Читать книгу The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 33

The sound of screaming woke Rebecca.

Shrill, childish screams followed by a chilling silence. The door to T.J.’s room stood wide-open and her bedroom door was ajar onto the corridor. She leaped up, the thick mists of sleep falling rapidly away.

“T.J.?”

There was no answer. Fear galvanised her into action. She hurtled into his room. Trains lay scattered across the carpet. Thomas…Henry…Gordon. A wild glance took in T.J.’s favourites. But no T.J.

Terror released a wave of adrenaline, her knees turning to liquid. Rebecca burst out into the corridor, uncaring that she still wore nightclothes.

“T.J.!” Rebecca was yelling now, her voice hoarse with shock. She rushed down the stairs. At the bottom she paused. The large double-height lobby led to the solid carved front door and beyond that lay the road. To the right lay Soula’s rooms, and in the opposite direction another corridor led to the entertainment rooms and the kitchen.

She heard shouts. An adult this time. Coming from outside. It sounded like…Johnny. A swift glance at her watch showed her that it was a little before seven.

She started to run.

A large male form brushed past her. A blur of flesh wearing only a pair of boxers and moving at breakneck speed.

Damon.

Then he was gone, tearing into the lounge as if all the hounds of hell were after him.

Rebecca had a brief recollection of billowing curtains, of the open ranch sliders, and a sick, swirling sense of horror filled her.

“Please, no. Oh, God. T.J.” She burst out onto the deck in time to see Damon disappear under the water, heard the resounding splash. Her shell-shocked gaze swept the deck, the pool.

Where was T.J.?

Johnny was also in the water. Incongruous in his sodden black blazer and limp tie, his thinning hair plastered to his scalp, his eyes worried.

So where was T.J.?

Someone was screaming, an unending, unearthly howl of grief. Johnny held up a hand, beckoning urgently. Only then did Rebecca realise it was her—she was screaming. Wailing. The scream died abruptly. She scurried to the water’s edge.

“Wait,” Johnny shouted. “Don’t jump in. Call the ambulance. Call Dr. Campbell—his number is on the handset. The boss will get the youngster out.”

Shaking with reaction, she ran blindly back to the lobby, snatched up the cordless phone and dialled 111 with fumbling fingers. “Hurry, hurry,” she prayed, and dry sobs of relief racked her when the operator came on the line.

Rebecca gave the details and the location in a blur. Her fingers shook as she punched out the next number. Dr. Campbell’s receptionist promised to send him immediately. Rebecca rushed out onto the deck again, dropping the handset at the sight of Damon emerging from the water, T.J. struggling in his arms.

T.J. Her baby was alive! Her vision blurred. She scrubbed at her eyes and her hands came away wet. She tore across to where Damon was laying T.J. down on the terra-cotta pavers. T.J. was retching and then the screaming started—the most welcome sound Rebecca had ever heard.

“I’m here, baby.” Rebecca fell to her knees. A tear plopped onto T.J.’s pale skin, mingling with rivulets of water from the pool. “Thank God.”

“T.J. Oh, T.J., I am so sorry.”

The ambulance and Dr. Campbell had been and gone. T.J. lay on the couch, asleep, exhausted from the toll the shock and the crying jag had taken on his system. Rebecca hunched over her son, her back tense and shaking, her anguish palpable. From time to time she stroked T.J. with hands that trembled, as if to assure herself he was alive.

Rebecca who never cried.

Coming to a decision, Damon strode to her. Without giving her an opportunity to resist, he swept her into his arms. Crossing to the sofa opposite the one T.J. occupied, he lowered himself, fitting Rebecca into his lap.

“Dr. Campbell says he’s fine.”

“I know, but I can’t seem to stop. When I think what might have happened…God!” Her whole body started to shake.

Holding her, he rocked her. “Don’t think. It achieves nothing.”

She drew a deep, heaving breath and buried her face in his chest, into the black T-shirt he’d hurriedly shrugged on after Dr. Campbell had checked T.J. out.

