Forgiven but Not Forgotten? Read online

  Resolutely Siena pushed down her incendiary thoughts. Familiar nagging anxiety took their place. She wondered now, as she approached the bus stop, if the two jobs she had would be enough to help her sister. But she knew with a leaden feeling that nothing short of a miracle could do that.

  Siena had just arrived under the shelter of the bus stop when she noticed a sleek silver sports car pulling up alongside where she stood. Even before the electric window lowered on the passenger side Siena’s heart-rate had increased.

  The starkly handsome features of Andreas Xenakis looked out and Siena backed away instinctively. His presence was evidence that he wasn’t about to let her off so easily. He wanted to torture her and make the most out of her changed circumstances. In a second he’d jumped out of the car and was lightly holding her elbow.

  ‘Please.’ He smiled urbanely, as if stopping to pick up women at bus stops resplendent in a tuxedo was entirely normal for him. ‘Let me give you a lift.’

  Siena was so tense she felt as if she might crack in two. Very aware of her ill-fitting thin denim jacket in the biting early spring breeze, and the fatigue that made her bones ache, she bit out, ‘I’m fine, thank you. The bus will be along shortly.’

  Andreas shook his head. He had that same incredulous expression that he’d worn when she’d spoken to him before. ‘Are your co-workers aware you could probably have conversed with every foreign guest in that room in their own tongue?’

  Hurt at this back-handed compliment, and his all too banal but accurate assessment of her misery Siena pulled her arm free. She acted instinctively, wanting to say something to prick his pride and hopefully push him away. ‘I said I’m fine, thank you very much. I’m sure you have better things to do than follow me around like some besotted puppy dog.’

  His eyes flashed dangerously at that, and Siena hated herself for those words. They reminded her of the poison that had dropped from her lips that night in Paris. They were the kind of words Andreas would expect her to say. But they weren’t having the desired effect at all. She should have realised that he wasn’t like other men—she remembered the way he’d stood up to her father with such innate pride. One of the very few people who hadn’t cowered.

  He merely looked even more dangerous now, and grabbed her arm again. ‘Let’s go, Signorina DePiero. The bus is coming and I’m blocking the lane.’

  Siena looked past Andreas and saw the double-decker bus bearing down. A sharp blast of the horn made her flinch. She could see the others waiting at the bus stop shooting them dirty looks because their journey home was being held up.

  Siena looked at Andreas and he said ominously, ‘Don’t test me, Siena. I’ll leave the car there if I have to.’

  Another blast of the horn had someone saying with irritation, ‘Oh, just take the lift, will you? We want to get home.’

  For a second Siena felt nothing but excoriating isolation. And then Andreas had led her to the car and was handing her into the low seat before shutting the door. He slid smoothly into the other side.

  ‘Do up your belt,’ he instructed curtly, before adding acidly, ‘Or are you used to having even that done for you?’

  His words cut through the fog of shock clouding her brain and she fumbled to secure the belt with hands that were all fingers and thumbs.

  She retaliated in a sharp voice. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Andreas expertly negotiated the car into the stream of traffic. It was so smooth it felt as if they were gliding above the ground. It had been long months since Siena had been in such luxurious confines, and the soft leather seat moulded around her body, cupping it in a way that was almost sensual. Her hands curled into fists on her lap against the sensation and her jaw was taut.

  She unclenched it. ‘Stop the car and let me out, please. I can make my own way home. I got in purely to stop you causing a scene.’

  ‘I’ve spent six months looking for you, Siena, so I’m not about to let you go that easily.’

  Six months ago her father had disappeared, leaving his entire fortune in tatters, and leaving Siena and Serena to stand among the ashes and take the opprobrium that had come their way in their father’s cowardly absence. Siena looked at Andreas with horror on her face and something much more ambiguous in her belly. Tonight hadn’t been an awful coincidence?

  Shakily she said, ‘You’ve been looking for me?’

  His mouth tightened and he confirmed it. ‘Since the news of your father’s disappearance and the collapse of your fortune.’

