Forgiven but Not Forgotten? Page 11
Andreas watched Siena emerge from the back of the car and was glad he wore sunglasses which would hide the flare of lust in his eyes. She was wearing a champagne-coloured silk shirt dress, cinched in around her waist with a wide gold belt. The buttons were open, giving just enough of a hint of cleavage, and her hair was tumbled around her shoulders in golden abandon.
Her legs were long and bare, flat gold gladiator-style sandals on her feet. She looked effortlessly un-put-together in the way that only women wearing the best clothes could. The knowledge made him reel again: she was here and she was his. More irrevocably his than he’d ever imagined. But even now, much to his chagrin, he couldn’t seem to drum up that sense of triumph. It was more of a restless need. As if he’d never get enough of her. It made him very nervous.
Andreas wanted to rip open the buttons of that dress and take her right there, standing against the car. Like you took her against the door of your apartment last night? Shame washed through him as he recalled the heated insanity of that coupling. The fact of her innocence. And the fact that while he’d managed to restrain himself from making love to her again before she was ready he’d had to touch her again.
Andreas cursed. This woman had made him useless for the whole day. He’d lost his train of thought in meetings and his assistant Becky had looked at him strangely when he’d left his office. He didn’t need her to tell him that his usual cool, organised self had deserted him.
Before he could dwell on the disturbing side-effects of having Siena in his life and in his bed, Andreas strode forward and let an attendant take his things before taking Siena’s bag in his hand.
And then, because once he came close to her and her scent hit his nostrils he was unable not to, he wrapped his other hand around her neck and pulled her close, settling a hot, swift kiss to her mouth. When he felt momentary hesitation give way to melting, his body hardened.
He drew back and without saying a word took her hand and led her up into the plane.
* * *
By the time they’d landed in Paris and were driving into the city centre Siena was feeling even more on edge. Andreas had largely ignored her for the flight, apart from one brief conversation. She wondered if this was what he did: ignored his lovers once he’d taken them to bed?
She’d been completely unprepared for that swift but incendiary kiss by the plane. It had unsettled her for the entire journey, making her nerve-ends tingle. Andreas had appeared unaffected, though, concentrating on his laptop with a frown between his brows and conducting a lengthy business discussion in Spanish. Siena could understand Spanish, as it had been one of her languages at finishing school, and she’d been surprised to hear him discussing the fate of hotel workers in a small hotel he’d just acquired in Mexico.
He’d said, ‘That area is challenged enough as it is. I won’t have those people struggling to find new jobs when I’m going to need their experience when the new hotel opens. I want you to offer them retainers, or help find them alternative employment until the work on the new hotel is finished.’
He clearly hadn’t liked whatever the person on the other end of the phone had said, and had replied curtly, ‘Well, that’s why you work for me, Lucas, and not the other way around.’
Andreas had caught her looking at him as he’d terminated the conversation, and had raised a brow. She’d flushed and said, ‘I’m the first to admit that I don’t know much about business, but surely that isn’t exactly good financial sense?’
Andreas had settled back in his seat, a small smile curving that sensual mouth. ‘You agree with my field manager? And why not? You’re right. It’s not good financial sense. But the fact is that this small town in Mexico is where my benefactor and mentor came from. When I moved to New York I worked in a hotel for Ruben Carro. He liked me, saw that I had potential, and essentially groomed me to take over from him.
‘He had no family or heirs, and unbeknown to me had an inoperable brain tumour. I think he felt an affinity with me, arriving from Europe, penniless. He’d come from Mexico as an impoverished worker. Both his parents were killed trying to get across the border. When he died he left everything to me with the proviso that I continue his name and that I do something to help improve his home town. He left a substantial part of his fortune to be used to that end. Buying this hotel is just the first step. There are further plans to develop the infrastructure and employment opportunities.’
Siena had felt a little shaky hearing all of this. She’d heard of the legendary billionaire hotelier Carro. ‘That’s a very ambitious project.’
Andreas had smiled. ‘I’m a very ambitious man.’
‘That’s why your hotel chain is known as Xenakis-Carro? After him?’
An unmistakable look of pride had crossed Andreas’s face. He’d nodded. ‘I’m proud to be associated with his name. He was a good man and he offered me the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s the least I can do to continue his legacy.’
Andreas had turned away then, back to his work, and the knowledge had sat heavily in Siena’s belly. Clearly the newspaper reports about his business ethics had been wrong, and yet Andreas hadn’t cared enough to defend himself when she’d slung that slur his way.
Siena’s focus came back to the present now, as the familiar lines of the Champs-Elysées unfolded before them. Dusk was settling over the iconic city and Siena felt tense. She’d always loved Paris. Until the debutante ball. Until that evening. Since then, coming back here had been fraught with painful reminders of her own naïvety and what she’d done. And never more so than now, when she shared a car with the very man who was at the centre of those memories and emotions.
He was looking out of his window and seemed remote. Was he remembering too? Hating her even more? Siena shivered slightly. They were drawing around to the front of the huge glittering façade of a hotel, and Siena only realised where they were when they came to a smooth halt.