He braced himself for more tears. “Hush, you’ll make yourself ill.”

No tears came, but the tremors grew worse. “You don’t understand. I nearly lost him.”

He did understand. How to tell her? He hated the helplessness that swamped him. Nothing he could say, do, would take away her pain. In silent sympathy he tightened his arms around her and said inadequately, “He’ll be fine.”

She sniffed against his chest. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s mine. I should have thought about that door.” Damon stared bleakly over her head. Last night he’d plotted the seduction of the woman he held in his arms. He’d been so intent on her, on his pleasure, that he’d forgotten about the blasted sliders. After he’d promised Rebecca they would remain locked at all times, he’d let her down. Rebecca’s son had paid for his carelessness.

Nearly with his life.

“It should never have happened,” she choked.

“It won’t happen again.” He went cold as he relived those horrible moments.

“I mean—” she lifted her woebegone face “—it wouldn’t have happened if I’d been a better mother.”

The immaculate mask had been torn away. Still clad in her nightie, her hair tangled, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, she had never looked more vulnerable nor more beautiful.

He brushed his lips across her smooth brow. “Don’t blame yourself. If anyone is at fault, it’s me for assuming that it would be simple to keep the sliders closed—after all, they latch automatically. I know better now. And I know that you couldn’t possibly be a better mother.”

She hiccupped. “I’m a terrible mother. I’m a total failure as a mother, I always knew I would be. I’ve failed—”

“Rebecca.” He gave her a shake. “Listen to me! No one can doubt your commitment to T.J. You’re patient, loving. What more could a child want?”

But instead of calming her, his praise simply made her sob, her dark eyes spilling tears that wrenched his heart.

“I don’t deserve T.J.”

“You know, if you’d asked me four years ago what kind of mother I thought you’d be, I would have said appalling. Selfish. But I’ve watched you with T.J. You’ve astounded me. You’ve impressed me. I admire your patience. Even when he’s being downright difficult, you always do the right thing.”

“I’m not a natural mother.”

“You could have fooled me.” With a gentle hand, he stroked her hair.

But the gesture did little to calm her. Instead she only cried harder. “You don’t understand!”

“Try me.”

“No. I can’t.” She sat up in his lap, shaking her head wildly so that her long hair whipped around her tear-drenched face. “There are things…things I haven’t told you. Things you should’ve known before we…before we slept together.”

“Shush. Don’t worry about that now.”

“I must.” Her teeth were clattering. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away. I’m so scared—”

He yanked her back against his chest, so close that he could feel her hot breath against his chest. He scanned her uptilted features, concerned about the misery, the guilt he read there. “Stop this. You’ll make yourself ill!”

Remorse flashed across her face, making her look even more wretched. “And then what good will I be to T.J.?”

“That can’t be self-pity I hear, is it? Come on, buckle up.”

She gave him a watery smile. “You mean buck up.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

Rebecca made a valiant effort to pull herself together. Pulling away, she perched on the edge of his lap and examined him. “Whatever? You’re always so formal I sometimes forget that you only arrived here in New Zealand when you were—what—eight? Nine?”

“Ten,” he corrected, looking surprised at the change of subject. “My father saw New Zealand as a land of opportunity. When I arrived, neither Savvas nor I could speak any English. Where were you when you were ten, Rebecca?”

“With the Austins. They were one of the better foster families I stayed with.” But that was when she’d been parted from James. The Austins had two daughters and didn’t want to foster boys. They hadn’t minded taking two girls into care. The other girl had been Fliss. Poor shell-shocked Fliss who had recently lost her parents in a freak boating accident. Separated from James for the first time in her life, Rebecca had shared Fliss’s bewildered sense of loss. It had been natural that the two of them had clung to each other.

“How many foster homes did you stay in?”

“Altogether? Four,” she said bleakly.

He pulled her back into his arms. “You know, T.J. is very fortunate to have you for a mother.”

“No, I’m the lucky one. It’s easy to love him.” She glanced up at him as she spoke and her eyes were luminous with profound emotion, and for an instant Damon felt a pang of envy at her bond of love with the child. He pushed it aside.

