Page 43 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

‘It wasn’t like that!’ Becca protested sharply, but Andreas continued without pausing, speaking over her as if she had never tried to say a thing.

‘Unfortunately for you, I got my memory back before you could really work on me, but I think you should know that you were foolish even to try. I don’t put my head into that sort of noose twice.’

‘I didn’t…’ Becca tried, but Andreas shook his head, his refusal to listen stamped into every line on his face.

‘If you’re wise, you’ll leave it there, Rebecca. You will only make things so much worse if you continue.’

Pulling his hands out of his pockets, where they had been pushed deep all this time, he raked both of them through the black silk of his hair, ruffling it wildly, and Becca bit down hard on her lower lip as a sudden yearning desire to go and smooth it down for him caught her painfully on the raw.

Then he was speaking again, heading for the open patio doors as he did so.

‘I threw you out of my life once because of him, and I’m quite prepared to do it all over again. In fact, I would prefer it if you left now. I’m going for a walk on the beach—and I don’t want to find you here when I get back.’

‘Andreas…’ Becca tried but she was talking to his back. He was moving so fast, with such ruthless determination, that he was already outside, already heading away from her physically when he had been so distant from her mentally all the time.

She couldn’t let him go. Not like this. If she did then any hope of saving baby Daisy were gone for good, and she would rather die than let that happen. She had to try and get him to reconsider.

‘Andreas—please…’

But he continued walking, not even glancing round at her. His long, straight back was held so stiffly upright, his proud head so high, that she could almost see her words bouncing off the invisible walls of defence that he had built around himself.

‘Andreas—don’t…’

She stepped out after him into the heat of the sunny afternoon.

‘The money’s not for me—or for—for him…’

She didn’t dare to actually speak Roy Stanton’s name, knowing the incendiary effect it had on Andreas.

‘It’s for a child—a baby…’

He’d stopped at least. But she still had to get him to turn round. Right now he could still walk on—away from her.

‘Please listen.’

He was turning. Slowly—but he was turning to face her. Her heart leapt with relief, leaving her breathless and shaky.

‘A baby?’

He managed to inject the words with such scepticism, such disbelief that she fully expected him to fling a rejection in her face and move on. She had his attention for now; she had to hold on to it and make him understand.

‘A little girl—Daisy—she’s desperately sick and—’

‘Whose baby?’

It slashed through her words as she struggled to get them out. And at the same time those blazing black eyes seared over her from top to toe, taking in her slender figure, lingering on her waist…

‘No, not mine,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘Daisy’s not my baby—though I love her as if she were. She—she’s my niece. And I would do anything I could to help her.’

‘Niece?’ Andreas echoed as if he did not understand the word. ‘Anepsia? You do not have a niece.’

‘Yes, I do—she’s my sister’s little girl. And before you say that I don’t have a sister,’ Becca rushed on when he opened his mouth, clearly planning to do just that, ‘let me tell you that I do. A half-sister, that is. But I didn’t know about her for years. I only found out about her—quite recently.’

She paused, waiting for Andreas to ask the next question, but he remained silent, hands on narrow hips, black eyes fixed on her face, obviously waiting for her to go on.

‘You know that I’m adopted. That I was born when my biological mother was only sixteen? And my mum and dad adopted me as a tiny baby. I told you…’ she prompted, needing some response from him before she could go on. She couldn’t just pour the whole story out while he stood there, silent and withdrawn, as distant from her as if some huge cavern had opened up on the stone-flagged terrace, separating them from each other.

A faint, brief inclination of his dark head was all the acknowledgement Andreas made and then he was still again, obviously waiting for her to continue.

‘I’ve been trying to find my birth mother—to see if I had any family. Blood family. I thought it was important to know.’

She couldn’t tell him that this search had taken on a whole new meaning and importance from the moment that Andreas had asked her to marry him. That she had really felt the need to know about her family then, to know if she had some blood ties, someone who was linked to her that way. And deep down there had also been a secret, private need to know if there were any health problems she needed to take into consideration if she and Andreas were ever to have children. That was one concern that no longer mattered at all, she told herself miserably.

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