Black Widow Bride

He released her abruptly and she reeled away, realising with shock and horror that whatever she told him, he was not going to believe a word she said. She closed her mouth, rubbing her wrist absently. Rebecca heard his breath catch and his hand shot out.

“Let me see.” The fingers that closed around her wrist were gentle. There was silence. She stood still, tense under his touch as his thumb massaged the spot where he’d held her. Then he said tonelessly, “I am sorry.”

Rebecca stared at his long, tanned fingers resting against her wrist. “It’s okay. There’s not even a mark.”

His voice rose. “It is not okay. I hurt you.” Her head shot up. His beautiful full lips were drawn in a tight line, white and bloodless.

Rebecca bit back a hysterical giggle. He’d hurt her far worse in the past by refusing to believe in her integrity. He hadn’t even liked her. That had hurt. Withdrawing her arm from his grasp, she smiled sadly. “You didn’t—and it doesn’t matter. Really.”

His eyes were a brilliant, unfathomable blue. “So what do you say, Rebecca? Arrange Savvas’s wedding and let’s put the past behind us. Call it quits, hmm?”

She flicked him a glance.

Damon was prepared to bury the old resentments and bad feelings—perhaps there was a chance they could reach a truce. So that one day she would be able to tell him about T.J. And then there was that other temptation…

If she helped with the wedding—not for payment, of course, she couldn’t do that—but to achieve a truce—then Damon might get to know her, might even discover what she’d always known, that they were bound by invisible ties too powerful to ignore. But…

Doubt assailed her.

Damon was a wealthy, powerful man. What if he found out the truth about T.J.? She simply couldn’t risk T.J.’s security to chase a pitiful fantasy that she might—might—change Damon’s poor opinion of her.

She sighed. “Look, I told you—I don’t do weddings any more.” Defeat weighed her down. Whatever she’d once felt for him he’d trampled into the dust, making it clear that he despised her. She waved a dismissive hand at the cheque on the table. “Not even for that ridiculously large amount of money.”

“But my mother—”

“Your mother knows I can’t do the wedding. I told her myself!” Soula had sounded fine on the telephone two weeks ago and the heart attack had taken place two years ago. This helpless sense of letting Soula down was just Damon’s manipulation. In his world the end always justified the means. “If you want, I’ll call her and tell her again that I can’t do it.”

Alarm lit his eyes. “I don’t want you—”

“Talking to your mother. I know, I know!” Because he didn’t want her finding out that he’d lied about his mother’s health? Or because he didn’t want Rebecca Grainger, a woman he utterly despised, having anything to do with his beloved mother?

He tried to say something, but she held up a hand, a new burn of hurt searing her at his appallingly low opinion of her, until all she wanted to do was hit back. “So please tell her not to call me again. And I don’t want you bothering me, either. My answer stands.”

His mouth snapped shut, an uncompromising line in that hard, wildly handsome face, while his eyes glittered with menace.

Yes, it was past time she accepted that there was nothing that she could salvage from the past, nothing that would make Damon look at her through kinder eyes.

“Now, you say you’re such a busy, important man—you’d better get back to Auckland.”

Rebecca didn’t wait for his reply. One last reproachful look, then she whirled and bolted through her shop, ignoring the turning heads, until she reached the safety of her rabbit hole of an office behind the large workmanlike kitchen, shaken to the core by their bitter exchange.

Hours after their confrontation, Damon strode across the forecourt of the chain hotel of which he’d just checked out. Long shadows cast by the row of cypress trees edging the boundary crept like dark fingers across the cobbled pavers, reminding Damon that the afternoon was waning.

Had he heeded Rebecca’s parting shot this morning, he’d already have been back in Auckland, closing the Rangiwhau deal. The CEO had demanded a face-to-face meeting this afternoon. Damon had stalled. Instead of concluding a lucrative deal that would make his shareholders a killing, he’d spent the afternoon closeted in a hotel room, juggling conference calls, working like a demon…all the while plotting how to get Rebecca to change her mind. And trying to rid himself of the ridiculous notion that he’d wounded her.

Impossible. The woman ate men for breakfast.

Damon had a fleeting memory of Aaron Grainger.