His voice rough with emotion, he said, “You’re a wonderful mother. I’ve watched you. Never think you’re a failure as a mother.”

Wonder lit her eyes. “Thank you, Damon. That means a lot to me. More than you could ever know, because my mother abandoned James and me, and we never knew who fathered us.”

“You’re not your mother. You’ve done wonders. He’s a son to be proud of.” He brushed a kiss across the top of her head. It didn’t matter who her parents were. But it explained her fierce determination to be independent. Every word he’d spoken was true. She had surprised him. At first he’d assumed the mothering thing was all an elaborate act. An empty charade. But slowly he’d seen the depth of her love for T.J., and for some reason the bond between them highlighted the emptiness of his own life. He’d enjoyed the trip to Goat Island, the visit to the zoo. Much to his astonishment, Damon found he wanted to be included in the intimate moments of warmth they shared, to be part of the unbreakable bond.

Rebecca stayed close to T.J. all day.

Damon had carried him upstairs to his room and he’d slept until well after midday. When T.J. finally awoke, he’d been tearful and told Rebecca emphatically that he never, ever wanted to swim ever again.

Hugging his shivering body, Rebecca hoped that it would be a temporary aversion and made a mental note to arrange him a course of swimming lessons after a little time had elapsed. Then they’d settled down to play with the brightly painted trains on the wooden tracks.

Several hours later a light rap at the door caused them both to raise their heads. The door swung open. Damon stood there looking oddly hesitant. “Dr. Campbell just rang. The hospital is discharging my mother tomorrow morning.”

“You must be thrilled.” Rebecca gave up trying to manoeuvre Gordon through the signal crossing and sat back on her heels. “Is she strong enough?”

He shrugged. “Dr. Campbell thinks she’s fine. He also wanted to check on T.J. I told him that T.J. had eaten, that you were with him. You’re welcome to phone him later if you’re worried about anything.” Damon’s assessing glance flickered over T.J. “May I come in?”

“Want to play trains?” T.J. invited, blissfully unaware of the growing tension.

“May I?”

T.J. nodded enthusiastically. “The green train is Henry. The black engine is Diesel. He’s being naughty today.”

Damon squatted on the floor. “Naughty? Why? What did he do?”

Rebecca waited, heart pounding under her throat.

T.J. didn’t look up. “He fell in the duck pond.”

Damon went white. “T.J.—”

“He did it on purpose because he wanted to swim.”

Rebecca drew a cautious breath. “Maybe Diesel needs a couple of swimming lessons?”

“No.” T.J. was adamant. “Diesel never wants to swim again.”

Damon shot Rebecca a helpless glance over T.J.’s head.

“Diesel loves to swim, just like you do. Lessons will help him swim better,” Rebecca said calmly.

“What if he’s scared?”

Damon pushed the Chinese Dragon along the track. “It’s fine to be scared, T.J. Everyone gets scared sometimes.”

“Not you—you’re a man. A big growed-up man. You don’t get scared,” T.J. replied with childish logic.

Rebecca fought the smile that threatened to break out across her face at the observation. Damon was a man, every muscled inch of him.

“Even me,” Damon said emphatically. “I get scared, too. I’ve been very scared because my mother has been ill. And I was scared this morning, too.”

“I scared, too,” T.J. said. Wide round eyes looked up at the man crouched beside him.

“Nothing wrong with that, son.”

Rebecca sagged. Watching Damon with T.J., she couldn’t believe how well he’d handled that. She’d been treading on eggshells all day, terrified of bringing up the subject, yet knowing that it would be healthier for T.J. to discuss it rather than let it fester.

Gratitude filled her—and something more. Something that made her throat thicken, a warm sweet feeling with a bitter edge that made tears threaten.

Dear God, how she loved this man.

The emotion she felt now was stronger than almost four years ago. More compelling than the fierce attraction that had drawn her to Damon all those years ago. Then she’d fallen madly in lust with him.

