THE FOLLOWING DAY, Siena was in one of Andreas’s chauffeur-driven cars, being transported to a private airfield. She’d found a cheerful Mrs Bright in the kitchen that morning, and she had directed Siena’s attention to a note left for her by Andreas.
Siena had been inordinately relieved not to have to face him again so soon. She’d read the note.
I have a meeting in Paris tomorrow morning. We will spend tonight there and go to the opera this evening. Pack accordingly and be ready to leave at three p.m. Andreas
Siena could see that they were approaching the airfield now, and felt nervous at the thought of confronting Andreas again after he’d explored her body with such thorough intimacy and then deposited her back in her bed like an unwelcome visitor.
They swept in through wide gates and Siena could see a small Lear jet and a sleek silver sports car nearby. Andreas was taking out a small case and suit bag. Her belly swooped. He looked so tall and handsome. Intimidatingly so. Especially now that she knew the barely leashed power of the body underneath that suit.
The car stopped and Siena saw Andreas register it and straighten up. He looked intense, serious, and her nervous flutters increased. She had no experience of how to handle this situation. She smoothed her hand down her dress, feeling vulnerable now when she thought of how she’d chosen it over more casual clothes, how carefully she’d chosen a dress for the evening, along with the ubiquitous jewelry Andreas would expect her to wear. Because, after all, an inner voice reminded her, she’d demanded it.
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 forward, 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.
She’d cried just now, when they’d made love. Sobbed for him to let her go, to stop torturing her. And he didn’t like how her tears had affected him, making him feel guilty.
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.’
Siena flushed. She hadn’t been searching for a compliment. Andreas looked more than stunning in a black tuxedo with a classic black bow-tie. His hair gleamed, still slightly damp, and his eyes looked like dark jewels.
He flicked a glance at his watch and then moved towards her.
‘We should go or we’ll miss the first half.’
Those nerves assailed her again when Andreas took her elbow in his hand, and Siena asked, ‘Which opera is it?’
Andreas was opening the main door and he glanced at her. ‘It’s La Bohème.’
Siena couldn’t stop the spontaneous rush of pleasure. ‘That’s my favourite opera.’
Dryly Andreas remarked as they got into the private lift, ‘Mine too. Perhaps we have something in common after all.’
The rush of pleasure died. No doubt Andreas was alluding to the disparity in their upbringings. She didn’t know much about his early life, but she knew it had been relatively humble.
Curious in a way she hadn’t been before, Siena found herself asking when they were in the back of his car, ‘Do you come from a big family?’
Andreas looked at her, but his face was in shadow. She could sense him tense at the question and wondered why.
Eventually he answered, ‘I have five younger sisters and my parents.’
Siena felt her curiosity increase on hearing this. ‘I didn’t realise you came from such a big family. Are you close?’
She could make out his jaw tightening. More reluctance. Clearly he didn’t want to talk about it. Siena confided nervously, ‘It was just me and Serena. I always wondered what it would be like—’ She broke off because she’d been about to say: to have an older brother. But of course she did have an older brother.
Andreas, as if seizing the opportunity to deflect attention, asked, ‘What what would be like?’
Siena swallowed. ‘Just...what it would have been like to have other siblings.’
Andreas arched a brow. ‘More sisters for your father to parade like ice princesses?’ Before Siena could react to that Andreas was saying curtly, ‘My family is not up for discussion. We come from worlds apart, Siena, that’s all you need to know.’
It was like a slap in the face. Siena sat back into the shadows and looked out of the window. That tiny glimpse into Andreas’s life had intrigued her, but she berated herself now for showing an interest, and hated that her imagination was seizing on what it would have been like to grow up in a large family. How being an only son might have impacted Andreas, fed his ambition to succeed.
She didn’t care, she told herself ruthlessly, as they pulled up outside the opera. A long line of beautifully dressed people were walking in ahead of them. Andreas came around to her door and held out his hand imperiously. Siena longed to be able to defy him but she thought of her only family: Serena, in a psychiatric unit in England, depending on her. She put her hand into Andreas’s.
* * *
Three nights later Siena was standing in Andreas’s London apartment, waiting for him to emerge from his room where he’d gone to get changed. She was already dressed and ready as Andreas had been delayed with work.
Since that evening in Paris things had cooled noticeably between them. Not, she had to admit, that they’d ever really been warm. Andreas had barely said another two words to her that night, and when they’d returned from the opera he’d told her he had to do some work and had disappeared into an office in the suite.
When she’d woken the next morning the bed beside her had been untouched, so Andreas must have slept somewhere else. Siena hadn’t liked the feeling of insecurity that had gripped her as she’d waited for Andreas to finish his meetings that morning so they could return to London.
