Forgiven but Not Forgotten? (3 page)

When Siena was stubbornly silent, because he had no idea how close to the truth he skated, Andreas gestured half impatiently and clarified, ‘That air of vulnerability, and looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.’

Hating herself for being so transparent, and hating him for misjudging her so comprehensively while knowing she couldn’t very well blame him for his judgement, Siena schooled her expression. She carefully uncrossed her arms and shrugged one shoulder negligently. ‘What can I say? You have me all figured out, Mr Xenakis.’

He poured a dark liquid into two glasses and came over, holding one out. ‘I know I offered you a coffee, but try this. It’s a very fine port. And you didn’t have a problem using my name when we first met. Mr Xenakis is so...
formal.
Please, call me Andreas.’

Siena took the glass he offered, suddenly glad of something to hold onto—anything to will down the memory of how she had used his name before,
‘Andreas, please kiss me...’

He gestured to the comfortable-looking couch and chairs arranged around a low coffee table which held huge books of photographs that looked well thumbed. ‘Please, take a seat, Siena. Make yourself comfortable.’

Siena was torn for a moment between wanting to demand he take her home and curling up in the nearest chair so she could sleep for a week.

A little perturbed by how weak she suddenly felt, she went and sat down in the nearest chair. Andreas sat on the couch to her left, his long legs stretched out and disturbingly close to her feet, which she pulled primly close to her chair.

He smiled and it was dangerous.

‘Still afraid you might catch some social disease from me, Siena?’

CHAPTER TWO

‘D
ON
’
T
BE
SILLY
,’
Siena replied quickly, humiliated when she thought of what had happened, of the vile untruths she’d uttered and all to protect her sister.

When she thought of how innocently she’d wanted him that night in Paris and how it had all gone so horribly wrong she felt nauseous. This man hated her. It vibrated on the air between them and Siena had the very futile sense that even if she tried to defend herself and tell him what her reasons had been for acting so cruelly he’d laugh until he cried. He looked so impervious now. Remote.

Andreas sat forward, the small glass cradled between long fingers. ‘Tell me, why did you leave Italy?’

Siena welcomed this diversion away from dangerous feelings and looked at him incredulously, wondering how he could even ask that question. She hated the familiar burn of humiliation that rose up inside her when she thought of the odious charges that had been levelled at her father after his business had imploded in on itself, revealing that he’d been juggling massive debts for years and that everything they possessed, including his precious family
palazzo
in Florence, was owned by the banks.

Her mouth twisted. ‘As you can imagine, the price on myself and my sister’s heads fell dramatically when it became apparent that we’d lost our fortune. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we became
personae non grata
overnight.’

Andreas’s eyes narrowed. ‘No. It would be untruthful of me not to admit that I knew your father had been soliciting prostitutes for years, and about the evidence of his involvement in drugs and political corruption. But proof that he’d been trafficking women all over Europe for sex must have been the killer blow for two penniless heiresses. No one wants to be seen to be associating with a scandal of that level.’

The shame Siena felt nearly strangled her. Her father had solicited prostitutes while married to their mother because it had excited him. He’d fathered a son with one of those women. She’d thought she’d hated her father before...but she’d hated him even more when he’d disappeared into thin air to avoid the numerous charges levelled against him. To this day no one knew where he was, and Siena never wanted to see him again.

The thought of all those poor defenceless and vulnerable women being sold into a life of torture and degradation... Even now bile rose in her throat, because it had also been proved that her father had been more than just involved in a peripheral sense. He’d been an active participant.

Andreas must have seen something in her expression and he said quietly. ‘Your father’s sins are not your sins.’

Siena was taken aback at this assertion. She looked at him, unable to read his face. ‘Perhaps not, but people don’t want to believe that.’

‘Did the press in Italy gave you a hard time?’ He answered her disbelieving look with a shrug. ‘I was travelling in South America for work when the full extent of your father’s scandal hit. By the time I got back to Europe your father had disappeared and a new scandal was unfolding. I missed most of it.’

Siena thought of the relentless days of headlines like:
Heiresses no more. Who will marry the poor little rich girls now?
And:
Serena DePiero caught in flagrante just days after disgraced father’s disappearance!
That had been the moment Siena had known she had to get herself and Serena out of Italy. Her sister had been spiralling dangerously out of control, and she’d been barely clinging onto sanity after everything they’d known had been ripped asunder.

