The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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a couple of weeks premature—although the obstetrician had said it was no cause to worry, joking that if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn T.J. was overdue by a couple of weeks.
“Don’t play me for a fool. I can add. It all fits together. You dated my brother after my wedding, had his baby and kept it from him…and from me. What kind of woman are you?”
She wanted to scream, to pound her fists against his chest. How could he get it all so wrong? Instead she counted to five, then spoke in a slow voice, the way she did when T.J. was being particularly contrary. “You’re jumping to conclusions—”
“So what else is there? That you were sleeping with other—”
“No!” She put her hands over her ears and bowed her head.
Damon grasped her arms and pulled them away from her face. He wanted to see her eyes. “Listen to me.” This time Rebecca was going to listen to him, she wasn’t going to block him out. This close he could feel the soft, moist breath from her ragged breaths, smell the exotic, feminine scent of her body.
Her wrists were slim in his large hands. With a sense of shock he became aware of her fragility, how much stronger he was. Strange, because she’d always challenged him, never given an inch, so he’d never been aware that this more delicate side of her existed. The last time he’d been this close to her, last night, he’d been so overwhelmed by forbidden emotions, so busy fighting a losing battle. Making love to her…
“No.” With one sharp movement she twisted her wrists out his grasp.
She was hotly furious, he realised and drew a deep, calming breath. “Rebecca, I could not let my mother discover the truth. It might upset her. In her medical state, it could trigger a heart attack. It could even kill her.”
“Truth?” She laughed, a hard, angry sound. “You wouldn’t recognise the truth if it hit you in a bar fight.”
“I prefer not to brawl in bars,” he said with a calmness he was far from feeling.
Rebecca looked mad enough to hit him. No hint of fragility remained. With her fisted hands, her chin pushed pugnaciously forward and her long hair dishevelled, she looked beautiful. Desire twisted inside him. Even now he wanted her.
She uncurled her fingers, sighed and pushed her hair behind her ears. “I wish I’d never come back, never gotten involved with you. I know I’m not blameless.” She paused, looking oddly hesitant after her burst of fury. She opened her mouth. “Look, I owe you an—”
“Tell me,” he cut across her, unaccountably hurt by the words she’d thrown at him. “What are you going to tell Savvas? What do you think this will do to Demetra?”
“Listen to me, Damon. I like Demetra, dammit!”
“You claimed to love Felicity like a sister. She was your best friend, yet you did your damnedest to break us up.”
“Because I knew you were wrong for each other. Because I thought she—”
He snorted. “Because you thought you were right for me?”
“No! Yes. Oh—”
“See? You can’t even answer a simple question truthfully.”
She flinched, the last colour draining from her lily-white skin until she looked waxen. And just like that the fragility, her vulnerability, knocked the heart out of Damon’s anger and frustration, leaving remorse in the vacuum that remained. With shock he realised that he was in danger of becoming twisted around her long, elegant fingers. Panic ignited in his brain, scattering his thoughts. He was no different from her wretched husband.
He gulped in air and rallied what remained of his tattered shreds of sense together, but the alarm and fear refused to go. “After last night was I supposed to fall for your tricks? Declare undying love, like Grainger—”
“Leave Aaron out of this! You know nothing—”
“That’s what you keep telling me—I know nothing. Nothing about Felicity. Nothing about Grainger. Nothing about you. But, you forget, I do know you.” He pressed his body up against hers, vividly aware of the bed that waited behind her. She was soft against him, her lush breasts full against his chest. He inhaled sharply. Her scent was fresh and incredibly sexy. He nudged closer still. Resenting her. But turned on, too.
“Stop it, damn you.”
“Make me.” He wedged a thigh between hers, intensely conscious of the brevity of her shorts, the softness of her bare legs. He was breathing hard. “No more winding me around your little finger—”
A broken laugh escaped her. “You? Around my little finger?”
“Yes,” he murmured, caught in her spell. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” He pressed his hips up against hers.
She toppled onto the bed with a cry.
He dropped down beside her.
He intended to kiss her. A hard kiss. A punishing kiss for making him want her this much, for confusing him, for turning his life inside out.
But that was before he read the stark bewilderment in her eyes. This close the hurt in her dark, slanting eyes dominated his vision. They seemed to drill down into his heart. God knew what she saw there. The thought killed all desire stone cold. Instead he felt weary, tired and very uncertain.
Yet under the exhaustion, the confusion, he desperately wanted to salvage something. He didn’t want to lose her. Not again. Not when he’d only just found her.
“So what happens now?” he asked.
“God!” There was annoyance in her voice. “You are such a bastard.”
He tried to smile. “Don’t say that to my mother.”
“This is not funny, damn you.”
“No, it’s not.” At once it all came rushing back. Rebecca. Savvas. T.J. With a sigh he sat up, slung his legs over the edge of the bed and dropped his head in his hands. “What a mess!”
Frustration closed around him like a suffocating red mist. He fought it. He banged a fist on the bedside table. The lamp rattled. Her purse slid off, fell with a thud onto the floor. Behind him he heard her breath catch.
He turned. Her eyes were wide.
Remorse filled him. “Rebecca, I would never hurt you—”
“I know that.” She blew out hard. “The sound gave me a fright.”
He knew it was more than that. She was on edge. And he wasn’t helping matters. He was losing control, frightening her. Frightening himself. A sigh tore from his throat. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Her eyes were velvety again. She’d forgiven him. Their eyes held. Her tongue tip appeared. Pink. Provocative. It flicked across her bottom lip. His heart started to pound. Without thinking, he bent toward her. Her breathing quickened. She wasn’t going to rebuff him. Much as he probably deserved it.
Then her eyes glazed over and the pink tongue disappeared. “Damon, this is not a good idea. We need to talk.”
She was right. They needed to talk. And he needed to pull himself together; he was too far under her spell for his peace of mind. Damon pulled away, stood and bent to pick up the purse he’d knocked off the bedstand. It had fallen open. Inside a photo of a handsome dark-haired man confronted Damon. The stranger faced the camera, his hands tucked into the pockets of faded jeans; he wore a reckless smile and the devil glinted in his eye.
“So who is he?” He held up her purse. “Another foolish lover?”
“Stop it!”
“Why? We both know how attractive you are to my sex.”
Rebecca simply looked confused.
“Oh,