Page 52 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

She hadn’t been able to stay where she was, with the space beside her in the bed growing colder with every second that passed. The feeling had reminded her too closely of the way she had felt when she had gone home after the disaster of their wedding day and had had to try to fall asleep in the bed that she had once shared with Andreas, knowing that she would never, ever sleep with him again. And so she had pulled on her nightdress and crept down the stairs after him.

But now she wished that she’d never done so. The look on Andreas’ face, the sense of withdrawal that had hooded his eyes, tightened his jaw, worried her even more than his restlessness had done. There was something very wrong here and she couldn’t begin to guess what.

And being in this room with him like this, in this incomprehensible mood, brought back unhappy memories of the way that he had confronted her here, on the night of their wedding.

‘Then I should take you back there. I’m sure I can think of a way of helping us both to sleep.’

It was smoothly done. Almost convincing. But Becca’s nerves were already on red alert, and, hypersensitive as she was to everything about Andreas, she caught the faint unevenness of his tone, the way his gaze had flicked to the file on the table and then away again.

There had been a file on the desk then too. In fact, she wasn’t sure that it wasn’t the same file.

‘What is that?’

‘Just business…’

His hand went out to close the file, but, alerted by his tone, Becca was there before him. Grabbing at it to get it from him, she sent it flying, the file, and the photographs it contained, falling wildly to the floor.

‘Oh, I’m sorry…let me…Oh…’

On her knees beside the desk, she froze, staring down at the photographs in each hand.

‘Who’s this with Macy—and why do you have a picture of my sister?’

‘Give them to me…’

Andreas had crouched down beside her, reaching for the pictures, but then he too froze, staring at her in blank confusion.

‘What did you say?’

‘Who’s this?’

The look in his eyes made fear clutch at her heart. Just what was happening?

‘No—the rest of it. “Who’s this with…?”’ he prompted.

‘With Macy?’

Was that what he wanted? Or something else?

‘If you want the man’s name then I can’t…’

‘You don’t recognise him?’

If the look in his eyes had been bad, then the raw urgency in his voice made her tremble.

‘No—I—Andreas, what is this—what are you asking—what is this picture?’

He didn’t answer but just held out his hand to take the photos from her. Then he gave her the other hand and helped her to her feet. All in total silence. When she was upright, he spread the photos on the desk and focused the beam of the lamp directly on them.

And waited.

This was important. No words needed to be used to tell her that. Andreas’ silence and that wary, watching stance of his meant that she had to give the right answer. But what was the right answer?

There was only one way she could go with this.

The truth.

‘I don’t know what you want me to say, Andreas, but I’ll tell you what I see.’

She touched the photograph lightly, her fingertip resting on the image of the slender, dark-haired woman.

‘That’s Macy—my half-sister—and that building behind her is where she has her flat. Or, rather, had her flat. Since she discovered she was expecting Daisy, she moved in with me and…’

Her voice trailed off as realisation dawned and suddenly she was looking at the picture again, knowing just when it had to have been taken.

‘Are you telling me that that…’ a wave of her hand indicated the man in the picture, small and slim and with a boyishly handsome but weak, self-indulgent-looking face ‘…is Roy Stanton?’

And that was the moment when she knew that something had really changed. Because when she looked into Andreas’ eyes as she spoke the words she saw none of the anger, none of the hostility that her use of that name had always created, but instead there was a stunned expression in their darkness. And she could almost have sworn that there were new shadows under his eyes, giving them a bruised, exhausted look.

‘How do you know that’s your sister?’ he asked now and his voice was so husky and raw that it made her wince. ‘You can’t see her face.’

‘No, but I know the T-shirt she’s wearing—and the shoes. Macy just loves the highest heels she can find. Of course, from the back she could almost be me but there’s…’

The impact of what she’d said dried her throat, taking the words from her. In the half-light Andreas’ face looked drawn and haggard, and that stunned look had given way to one of real horror.

‘Is that what you thought, Andreas? Is that what—what someone told you?’

Once more she looked down at the photograph, seeing it this time as he might have seen it, if someone had told him that she was the woman in the picture.

A woman who had flung herself into the arms of the man with her. Into Roy Stanton’s arms. A woman who had her own arms up and around his neck, one hand almost buried in the man’s fair hair as she pressed her lips against his in an ardent, passionate kiss.

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