And thought it love until it had turned to pain.

Pain that had shattered her.

It wasn’t the same as what she felt now. Then she’d only recognised Damon’s sensual magnetism, glimpsed the passion beneath the tight control.

She’d accused him of judging her without getting to know her. Well, she hadn’t known him, either. Not beyond the fierce pull he held over her body. She’d pursued him with headstrong recklessness—and paid the price.

The price had been his contempt.

Over the recent weeks she’d gotten to know him. Really know him. Not just the sexy, charismatic Greek male she’d been wildly infatuated with years before. But the real man under the corporate billionaire mask. Had grown to understand his fierce loyalty, the protective love with which he guarded his loved ones. This morning Damon had done everything in his power to rescue T.J.

T.J. was under his roof, so he felt responsible for what had happened. Even though they’d both been there. Not once had he blamed her for leaving the sliders open. Without a word he’d assumed the full mantle of guilt.

And now, watching him playing trains with T.J., their dark heads close together, she recognised the essence of his strength and his capacity to show care and tenderness to a child—a child of a woman for whom he’d had little respect in the past. A woman who was now his lover.

The woman who loved him with an intensity of feeling that scorched her. And this time it was more than lust. This love had the depth of an adult, confident woman. This was the love of a mother who trusted a strong, dominant male not to harm her child, to protect them both to the limits of his strength, with his life if necessary.

Damon was the man for her. So strong, so passionate, so gentle. A man that a woman would be proud to have beside her for all the years of her life. There would be no other man for her.

There never had been.

That night, once T.J. was sleeping, Damon insisted that Rebecca come downstairs for a break after spending the whole day closeted upstairs.

Damon had given Johnny time off to allow Rebecca some privacy and space to recover from the morning’s trauma. Once Johnny vanished to his quarters, they were alone. Savvas and Demetra would only be back tomorrow afternoon, and Damon had decided against calling them. They would find out soon enough about T.J.’s brush with tragedy.

Now, as she sat curled up on the sofa opposite him, Damon saw that her eyes were bruised with tiredness. While he was tempted to sit down beside her and pull her into his arms he resisted the temptation lest she think he was prompted by lust. Sex was the last thing Rebecca needed right now.

“Are you okay?”

She glanced up at him and nodded. There were grooves of tension beside her mouth and her face was full of hollows. The long, tempestuous day had been hard on her.

He ached to kiss the strain away. All his preconceptions were under attack. The woman he’d once considered vain and selfish was a devoted mother. She was kind to his mother. Yet thinking back to the past, he could remember instances where she’d been fiercely protective of Felicity. To the point where she’d confronted him, pleaded with him not to marry Felicity. He’d been enraged when she’d accused him of coercing Felicity into a marriage that she’d regret. He’d dismissed Rebecca’s pleas as machinations, an attempt to get what she wanted: him. But now he was no longer sure that it had been all about him. Perhaps—

“Damon…” Rebecca interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She looked away, a vivid flush staining her pale skin.

“What is it?”

“Will you hold me?” The words came out in a rush and the eyes that met his were shadowed by uncertainty.

“Of course!” He moved to sit beside her. Looping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close. She nestled her head against his chest with a soft sigh. She smelled of talcum powder and something sweet. He had a strong urge to tilt her face up to his and kiss her breathless. He killed the impulse and pressed a tame, gentle kiss against her hair instead.

His thoughts drifted back to the past. Why had Rebecca been so set against his marriage? Why had Felicity left? Had Rebecca known something that he hadn’t? Rebecca had been right about one thing: Felicity had not been happy married to him. She’d tried to hide it with demure smiles. And failed miserably.

It had frustrated him. He’d showered his bride with gifts. She’d accepted them, but he’d sensed a…sadness in her. He’d given her his attention, escorted her to plays, the finest restaurants, everything that a woman who had grown up poor should have revelled in. Everything except his love.

