Читать книгу The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 30

Damn her!

Damon stepped up to the pool’s edge. It was late, well past midnight. But he was too charged to sleep. Rebecca. The child. And the worry of visiting his mother in hospital and demanding answers from the physician on duty. All the events of the day had knotted the tension so tight that now his head threatened to explode. The water lay like a sheet of blackened silver under the moonlight. A moist sea breeze swept his torso and whispered across his thighs but failed to cool the heat that coursed through his naked body.

Upstairs, when Rebecca had tilted up her face, breathed his name…he’d almost drowned in the spell of her beauty. Then she’d touched him….

Tingles bolted through him as he recalled how her electrifying sensuality had wrapped around him. He stared into the flat water and decided she was definitely a witch.

A beautiful, seductive-as-sin witch.

And an avaricious one. For all her talk that she didn’t do weddings anymore, couldn’t leave her business, in those moments before his mother called, money had finally swayed Rebecca, negating her lofty claim that she was immune to bribery. He snorted in disgust, the sound rupturing the silence of the night.

He was now committed to paying double what he’d planned. But what did it matter? The relief that flooded his mother’s face at the news that Rebecca was in Auckland made it worth every dollar Rebecca was going screw out of him. Worth even the temporary loss of his own equanimity.

Damon launched himself into space and hit the dark water in a perfect arc, cutting through the silken chill with barely a splash. He surfaced halfway down the length of the black pool and started the long strokes to take him to the other end. Yet, instead of subsiding with each pull of his arms, the seething heat inside him grew.

He should never have asked her to come back.

Rebecca was trouble.

Years ago, from the first time he’d sensed her black, gleaming eyes on him and turned to see her glowing face, incandescent with desire, his interest had been snared. Discovering her name—that she was Grainger’s widow—he’d known he was cursed.

It would have been so easy to succumb to the temptation in her beckoning eyes. But he would’ve despised himself. Instead he’d followed the dictates of his brain, turned his back on Rebecca’s highly tempting but indisputably tarnished charms and chosen Felicity, never expecting a day’s trouble.

Damon executed a tight racing turn and drove his body faster through the water. What foolishness had caused this ravaging attraction to reignite inside him? The child? Had it been the unexpected shock of discovering that wild, outrageous Rebecca had a child? The first time he’d seen her cradling the boy he’d felt hot and tense and…betrayed.

Mother of God! Rebecca must never discover she’d breached his defences. A gasping breath and he dived down, down, plunging to the depths of the pool, streaking along the bottom, where the moonbeams were dim, to escape the fear that he would get no rest until he held her lush body naked against his.

Through the window Rebecca stared at the dark, churning water, the image of Damon’s naked beauty imprinted on her mind. Every arch of muscle, every hollow of his body had been floodlit by the ghostly moon. She closed her eyes to block out the startling, stomach-tightening images. Desire twisted inside her.

No other man had ever affected her in this way.

Not even Aaron, whom she’d loved for his nurturing succour. Aaron, who’d given her the strength and courage to live her dreams, the support and know-how to start Dream Occasions—and later Chocolatique. But he’d never stirred a fraction of the emotion that Damon did merely by existing.

Oh, God.

Her soul recognised something elemental in Damon. Something that until tonight she’d thought wholly unrequited. Until she’d heard his ragged breathing, seen the shocked realization, the unwanted knowledge in his eyes and known that he felt it, too. In a flash the future was alight with hope. Then he’d turned away, broken the golden thread of awareness that bound them. Leaving her trapped in the fire of desire.

Rebecca slept badly, and by the time she and T.J. came down to breakfast the following morning, Damon was already eating, engrossed in the business section of the morning paper lying open beside him. Clad in Armani corporate armour, his impressive nakedness hidden, he was every inch the powerful, remote billionaire Rebecca all too often scoured the country’s top financial magazines to find. No hint remained of the primal, naked man from last night.

She hurtled into speech. “I’m sorry, we overslept. Are we very late?”

