Page 42 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

How the hell could anyone think it would give him satisfaction to be proved right like this? He had once loved this woman, once wanted her to be in his life for ever—and she had betrayed him even before the vows had been spoken.

Wasn’t that what his dream had been about? About the way that he had had warning of what she was really like and yet had gone ahead with their wedding all the same. He had wanted to believe in her, to trust her, to put his faith in the one woman he had ever loved with all his heart. And so because he had loved her he had married her, convinced that the terrible things he had heard about her were lies.

And found out that they were the truth.

Did she think that he really would enjoy going through that hell all over again?

‘So tell me—what is it for? Have you gambled yourself into ruin? Spent a fortune you don’t possess? Developed an appalling cocaine habit?’

‘I would never do that!’ Becca protested, looking horrified that he would even consider it. ‘No, none of those.’

At least that was some sort of a relief. But it still left the other, less endurable reason why she might want the money.

‘Then why do you want the money so badly? Who do you want it for?’

‘Who?’

Becca’s head came up and she stared into his face with obvious confusion clouding her eyes.

‘Who would I—?’

‘Let me make it plain so you have no chance of misunderstanding: tell me that this money is not for him—not for Roy Stanton.’

‘Roy…no—no, it’s not!’

It was almost convincing but he had seen the way that her eyes had dropped, just for a split-second, her sea-coloured gaze sliding away as she gathered herself, thought hastily and then nerved herself to face him again.

‘It’s not for him.’

Andreas couldn’t sit there any longer looking into her beautiful face, into those wide, brilliant eyes, and know she wasn’t telling the truth. He couldn’t stand to watch those soft, full lips frame the lies that made his disgust a fury of rage inside his head.

He didn’t want to remember the number of times he had kissed those lips, all unknowing of the lies that had come to them so easily. He didn’t want to be tempted by the fact that all he had to do was lean forward, take that sexy body into his arms, press his mouth to hers, and in the fiery explosion of sensuality that was sure to follow they would both forget about the reasons why she was here, the past and all that had come between them.

If only he hadn’t taken her to bed this afternoon so that the memory of the passion that could flare between them at a touch was now so fresh in his mind. He only had to look at her and his body ached with need; he was hot and hard just thinking of her. His hands yearned to touch, his lips to kiss, every one of his senses clamoured for appeasement of its hunger. He had tried telling himself that she was not as gorgeous as he remembered, but taking her again after so long had only made him realise how wrong he had been. Once had not been enough—it could never be enough. All it had done was to serve to make him realise how much he wanted her again and again, more than ever before.

The satisfaction he had known in her bed this afternoon had totally evaporated already. It had only been enough to show him that he could never, ever sate himself on this woman, if he was to spend a lifetime trying.

‘Tell the truth, damn you!’ The hungry demands of his body made his words harsher and rougher than before.

Flinging himself to his feet, he made himself move across the room, putting as much distance between himself and Becca as possible, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers to conceal the way they had clenched into tight, angry fists.

‘Don’t lie to me, Rebecca! Never lie to me—not if you want to have any hope of getting what you want.’

‘I’m not lying.’

‘You are if you tell me that Stanton has nothing to do with this.’

That got through to her. Her face went white, all colour deserting her cheeks, and her mouth fell open in shock. So he’d been right in his suspicions. It didn’t make him feel any better to know it. Instead, he felt sick with contempt.

‘I’ll ask you again—does Stanton have anything to do with the reason why you want this money?’

How did she answer that? Becca thought miserably. Because she knew that just mentioning the name Roy Stanton was like setting a match to paper-dry tinder where Andreas was concerned, and she’d tried to dodge the truth once—not actually lying but avoiding answering with strict veracity as far as she could. Now that he’d changed the question, there was no hope she could do that again.

‘Don’t bother to say anything, Rebecca.’

She’d hesitated too long and Andreas had jumped to the inevitable conclusion.

‘I can see your answer in your face.’

She would have sworn that it was impossible for Andreas’ face to close up any tighter, his eyes to get any colder, or his expression any more distant, but somehow he had managed it.

‘I think you’ve had a wasted journey, Rebecca. You should have stayed at home and spared yourself the effort of coming all this way for nothing. You might have thought that deceiving me into believing that you had come to look after me so that you could worm your way into my bed would enslave me sexually again so that I could deny you nothing—’

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