  He glanced at her and she held herself tightly, wanting to shiver at the thought of his determination to find her again. To punish her? Why else? a small voice crowed.

  Softly, lethally, he said, ‘We have unfinished business, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Panic constricted Siena’s throat. She wasn’t ready for a reckoning with this man. ‘No, I wouldn’t. Now, why don’t you just stop the car and let me out?’

  Andreas ignored her entreaty and drawled easily, ‘Your address, Siena…or we’ll spend the night driving around London.’

  Siena’s jaw clenched again. She saw the way his long-fingered hand rested on the steering wheel. For all of his nonchalance she suddenly had the impression that he was actually far more intractable than her father had ever been. He’d certainly proved that he had a ruthless nose when it came to business.

  Siena had on more than one occasion closeted herself in her father’s study to follow Andreas’s progress online. She’d read about him shutting down ailing hotels with impunity, his refusing to comment on rumours that he didn’t care about putting hundreds out of work just to increase his own growing portfolio. In the same searches she’d seen acres of newsprint devoted to his love-life, which appeared to be hectic and peopled with only the most beautiful women in the world. Siena didn’t like to admit how she’d noticed that they were all lustrous brunettes or redheads. Evidently blondes weren’t his type any more.

  Suspecting now that he would indeed drive around all night if she didn’t tell him, Siena finally rapped out her address.

  ‘See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

  Siena scowled and looked right ahead.

  There was silence for a few minutes, thickening the tension, and then he said, ‘So, where did you get Mancini from?’

  Siena looked at him. ‘How did you know?’ Then she remembered and breathed out shakily. ‘My boss must have mentioned it.’

  ‘Well?’ he asked, as if he had all the time in the world to wait for an answer.

  Tightly, Siena eventually replied, ‘It was my maternal grandmother’s maiden name. I didn’t want to risk anyone recognising me.’

  ‘No,’ the man beside her responded dryly, ‘I can imagine why not.’

  Anger at his insouciance, and the ease with which he’d just turned up to humiliate her, made Siena snap, ‘You really shouldn’t have followed me, you know.’

  He replied all too easily. ‘Look on it as a concerned friend merely wishing to see how you’re doing.’

  Siena snorted scathingly but her heart was thumping, ‘Friend? Somehow I doubt you’ve ever put yourself in that category where I’m concerned.’ It was more likely to be a definite foe.

  Andreas Xenakis shot her a look then, and Siena recoiled back in her seat. It was so…so carnal and censorious.

  He growled softly, ‘You’re right. We were closer to lovers. And friends don’t, after all, cry rape when it suits them to save face.’

  Siena blanched. ‘I never used that word.’

  Andreas’s jaw clenched hard. ‘As good as. You accused me of attacking you when we both know that only seconds before your father arrived you were begging me to—’

  ‘Stop!’ cried Siena, her breathing becoming agitated.

  She could remember all too well how it had felt to have Andreas Xenakis pressing her down into the chaise longue, the way she’d strained up towards him, aching for him to put his hands on her everywhere. And when he’d moved his hand up between her stockinged legs she�
�d parted them…tacitly telling him of her intense desire.

  ‘Why?’ Andreas drawled. ‘You can’t handle the truth? I thought you were made of sterner stuff, DePiero. You forget you showed your true colours that night.’

  Siena turned her head and looked stonily out of the window. The truth was that she had no excuse for her reprehensible behaviour that night. She had begged Andreas to make love to her. She had kissed him back ardently. When he’d pulled her dress down to expose one breast she’d sighed with exquisite pleasure and he’d kissed her there.

  The car pulled up to a set of traffic lights at that moment, and the urge to escape was sudden and instinctive. Siena went to open her door to jump out, but with lightning-fast accuracy Andreas’s arm restrained her with a strength that was awesome. Long fingers wrapped around her slender arm, and the bunched muscle of his arm against her soft belly was a far more effective restraint than if he’d locked the doors. Her skin tightened over her bones, drawing in and becoming sensitised. Her breasts felt heavy and tight, her nipples stiffening against the material of her bra.