“No. I told Johnny to wait until you arrived so that you could have a hot breakfast.” Damon’s glance was cool, but he flashed a smile at T.J. before returning to his paper.

Suppressing her hurt at his offhand attitude, Rebecca busied herself with stacking two cushions onto a chair and helped T.J. to clamber up before seating herself beside him.

“I don’t want to put your staff to any trouble,” she said flatly.

Damon’s face was wiped clean of all expression when he finally looked up. “Feeding the boy won’t be any trouble.”

Rebecca noted wryly that he didn’t include her in the assessment. Her mouth slanting, she said, “Well, I don’t want to be any trouble. A little fruit, sliced apple perhaps, and coffee would be fine for m—”

“The boy will require more sustenance than that,” he interrupted.

A humiliating flush heated her cheeks at the rebuke. “Of course I wouldn’t expect T.J. to eat only that. But he doesn’t need a cooked breakfast either. Fruit and cereal will be fine.”

T.J. chose that moment to utter hopefully, “Sc’ambed eggs, Mum? On toast?”

The look Damon gave her spoke volumes.

She ignored it and said firmly to T.J., “And apple slices.”

“Okay.” T.J. gave her a sunny smile, aware of his small victory.

Little monkey! She ruffled his curls. When she looked up, Damon was staring at her, a strange expression on his face. Before she could break the volatile silence, the door burst open and a petite wiry-haired brunette clad in jeans and a floral shirt rushed into the room.

“You must be…Rebecca?” The newcomer’s English was accented, overlaid with an American drawl.

With a shock Rebecca realised this had to be Demetra. She’d expected someone more restrained—more obviously Greek—than the young woman whose freckled, makeup-free face shone with good health. Rebecca smiled at her and got an answering grin. Then Demetra said, “And who is this handsome guy?”

“My son, T.J.” Tensely Rebecca waited for the inevitable questions to follow.

None did. Instead Demetra bolted around the table and sank down beside T.J. “What do you like doing most in the whole wide world?”

“Playing trains.” T.J. gave her a euphoric smile and started making chuff-chuff sounds.

“Uh, I don’t know that much about trains, but I betcha I’ll learn. I like digging in the garden more than anything else in the world.”

“I like digging in the garden, also. But I like trains more.”

Demetra laughed. “You’ll have to help me dig sometime. What kind of trains do you like?”

“Thomas and Gordon are bestest—they’re blue.”

“And blue is your favourite colour, right?”

T.J. nodded.

“You’ll have to introduce me to Thomas and Gordon right after you’ve had breakfast. For now, I’ll go chase Jane up.”

“Jane?” Rebecca queried.

“Damon’s chef. She comes in daily and cooks like a dream. Wait until you try—”

“Sc’ambled eggs?” T.J. interrupted worriedly.

“You want scrambled eggs, honey?”

T.J. nodded emphatically. “An’ toast.”

“Done!”

Demetra rose and was already halfway to the door when Damon called her back. “Better ask Jane for some apple slices for the boy, as well,” he said drily. “And Rebecca would like coffee with her fruit.”

“Okay.”

Then she was gone.

Rebecca blinked. That vital, vivacious creature was Demetra? Her heart lifted. She could see exactly why Savvas had fallen for her verve and warmth. She smiled at Damon—the first real smile since he’d erupted back into her life. “Demetra seems very nice.”

“Nice?” Damon raised an eyebrow. “How you like that word.”

Rebecca coloured and decided to ignore him. She stayed silent until Demetra returned at whirlwind speed, her arms piled high with plates for herself, Rebecca and T.J.

By the time T.J. licked the last morsel of scrambled egg off his spoon, Rebecca was ready to explode at Damon’s rudeness. He’d barely uttered a word, answering only when spoken to and leaving the conversation to herself and Demetra to carry. Not that it had been a hardship; Demetra was a delight. Already she’d offered to look after T.J. while Rebecca visited Soula in hospital later in the morning. Demetra had also confided sotto voce that she viewed the approaching wedding with dread.

