Black Widow Bride (6 page)

“I converted the wing Savvas and I shared on the ground floor into a suite of rooms for my mother after her heart attack. It made things easier—she didn’t have to worry about the stairs.”

That strong streak of protectiveness, Rebecca recognised. Damon took care of his own.

He headed for the staircase. “Demetra is staying in Mama’s suite until the wedding.”

Her heart fluttering, Rebecca asked, “And T.J. and me? Where will we be staying?”

“In my quarters.”

Rebecca faltered. “Your quarters?”

Ahead of her, Damon paused on a landing. “Savvas and I had Mama’s old suite extended and refurbished. But now Savvas has moved out—he bought a house where he and Demetra will live after the wedding—so it is mine alone.”

Rebecca forced herself to follow him down a well-lit corridor glassed from floor to ceiling on the left. Through vast sheets of glass she could see a darkened courtyard where the flat gleam of water glittered blackly below.

He caught her sideways glance. “I replaced the old pool. The new one is more practical.”

She remembered the fussy, elaborate pool with pockets of frothing water connected by artificial waterfalls and fountains decorated with fawning statues. A previous owner had possessed terrible taste. “You swim laps?”

“Every morning.”

Rebecca made a mental note to keep away at that time. Then she thought of T.J.’s fascination with water. “Is the pool fenced?”

“The only access is through the house—and a gate in the garden which stays locked. I will give instructions to the staff to secure the ranch sliders at all times.”

“Thank you.”

“This will be your room.” He opened a door to a room decorated in restful shades of cream. Curtains of heavy damask complemented a bedcover fashioned of rich ivory silk. On the wall hung a Monet print—or it might even be an original—the pale water lilies drifting on a pond adding to the restful mood of the room.

“And T.J.? Where will he sleep?”

“Through here.”

She followed Damon into the adjoining room. It was smaller, clearly intended to be a dressing room, but a bed had been set up with bright, crisp new linen, while a selection of brand-new toys crowded the floor.

She pulled back the covers and he lowered T.J. so gently that her baby didn’t even sigh. Deciding that T.J. could sleep in his clothes on this one occasion, Rebecca pulled his sandals off and fussed with the covers.

“There are bigger rooms, but I thought you would want the boy near you.”

“Thank you.” His thoughtfulness surprised her. Her gaze lingered on the array of toys. “But you didn’t need to go to so much trouble—or expense.”

“There wasn’t much time. Johnny had a little over an hour before the stores closed this evening. But I wanted your son to be settled, happy, while you are in Auckland. I don’t want you fretting. If a few toys make the adjustment a little easier, then so be it.” He gave a shrug.

Rebecca’s heart contracted. That shrug—it was so intrinsically Damon.

She straightened, desperate to escape the sudden claustrophobia that cocooned them in the small, cosy room. Rapidly she made her way across the bigger bedroom to the large curtained windows. Pulling the heavy drapes aside, she stared out into the night.

In the courtyard below, the long, narrow pool mirrored the ripe moon, and through the open side windows Rebecca detected the scent of orange blossom and a whiff of jasmine on the night air.

“I need to go to the hospital. I’ll leave you to settle in.” Damon’s voice sounded husky.

“Thank you.”

But she heard no sound of footsteps, no thud of the door shutting behind him.

Driven by curiosity, she turned. He was watching her, an unreadable expression on his dark pirate face. The intense blue eyes were full of shadows, caused by the anxiety and concern for his mother, no doubt. But despite his uncharacteristic vulnerability she could still feel the pull that he’d always exerted.

She swung back to the window and stared blindly out, her back as tense as steel wire, her pulse hammering.

“It is too dark now to see how much better the courtyard looks with the lap pool and the landscaping I had done.” His voice was low.

She wished he’d leave. Before she made a fool of herself. All over again.

“You always had a good eye,” she admitted, her spine stiff. Old memories stirred. He’d picked out the wedding dress he’d wanted Fliss to wear. It had been perfect, enhancing her prettiness to almost become beauty—a far cry from the girlish flounces Fliss would have chosen.

“I’m honoured that you recognise my redeeming qualities.” Irony tinged his voice.

Rebecca didn’t respond.

A rough sigh came from behind her. “Again I must apologise. That was not necessary. You agreed to come, to help my mother with this infernal wedding that has her so worked up for some reason. Enough, it appears, to put her in hospital. The least I can do is extend true Greek hospitality.”

“It’s all right, Damon.” She spoke to her faint reflection in the dark window. “I don’t expect anything from you. Your feelings for me have always been plain.”

He shifted behind her. “Have I been that bad?”

Rebecca drew a quivering breath, fortifying herself against the almost playful note in his voice. The last thing she needed was Damon extending false friendship because he felt obligated. Where would that leave her?

Head over heels in love?

God, no! Honest dislike was far, far better than false hopes.

“No reply? Not what I’d expect from you, Rebecca. What are you thinking, standing there so silent?”

That was a first. Damon had never been interested in her views, her thoughts. Too often he’d stifled her opinions with a harsh look, his mouth drawn into a sneer.

“Lost for words, hmm?” Again that hint of playfulness. “Or too polite to tell me that you think I’ve been worse than I suggest?”

She lifted a negligent shoulder and dropped it, refusing to be drawn…or charmed.

The silence stretched. She inhaled and became sharply aware of the heady fragrance of the orange blossom—and her awareness of the man behind her soared. She heard the soft rustle of silk as he shifted, heard the tempo of his breathing change. The tension started to wind tighter until Rebecca could stand it no longer and swung around.

He was standing much closer than she’d anticipated. The thick carpet must have muffled his approach. And there was something in his eyes—something elemental, something that she recognised.

Her heart leaped, and speeded to a gallop.

The air sizzled, charged. Rebecca wanted to fling her arms around him, pull him to her, feel his lips on hers. She tried to remember all the reasons it would be a bad idea.

He hated her. He was overwrought, worried by his mother’s collapse. He’d been her best friend’s husband.

It would be dangerous to T.J.—heck, it would be dangerous for her. There was no chance of a happy ending. Only heartbreak would come from this.

Yet none of it mattered. She didn’t care. About any of it.

If only he would touch her. Kiss her. Set her on fire.

And when he moved, she closed the rest of the space between them. Breathing his name, she met his gaze, saw the flare of emotion, felt his response leap through her.

Then, as she stretched out her hand and her fingertips touched the firm muscle of his upper arm, he cursed, loudly, violently, and reeled away. But not before she’d glimpsed confusion in his eyes.

A stark, tormented uncertainty.

Rebecca held her breath as he stumbled to the door, and she did not release it until the door slammed shut behind him louder than a crack of thunder.

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.”