Andreas shook his head in firm response to her shaken question. Her vision had cleared now and she could see his face. Immediately she wished she had the comfort of the protective blur back when she saw his burning eyes fixed on her face in a look of pure scorn.
‘You expect me to believe your cowardly little protest when I know the truth?’
‘Oh, so you’re a mind-reader now?’
No—defiance was a bad move. She saw it in his face, in the way that those beautifully shaped lips clamped tightly together over some savage retort that he had hastily caught back.
‘I don’t need to read minds,’ he bit out. ‘But I am pretty good at understanding body language. Unfortunately for you. Because your body was speaking the truth—the truth you’re now trying to pretend never happened.’
‘I—No—I’m not pretending!’
‘You’re either pretending now or you were then—you can’t have it both ways, Becca. So which one is it?’
Oh, how did she answer that? How did she tell him something that explained her behaviour and yet didn’t give her away completely? The only thing she knew was that she couldn’t let him believe that she had simply been leading him on—that was the course most likely to have Andreas demand that she leave right here and now. And then she would never be able to help Daisy. And saving Daisy’s life was uppermost in her mind right now.
‘All right—I’m sorry…’
She actually held out her hand towards him, as if pleading with him, begging him to take it. But the way that he watched the gesture, regarding it coldly with blank and unresponsive eyes, brought her up sharp. Becca felt as if she might just as well have slammed her hand against a hard brick wall and had to struggle to resist the temptation to snatch it back and cradle it against her as if his wintry response had actually hurt her physically.
‘I’m sorry…’ she said again, fighting to find something she could say.
‘You said that already,’ Andreas flung back, folding his arms across the broad expanse of his chest as his dark head went back, black eyes searing over her in a look of supreme contempt as he looked down his straight slash of a nose at her. ‘Try something else. Sorry for what?’
‘For—for overreacting.’
It was the only thing she could think of. The truth—or at least as close to the truth as she dared to go—seemed to be the only way to handle this. In any case, the partial truth was the only thing she trusted herself to be able to say without making it painfully plain that she was actually lying.
She’d hoped that that would be enough but, from Andreas’ set, unyielding expression, it was far from adequate. If anything those folded arms tightened expressively and his upper lip actually curled in an expression of arrogant scorn.
She was going to have to try harder to convince him.
‘I—I do w-want you.’
Really, there was no point in denying that. Her response to him had made it only too plain and she would only incense him further if she tried to pretend otherwise. If there was one thing that Andreas hated it was lies. A miserably cold, sneaking shiver went down her spine as she recalled the one time she had tried to keep the truth from him. She hadn’t actually lied but she might as well have done. The fallout had been as bad as if she had.
‘Then what are you doing over on the other side of the room while I’m here?’
‘Because—because…’
Desperation brought inspiration and she hurried the words out, needing them to be said so that she could see if they had the effect she hoped for—the effect she prayed they would.
‘Because you were right—it isn’t a good idea. It isn’t sensible…’
Andreas rolled his eyes in an expression of exasperation.
‘And we must always be sensible, mustn’t we?’
‘Well, you’ve just had a terrible accident.’
‘So now you’re back to being my nurse again. I told you I hate a fuss…’
‘I’m not making a fuss! I’m trying to be careful—for your sake as much as mine.’
That caught him unawares, bringing his head up in a rush.
‘Me? What do I…?’
‘You have amnesia.’
Becca spoke the words as slowly and as emphatically as she dared. She needed to get this through to him. If she did, then she might have a chance of staying, of working things out. Of waiting until his memory came back. And then she might have a chance of asking him to help Daisy.
‘I know I have amnesia,’ Andreas snarled. ‘I can’t forget that I do! Everything else I try to remember and I can’t. The fact that I can’t remember…’