“Big, splashy functions are not me. But Savvas says his family expects it—and I know mine will, too, once they get here. So I’m relying on you, Rebecca, to make it a wonderful occasion for the parents. I don’t need to know about the choices you make. All I want to see beforehand is the final venue you choose and I’d like to help choose the cake and I want your advice with my dress. Nothing too grand. The rest is up to you!”

“I’ll do my best to make it a wedding that you and Savvas will enjoy, as well,” Rebecca said, bemused by Demetra’s quicksilver personality.

“All I want is Savvas—I love him!” Sincerity radiated from Demetra, and Rebecca wished she’d been blessed with the same love that Demetra shared with Savvas. “Okay,” Demetra said more loudly. “Enough of this bride stuff, I’m off for a quick workout in the downstairs gym.” And she vanished out the door.

A silence descended in her wake.

Rebecca started to segment the orange she had peeled, an orange she was already too full to eat. She placed two pieces in front of T.J., who attacked them with relish, juice dribbling down his chin.

With a brooding glance in T.J.’s direction, Damon said, “The boy may be excused if he wants.”

“T.J. His name is T.J.,” Rebecca said impatiently.

“It’s a ridiculous name, for God’s sake.”

“It’s his name,” she rebuked, dropping her voice. “And he can be excused after he’s finished the orange—I’ll take him up with me.”

Damon leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “What I call him, it upsets you?”

He hadn’t taken her advice about Fliss’s name preferences on board, so she shrugged. “He’s a person, an individual with a name chosen just for him. He’s not ‘the boy.’”

She put another two segments on T.J.’s plate. He shoved one into his mouth with sticky fingers and picked up the remaining sliver. With a tiny-toothed grin at her, he slid from the chair before she could stop him and was around the table in a trice.

Rebecca watched, frozen, as T.J. offered Damon his last segment of orange. There was a moment of utter silence, then T.J. pushed the messy bit of orange at Damon, insistent now. Rebecca unfroze and leaped to her feet, hurrying toward them, aware that any moment the juice would land on Damon’s expensive suit, aware that Damon was not accustomed to three-year-olds and sticky hands and that T.J. was likely to suffer the consequences of his impatience.

Damon’s next act stunned her.

Taking the orange, he popped the sodden mass into his mouth. Then he gave T.J. a beaming smile. “Delicious, thank you, T.J.”

T.J. squealed with pleasure. He battered his juice-stained fists against Damon’s trousers and cackled, “Dee’icious, dee’icious.”

Rebecca swept him up into her arms before he could do any more damage. Taking in the wet patches on Damon’s thighs with a harassed glance, she said, “I’m so sorry.”

Damon shrugged. “No matter. The suit will clean.”

He was still smiling at T.J., and Rebecca went utterly still, staring at him. When his head turned, she tore her gaze away. “Excuse us, please.” Without waiting for a response, she snatched a paper napkin from the table, flashed him a meaningless smile and made for the door.

“I’ll collect you to visit my mother at noon. Be ready.” Damon’s command followed them out the room.

As she bolted through the doorway, T.J. reached over her shoulder to wave at Damon before whispering in her ear, “I like the man.”

It was a shock to see Soula lying so frail and passive in the high hospital bed. Rebecca didn’t dare look at Damon. Not that it would’ve helped. On the drive to the hospital, he’d continued the cold and remote treatment he’d started at breakfast, the silence building a wall of ice between them.

Far better to think about poor Soula, whose chalky pallor was barely distinguishable from the white sheets enveloping her, and whose eyes were closed despite the wide-screen plasma television blaring across a room that looked more like a luxurious hotel suite than a hospital ward.

As the ward door clicked shut, Soula’s eyes opened and lit up. “Rebecca, how good to see you! Damon, you’re back!” She struggled to sit up, paying scant attention to the drip secured to the back of her hand—or the wiring that protruded from under the bedclothes.

“Mama!” Damon crossed the private ward in two hasty strides. “No, Mama. Lie still.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m not yet dead, my son. Switch the television off.” Damon complied. “Now raise the back of the bed.”