Siena hadn’t expected any quarter from the press—she’d seen how they delighted in savaging the once lofty and untouchable of society—and thanks to her father’s extreme hubris the DePieros had had it coming. Nevertheless she voiced an understatement in a flat voice. ‘Yes, you could say they gave us a hard time.’

Andreas was surprised at the lack of emotion in Siena’s voice. The lack of reproach or injury. He could well imagine the field-day the press had had at seeing two blonde and blue-eyed princesses reduced to nothing.

Once again he had to marvel at her sheer natural beauty. She wore not a scrap of make-up but her skin glowed like a pearl. In this world of artifice and excess she really was a rare jewel. Even in the plain shirt and tie, that threadbare denim jacket, he could see the tantalising curves of her body. Fuller now that she was a woman, not a teenager.

Desire was hot and immediate, tightening his body. A fit of pique went through Andreas when he realised that he’d subconsciously avoided blonde women in the last five years, seeking out the complete opposite and telling himself that she’d burned his taste for blondes. But she hadn’t. He just hadn’t wanted any blonde except
her.

Women didn’t usually reduce him to such immediate carnal reaction, no matter how desirable or beautiful. And yet she had from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on her...

Andreas looked at her now with fresh resolve filling his belly and lifted his glass. ‘To whatever the future might bring.’

Siena had a very scary suspicion that the future Andreas was envisaging had something to do with
her.
Very deliberately she ignored his toast and drained her glass, put it down on the nearby table. The alcohol blazed its way down her throat.

Andreas looked merely amused and chided softly, ‘A 1977 port should be savoured a little more delicately than that, but each to their own.’

He downed his too. Siena blanched. She could just imagine how much it had cost. Her father had thought of himself as an expert in fine wines so she’d learnt something by proxy.

Thinking of her father made her think of her sister, and that made her stand up jerkily, only vaguely aware of the stunning view of London on the other side of the huge windows. ‘I really do need to get home. I have an early start in the morning.’

Andreas rose too, as fluidly as a panther, rippling sinew and muscle very evident despite the severe cut of his suit. As if it barely contained him. Siena would have taken a step back, but the chair was behind her.

She sensed a spiking of electricity in the air and there was a pregnant pause just before he said innocuously, ‘Very well.’

He went to a discreet phone on the sideboard and picked it up, saying to someone, ‘I’m coming back down. Please have my car brought round. Thank you.’

He extended his arm to allow her to precede him from the room, and to Siena’s utter chagrin her overwhelming feeling wasn’t one of relief. She was a little confused. She’d expected...
more.
More of a fight? And yet he was happy to let her go so easily. Something bitter pierced her. Perhaps he’d just wanted to amuse himself by seeing the disgraced heiress up close and he was already bored.

So why did she feel so desolate all of a sudden?

* * *

Andreas stepped into the lift behind Siena and pressed the button. He might be giving her the illusion of letting her go, but that was not his intention in the slightest. Seeing her again had merely solidified his desire to have her in his bed. Finally. Acquiescent and
his.
That disdain she did so well would have no place in the relationship they would have. She was in no position to argue or resist him, and the thought of seeing her come undone was heady in the extreme.

His car was waiting by the kerb and a young security guard jumped out, giving the keys to Andreas, who held the passenger door open for Siena to get in.

Siena stood stiffly by the open door and looked at Andreas without meeting his eye. She was still trembling at the way his hand had rested lightly on the small of her back the whole way down in the elevator. And also at the speed with which he now appeared to want to get rid of her.

‘If you can point me in the direction of the nearest tube I’ll make my own way home.’

Andreas’s voice was like steel. ‘It’s almost eleven-thirty at night. There is no way you’re taking the tube alone. Get into the car, Siena, or I will put you in myself. Don’t think I won’t.’

Siena looked at him properly and saw how stern he seemed. She felt a shiver of something go through her—recognition of how huge and broad he was against the night sky. And yet she wasn’t scared of him. Not as she’d been of her father. She somehow knew instinctively that Andreas would never lash out like that. Violence towards women was born of weakness and fear. Andreas didn’t have that in him. And it surprised her to admit that she trusted this gut feeling so much.

Knowing that if she walked off now he’d just follow her again, Siena gave in and slid into the car, its luxurious confines once again surrounding her like a cocoon. Until Andreas got in beside her and the atmosphere turned from relaxing to electric.

As they pulled away from the kerb Andreas asked easily, ‘Did your sister come to London with you?’

Instantly Siena tensed. She answered carefully, ‘No... She went to...to the south of France to stay with friends of hers.’