Had her unhappiness been his fault? At the time he hadn’t considered that. Too soon she’d been gone. And he’d been furious, humiliated that his bride of six weeks had deserted him. He’d blamed Rebecca. Hated her for publicly emasculating him.

He’d wanted to go after her. But his mother had told him he needed time to get some perspective. Soula had argued that Felicity’s desertion couldn’t possibly be Rebecca’s doing. He hadn’t had the heart to disagree, but his resentment of Rebecca had grown like a cancer within him—and then Felicity had died.

Felicity’s casket. Strewn with waxen white flowers.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone except his family at the funeral. He hadn’t stayed after the burial in case he’d taken Rebecca apart with his bare hands where she stood motionless beside the raw ochre earth at the cemetery, as immaculate as ever, only her red-rimmed eyes revealing that Felicity had meant anything to her at all.

By the next day he’d calmed down and she’d been gone. Vanished. Before he could mete out the accounting. It would’ve been easy enough to have his security agency locate her, to drag her back. Instead he’d let her go. Because he’d known that his fury was beyond tempering, that his reaction would’ve cost him more than he dared risk—the loss of his self-control.

He shook his head furiously to clear it of the stranglehold of the past. It was dead, dead, dead. Just like Felicity. It was time to move on. And Rebecca was very much alive, her body soft and warm in the curve of his arms. Damon rested his unshaven cheek against her head and rubbed it back and forth.

“Damon?”

“Mmm?” he murmured.

“Will you make love to me?”

“Now?” His body kicked into action despite his disbelief.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Of course I don’t mind.” He wished he could see her face. Already his body was reacting, hardening. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“I’ve had the worst day of my life. I want to…to do something that will help me forget. To put some distance between this morning and tomorrow. Is it terrible to seek oblivion in your body?”

“No…” he croaked, then swallowed and found his voice. “No, it’s not terrible at all.” Pulling her into his lap, he said, “Tell me what I can do to make the pain go away.”

“Just love me.”

Rebecca sounded so despairing that he groaned and dipped his head to kiss her. Tonight he’d help her forget, Damon vowed. He’d wipe the shadows from her eyes and let passion replace her pain.

T.J.’s hold tightened on Rebecca’s hand as they entered the house shortly before noon on Sunday. Rebecca couldn’t help wondering if something of her own nervous excitement at the thought of seeing Damon again had communicated itself to T.J.

Last night’s lovemaking had been slow, gentle and immensely satisfying. She’d fallen asleep wrapped in Damon’s arms. By the time T.J.’s stirring had woken her this morning, Damon had already gone from her bed, the sound of splashing telling her he was swimming his daily laps. It didn’t take Rebecca long to pull on a pair of crisp white shorts and a red tank top. With trainers on her feet and her hair loose about her shoulders, she and T.J. had gone down to breakfast. Damon had come into the dining room, his hair still towel-damp. His light kiss had been full of warm affection that had caused her stomach to flip-flop. After breakfast, her spirits high, she and T.J. had walked down to a nearby park while Damon went to the hospital to fetch Soula.

“It’s okay,” Rebecca reassured T.J. now as they crossed the airy lobby. “We’re not going onto the deck or anywhere near the pool.” T.J.’s steps slowed at the mention of the pool. Hurriedly Rebecca distracted him, “Remember I told you about Damon’s mother?”

T.J. nodded.

“Well, you can come and meet her now. I can hear her voice. She’s home from hospital.” Rebecca hesitated. Kyria Asteriades was too much of a mouthful for a child of Damon’s age. “You can call her Kyria Soula. Or maybe just Kyria.”

T.J. baulked for an instant then followed Rebecca into the lounge. Damon was seated at a right angle to his mother, conversing in rapid Greek. His jagged profile stood out, harsh and barbaric amidst the immaculate, subdued decor of the room.

A pirate in civilised surroundings.

Her lover.

Flushing, Rebecca led T.J. further into the formal room. Damon broke off and rose to his feet. The smile he sent her was exquisitely warm. T.J. crept forward from where he’d huddled behind her legs.