A good man. A shrewd banker who’d advanced Damon a hefty, much-needed loan in the nightmarish period after his father’s death. Ari Asteriades had believed himself invincible. He’d made no provision for key personnel insurance, left no liquid funds available. Because of Aaron, Damon had managed to fight off the circling sharks and save Stellar International, keeping control in the family, keeping his tattered pride intact.

Aaron Grainger certainly hadn’t deserved to die broken and bankrupt. Damon had heard the tales about Rebecca’s profligacy. The fabulous designer wardrobe she’d ordered after her honeymoon, the jewels she’d demanded, the expensive flutters at the bookies on the racecourse, the overseas trips she’d insisted on. How she’d convinced a besotted Aaron to support her impulsive business schemes, all of which had demanded huge resources.

And then there had been the story about her lover. A handsome drug addict she’d begged Aaron to bail out of trouble. Rumour had it that Aaron had put his foot down that time. The lover had been history—but only after Aaron had paid off his horrendous debts.

Damon’s jaw tightened. Reaching the Mercedes, Damon opened the trunk and tossed in his overnight bag and laptop case. Aaron should have put a stop to it sooner, before his beautiful wife had driven him to death—and dishonour.

No doubt about it, Rebecca deserved whatever she got.

He slammed the driver’s door harder than he’d intended and stuck the key in the ignition. The ring of his cell phone interrupted his angry musings, and he jabbed a button on the cell phone where he’d just secured it against the dashboard. “Yes?” he demanded.

“Will she do it?” Savvas asked.

There was no need to ask to whom Savvas was referring. Reluctant to report his failure, Damon responded, “How is Mama?”

“Feeling dizzy again. The doctor is concerned about her. He says she worries too much, that she must take things easy.”

“Or?” Damon knew there had to be a consequence. Dr. Campbell was not given to fussing unnecessarily.

“Or she could have another heart attack, and this time…” Savvas’s voice trailed away.

“And this time it might prove fatal,” Damon finished grimly.

“Don’t talk like that!”

“It’s the reality.” Damon could almost see his brother crossing himself superstitiously at his words.

“You know, Damon, sometimes I wish I’d never asked Demetra to marry me. This damn wedding—”

“This from the man who preaches true love?” Damon cut in mockingly, disturbed more than he cared to admit by the idea that Savvas might be having second thoughts.

“No, no. I don’t mean that I would forgo having met Demetra or falling in love with her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I meant I should have moved her in with me.”

“Vre, the family would never have stood for it. Thea Iphegenia would’ve fainted in horror.”

“Yet they turn a blind eye to the women you escort, Damon. They don’t accuse you of sinning.” Savvas’s complaint filled the car’s interior.

“That’s different. I’m a widower. And anyway, I choose women of the world, not maidens with marriage written all over them, like your Demetra,” he told his brother, his mouth twisting. He stared unseeingly through the windscreen into the golden glow of the late Northland afternoon. Felicity had been his last foray into respectability. It would be a cold day in hell before he tried it again.

“Maybe it would’ve been better to marry in court, present Mama and the family with a fait accompli. But now it’s too late—the big Greek wedding is already in production. Damon, I fear it might kill Mama.”

“Savvas, Mama wants this wedding. Desperately. Can you deprive her of it?”

His mother asked for so little. And gave them so much. Instead of retreating into tears and grief after his father’s unexpected and devastating death, she had battled beside him as he’d wrestled for control of Stellar International. She deserved happiness, contentment.

Stupidly he’d thought his marriage would secure that.

He twisted the key. The Mercedes roared to life.

“Mama says she wants to hold a grandchild in her arms before she dies,” Savvas was saying. “Demetra wants to start trying for a family as soon as the honeymoon’s over. But first we need to arrange the wedding.”

His mother lived for her family. Family looked out for family. That was his mother’s creed. Cold, bitter rage twisted inside Damon’s heart. All his mother wanted was to see Savvas wed. Rebecca could pull it off. Easily.

But Rebecca had already refused his mother’s direct request—and now she’d refused him. He wasn’t a man accustomed to refusal. Rebecca would help his mother and organise his brother’s wedding. He’d make sure of it.

