November Harlequin Presents 1(161)

‘I prefer to call it passion.’

‘You can call it what you like.’

The pain that was clawing at her heart made her voice harsh; the fight to hold back tears roughened it at the edges.

‘But sex is what you mean and…’

Her voice failed her as a terrible truth dawned in her thoughts, the horror of it taking away all her strength.

‘Is this about the money? Is this what you’re demanding in return for helping Daisy—your conditions for the loan? Is it what I have to do to ensure she gets the operation?’

She knew she was wrong as soon as she’d spoken. Even the shadows in the room couldn’t disguise the way his head went back, the hiss of his breath between clenched teeth.

‘What sort of a brute do you think I am?’

The vein of savage anger in Andreas’ voice made her blood run cold. There was no room for possible doubt of his sincerity. But she didn’t have the strength to take the words back, particularly not when his hand flashed out, clamped tight around her wrist and pulled her towards him with a rough, jerky movement.

‘Your sister and her child, the money for the operation—money that is a gift, not a loan—all that is dealt with. You can get on the phone to your sister—to the hospital, tell them arrange everything—and then that is done. Finished. This is between you and me. And nothing is finished between the two of us.’

‘But…’ Becca tried to interject but Andreas ignored her weak attempt at speech.

‘I let you go too easily the last time, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I’ve never been able to get you out of my mind. You’ve shadowed my days—haunted my dreams—and this afternoon in my bed reminded me of just why you have this effect on me. And it also told me that once would never be enough. I want so much more.’

Becca could only listen in dazed silence, struggling with the cruelly ambiguous feelings his words woke in her.

They should be complimentary. They should be what every woman dreamed of the man she loved saying to her. But she knew what he really meant and that destroyed any joy she might have wished she could find in what he was saying.

Money I’ll give you but nothing else, he had flung at her, and now here he was, offering her nothing—nothing more than the cold-blooded passion he had for her, the purely physical need that he openly admitted was all he felt.

‘And I know you feel it too. That’s why I want you to stay. I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll give you anything you want—everything you want.’

I have a reputation for generosity to my mistresses. The words spoken outside by the pool—was it only a few hours ago?—came back to haunt her. And that was all she would be—his mistress. His wife in name but his mistress in reality. Because as his wife she should be loved, cherished—and she might hope to stay with him for life. As his mistress…

‘How long?’ she croaked out, her voice failing her. ‘How long would you want me to stay?’

‘For as long as it lasts. As long as it works. If we’re both getting what we want out of this, then I don’t see why it can’t last…’

‘Until we get each other out of our systems?’

Becca prayed that her falsely airy voice hid the agony that was squeezing her heart deep inside.

She would never get what she wanted out of this. Never. There was no hope of that, because what she wanted—what she longed for—was for Andreas to love her just as much as she loved him. And as she had given him her heart without hesitation or restraint in almost the first moment she had met him—and again here, when she had realised that she still adored him—there was no hope of that adoration ever being reciprocated.

Money I’ll give you—but nothing else. Not a damn thing else.

And yet her body cried out to her to accept—her body and her weak, foolish heart that begged her to take this, take the little he was offering and accept it. It was better than nothing. Better than having to turn now and walk away—knowing that if she did so there was no hope that he would ever let her back into his life again.

She couldn’t do that. She had had to walk away from him once, and the moment that he had slammed the door behind her had almost killed her. She couldn’t do it again.

I married you for sex—for that and nothing else.

And so when a weak, longing voice in the back of her mind whispered that Leander had said that Andreas had asked for her in the first few moments after he had regained consciousness—he had asked for her and perhaps…she pushed it away and made herself face the reality of what she was being offered.

And sex was all he wanted from her still. The thing that was different now was that she no longer had any illusions. She was no longer deceiving herself that Andreas loved her, she knew exactly where she stood, and in that knowledge was a desperate kind of strength.