The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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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