She looked at Andreas, who was regarding her coolly from the other side of the car. ‘Is this some kind of a sick joke? Returning to the scene of the crime?’
Andreas’s mouth tightened, and then he answered far too equably, ‘Not at all, Siena. I don’t play games like that. We’ve come here merely because it’s impractical to go to another hotel when I own this one.’
Shock hit Siena and she looked out again at the stunning façade of the world-famous Paris hotel where the debutante ball was still held every year. She was aware of Andreas getting out of his side of the car and then he was opening her door. She looked up at him and suddenly, despite her shock, her breath got stuck in her throat and she saw only him, silhouetted against the dusk. He had never looked more gorgeous, or more dark and threatening with his stern visage. Images of the previous night slammed into her. She felt hot deep down inside her, where secret muscles clenched.
He put out a hand and said imperiously, ‘Come.’
Siena fought the childish urge to cross her arms and say stubbornly no. But eventually she put her hand into Andreas’s and stepped out. He kept a tight hold of it as they walked into the hotel with much bowing and scraping from the staff.
Siena was surprised to see that the hotel had undergone a very beautiful overhaul since she’d seen it last. Gone was the rather over-fussy atmosphere. It felt lighter, younger, yet still oozed elegance and timeless wealth. This, Siena guessed, must be one of the reasons Andreas had become so successful in such a dizzyingly small amount of time.
Andreas was talking briefly to someone who looked like a manager, and then he was walking forward again without even a glance back to Siena. His hand was still tight around hers. A lift set apart from the others was waiting with open doors.
They stepped in and an attendant greeted them politely before pressing the one button. Siena was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the familiar surroundings, and tried to pull her hand free of Andreas’s. He turned to look at her and only gripped hers tighter. This silent battle of wills went on behind the attendant, who was looking resolutely forwar
d, avoiding eye contact.
After what seemed like aeons the lift came to a halt and the doors opened. Andreas said merci to the attendant and then they were stepping straight into what could only be described as a shining palace of golds and creams, with acres of soft cream carpet, parquet floors with faded oriental rugs, and floor-to-ceiling French doors and windows. Outside the Place de la Concorde was spectacularly lit up like a golden beacon.
Siena forgot herself for a moment, and only came back into the room when she realised that Andreas had finally let her hand go and was striding into the main drawing room, shucking off his suit jacket and dropping it into a nearby chair.
Everything that had brought her here to this moment—the fact that she had slept with this man and so blithely given him her innocence, his cool demeanour since she’d seen him again today—all combined now to make her feel very prickly and unsure of herself.
He had his back to her, hands on his hips, and she remarked caustically, ‘So, you bought the hotel where you were once a lowly assistant manager because this is where you’ve always had the fantasy of bedding the debutante who got you sacked—is that it?’
Slowly Andreas turned around and Siena steeled herself. His hand came up to his slim silver-grey tie and long fingers undid it. He opened the top buttons of his shirt and just looked at her with a burning intensity before saying quietly, ‘You regard yourself very highly if you think I did all that just so I might one day get you into bed seven floors above where you once teased me because you were a spoilt little socialite who got bored between her main course and dessert.’
Siena flushed at his rebuke. She knew what she’d said was grossly unfair, but if Andreas came too close she might shatter completely. Once again the knowledge that he wouldn’t welcome the truth of that night washed through her with a sense of futility. Even if he did choose to believe her it would mercilessly expose her and her sister to his far too cynical judgement.
He crossed the space between them and Siena’s breath caught in her throat. His eyes were narrowed on her. Instinctively Siena took a step back, panic and something much more treacherously exciting rising from her gut.
‘Oh, no.’ Andreas shook his head and reached for her with strong hands, wrapping them around her waist. ‘We have some time before going to the opera and I know exactly how to spend it.’
Breath was a strangled bird in Siena’s throat as Andreas blocked out everything behind him and bent his head, slanting that wicked hot mouth over hers. As predictable as the inclement English weather her body fizzed and simmered. Blood rushed to every nerve-point and to all parts of her body, engorging them, making them tight and sensitive.
It felt as if he was devouring her, sucking her under to some dark wicked place where all she wanted was to feel his mouth on hers. Siena wrapped her arms around Andreas’s neck and her whole body strained to get closer to his. His tongue was rough and demanding, making Siena mewl a little when he took his mouth away to trail kisses over her jaw and down further.
Siena’s spiteful little barb about his motives for buying the hotel had lodged in Andreas’s gut, driving him to seek out physicality rather than think about it. But when he had to lift his head to draw in an unsteady breath and Siena’s eyes stared up into his he couldn’t escape…
He’d claimed otherwise, but he had to admit that once he’d known this hotel was up for grabs he’d had to have it—with a viscerality that went beyond mere business. But when he’d returned here, conquering owner, it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he’d thought it would. It had felt somehow empty, hollow.
