To her delight and amazement Leander had not only supported her idea, he had even got straight on the phone to the agency to tell them the nurse they had been asked to provide would not be needed.
‘After all,’ Leander had said, ‘who better to care for a man than his wife?’
Leander, Becca decided, had a strong sentimental streak in him. But, as he had never met her when she had been in his employer’s life, then he obviously didn’t know that sentimental was the last way that Andreas would feel about his particular wife. But she didn’t disillusion him. Having Leander on her side was more than she could hope for, and just that one small gesture of support had made her feel that she could stay. That she might just be able to handle this—and hope to save baby Daisy as a result. She had even started to relax just a little.
But that had been before Andreas had appeared in the room, stiff-necked and scowling, with dark fire in his eyes, and ordered her to pack up and go, destroying all her hopes in a single moment.
‘I wasn’t flirting.’
Somehow she imposed the control she needed over her voice and made it sound calm and just a trifle indignant. She had to keep the pain of the last eleven months out of her voice. That would give her away for sure.
But Andreas’ current lover—the mistress he assumed her to be—would feel much more able to cope with his temper and his jealousy.
‘No?’
The mocking lift of one black eyebrow questioned her response in a way that almost shook her confidence. But she couldn’t let him get to her. For Daisy’s sake she had to be strong—for Daisy’s sake she had to make sure that she stayed here. ‘No!’
The forceful emphasis got his attention, making those deep-set eyes widen just for a moment before his handsome features settled back into their expression of cynical scepticism.
‘Can I point out that you were the one who told me to come downstairs…?’
The affronted tone was a good idea. It was quite clear that he hadn’t expected her indignation and was decidedly taken aback by it.
‘The one who lo…’
No, don’t mention the locked door or protest about it—that would take things to a deeper level. One that was clouded by the past between them that he remembered nothing about.
‘The one who told me not to fuss.’
That actually won her a tiny sign of acknowledgement from the dark, distant man before her. Not a nod, that would have been too much of a concession, but the proud head inclined faintly to one side and something flickered in the black eyes that might have been respect.
‘Kyrie Petrakos…’
It was Leander who spoke, inserting his words carefully into the tensely silent stand-off that had come between them. He said something in Greek, speaking swiftly and, Becca thought, rather nervously. Obviously Leander felt that his job was on the line—so would he continue to support her?
Andreas’ response was in the same language, sharp and obviously dismissive—a dismissal that was repeated when the younger man hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable and unsure.
‘It’s all right, Leander,’ Becca put in, turning to him, wanting to reassure him. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’
Out of the corner of her eye she could sense Andreas’ head snap round, feel the dark fire of his eyes burning into the back of her head as she spoke, and she could see the reflection of the furious glare in the concern on Leander’s face. But she made herself smile, pretending at a composure she was far from feeling.
‘Really…’ she said. ‘This isn’t your problem.’
As she watched Leander leave, the silence behind her seemed to grow all the more ominous, all the more oppressive, and she held her breath as the door swung to after him, waiting for the inevitable explosion that she had sparked off with her response.
CHAPTER FOUR
TO HER astonishment it didn’t come. Instead there was a faint, soft sound. The sound of Andreas drawing in his breath and letting it out again in a deliberate attempt at control.
‘So who put you in charge?’ he drawled cynically. ‘Who gave you permission to give my staff orders?’
‘Not orders.’
Becca caught her own breath, aiming to match his cold-toned restraint as she made herself turn round, coming to face him. She wouldn’t let his imposing stature, the arrogant set of his jaw, or the cold light in his eyes overawe her. If she did then he would win and she knew that Andreas Petrakos had never lost this sort of a battle in his life. He hadn’t almost tripled the family fortune in his thirty-three years by being anyone’s pushover, least of all any woman’s. But she had to manage this somehow; had to win herself at least permission to stay. The repercussions for Daisy if she didn’t were too terrible even to consider. She wasn’t going to let herself even imagine the possibility of defeat.