Forgiven but Not Forgotten? (6 page)

And then, like a camera zooming in for a close-up, all he could see was
her
face. Pure and beautiful. Haughty and cold. Perfect. The white-gold of her hair was in a complicated chignon. Jewels sparkled brilliantly at her neck and ears. Her profile was as regal as any queen. The only thing marring the picture was the blood-red stain of wine that was blooming outwards from her chest and up over her cleavage.

The dream faded and shifted, and now they were in that boutique, surrounded by mannequins in beautiful dresses and sparkling jewels behind locked displays. She was laughing, girlishly and innocently, huge blue eyes sparkling with mischief as she pointed to one of the mannequins and said imperiously, ‘I want
that
one!’

Andreas bowed down in a parody of a manservant and she laughed even more, watching as he clambered into the window display to tussle with the mannequin and take off the dress. She was in fits of giggles now, watching him wrestle the stunning dress off the dummy before finally handing it to her with a flourish of triumph.

She curtseyed and said, with a flicker of those black lashes, ‘Why, thank you, kind sir.’ And then she vanished into the dressing room, pulling velvet folds of material behind her.

There was a fizzing sensation in his blood. Andreas felt buoyant when only minutes ago, surveying the crowd in the ballroom, he’d felt cynical...

And then she was there, in front of him again, and Andreas was falling into eyes so blue it hurt to look at them. And then the hurt became a real pain, and he looked down stupidly, to see a knife sticking out of his belly and blood everywhere.

He looked up and she was smiling cruelly. ‘No, I did not ask you to touch me. I would never let someone like you touch me.’

His friend who had died, Spiro, was behind Siena, laughing at him. ‘You thought you could remain immune?’

And then Andreas was falling down and down and down...

Andreas woke with a start, clammy with sweat, his heart pounding. He looked down and put a hand to his belly, fully anticipating seeing a knife and blood. But of course there was none. It was a dream. A nightmare.

He’d had that dream for months after he’d left France but not for a long time. He remembered.
Siena.
She was here, in his apartment. His heart speeded up again and he got out of bed, pulling on a pair of boxers. He assured himself that it was just her presence that had precipitated the dream again.

But it had left its cold hand across the back of his neck. He went into the darkened drawing room and poured himself some whisky, downing it in one. He slowly felt himself come back to centre, but was unable to shake the memory of that evening.

Andreas had been duty manager, overseeing the exclusive annual debutante ball, making sure it went without a hitch. He’d viewed all those beautiful spoilt young women with a very jaundiced eye, having heard all sorts of stories about their debauched ways.

Still, he’d barely believed them. They’d all looked so
innocent.
And none more so than the most beautiful of them all: Siena DePiero. He’d noticed that she was always slightly apart from the others, as if not part of their club. And the way her father kept her close at all times. He’d read her aloofness as haughtiness. And then he’d seen the moment when her dinner partner had accidentally spilled red wine all over her pristine white dress. Andreas had clicked into damage limitation mode and smoothly offered to take her to the boutique for a fresh dress.

Her father had been clearly reluctant to let her out of his sight but had had no choice. He wouldn’t let his daughter be presented at the ball in a stained gown. And so Andreas had found himself escorting the cool beauty to the boutique, and had been very surprised when she’d confided huskily, ‘Please excuse my father’s rudeness. He hates any sort of adverse attention.’

Andreas had looked at her, taken aback by this politeness when he’d expected her to ignore him. Shock had cut through his cynicism because she’d looked nervous and blushed under his regard. To his complete embarrassment he’d found his body reacting to her...this very young woman, even though he’d known she wasn’t that young. Her eighteenth birthday was the following day, and her father had already organised a brunch party with some of the other debutantes to celebrate.

He’d said something to put her at ease and she’d smiled. He’d almost tripped over his feet. By the time they’d reached the boutique his body had been an inferno of need. Siena had been chattering—albeit hesitantly and charmingly.

