With that black-eyed gaze holding her still, frozen hypnotised, he lifted his hand and touched the backs of his fingers to her skin at her temple and then trailed them slowly down her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw, her chin. When the strong fingers reached her still open mouth, moving over the outline of her lips, it was all that Becca could do to hold back a moan of response. The temptation to part her lips even more, to let her tongue slide out and curl over that stroking fingertip, to feel the slightly salty tang of it on her tongue, remember how it had been to taste him all over, anywhere—everywhere—was almost irresistible.
But just as she drew in her breath, taking some of the essence of him in with it, fighting the primitive, carnal hunger that had suddenly reached out to enclose her, she hesitated for a second, for the space of a single heartbeat, suddenly terrified, painfully, cruelly aware of how far from wise such an action was.
And the next moment she could only be grateful for that sudden flash of control, of self-preservation. Because unexpectedly that stroking hand slowed, stilled, and then was abruptly snatched away, the rush of cold air where its warmth had once been and the sense of loss cruel enough to force her to bite down hard on her lower lip to hold back the cry of shock that almost escaped her.
‘I think not,’ Andreas said sharply, the tone of his voice putting distance between them more effectively than the single step he took, backwards and away from her. ‘This is not a good idea.’
While she was still recovering from a rejection that had had as much emotional force to her as a cruel slap in the face, he turned on his heel and strode away from her, flinging open a door in the opposite wall that obviously led to an en suite bathroom.
‘I need a shower—I’ll come down when I’m ready. Get Leander to show you to a room. We’ll talk about how we handle this later.’
Just like that, she was dismissed and he strode into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. A moment later she heard the key turning firmly in the lock as if he felt the need to make very sure it was secure against…
Against what? Did he think that she might actually try to go in there after him? That she was weak enough, foolish enough—desperate enough to try to follow him to fling herself into his arms?
Just what had she shown in her face when he had touched her? How much of herself, of her innermost thoughts had she given away? Knowing that he didn’t remember the truth about their relationship, had she been stupid enough to let her expression reveal the pain it had brought her in the time he couldn’t recall?
Or perhaps his sudden reaction just now was because he was beginning to remember?
Becca found that she was trembling all over, her legs shaking beneath her so that she didn’t feel they could support her any longer. Weak and unable to keep herself upright, she sank down onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. But her respite was brief because almost immediately she jumped up again, unable to bear the way the sheets were still warm from his body, still imprinted with the scent of his skin.
She could still feel him all around her, enveloping her in warmth. In her memory she could taste his kisses on her lips as strongly as if he had actually kissed her just now and not just dismissed her without a second’s thought. But in her mouth the sense of rejection was bitter, reminding her cruelly of how she had once felt when he had denounced and banished her from his life on the black day that had been their wedding day.
If I never see you again it will be too soon.
The words rang inside her head, reminding her of the pain and disillusionment she had felt at that time. The same hurt and bitterness that she was risking feeling all over again just by being here.
‘Oh, Becca, Becca, you idiot!’ she reproved herself harshly as she moved as far away from the bed as she could.
She had trapped herself well and truly and the only way to get out of this was to admit to Andreas just what had happened…
‘Oh, no…’
The words escaped from her lips in a whisper at the thought of confronting the cold, heartless anger she knew her husband to be capable of if she told him the truth. And besides, hadn’t she read somewhere that it was foolish, even dangerous to tell someone suffering from amnesia the truth about their situation? It was forbidden, wasn’t it? And she certainly wasn’t about to take the risk of confronting Andreas with something he couldn’t possibly want to know.
But he had asked for her.
That was what Leander had said, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
The truth was that she was so emotionally battered by everything that had happened in the last few weeks that single events were beginning to blur into one big, confused and confusing mass. She had barely recovered from the curt, totally businesslike reply Andreas had sent to her first enquiry before the phone call about the accident had come through, and as soon as she had heard that she had been on the plane out to Greece, to this tiny island that Andreas called home—and that once she had hoped, dreamed would be her home too.