  The car moved off again and Siena pushed his arm off her with all her strength. That brief touch was enough to hurtle her back in time all over again and she struggled to contain herself. The fact that he was so determined to toy with her like this was utterly humiliating.

  He pulled up outside a discreetly elegant period apartment building on a wide quiet street. He’d hopped out of the car and was at her open door, holding out an expectant hand, before she knew what was happening.

  Siena shrank back and looked up at him. ‘This isn’t where I live.’ It’s a million miles from where I live, she thought.

  ‘I’m aware of that. However, it is where I live, and as we were passing I thought we’d stop so we can catch up on old times over a coffee.’

  Siena held back a snort of derision and crossed her arms, looking straight ahead with a stony expression. ‘I am not getting out of this car, Xenakis. Take me home.’

  Andreas’s voice was merely amused. ‘First I couldn’t get you into it and now I can’t get you out of it. They say women are mercurial…’

  Before she knew it Andreas had bent down to her level and reached in to undo her seat belt. Siena flapped at his hands in a panic until he stilled them with his. His face was very close to hers and Siena could feel her hair unravelling. She was breathing harshly. His scent teased her nostrils, exactly as she remembered it. Not changed. Oaky and musky and very male.

  A voice came from behind Andreas. ‘Mr Xenakis? Do you want me to park the car?’

  Without taking his eyes off Siena’s, Andreas answered, ‘Yes, please, Tom. I’ll be taking Ms DePiero home shortly, so keep it nearby.’

  ‘Aye-aye, sir,’ came the jaunty response.

  Siena struggled for a few seconds against Andreas’s superior strength and will. She saw the boy waiting behind him. Innate good manners and the fear of causing a scene that had been drummed into her since babyhood made her bite out with reluctance, ‘Fine. One coffee.’

  Andreas stood up, and this time Siena had no choice but to put her hand in his and let him help her out of the low-slung vehicle. To her chagrin he kept a tight hold of her hand as he tossed his keys to the boy and led her into the building, where a concierge held the door open in readiness.

  Once in the hushed confines of the lift Siena tried to pull her hand back, but Andreas was lifting it to inspect it. He opened out her palm and his touch made some kind of dangerous lethargy roll through her, but she winced when she followed his gaze. Her palm sported red chafed skin, calluses. Proof of her very new working life.

  He turned it over and Siena winced even more to see him inspecting her bitten nails—the resurgence of a bad habit she’d had for a short time in her teens, which had been quickly overcome when her father had meted out a suitable punishment on Serena, her sister.

  Her hands were a far cry from the soft lily-white manicured specimens they’d used to be. Exerting more effort this time, and knowing that she’d just been cured of her nail-biting habit once again, she finally pulled free of Andreas’s grip and said mulishly, ‘Don’t touch me.’

  With a rough quality to his voice that resonated inside her, Andreas asked, ‘How did they get like this from waitresssing?’

  Siena fought against the pull of something that felt very vulnerable. ‘I’m not just waitressing. I’m working as a cleaner in a hotel by day too.’

  Andreas tipped up her chin and inspected her face, touched under her eyes where she knew she sported dark shadows. That vulnerability was blooming inside her, and for a second Siena thought she might burst into tears. To counteract it—and the ease with which this man seemed to be able to push her buttons—she said waspishly, ‘Feeling sorry for the poor little rich girl, Andreas?’

  At that moment the lift bell pinged and the doors opened silently. Siena and Andreas were locked in some kind of silent combat. Andreas’s eyes went dark, their blue depths becoming distinctly icy as he took his fingers away from her face and smiled.

  ‘Not for a second, Siena DePiero. You forget that I’ve seen you in action. A piranha would be more vulnerable than you.’

  Siena couldn’t believe the dart of hurt that lanced her at his words, and was almost glad when he turned. With his hand on her elbow, he led her out of the lift and into a luxuriously carpeted corridor decked out in smoky grey colours with soft lamps burning on a couple of tables.