With slow deliberation he put the gear into reverse.

“It cannot be easy asking her for help. You hate her. I mean, not that I blame you or anything.” Savvas faltered, then sighed. “Look, there’s something I must tell you. After the wedding I saw her a couple of times and she seemed…quiet. I didn’t see anything of the wild, wicked woman people talk about—”

“Hang on, are you telling me you dated Rebecca while I was on my honeymoon?” The car idled. Damon felt an almost forgotten red tide of rage boil up within him. Hell. He’d told her to stay away from Savvas.

“She’s a very beautiful woman.” His brother sounded sheepish.

“Beautiful?” Damon snorted. “If you like black widows. She’s as dangerous as sin to the unwary.”

“But, Damon, she wasn’t like that!” Then, after a taut pause, Savvas amended hastily, “At least I could’ve sworn she wasn’t like that. She was kind to me. We had some good times.”

Good times? He didn’t like that one little bit. Damon found he didn’t even want to contemplate the implications. Reversing the car out of the parking bay in one smooth manoeuvre, he swung the steering wheel and headed smoothly for the exit. “No, of course she wasn’t like that,” Damon said bitingly. “That’s her game. She spins her web, and the victim steps in.”

There was a long silence. “Well, it’s past.” Savvas sighed more heavily this time. “After what she did, I didn’t contact her again. You’re my brother—how could I?”

Inside the suddenly silent Mercedes, Damon was fiercely glad that Savvas had proved loyal to him and hoped it had cut Rebecca to the quick when Savvas had failed to call her again.

Savvas was speaking again and Damon forced himself to concentrate. “To see her, it must be hard for you. If she comes back to Auckland, it’s going to cost—”

Damon cut him short. “Whatever the cost, I will do it. For Mama.”

He clicked off the phone and swung the Mercedes into the main street of Tohunga. This time he’d do what he should’ve done from the outset: use charm. Rebecca had never made any bones about the attraction he’d held for her in the past. A little flirting, add a couple of handsome cheques and she’d be putty in his hands.

The empty parking space right outside Chocolatique gave him considerable satisfaction. It was all working out. As he entered Rebecca’s shop, Damon straightened his tie, squared his shoulders and pasted a breathtaking smile to his face—one that guaranteed women would fall at his feet.

But Rebecca was not there. Gone for the day, he was advised by her blushing assistant, who kept sneaking him little looks from under her lashes.

Five minutes later, his smile gone, seething with impatience, Damon gunned his Mercedes down the road to Rebecca’s home, determined to be out of this parochial town within an hour. And equally determined that when he left, Rebecca would be sitting beside him—whether she liked it or not.

Whatever the cost.

Three

Rebecca nosed the little yellow hatchback into the drive of the neat compact unit that had been her home since she’d sold Dream Occasions almost four years ago and relocated north.

In the small front garden the cheerful daffodils had finished flowering. The petunias and calendulas she and T.J. had planted were starting to bud. Soon the garden would be awash with colour and summer would be here in full swing. A large pohutukawa tree shaded the grassy spot where she and T.J. often played during the day. By the time Christmas came the massive tree would be covered with showers of flame-red flowers.

She switched the engine off and, turning, saw that T.J. had fallen asleep cradled in the car seat in the rear. His dark curly head drooped sideways and his mouth parted in an O.

Tenderness expanded inside her until she felt she would explode with emotion.

How dearly she loved him.

They were a family. No, more than family. In a relatively short time he’d become her whole world. All her reservations about what a poor mother she’d make given her lack of loving example had long since evaporated. She loved T.J. with all the fierce adoration of a lioness. He was hers. All hers. For once in her life she had someone that nothing and no one could take from her. Today she’d kept her silent promise and had rushed through her tasks at Chocolatique to spend some quality time with T.J. this afternoon. Except for dark shadows beneath his eyes, little sign remained of yesterday’s illness.

With a still-sleeping T.J. bundled in her arms, Rebecca made for the unit, her stride quickening under his leaden weight. As she stepped onto the deck, a tall man straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wisteria-covered pergola that shaded the deck. Rebecca froze.

“You have a child!” Damon’s voice was accusing, his face blank with shock.