However, when they’d returned to London that evening Andreas had led her straight to his bed and made love to her with such intensity that she hadn’t been able to move a muscle. Siena didn’t like to think of how willingly she’d gone into his arms, or the sense of relief she’d felt. Was she so weak and pathetic after a lifetime of bullying by her father that she welcomed this treatment? She seized on the fact that soon she would be independent again, and that she’d gone into this arrangement very willingly for an end which justified the means.
The following day Andreas had exhibited the same cool, emotional distance, confirming for Siena that this was how it would be unless they were in bed. On one level she’d welcomed it. She didn’t need Andreas to charm her, to pretend to something their relationship would never be.
On both evenings they’d gone out to functions. Last night had been a huge benefit for a charity that provided money for children injured in war-torn countries to be brought to Europe or the USA for medical treatment. It covered all their costs, including rehabilitation.
Siena had had tears in her eyes when a beautiful young Afghan woman had stood up to tell her story. She’d been shot because she’d spoken out about education as a teenager and this charity had transported her to America, where she’d received pioneering surgery and not only survived but thrived. She now worked for the UN.
It was only when the head of the charity had introduced the charity’s patron and invited him up to speak that Siena had realised it was Andreas. She’d sat there, stunned, listening to him speak passionately about not letting the children of conflict suffer. She’d felt absurdly hurt that he hadn’t told her of his involvement.
When he’d come back to the table, Siena had pushed down the hurt. ‘What made you want to get involved in something like this?’
His stern expression had reminded Siena that she was straying off the path of being his mute and supplicant mistress, and in that moment she’d wanted to stand up and walk out. Only thinking of Serena had kept her where she was.
Eventually he’d said, ‘A child in Mexico was caught in the crossfire between drug gangs. Ruben arranged for him to be brought to New York for treatment...unfortunately the child died, despite the doctors’ best efforts. I have eight nieces and nephews and they take their safety and security completely for granted—which is their right. This child from Mexico... It opened my eyes. After he died I knew I wanted to do more...’
Siena had realised then that she could not cling onto any prejudice she’d had about the kind of man Andreas was now she’d met him again. He was not power-hungry and greedy. Or amoral.
Ignoring his silent instruction not to pursue this topic, Siena had asked, ‘Do you want children?’
Andreas had looked at her and smiled mockingly, making Siena instantly regret her reckless question. She’d realised then that she’d asked it in a bid to pierce that cool control, because the last time they’d shared any meaningful dialogue it had been about his family.
‘Why, Siena? Are you offering to be the mother of my children? So that you can bring them up to follow in your footsteps and tease men before letting them fall to the ground so hard that their whole world shatters? Maybe if we had a daughter we could call her Estella, after that great Dickensian heroine who beguiled and bewitched poor hapless Pip with her beauty only to crush him like a fly...’
She had been so shocked at this softly delivered attack that she’d put down her napkin and stood up, saying quietly, ‘You’re no Pip, Andreas, and you don’t remember correctly. Estella was the victim.’
Siena had walked blindly to the bathroom and shut herself inside. She hadn’t been able to stop the hot prickle of tears from overflowing. She’d been stunned at how hurt she felt, and at the mixture of guilt and shame that churned in her gut along with the awful image Andreas had just put in her head.
He could never know how cruel his words were. Her deepest, most fervent dream was some day to be part of the kind of family unit she’d never known.
She’d used to look out of her bedroom window in Florence to a park on the other side of the tiny piazza outside their palazzo. There she would see mothers and fathers and children. She’d seen love and affection and laughter and she’d ached with a physical pain to know what that would be like. To love and be loved. To have children and give them all the security and affection she’d never known... She’d never even realised until Andreas had uttered those words how badly she still wanted it.
When she’d felt composed enough to return Andreas had been waiting impatiently and they’d left. He’d looked at her in the dark shadows of the back of his car and Siena had instinctively recoiled, unable to bear the thought of him touching her when she felt so raw.
He’d said roughly, ‘You say Estella was the victim? From where I’m sitting she looks remarkably robust.’
He’d reached for her then, and Siena had resisted with all the strength in her body, hating him with every fibre of her being. But with remorseless skill Andreas had slowly ground down her defences and her anger until desire burned hotter than anything else...
By the time they’d made it to the apartment she’d forgotten all about her hurt and had been thinking only about Andreas providing her with the release he could give her, like someone pathetically addicted to an illegal substance.
‘We should go or we’ll be late.’
Andrea’s terse voice made Siena jump slightly. She’d been caught up in the memory. She turned around and wondered if she’d ever get used to the little shock of awe when she saw him in a tuxedo. Thinking of the previous evening and what had happened made Siena look down, hiding her gaze. She picked up her wrap and bag and for the first time could appreciate the armour of her shimmering black designer dress. The heavy weight of a diamond necklace at her throat, the earrings in her ears and the bracelet on her wrist would keep her anchored tonight. She couldn’t afford to lose herself for a second. Or let him goad her.
If Andreas had a hint of her vulnerability he’d annihilate her.