While Damon was adjusting the bed-frame setting, Rebecca approached the high bed, deeply shaken by Damon’s mother’s appearance. Only the dark, indomitable eyes showed a shred of the proud woman Rebecca remembered.

“I must look a wreck, hmm?”

Rebecca forced a smile, aware that Soula must have read the shock in her eyes but unable for the life of her to think of any platitude that would sound sincere.

“What? No answer, Rebecca?” The older woman gave a wan smile. “Better that than the lies the rest of the family feed me. This morning my eldest sister, Iphigenia, said I still put women of half my age to shame. Pah! All lies!” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “But I have to admit it’s not as bad as it looks. White is a terrible colour. Look—” she flung an arm out “—white nightdress, white sheets, white blankets. So bad for an older woman—it simply doesn’t do a thing for my complexion.”

Affection for the acerbic woman overwhelming her, Rebecca bent to plant an impulsive kiss on the cheek that wore a few more wrinkles than it had in the past. “Nonsense,” she whispered into Soula’s ear. “True beauty comes from within. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”

They exchanged a long look, then Soula’s arms crept around Rebecca’s neck and pulled her close. “It’s so good to have you here, child. I was starting to despair.”

The note of very real desperation in Soula’s voice and the unexpected warmth of her hug caused something to splinter deep inside Rebecca and she hugged Soula back fiercely. Swallowing the burgeoning lump in her throat, she glanced up at the bank of equipment above the bed and said in a choked-up voice, “I have to admit I don’t like seeing you tied to these machines. When will you be out and about?”

Damon reared up on the other side of the bed, outrage in his eyes. “Out and about? My mother needs—”

“Soon!” Soula interrupted her son.” I will not stay in this place ena lepto—” she held up a thin forefinger “—longer than I need. Not one minute. Look at me! My hair needs attention, my nails need a manicure….” She held out elegant hands spoiled only by chipped nails.

“You should’ve told me. I would’ve organised a beautician, a hairdresser—” Damon waved a hand at her nails “—whoever you needed to fix that.”

“How can I expect you and Savvas to understand? You are men! Look, I’m wearing nightclothes in the middle of the day. And I reek of antibacterial soap.” She paused for breath. “I can’t bear the smell of the antiseptic.”

“Neither can I,” said Rebecca with heartfelt fervour. Memories haunted her of the hospital her brother, James, had been in and out of before his death.

Soula gave her a sharp glance. “Only the experiences of the old and sick bring on such strong dislike.”

“Perhaps.” Rebecca kept her reply noncommittal, aware that she’d already given away more than she’d intended—especially with Damon hovering so close.

Soula patted Rebecca’s hand. “One day you will tell me more, pethi.”

Rebecca looked away. Not likely. It hurt too much.

Every single person she’d loved in her life had been ripped away.

Her parents.

James.

Aaron.

Fliss.

And with Damon she hadn’t even got started before it had all come crashing down on her. All she had left was T.J. whom she loved more than life itself.

She blinked. Soula’s hand was warm on hers and the weight of it resting there made her feel like the worst kind of fraud.

“Rebecca, pethi, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Rebecca forced herself to snap out of the black grief that smothered her. Soula should be the focus of her concern now.

“Come, child, let’s talk about other things.” Soula glanced meaningfully over at her silent son. “Damon, stop glowering and make yourself useful. See if you can find coffee for yourself and Rebecca.”

Rebecca winced, waiting for the inevitable explosion to follow the barrage of orders, then relaxed when Damon simply shot her a hooded look, his mouth slanted.

As soon as the two women were alone, Soula patted the bed invitingly, “Kathiste, come sit. Tell me what you think about this wedding that has me in such a state.”

Not for the first time suspicion rose inside Rebecca and she pinned Soula with a thoughtful look, but the other woman simply smiled and looked angelic.

Raising one speaking eyebrow, Rebecca sat. “And while we talk I’ll tend to some of those things that are bothering you so much. Where can I find your vanity case?”

