothing when compared to the one in her heart as she remembered Andreas’ reaction to her stumbling attempt to put things right, or at least bring about a truce between them.

‘Love!’ Andreas’ harsh bark of laughter had been cruel and totally without any humour in it. ‘Love? Who brought love into this?’

‘But you—I—you married me…’

‘Not for love!’ he flung the word in her face. ‘I don’t love anyone—least of all you! I doubt if I’m capable of the feeling. I married you for sex—for that and nothing else. No other woman has ever made me feel as hot as you do.’

It was as if some freezing iceberg had suddenly enclosed her so that she could see and hear but she was incapable of moving and, for now at least, the terrible cold had deadened all feeling so that she was numb right through to the soul. Even her heart hardly seemed to be beating at all.

‘S-sex?’

‘Yes—sex. That thing we just enjoyed upstairs.’

‘I didn’t enjoy it.’

‘Liar.’

She wouldn’t have enjoyed it, couldn’t have enjoyed it if she’d known that he had been using her as cold-bloodedly and cruelly as it now seemed. If their whole marriage had been based on a lie and not the real love she believed it to be.

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