‘Come here.’
It was pure Andreas; pure command. If he had snapped his fingers he couldn’t have made it any more autocratic. In spite of herself, Becca pushed herself up from the arm of the chair, turning towards him, then hesitated when she saw the way that the powerful hands had closed over the bed coverings, about to throw them back.
‘What are you doing?’
Her voice went up at the end of the sentence, revealing her shock and unease. When they had been together Andreas had always slept naked and the thought that he might reveal more of his powerful body than he was doing already made her blood run hot and then cold as if she was in the grip of some dangerous fever.
‘I have to get up.’
The black eyes that met her shocked blue ones were wide and steady. No trace of anything other than straightforward openness lurked in their depths and his mouth showed no hint of quirking into any sort of a smile. Any double meanings or ulterior motives were in her own mind, her uncomfortable conscience making her edgy.
‘And as I’m not yet as steady on my feet as I’d like to be, it might be advisable if my nurse—you—was close at hand in case of any problems.’
At least he was wearing pyjama trousers, Becca realised on a shudder of relief as the way that Andreas flung back the coverings revealed his long legs covered in navy-blue cotton. But with his chest and arms bare, there was still far too much of the beautiful olive-toned skin on display for her personal comfort.
Before the accident, he must have been working out more than ever because every inch of his upper torso was taut and toned, the muscles sharply defined, and there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on the powerful ribcage, the narrow waist. The soft hazing of jet-black hair reminded her painfully of the way that she had loved to smooth her fingertips over its softness, feeling the contrast between it and the satin skin beneath.
Should she offer a hand to help him? Her pulse jerked at the thought of his fingers closing over hers, her throat drying painfully so that she had to swallow hard to relieve it. After all these months apart from him, she had managed to convince herself that her response to Andreas’ hardcore male sexuality had been a form of mental aberration, a brief spell of madness that had taken her over, driving her out of her sane mind and into a world in which her normal, controlled responses no longer ruled her actions.
But now all she had had to do was to come into his presence once again—to move closer at his arrogant command—and suddenly it was all happening all over again. It was as if she breathed in the intoxicating drug of seduction simply by being in the same atmosphere as him, drawn to him irresistibly, her senses drugged into instant submission. And coming close to him only made it so much worse. She could catch the intimately personal scent of his skin, see the way that the sunlight glinted on his silky black hair as he moved his head…
‘Here…’
Her voice was gruff and ungracious, made that way by the discomfort of her thoughts as she held out an arm to offer him support. Just at the last minute she suddenly had a loss of nerve that had her angling it so that her forearm, covered in the white cotton of her jacket, came closest to him rather than the bare skin of her hand.
‘Thank you…I think.’
Andreas’ tone of voice, the slightly cynical twist to his beautiful mouth, told her that he had noticed her hesitation, and the careful adjustment, and misinterpreted her reasons for it.
‘You were not joking when you said that you don’t intend to fuss.’
‘I’m sorry—I…’
Whatever she had been about to say vanished from her mind as she felt him take hold of the support she offered, strong fingers closing around her upper arm, the heat of his palm searing her skin through the soft cotton. It was as if he had attached a live electrical lead to her skin and the resulting current had raced along every nerve, fusing her thoughts. And when he put his weight onto his grip and got to his feet she was lost completely.
‘Andreas…’
His name left her lips in an involuntary gasp as a response burned its way up to her brain and flashed heated memories that she had tried to erase onto a screen in her mind. From nowhere came images of the way that he had touched her before, the effect that the feel of his hand on hers had created—the things that it had led to. Her skin tingled in response to those imagined caresses, her mouth dried in wanting, longing for the feel of his lips on hers, and a rush of liquid heat flooded into her innermost core.
Without being aware of it she swayed towards him in a moment of desperate weakness, only catching herself as the movement brought her so close to the lean, powerful body that she could catch the scent of his skin, still warm from the bed, inhale the clean, masculine essence of him and feel it burn all the way down her senses. The hyper-efficient air-conditioning in the room became less than useless as a fire of response raged through her body.