“Come,” Damon said and switched the warm, comforting smile to T.J.

Despite the horror of the previous day, a glow of something approaching happiness surrounded Rebecca. Giving T.J.’s hand a gentle squeeze, she walked forward.

“Soula, no, don’t stand up.” Rebecca let go of T.J.’s hand and waved Damon’s mother back to the couch. She glanced at the teapot and the empty cups beside the plate of shortbread on the coffee table. “Can I pour you another cup of tea? How are you feeling?”

“No more tea for me. I’m much better for being home, pethi. I’m tired of lying, sitting. I need to stretch my legs.” Damon’s mother rose and embraced Rebecca.

Rebecca inhaled the elegant floral perfume Soula wore. Feminine, classy, slightly old-world. After a moment Soula stepped back to peer past Rebecca. “Where is your boy?”

With a sense of inevitability, Rebecca watched Soula’s jaw drop.

“The mou. Those eyes! My God. He’s the spitting image of—” Her shocked gaze met Rebecca’s.

Rebecca stared back. Hoping, praying, that Soula would not let the cat out the bag, that she’d keep what she’d seen to herself.

Soula cast Damon a fleeting glance and flashed a calculating look at Rebecca. Then she swung around to her son, her arms outstretched. “Ye mou, you should have told me.”

Damon looked thoroughly at sea. “Told you what, Mama?”

“That you and Rebecca have a child!”

Rebecca’s own shock was nothing compared to that mirrored on Damon’s face.

“A child? What are you talking about, Mama?”

Soula clasped a hand over her mouth. “You do not know?”

“Know? Know what?” But his gaze was already flickering between T.J., Rebecca and Soula. Rebecca could see him putting it all together in that lightning-swift brain.

“No.” Rebecca stepped forward. “Soula, you have it—”

“I’m so happy!” Soula kissed Damon on the cheek and draped an arm around him. “This is what I have longed for. My grandchild. Rebecca, come.” She motioned with her arm and hugged her close, including her in the circle. “You have made an old woman so happy. I have prayed for years you two would realise the terrible tension between you is not hatred.”

Rebecca didn’t dare look at Damon.

“The child is baptised?” Soula asked.

Rebecca nodded, trying to ignore the tension that vibrated in Damon’s body beside her.

“But not in the Greek Orthodox faith,” Soula stated. “We need to attend to that. You two will need to get married. I cannot have Iphegenia and the rest of my family gossiping.”

Soula’s words shocked Rebecca to the core. Marriage? To Damon? For T.J.’s sake? Never! She jerked herself out of the family circle, her heartbeat loud in her head. “No! Damon and I are not getting married. T.J. is not Damon’s child and we should not be having this discussion in front of him.”

Soula nodded, but her black eyes were sharp with curiosity as she bit back her questions.

“Mummy, can I have a biscuit?” To Rebecca’s relief T.J. seemed oblivious to the mood.

“Yes, of course, sweetie. Let me get you a napkin.” Rebecca hurried to the sideboard, where a stack of paper napkins stood, her hands shaking as she reached out.

Damon got there first. “What does my mother mean?” he muttered, his back to Soula. “Who is T.J. the spitting image of?”

“Well, certainly not you,” she huffed under her breath.

“Not unless he was born by immaculate conception.” Damon’s tone was barbed. Something flashed in his eyes. “So whose child is T.J.? My brother’s?”

Rebecca turned away. Inside the ache grew and grew as the icy coldness expanded.

In a low voice that only she could hear he said, “My mother desperately wants a grandchild.”

Shaking her head, desperate to escape him, Rebecca huddled into herself.

“Stop whispering, you two,” Soula’s voice broke in.

“Rebecca’s right—now’s not the time. Rebecca, dear, I’ve poured you a cup of tea. Come sit next to me. Damon, do you want a cup?”

Rebecca shot Damon a despairing glance. His face was pale under his tan. A pulse beat violently in the hollow of his throat.

“Not for me, thank you,” he replied grimly, making for the sliding doors. And Rebecca, holding the napkin, walked to where Soula sat with T.J. munching on the couch beside her.

