November Harlequin Presents 1(125)

‘Water…’ she said firmly, hoping she sounded more confident than she actually was as she headed into the kitchen.

He didn’t need a drink—well, definitely not water, Andreas reflected as Becca marched into the kitchen, hunted around and found some bottled water in the fridge, but if she wanted to get him water then he was quite happy to let her. Anything so that he could watch her, enjoy the sway of her hips in the delicate blue dress as she walked, the way her breasts swung gently as she bent down to look in the fridge, the neat, precise movements of those soft hands—the hands he still remembered resting on his when she’d stood beside his bed—as she twisted open the bottle of water.

The truth was that he enjoyed sitting here and watching her move around his home, letting her take care of him. He was even enjoying his body’s instinctive reaction to having her around. The insistent clamour of his senses, the way he became hard just watching her might be frustrating and uncomfortable on one level, but at least he felt alive in a way that he hadn’t known since the accident. She was a hell of a lot more attractive than Leander or Medora, his devoted but matronly housekeeper. Medora might be the closest thing he had ever had to a mother, but she wasn’t a delight to watch like this woman.

This beautiful woman.

This beautiful, sexy woman.

This beautiful, sexy woman whom he wanted more than…

Hell and damnation, how could he say that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted her in the time they had been together, when he only remembered the smallest part of that time? The first weeks after they had met. And the most vivid memory he had of that time was of wanting this woman in his bed, just as he did now.

So was anything different in any way? He just knew that he wanted her so badly that it had made him act like a fool.

Andreas sighed and raked both his hands through his hair as he went back over the way he had behaved, the way that he had lost his temper so completely when he had seen Becca with Leander. Seen them talking together—laughing—flirting, he had believed. His anger had been like a red mist before his eyes. A burning mist that had pushed him into action without stopping to think.

But now that he’d calmed down he was going to have to apologise to his PA for snarling at him like a savagely jealous dog guarding a particularly juicy bone.

Andreas’ mouth twisted wryly.

Jealous?

Was that how he felt when he was jealous? The problem was that he had nothing to compare it with. He couldn’t honestly say if he had ever felt like that before. Had he ever been reduced to that sort of fury because he thought someone else had what he wanted? Had he set out to ruin a good thing because he felt so savagely angry?

Because Becca could be a good thing. He didn’t need to have any past reference points to tell him that; the effect that she had on him—on his body—on his senses—in the present was quite enough.

And he didn’t need telling that that was why he had been so blackly angry. Because he wanted her so damn much that it had clouded his judgement.

He’d make it right with Leander tomorrow. But he’d also make it clear that the younger man should keep his hands off. Becca was his and he wouldn’t allow anyone else to interfere.

She was coming back towards him now, the glass in her hand, and if the back view had been good then the front was so much better. The determination in her walk drew attention to those slender, curving hips and under the soft cotton her even softer breasts moved in a way that made his mouth dry. Her head was held high, stubborn little chin tilted deliberately and the fire in her eyes made him smile to himself at the enticing prospect of the battle to come.

‘Your water.’

Becca thrust the glass at him without finesse or ceremony and only the fact that his reflexes were swift and accurate stopped it from upending all over him.

‘I prefer it in the glass,’ he murmured drily, earning himself an expected glare of reproof that made those sea-coloured eyes flash like polished gems. The trite cliché ‘You’re beautiful when you’re angry’ hovered on his lips but he swallowed it down with a sip of the water, opting for not provoking her any further, and murmured carefully polite thanks instead.

‘You’re welcome,’ Becca retorted in a voice that made a nonsense of the courteous reply. ‘Enjoy your drink.’

It was as she swung away from him, turning on her heel with a dismissive little gesture of one hand, that he suddenly had the clear idea that he knew exactly what she was going to do. Her determined steps towards the door confirmed as much, making his lips twitch in suppressed amusement.

‘Are you going somewhere?’