In the empty shop the sexual tension between them had mounted, instantaneous and strong enough to make Andreas reel. He’d had lovers by then—quite a few—and thought he knew women. But he’d never felt like that before. As if a thunderbolt had connected directly with his insides.

Her artless sensuality and apparent shyness had been at such odds with her cool and haughty beauty. With the reputation that had preceded her. That preceded all the debs every year.

She’d grimaced after a few minutes and looked around the shop, before glancing at a dress on a mannequin in the window. It was fussy-looking, but not far removed from what she wore.

‘That’s the one my father will approve of.’

She’d sounded so resigned and disappointed that Andreas had inexplicably wanted to see her smile again. He’d hammed it up, extricating the dummy from the dress. And he’d made her laugh.

Then she’d disappeared into the dressing room and Andreas had found every muscle in his body locked tight as he thought of her in a state of undress, fantasising about hauling back the curtain, pulling down his trousers, wrapping her legs around his hips and taking her there and then, against the wall...

And then she’d emerged and his blood had left his brain completely. She’d turned around and showed him a bare back, asking with a shy look over her shoulder, ‘Can you do me up?’

To this day Andreas wasn’t sure how he’d done it without pulling that dress down and off completely. But he hadn’t. She’d turned round and some of her hair had been coming loose. He’d reached out and tucked one golden strand behind her ear and she’d blurted out, ‘What’s your name?’

Andreas had looked at her and said, ‘Andreas Xenakis.’

She’d repeated his name and it had sounded impossibly sexy with her slight Italian accent. ‘Andreas.’

And then all Andreas could remember was
heat
and
need.
His mouth had been on hers and she’d been clinging to him, moaning softly, sighing into his mouth, her tongue making a shy foray against his, making him so hard...

Andreas’s mind snapped back to the present. He was holding his glass so tightly in his hand he had to relax for fear of shattering it. He grimaced at his body’s rampant response just at the memory of what had happened and willed himself to cool down.

He looked out at the millionaire’s view of London he could afford now. A far cry from his roots and from painful memories of lives wasted. His mouth twisted.
Wasted because of love.
But, strangely, his usual sense of satisfaction deserted him. Because a new desire for satisfaction had superseded it. For a satisfaction that would only come from taking Siena into his bed and sating himself with her.

He’d never forgotten the way she’d changed in an instant that night—from a she-witch, writhing underneath him, begging him to touch her and kiss her all over, to pushing him off as if his touch burnt her. The way she’d sprung up, holding her dress against her, looking at him accusingly. He’d only realised then that there was someone else in the room. Her father. Looking at him with those cold eyes, as if he were a piece of scum.

The dream and the memory made Andreas shiver. Because it reminded him of how duped he’d been that night. How, despite his better instincts, he’d let himself believe that Siena had really been that giggling, shy, artlessly sexy girl. And, worst of all, how she’d made him want to believe that girl existed.

He should have known better. He of all people. As soon as he’d started working in the city of Athens his looks had attracted a certain kind of sexually mature and confident woman. Inevitably wealthy. They’d offered him money, or promotion, and had laughed at his proud refusal to get help via their beds. One had mocked him. ‘Oh, Andreas, one day that hubris will get you into trouble. You’ll fall for a pretty girl who pretends not to be as cold and hard as the rest of us.’

And he had. He’d fallen hard. In front of Siena and her father that night. In all honesty Andreas hadn’t truly become so cynical yet that he’d believed someone as young as Siena could be so malicious and calculating. But he’d watched her transform from shy sex kitten to a cold bitch. Colder than any of those other women he’d known. And just like that he’d grown his cynical outer skin and his heart had hardened in his chest.

Since then he’d surrounded himself with the kind of women who populated the world he now inhabited. The kind who were sexually experienced and worldly-wise. He had no time for women who played games or who pretended they were something they weren’t. And he would never,
ever,
believe in the myth of sweet innocence again.

A flare of panic in his gut propelled Andreas out of the drawing room, setting down his glass as he did so. He went to Siena’s bedroom door and opened it silently. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light, and when it did and he saw the shape on the bed his heart slowed. Relief made a mockery of all of his assurances that he was in control but he pushed it aside.

