Forgiven but Not Forgotten?

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 actual

ly 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.

Lying through her teeth, and trying desperately not to look at the succulent lump of meat he was taking out of the fridge, Siena said loftily, ‘I’m not hungry anyway. In fact I’m quite tired. It’s been a long day. I’m going to go to my room, if you have no objections.’

Andreas looked up from his ministrations and said easily, ‘Oh, I object all right. I think you could do with being forced to watch me eat after your pettish spoilt behaviour, but the expression on your face might put me off my food.’

He went on coolly. ‘As it happens I have some work to continue here this evening…so feel free to entertain yourself. You don’t have to confine yourself to your room Siena, like some kind of martyr.’

She turned and walked out, not liking the way Andreas was dealing with preparing himself dinner so dextrously. It caused something to flutter deep inside her. She didn’t like these little signs that Andreas couldn’t be boxed away so neatly.

She was about to go towards her room when she found herself seeking out the more informal sitting area that Andreas had shown her the previous evening. She forced herself to relax in front of the TV, even though she really wanted to escape to her room and avoid any more contact with Andreas.

* * *

A short time later Andreas gave up any attempt to work. It was impossible when he knew that Siena was somewhere nearby. He shook his head again at her spoilt behaviour. He didn’t know why it had surprised him, but it had. It was as if some stubborn part of him was still clinging onto the false image of that sweet girl in Paris, before she’d morphed into the spoilt heiress.

He got up and put his cleared dinner plate in the dishwasher in the kitchen, noticing as he did that nothing else had been touched. His mouth flattened into a hard line at this further evidence of Siena’s stubborness. She was too proud for her own good. He walked back out and stopped when he heard the faint sound of canned laughter. He followed the sound and found Siena curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Her lashes cast long dark shadows on her cheeks.

Absently Andreas found the remote and switched the TV show off. Siena stirred but didn’t wake. He’d been blocking out how it had felt to see her in his kitchen when he’d come home earlier. Dressed in softly worn jeans and a T-shirt. Hair in a ponytail. Bare feet. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected but it hadn’t been that. He wasn’t used to women dressing down, but told himself that she was obviously making a petty point, refusing to make an effort for him.