Twenty minutes later Damon padded silently back into the ward. His mother and Rebecca were chatting softly—too softly for him to hear what they were saying—while Rebecca repainted his mother’s nails. His mother’s crow-black hair had been brushed and secured into a stylish knot that made her look more like her usual immaculate self. Her cheeks held a slight blush, and her lips were coloured with the shade she’d worn as long as he could remember.

Without warning, Soula laughed, and the dull helplessness that had cloaked him since receiving her call started to lift. All at once things seemed brighter. Happier.

His mother was going to be fine. She was not going to die. And he had Rebecca to thank for the transformation. He stepped forward and with his right foot pushed the door shut behind him. The thud caused both women’s heads to shoot around.

Rebecca looked instantly wary, but his mother beamed. “Ah, coffee. Rebecca will enjoy that. Won’t you, dear?” And without waiting for an answer, she continued. “Put it on the trolley where Rebecca can reach it.”

“Two sugars, right?” he asked, unable to help noticing the easy relationship his mother and Rebecca shared. How had he failed to notice the strength of the bond between the two women in the past? Always he’d seen only the differences: one a proud Greek matriarch, widow of one of the richest men in the southern hemisphere, the other born and raised in a series of Auckland foster homes, a woman of questionable morals. One reluctant to succumb to the tyranny of age, the other young and lushly beautiful. Never before had he noticed the common bonds they shared: the strength of will, the burning determination, the stubborn tilt of the chin.

Both were staring at him now, waiting for a response to something he had not heard. He looked from one to the other. “I’m sorry?” he said in his most distant tone, not wanting either woman to conclude that he’d been in dreamland.

“I was commenting on the fact that you remembered that Rebecca takes two teaspoons of sugar in her coffee.” For some reason his mother was smiling beatifically at him.

His brows drew together. “She must have told me.” But he knew she hadn’t. His internal radar had always been attuned to Rebecca’s every action. He’d hated it, resented it fiercely. But there hadn’t been a thing he could do about it. Except pretend it didn’t exist.

And treat her as if she barely existed.

“No, she didn’t,” his mother said triumphantly. “You remembered from all those years ago.”

Backed into a corner, he made the grudging admission. “Perhaps I did.”

To his surprise, it was Rebecca who rescued him. “But then, how many women take two spoons of sugar? Not easy to forget. It’s something that often makes me self-conscious, my addiction to sugar.”

“It shouldn’t,” he said without thinking. “You can afford to eat whatever you like.” And could’ve kicked himself at her startled expression…and his mother’s smug one.

To his relief, his mother didn’t comment. Instead she steered the conversation back to Demetra and Savvas’s wedding and Damon started to relax.

“I can’t help worrying about Demetra. About how she will cope with the strain of a high-profile marriage. She’s very…” His mother paused searching for a word.

“Vivacious?” Rebecca inserted with a smile. “But, Soula, that’s part of her charm. And don’t you worry—as long as Savvas loves her, she’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.” Despite the doubt in the words, his mother looked happier. “But she’s not interested in the arrangements at all. The only thing that matters to her is the home Savvas has bought—and more than the house, the garden.”

“Some women aren’t into the whole wedding spectacle.” Rebecca shrugged. “It doesn’t mean a thing.”

“She has other strengths. She’s a landscaper,” Damon said.

“Oh, yes, and she’s very good with children, too.” Soula’s eyes lit up. “I can’t wait to hold my first grandchild. Damon was very remiss.”

Damon felt the explosive reply rising, bit it back and glared at Rebecca. How dare his mother bring this up? To her credit, Rebecca looked extremely uncomfortable.

Even as he glowered, Rebecca rose to her feet. “Speaking of children, I need to get back to the house. T.J. will be wondering where I am.”

“I can’t wait to meet your son, Rebecca. Does he take after you?”

Rebecca looked flustered. “Not really, although there is some family resemblance. His eyes are just like—” She broke off, blood draining from her face.

Damon took pity on her and said, “He has your dark hair.”

“What?” Her face blanked out all emotion. A second later he watched her snap out of the hell she’d retreated to and reply, “Yes, yes, of course he does.”