Andreas tried to force the unwelcome thoughts out of his head. He saw Siena’s slightly swollen lips and flushed cheeks, felt her breasts rise and fall against his chest with her breath. Something caught his eye and he looked down to see that the only piece of jewellery she wore was the simple gold birdcage necklace. For some reason it made him unaccountably nervous. As if there was some hidden message he wasn’t getting. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get it.
He touched the necklace with a finger. ‘I hope you’ve brought something more substantial than this to wear?’
Siena flushed and avoided his eyes. ‘Of course.’
Her voice sounded husky, and just like that it pushed Andreas over the brink of control. With a smooth, effortless move he lifted Siena into his arms and strode to the master bedroom. She gave a little squeal and her arms tightened around him.
‘This time—’ he was grim ‘—we’ll make it to the bedroom.’
* * *
When Siena woke a couple of hours later it was to feel fingers running up and down her bare back, along the indentations of her spine. It was delicious, and yet she felt as if she would never be able to open her eyes again. She frowned and made some incoherent mumble, distantly aware of pleasurable aches and sensations in her body, a faint tingling.
‘Come on…we don’t have much time to get ready.’
Siena’s eyes snapped open when she heard that deep dark voice. Andreas was sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but a small towel, smelling clean and fresh, his hair damp. He’d just had a shower. Siena was instantly awake.
He stood up, and she couldn’t help but watch his sheer leonine grace as he unselfconsciously dropped the towel and went to the wardrobe to look for clothes. Siena averted her eyes. She still felt shellshocked by what had just happened. The way Andreas had stripped her bare, laid her on the bed and proceeded to explore her entire body with a thoroughness that had had her gasping, pleading and begging. Like some wanton stranger.
When he’d finally surged between her legs it had been all she could do not to explode right then, and Andreas had been a master of torture, bringing her close to the brink but never over…until she had been crying genuine tears of frustration. She could still feel them now, slightly sticky on her face. She hated that feeling of being a slave to his touch.
Humiliation washed through her and she cursed her relative innocence, not liking the thought of other, more proficient lovers who undoubtedly drove him over the edge.
After all, hadn’t he specified that he expected her to be an inventive lover? Except when he touched her any semblance of thought went out of the window and she could only feel.
Realising that she was still lying there, naked and mooning, Siena sat up and took advantage of Andreas disappearing into the bathroom to jump out and pull on her dress again, covering up. She noticed that one or two buttons were missing and blushed when she thought of Andreas’s big hands, fumbling until he’d become irritated and yanked it open. A small glow of pleasure infused her. Perhaps he wasn’t as insouciant as she thought?
Andreas reappeared, and Siena avoided looking at him buttoning his shirt and scooted into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She rested with her back against it for a moment, breathing in his provocative scent, then closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that she could get through this week and emerge at the other end unscathed and intact.
* * *
Andreas heard the shower running and imagined the water running in rivulets over Siena’s breasts and body. Arousal was instant and Andreas cursed, gave up trying to close a cufflink as if that was the problem.
He closed his eyes, but all he saw was how Siena had looked lying face down in the bed moments before, naked, arms stretched out, the curve of her breast visible. That stunning face looked somehow very innocent and young in repose, her mouth a soft moue.
Making love to her this time had had none of the madness of last night, but a different kind of insanity. Sliding into her body had felt disturbing—as if he was touching a part of himself that was buried deep. He’d never lost himself so much while making love to a woman that he literally became some kind of primal animal, able only to obey his body’s commands.
He’d expected that after making love to her he’d feel a steady beat of triumph. After all, this was exactly what he’d envisaged. Siena, naked and undone on his bed. Underneath him, begging for release.
He’d been punishing her as much as himself, and when she’d finally tipped over the edge the strength of her orgasm had almost been too much for him to handle. He’d worn protection, but Andreas wouldn’t have been surprised if the strength of his release had rendered it impotent.
In truth he hadn’t expected sex to be this good with Siena. He’d expected her to be cool, distanced. Too concerned with how she looked to let herself be really sensual. Slightly uptight. And yet she was blowing his mind.
He heard the shower stop and suddenly felt a very uncustomary spurt of panic. He couldn’t guarantee that if she walked out of that bathroom right now he wouldn’t be able not to take her again and to hell with the opera.
Only one woman had ever entranced him so much that he’d deviated from his plans. And the fact that he’d willingly invited her back into his life was not a welcome reminder of his weakness.
* * *
Fear of keeping her father waiting had instilled within Siena an ability to get ready in record time, so she wasn’t surprised when she saw Andreas’s look of shock when she walked into the main salon a short time later.
The way his eyes widened sent a shaft of something hot to her belly. The dress was, after all, exquisite. It was one-shouldered, a swathe of dusky pink layers of chiffon, shot through with gold. It hugged her chest and waist and then fell to the floor. She’d pulled her hair up and wore a pair of large teardrop pink diamond earrings.
Feeling absurdly nervous, Siena asked, ‘Will I do?’
Andreas smiled, but it looked harsh in the soft lighting of the palatial room. ‘You know you’ll do, Siena. I’m sure you don’t need compliments from me.’