Andreas glanced at Siena, who was looking stonily ahead. He had to concede that she’d never taken after her more obvious sister by appearing in the gossip columns. Siena clearly preferred to clean toilets rather than to be seen in polite society again and be exposed to ridicule or censure.

He had to admit to a grudging and surprising respect that Siena was doing the sort of work she would have taken completely for granted her whole life. Perhaps now that their father was gone Siena saw no need to be responsible for the precious family name and was happy to wash her hands of her infamous sister, who had been well known as a party girl.

In truth, Andreas didn’t really care about Serena. The sister he was concerned about was sitting right beside him, her legs looking very long as she angled them well away from him. He allowed himself a small predatory smile to think of a time when they would be wrapped around his hips as he finally exorcised this demon from his blood for good.

He hadn’t elaborated on the fact that he had been actively looking for her for six months. In fact he’d been thinking about her ever since Paris. However, it had only been six months ago, when he’d finally had the luxury of time after establishing himself, that he’d begun to focus on such a personal pursuit. Siena DePiero had always been in his sights...

To Siena’s relief Andreas seemed to be done with questioning her, and they drove in silence through the empty London streets. Rain started to spatter gently on the windscreen. For the first time since she’d left Italy Siena felt a pang of homesickness and it surprised her. She’d left Italy never wanting to see it again.

She’d spent many a night looking out of her window dreaming of another life—one without constrictions and pain and tension and always the unbearable pressure to act a certain way. She’d dreamed of a life full of love and affection. The only affection she’d really known had come from her sister—her poor, damaged sister. Their mother had died when they were both small girls. Siena had only the vaguest memories of a fragrant blonde woman who’d used to come into their room at night dressed in glittering finery.

She realised that they were close to her street already, and she directed Andreas into the labyrinth of smaller streets that led to her home. He pulled to a stop and looked out incredulously at the bleak, lonesome apartment block standing on wasteground.

‘You’re living
here?
’

Defensively Siena said, ‘It’s near the tube and the bus.’

Andreas was shaking his head in disbelief. He undid his seat belt and got out. Siena noticed that he’d taken an umbrella from somewhere and was holding it up now, as he came to her door and opened it.

She got out and the wind whipped around her, tugging her hair out of its bun completely. Feeling flustered, she said, ‘Look, thanks for the lift...’

She moved to walk around Andreas and go into the flats, but stopped when Andreas kept pace beside her. She looked at him. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

He was grim. ‘I’m walking you to your apartment. You are
not
going in there alone.’

A new sense of pride stiffened Siena’s backbone. ‘I’ve been living here alone for months now and I’ve been fine. I can assure you that—’

Andreas wasn’t listening. He’d taken her elbow in his hand and was guiding her across the litter-strewn ground. Irritation raced up Siena’s spine. This was exactly what her father had used to do.

Once inside the main door, which hung haphazardly on broken hinges, and under the unforgiving flourescent lights, Siena pulled free, ‘This is fine.’

Andreas was folding down the umbrella, though, and then he spotted a sullen youth lurking in a corner. He called the boy over and handed him a folded note and the umbrella. ‘Keep an eye on the car for me?’ he said.

The boy looked at the money and went white, then looked back to Andreas and nodded his head vigorously.

He took the umbrella before speeding off to stand guard.

Siena didn’t like how the tiny gesture of Andreas giving him the umbrella made her feel soft inside. Churlishly she said, ‘It’ll be up on blocks by the time you leave.’

‘O, ye of little faith,’ Andreas murmured, and hit the elevator button.

Siena watched as he grew impatient when the lift didn’t materialise straight away, and stood back to point at the stained concrete stairs. ‘It’s a cliché, I know, but the lift isn’t working—and I’m all the way up on the fourteenth floor.’ She couldn’t quite keep the satisfaction out of her voice.

The light of determination was a definite glint in Andreas’s eye as he said, ‘Lead the way.’

Siena was huffing and puffing by floor ten, and very aware of Andreas right behind her. When they finally reached the door to her flat she turned to face him. She felt hot, and the hair on the back of her neck felt damp with perspiration. Her heart was hammering.

‘Thank you. This is me.’

Andreas barely had a hair out of place, and not so much as a hint of the effort of climbing up fourteen sets of hard concrete stairs. Although somewhere along the way he had tugged his bow-tie loose, and the top button of his shirt was open, revealing the top of his olive-skinned chest and some springy dark hair.