Damon froze at the undiluted anguish he’d glimpsed in her dark eyes. Eyes so unlike T.J.’s that he concluded that T.J.’s must resemble his father’s. A fleeting image of round blue eyes. Again he found himself wondering about the boy’s—T.J’s, he amended—father.

Then he forced himself to dismiss the speculation.

It was not his concern.

Yet there was something about the boy’s features that was intensely familiar, but he could not put his finger on what it was. Then pirazi—it mattered not. It would come to him.

Rebecca had turned away and was shrugging on her jacket and collecting her bag. Something had stirred up old hurts for her, judging by the speed she made for the door.

“I can’t wait to meet the little one,” Soula said.

“Soon,” Rebecca promised. From the doorway she gave Soula a little wave and bolted.

“You’ll have to wait until you get home,” Damon said firmly to his mother before kissing her cheek and hurrying after Rebecca.

“Come on, come on.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Rebecca stabbed the button again, impatient for the elevator to arrive. Hearing Damon’s distinctive tread behind her, she shoved her hands into her pockets and hunched into her jacket.

“What’s the hurry?” His dark, fluid voice sent shivers that she didn’t need down her spine.

“I need to get to T.J. I don’t usually leave him for such long stretches of time.”

“What about while you work?”

“That’s different. He’s known Dorothy, his caregiver, since birth. Demetra is a stranger, and the surroundings are alien, too.” But even more than getting back to T.J. she wanted to escape. Away from the well-meaning questions, away from Damon and away from the hospital and the memories of awful helplessness it evoked.

An elevator arrived at last, already occupied by a nurse fussing over a hospital gurney. The patient was a young man in his early to mid twenties, Rebecca guessed. One arm was in plaster. What she could see of his face was covered in lacerations, the rest hidden beneath dressings and tape. He looked as though he’d been in a particularly nasty car smash. She stepped inside, transfixed, barely aware of Damon following behind. The patient groaned and turned his head. Rebecca jerked her horrified stare away.

The elevator sank and stopped at another floor. A beeper sounded. The doors slid open again, and the nurse and her patient were gone, the castors rattling against the endless corridor. Rebecca watched the disappearing gurney and prayed fiercely that the young man’s prognosis was better than James’s had been.

Desperation clawed at her throat. She felt sick, light-headed. “I need to get out of here.”

“It’s the hospital, isn’t it?”

“I hate these places,” Rebecca said with feeling, bile burning the back of her throat.

“Thank you for staying…for helping my mother. It made a great difference.”

“It was nothing.”

“Hardly nothing. She’s afraid.” He shot her a searching glance. “Was T.J.’s birth difficult?”

She swallowed hard, disconcerted by the sudden change of subject. His conclusion was not unreasonable in the circumstances. But what to say? “All births are difficult, but the reward is immeasurable. T.J. is a blessing.”

“He’s a son to be proud of. You’ve done well, raising him alone.”

“Thank you.” Her mouth tasted bitter.

If he only knew.

“You had a short stay in hospital after—” He broke off.

“After Fliss died. It was one night.” Rebecca kept her tone flat as the elevator jarred to a stop. The doors shuddered open to reveal a well-lit underground car park. Rebecca hurried out.

Damon followed. “Was that when the dislike of hospitals began?”

“It didn’t help,” she said honestly, stopping and facing him.

“But the phobia was already there.” James, she couldn’t stop thinking of James. The hospitals visits, the hopeless tests, the sudden brutal end. In a sudden blur of pain she remembered the night Fliss died, how she’d cried as Fliss had slipped away. She blinked and forced herself to look up at Damon instead.

His eyes were hooded, but there was none of the tightness in his jaw that she’d half expected. It was the first time Fliss had been mentioned without Damon going up in flames. That had to be progress. Rebecca sighed. She didn’t want to fight anymore. She’d had enough.

Seeing Soula weak, ill and older had shaken her. And Rebecca had suddenly been struck by her own mortality. If anything happened to her, what would become of T.J.? She felt a disorientating sense of panic and sagged back against the wall. This was ridiculous! This place must be getting to her. The horrid memories.

