November Harlequin Presents 1(135)

Swearing brutally, he tore himself away from her, taking several swift, strong and almost blind strides across the tiled surround of the pool and diving head first into the cool water, plunging way down into the clear blue depths, driving himself as hard and as far as he could.

Becca watched him go through eyes that were blurred with sudden tears. She knew what had made him react like this, the tiny shudder of panic she hadn’t been able to control, but that didn’t mean that she understood quite what state of mind had influenced him. Was it fury—cold-blooded anger at the way that she was still determined to hold on to the idea of being sensible? Or was it an attempt to cool himself off literally?

Whatever his feelings were, they were wild and fierce and he was having to fight to bring them under control. That much was obvious from the way he was powering down the swimming pool, face down, black hair clinging to his skull, muscular arms and legs pushing him through the clear water at a speed that gave Becca a momentary pang of concern for any possible after-effects from the accident. The bruises from his injuries might be fading, but was it safe for him to subject himself to such a physical test?

But even as the worry crossed her mind she saw that Andreas was already slowing his furious pace. He eased up, continued to swim for a while but at a much more sedate speed and eventually came back to the side of the pool just beside where she stood. Slicking back his soaking black hair with a powerful hand, he supported himself on strong arms as he trod water, looking up into her watchful face, dark eyes narrowed against the sun.

‘And now I suppose you’re going to say that, as my nurse, you can’t approve of my behaviour just now?’ he commented cynically. ‘Isn’t this your cue to tell me that it wasn’t at all sensible—?’

‘I wouldn’t dare say anything of the sort!’ Becca flung back at him, the uncanny way that he had almost read her mind unsettling her even more. She might have been thinking it but she certainly wasn’t saying it, not knowing the reaction she would undoubtedly get.

She just hoped that Andreas would believe that irritation was uppermost in her mind and so accept it as the explanation for the way her voice went up and down in the most embarrassing way. She had felt bad enough a moment earlier and the thought that he might recognise her response as one of purely physical awareness of the body floating lazily in the water, the tense muscles in the hard forearms, the glisten of water drops on the bronzed skin was more than she could handle right now. The drenched black hair clung so close to his scalp that it formed a severe frame for those devastating features, emphasising wide, carved cheekbones, the long, straight nose, hard jaw and almost shockingly softly sensual mouth. Her pulse was already racing in double time, making her heart catch tight in her throat. She couldn’t take another of his sensual onslaughts on her, any more of those devastating, breath-stealing, soul-destroying kisses.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Andreas retorted drily, hauling himself up onto the side of the pool and sitting on the edge with his long legs dangling over the side, feet in the water. ‘Because you seem so determined to revert to the nursing role that I was beginning to wonder if perhaps we ought to discuss your salary.’

‘I don’t want that!’

Sheer horror and the knowledge of just what she was hiding pushed the words from Becca’s mouth in an urgent rush. Scrambling down beside him so that she was on a level with him, she caught hold of his arm, looking earnestly into his face.

‘You don’t have to pay me! After all, I’m not doing anything to earn it…’

Her voice trailed off in shivering embarrassment as she felt a tide of heated blood flood her face, making her cheeks burn at the thought of the other way that her words might be interpreted.

‘I didn’t mean…You don’t have to pay me to…’

Oh, hell, she was making matters so much worse. Her tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its size, tangling up in her mouth so that she couldn’t get another syllable out, either to explain or to apologise. And the lazy smile that crossed that hard-boned face only made matters worse, the laughter in his eyes mocking her confusion and embarrassment.

‘Not pay perhaps, but I have a reputation for generosity to my mistresses.’

My mistresses.

If he had fired an arrow straight at her heart, piercing it brutally, it couldn’t have had a more painful effect than just hearing him speak so casually.

My mistresses.

That was all he thought of her as; all she would ever be; all he wanted her to be. Andreas only thought of her as someone with whom he wanted a sexual relationship—a mistress, nothing more. And he had said mistresses—using the plural. Which meant that he thought in terms of more than one relationship, of women who had come before her and…Her throat closed up, making it difficult to breathe…Women who would come after her.