  The one door indicated that Andreas had no neighbours to disturb him, and Siena guessed this must be the penthouse apartment in the building. The lift doors closed behind them and then Andreas was opening the door and standing aside to allow Siena to precede him into his apartment. Only his assurance to the car park valet that he would be taking her home shortly gave Siena the confidence to go forward.

  She rounded on him as he closed the door and blurted out belatedly, ‘Don’t call me DePiero. My name is Mancini now.’

  After a long second Andreas inclined his head and drawled, with a hint of dark humour, ‘I’ll call you whatever you like…’

  Stifling a sound of irritation, Siena backed away and turned around again, facing into the main drawing room. Her eyes widened. She’d grown up in the lap of luxury, but the sheer understated level of elegance in Andreas’s apartment took her breath away. She’d been used to seeing nothing but palazzos laden down with antiques and heavy paintings, everything gold-plated, carpets so old and musty that dust motes danced in the air when you moved…but this was clean and sleek.

  Siena only became aware that she had advanced into the drawing room and was looking around with unabashed curiosity when she saw Andreas standing watching her with his hands in his pockets. The sheer magnificence of the man in his tuxedo shocked her anew and she flushed, wrapping her arms around herself in an unconscious gesture of defence.

  Andreas shook his head and smiled wryly before walking towards a sideboard which held several bottles of drink and glasses. He said now, with his back to Siena, ‘You really know how to turn it on, don’t you?’

  Siena tensed. ‘Turn what on?’

  He turned around, a bottle of something in his hand, eyes gleaming in the soft light. ‘It must be automatic after years of acting the part of innocent virginal heiress…’

  When Siena was stubbornly silent, because he had no idea how close to the truth he skated, Andreas gestured half impatiently and clarified, ‘That air of vulnerability, and looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.’

  Hating herself for being so transparent, and hating him for misjudging her so comprehensively while knowing she couldn’t very well blame him for his judgement, Siena schooled her expression. She carefully uncrossed her arms and shrugged one shoulder negligently. ‘What can I say? You have me all figured out, Mr Xenakis.’

  He poured a dark liquid into two glasses and came over, holding one out. ‘I know I offered you a coffee, but try this. It’s a very fine port. And you didn’t have a problem using my name when we firs
t met. Mr Xenakis is so…formal. Please, call me Andreas.’

  Siena took the glass he offered, suddenly glad of something to hold onto—anything to will down the memory of how she had used his name before, ‘Andreas, please kiss me…’

  He gestured to the comfortable-looking couch and chairs arranged around a low coffee table which held huge books of photographs that looked well thumbed. ‘Please, take a seat, Siena. Make yourself comfortable.’

  Siena was torn for a moment between wanting to demand he take her home and curling up in the nearest chair so she could sleep for a week.

  A little perturbed by how weak she suddenly felt, she went and sat down in the nearest chair. Andreas sat on the couch to her left, his long legs stretched out and disturbingly close to her feet, which she pulled primly close to her chair.

  He smiled and it was dangerous.

  ‘Still afraid you might catch some social disease from me, Siena?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘DON’T BE SILLY,’ Siena replied quickly, humiliated when she thought of what had happened, of the vile untruths she’d uttered and all to protect her sister.

  When she thought of how innocently she’d wanted him that night in Paris and how it had all gone so horribly wrong she felt nauseous. This man hated her. It vibrated on the air between them and Siena had the very futile sense that even if she tried to defend herself and tell him what her reasons had been for acting so cruelly he’d laugh until he cried. He looked so impervious now. Remote.

  Andreas sat forward, the small glass cradled between long fingers. ‘Tell me, why did you leave Italy?’

  Siena welcomed this diversion away from dangerous feelings and looked at him incredulously, wondering how he could even ask that question. She hated the familiar burn of humiliation that rose up inside her when she thought of the odious charges that had been levelled at her father after his business had imploded in on itself, revealing that he’d been juggling massive debts for years and that everything they possessed, including his precious family palazzo in Florence, was owned by the banks.