Yet deep down she knew it was more than the starkness of the hospital, the haunting memories that called to her from the past. The man standing in front of her—the emotions he aroused—was part of it, too. A sharp ache shot through her head. Dizziness. All at once wide white space closed in on her.

“Hey, are you all right?”

With a sense of shock she became aware of Damon’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently. For a moment she contemplated leaning forward, resting her head on his chest and releasing the tears she’d held in check for far too long.

But she didn’t want to reveal any weakness to him. So she lifted her head and gave him a wan smile. “I’m fine. Or at least I will be as soon as I get out of this place.”

“Let’s get you out then.”

But he didn’t move.

The expression on Rebecca’s face caused something to shift in Damon’s chest. There was a sadness on the exquisite features, a vulnerability he’d never seen before.

Or had he simply never wanted to see the loneliness?

With a spontaneity that was foreign to him, he leaned forward intending to brush a brief, comforting kiss across her lips. But that all changed the moment his lips touched hers. Instantly he was aware of the softness blooming beneath his. He felt the surprised hiss of her breath against his mouth, and a torrent of desire flooded him.

A primitive male urge rose within him to grind his lips on hers, push her up against the wall, feel her body against his and immerse himself in her heat. To take her and never let her go. Only the confusion in her eyes, the unexpected fragility she’d revealed, halted him.

No.

She had been through enough.

Instead he drew away and cupped her cheek with a gentle hand, heard her breath catch. Her dark eyes were wide and dazed, her lips parted, tempting him. She smelled of flowers, sweet and fragrant. For an instant his mind flashed to that moment in her bedroom when tension and something much more had buzzed between them. That time he’d escaped to the cold, dark water of the pool. But this time…this time he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to be sensible.

He wanted to drop his head, slant his mouth across hers and feel the wildness rock him.

It took everything he had, all his magnificent self-restraint, to leash the passion surging inside him. With careful control he leaned forward and dropped the lightest touch across her nose.

“That tickles.” She gave him a small smile and wrinkled her nose at him.

“Does it?” Inside him, something melted. Today he’d seen another, softer side of Rebecca. So very different from the selfish, self-centred woman he’d known before. How patient, loving, she was with her son, how deftly she’d cheered his mother up, easing her fears.

“Yes,” she murmured, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

A fierce pang of desire pierced him, and he fought to control the need to crush this wild, delicate woman against him. Inexplicably he ached to possess both sides of her—the caring woman and the sexy vamp. He stroked his fingers along her jaw, savouring the soft skin.

Was it the flashes of tender caring that Savvas had seen in her and liked? No doubt her body was another thing his brother had appreciated. Had his brother felt branded by her kisses? The way he did? Damon brooded over the notion and his hand dropped away from her face. Had Rebecca ever aroused this fearful sense of confusion in Savvas?

“Can you stand?” he bit out, then regretted his harshness.

She nodded, visibly pulling herself together, her eyes large liquid pools in her pale face.

Damon stepped back, his reason at war with his body. Fighting the urge to take her into his arms, to surround her with the warmth of his body, to taste her mouth and brand himself with her taste forever. To take her to his bed and keep her there until he discovered every fantasy she craved, stripped away every secret she possessed.

Hell!

His lack of discrimination stunned him. He swung away, disgusted by the insane surge of desire for a woman so many others had possessed. His own brother, Aaron Grainger, other men who watched her salaciously and spoke of her as “hot, hot, hot” and “great in the sack.”

“Let’s go,” he said curtly. “T.J. is waiting.”

Then he told himself to stop being stupid. What did he expect? Few women of Rebecca’s age had only one lover. Wanting her, bedding her, didn’t mean a thing. After all, it wasn’t as if wanting equated to marrying the woman.

And he was going to have her. Soon, Damon vowed bleakly as they crossed the car park, Rebecca silent and withdrawn beside him. It was time to stop fighting the staggering attraction she held for him. And when he’d purged himself, he would walk away, leaving Rebecca and the past behind.

There’d be no loss of control, no emotion.

Only passion.