There are things…things I haven’t told you. Things you should’ve known…before we…before we slept together.

The damning words buzzed inside Damon’s head, driving him mad. He stood alone on the wooden deck, staring blindly at the flat water of the lap pool. Behind him, from inside the house he could hear his mother’s voice offering T.J. a shortbread biscuit, could hear Rebecca’s cool, composed reply telling her son it was the last one. Blowing out hard, Damon swung around and slid the ranch slider closed to block out all sound of her.

But inside his head her words continued to echo. There are things…things I haven’t told you. What had Rebecca meant? Was it possible…?

Yes, goddammit, it was possible! The boy could well have been fathered by Savvas. His brother. She’d dated his brother. Despite his orders that she stay away from Savvas.

She’s a very beautiful woman. She was kind to me. We had some good times.

Savvas himself had admitted he’d been attracted to Rebecca. What man wouldn’t be? His brother could easily be T.J.’s father. His mother had spotted the resemblance immediately. She’d taken one look at the boy’s eyes and known he was an Asteriades.

How the hell had he missed it? Damon’s knuckles whitened. Blood rushed in his ears. Hot, unsteady rage. He wanted to hit the wall. Anything. He restrained himself. He was losing it. That in itself was dangerous. He prided himself on his fierce, unrelenting control.

Yet he’d already lost every vestige of his control in passion. An image of Rebecca lying beneath him making hoarse little sounds as he drove into her welcoming body flashed in front of him, and he suppressed it ruthlessly. A tight, fist-curling anger threatened.

Rebecca…and Savvas.

God!

When had it happened? Another image, this time the memory of Savvas and Rebecca dancing at his wedding. Rebecca laughing up at Savvas. Had it happened on his wedding night? During his honeymoon? Was that when T.J. had been conceived? While he, Damon, was congratulating himself on finding the perfect bride? While he forced himself to be tender, to meet china-blue eyes, while he struggled to forget the unsuitable witch with slanted dark eyes? The curse of Rebecca—her devastating effect on the Asteriades men. His stomach turned.

Was this why she had agreed to come back to Auckland? Had money alone not been the only enticement? Or was it the hope of a fortune beyond her dreams, child support from Savvas Asteriades? No. He shook his head. That wasn’t right. She’d had years to sue Savvas for child support. Yet she’d never claimed a cent. Why not? The money was legally due her, and she’d always been savvy when it came to money. So why had she walked away from the child maintenance claim?

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Trying to think right now was hard after the bombshell that had exploded in his face. Yes, he was furious with Rebecca. She hadn’t told him the truth. But then, to be fair, when had he ever given her the opportunity?

There are things…things I haven’t told you. The refrain whirled in his head. When had he ever indicated he’d listen calmly, rationally, to what she wanted discuss?

Hell, in the past he’d made it clear that he despised her. That would hardly have invited her to confide in him. Lately he’d had his own agenda: to court her, to get her into bed. Hardly a good time for her to confess that she’d borne his brother’s child.

He raked hard fingers through his hair. T.J. was a great little kid. Angry as he was with Rebecca, he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry that the kid existed. He only wished…Hell, he didn’t want to think about that. T.J. was not his son.

But even though T.J. was his brother’s child, there was no way in hell he intended to let Rebecca escape his grasp. He intended to keep her in his bed. He turned on his heel and reached for the handle on the ranch sliders. Through the glass he could see T.J. seated beside his mother, holding a cup. Rebecca stood beside them both.

What if Savvas broke off with Demetra when he found out about T.J.? What if Savvas decided that he wanted Rebecca and his son? He could not—would not—allow that to happen.

As the ranch sliders scraped open, Rebecca glanced up. His face must’ve given his state of mind away, because her expression grew apprehensive. She leaned forward, murmured something to his mother and disappeared out the opposite door.

Again anger surged in him. She was running away. But this time she would not escape.

Rebecca was his.

No matter who had fathered her child.