Forgiven but Not Forgotten?

She could remember all too well how it had felt to have Andreas Xenakis pressing her down into the chaise longue, the way she’d strained up towards him, aching for him to put his hands on her everywhere. And when he’d moved his hand up between her stockinged legs she?

?d parted them…tacitly telling him of her intense desire.

‘Why?’ Andreas drawled. ‘You can’t handle the truth? I thought you were made of sterner stuff, DePiero. You forget you showed your true colours that night.’

Siena turned her head and looked stonily out of the window. The truth was that she had no excuse for her reprehensible behaviour that night. She had begged Andreas to make love to her. She had kissed him back ardently. When he’d pulled her dress down to expose one breast she’d sighed with exquisite pleasure and he’d kissed her there.

The car pulled up to a set of traffic lights at that moment, and the urge to escape was sudden and instinctive. Siena went to open her door to jump out, but with lightning-fast accuracy Andreas’s arm restrained her with a strength that was awesome. Long fingers wrapped around her slender arm, and the bunched muscle of his arm against her soft belly was a far more effective restraint than if he’d locked the doors. Her skin tightened over her bones, drawing in and becoming sensitised. Her breasts felt heavy and tight, her nipples stiffening against the material of her bra.

The car moved off again and Siena pushed his arm off her with all her strength. That brief touch was enough to hurtle her back in time all over again and she struggled to contain herself. The fact that he was so determined to toy with her like this was utterly humiliating.

He pulled up outside a discreetly elegant period apartment building on a wide quiet street. He’d hopped out of the car and was at her open door, holding out an expectant hand, before she knew what was happening.

Siena shrank back and looked up at him. ‘This isn’t where I live.’ It’s a million miles from where I live, she thought.

‘I’m aware of that. However, it is where I live, and as we were passing I thought we’d stop so we can catch up on old times over a coffee.’

Siena held back a snort of derision and crossed her arms, looking straight ahead with a stony expression. ‘I am not getting out of this car, Xenakis. Take me home.’

Andreas’s voice was merely amused. ‘First I couldn’t get you into it and now I can’t get you out of it. They say women are mercurial…’

Before she knew it Andreas had bent down to her level and reached in to undo her seat belt. Siena flapped at his hands in a panic until he stilled them with his. His face was very close to hers and Siena could feel her hair unravelling. She was breathing harshly. His scent teased her nostrils, exactly as she remembered it. Not changed. Oaky and musky and very male.

A voice came from behind Andreas. ‘Mr Xenakis? Do you want me to park the car?’

Without taking his eyes off Siena’s, Andreas answered, ‘Yes, please, Tom. I’ll be taking Ms DePiero home shortly, so keep it nearby.’

‘Aye-aye, sir,’ came the jaunty response.

Siena struggled for a few seconds against Andreas’s superior strength and will. She saw the boy waiting behind him. Innate good manners and the fear of causing a scene that had been drummed into her since babyhood made her bite out with reluctance, ‘Fine. One coffee.’

Andreas stood up, and this time Siena had no choice but to put her hand in his and let him help her out of the low-slung vehicle. To her chagrin he kept a tight hold of her hand as he tossed his keys to the boy and led her into the building, where a concierge held the door open in readiness.

Once in the hushed confines of the lift Siena tried to pull her hand back, but Andreas was lifting it to inspect it. He opened out her palm and his touch made some kind of dangerous lethargy roll through her, but she winced when she followed his gaze. Her palm sported red chafed skin, calluses. Proof of her very new working life.

He turned it over and Siena winced even more to see him inspecting her bitten nails—the resurgence of a bad habit she’d had for a short time in her teens, which had been quickly overcome when her father had meted out a suitable punishment on Serena, her sister.

Her hands were a far cry from the soft lily-white manicured specimens they’d used to be. Exerting more effort this time, and knowing that she’d just been cured of her nail-biting habit once again, she finally pulled free of Andreas’s grip and said mulishly, ‘Don’t touch me.’

With a rough quality to his voice that resonated inside her, Andreas asked, ‘How did they get like this from waitresssing?’

Siena fought against the pull of something that felt very vulnerable. ‘I’m not just waitressing. I’m working as a cleaner in a hotel by day too.’

Andreas tipped up her chin and inspected her face, touched under her eyes where she knew she sported dark shadows. That vulnerability was blooming inside her, and for a second Siena thought she might burst into tears. To counteract it—and the ease with which this man seemed to be able to push her buttons—she said waspishly, ‘Feeling sorry for the poor little rich girl, Andreas?’

At that moment the lift bell pinged and the doors opened silently. Siena and Andreas were locked in some kind of silent combat. Andreas’s eyes went dark, their blue depths becoming distinctly icy as he took his fingers away from her face and smiled.

‘Not for a second, Siena DePiero. You forget that I’ve seen you in action. A piranha would be more vulnerable than you.’

Siena couldn’t believe the dart of hurt that lanced her at his words, and was almost glad when he turned. With his hand on her elbow, he led her out of the lift and into a luxuriously carpeted corridor decked out in smoky grey colours with soft lamps burning on a couple of tables.

The one door indicated that Andreas had no neighbours to disturb him, and Siena guessed this must be the penthouse apartment in the building. The lift doors closed behind them and then Andreas was opening the door and standing aside to allow Siena to precede him into his apartment. Only his assurance to the car park valet that he would be taking her home shortly gave Siena the confidence to go forward.

She rounded on him as he closed the door and blurted out belatedly, ‘Don’t call me DePiero. My name is Mancini now.’

After a long second Andreas inclined his head and drawled, with a hint of dark humour, ‘I’ll call you whatever you like…’

Stifling a sound of irritation, Siena backed away and turned around again, facing into the main drawing room. Her eyes widened. She’d grown up in the lap of luxury, but the sheer understated level of elegance in Andreas’s apartment took her breath away. She’d been used to seeing nothing but palazzos laden down with antiques and heavy paintings, everything gold-plated, carpets so old and musty that dust motes danced in the air when you moved…but this was clean and sleek.