For a second he’d thought it part of the dream. That she wasn’t really here. That he was still looking for her.

He found himself standing by her bed and looking down. She was on her back, hair spread out around her head, breathing softly, dressed only in a T-shirt. Her breasts were two firm swells that had the blood rushing to Andreas’s groin
again.

Triumph was heady. She was here. She would be his.

Andreas knew that if her father’s business hadn’t imploded the way it had he would have been equally determined to get to her, but it would have been much harder to get close.

In the dim light he could see dark shadows under her eyes and he frowned. She looked tired and he felt his chest constrict. Just then she moved slightly, making him tense. As she settled she snored softly. Andreas found his mouth tipping up at this most incongruous sound from one so perfect.

Then he remembered the way she’d asked for money and the smile faded. He had to remember who she was, how she had fooled him so easily into thinking she was something she was not. He’d already learnt his lesson and he wasn’t about to repeat his mistake.

* * *

The following evening Siena was standing at the window of the main living area in Andreas’s palatial apartment. She turned her back on the evocative dusky view of London’s skyline and sighed. She couldn’t be more removed from the hovel of a flat she’d been living in. But as much as she’d hated it, on some perverse level she’d loved it because it had been symbolic of her freedom.

And now once again she was incarcerated in a gilded prison. Andreas had already gone to work when she’d woken up that morning, and she’d been relieved not to have to deal with him when she still felt dizzy with how fast things had moved. He’d left a curt note, informing her that it was his housekeeper’s day off but she must help herself to whatever she wanted, and that a stylist and a beautician would be arriving later that morning.

Sure enough, a couple of hours later two scarily efficient-looking women had arrived, and within hours Siena had been waxed, buffed and polished. She now had a dressing room full of clothes, ranging from casual right up to
haute couture.
Not to mention cosmetics, accessories and lingerie so delicate and decadent it made her blush. And shoes—a whole wall of shoes alone.

The sheer extravangance had stunned Siena. Her father had been extremely tight with his money, so while she and Serena had always been decked out in the most exclusive designs it had been to perpetuate an image—nothing more.

Andreas had called a short while before and informed her that there should be some beef in the fridge. He’d instructed her to put it in the oven so they could eat it when he returned to the apartment. Siena had just spent a fruitless half-hour trying to figure out which furturistic-looking steel appliance was the oven, to no avail.

She went back into the kitchen now, to try again, and started to go hot with embarrassment at her pathetic failing when she still couldn’t figure it out. Her father had forbidden Siena and her sister ever to go near the kitchen of the
palazzo,
considering it a sign of a lack of class should either of his daughters ever know its ins and outs.

Before Siena had a chance to explore further she heard the apartment door open and close and distinctive strong footfalls. She tensed and knew Andreas had to be in the doorway, looking at her. She turned around slowly and fought to hide her reaction to seeing him in the flesh again, dressed in a dark suit. His sheer good looks and charisma reached out to grab her by the throat. She could feel her body responding, as if it had been plugged into an energy source coming directly from him to her.

Siena retreated into attack to disguise her discomfiture. She lifted her chin and crossed her arms. ‘I didn’t put the beef in the oven because I refuse to be your housekeeper.’

Andreas regarded her from the doorway. Siena noticed that his jaw was darkly stubbled in the soft light. He was so intensely masculine and her blood jumped in response.

‘Well, then,’ he said with deceptive lightness as he came further into the room, his hair gleaming under the lights, ‘I hope you had a decent lunch today. Because I refuse to be your chef just because you can’t be bothered to take something out of the fridge and put it in the oven.’

At that moment Siena felt an absurd rush of self-pity. She was actually starving, because she’d only had a sandwich earlier, but she clamped her mouth shut because she knew she was acting abominably. And if she had no intention of telling him why then she had no one to blame but herself. She would spend all day tomorrow working out where the blasted oven was and how to work it even if it killed her.