Her grip on T.J. tightened. “Yes,” she bit out and, radiating defiance, she faced him down over T.J.’s head.

A muscle worked in Damon’s jaw. He looked odd, shaken. She frowned. If he suspected…

No. It wasn’t possible. She’d taken such care.

She swivelled away, keeping T.J. screened from his line of sight.

Damon stepped out of the shadows formed by the tangle of ivy and wisteria. “I didn’t know.”

“And why should you? I don’t count you among my intimates.”

His head snapped back as she parroted his response from this morning back at him, and Rebecca watched over her shoulder with feline satisfaction as his pupils flared at her sharp tone.

Good! Let him know what rejection felt like.

Her gaze swept the street. “I don’t see your car.” The sleek silver Mercedes would’ve been difficult to miss in the empty street.

“I parked around the corner.”

“Oh?” Had he suspected she might run if she knew he was lying in wait for her? Had he already known about T.J.? Was this a trap? But then, why play out the shocked charade pretending that he didn’t know the child existed? Thoughts whipped back and forth until her head started to ache.

“T.J. hasn’t been well. He needs rest. So you’ll have to excuse me.” Rebecca hitched T.J. higher, measuring the distance to her front door, anxious to escape.

“Wait a minute.” Before she could reach the wooden door, Damon barred the entrance and took the keys from her nerveless fingers.

“What’s the matter with him? And what the hell kind of name is T.J.?”

“What’s wrong with T.J. need not concern you.”

Ignoring the second part of the question, she shouldered her way past Damon and made for the carpeted stairs, determined to evade him. But the sound of his footsteps hard at her heels told her she’d failed.

Rebecca halted in the doorway of T.J.’s bedroom, keeping her back firmly to Damon. “You don’t need to come in. You can wait downstairs.”

He ignored the obstruction she’d attempted to create and stepped past her, his gaze roaming the room, taking in the sunny yellow walls, the mound of soft toys at the foot of the bed, the wooden tracks and brightly coloured trains in the corner.

The room shrank, Damon’s powerful presence reducing it to the size of a closet. Rebecca was uncomfortably aware of his unwelcome proximity…of her rapid, shallow breathing.

Why couldn’t he have stayed downstairs? And why did her body still respond to him with such irrational intensity? Rebecca ground her teeth with frustration. “Look, T.J. needs his sleep. The last thing I want is for him to awaken and find some strange man in his room.”

Damon swung his attention away from the train-station mural she’d painted in bold colours on the wall above the bed, his gaze clashing with hers, his sensuous mouth askew with mockery. “He’s not accustomed to waking to find strange men in his house? Now that amazes me, Rebecca.”

The inference took her breath away.

“Now listen to me,” she huffed. “I don’t give a f…fluff what you think of me. But in my house, around my son, you will address me with respect. Right now I’m tired and T.J.’s been unwell. I need to put him to bed.”

All at once the tension that had been throbbing inside her became too much. She bit her lip and looked away, blinking furiously, determined not to let the unaccustomed prick of tears show.

“I’m sorry.”

For some reason, his unexpected apology was the last straw. Her throat thickened unbearably. She swallowed and shot him a desperate look. “Please…”

“Just go?” he finished, giving her a strange, whimsical smile, and crossing to the bed, he pulled the Thomas the Tank Engine cover back. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that today.”

She moved closer, T.J. heavy as a block of lead in her arms. “Then I’m sorry to bore you,” she said in a thin, high voice that sounded totally foreign compared to her usual husky tones.

“Bore me?” His mouth dropped open, his eyes glinting with something she didn’t quite recognise. “Bore me?”

The sudden silence rang in her ears. Damon was standing so close she was conscious of his height, of the solid breadth of him. If she stretched her hand out around T.J.’s sleeping body, she could touch Damon’s chest, feel the strong, vibrant beat of his heart.

“I think boring is one thing you could never be guilty of, Rebecca.” He blew out hard, muttered something softly in Greek, then said with a touch of roughness, “Here, let me take the boy.”

She jerked away as his fingers brushed her arm.

At once, the hands reaching for T.J. pulled back and Damon spread his palms. “Okay, okay, I get the message! I’ll wait downstairs.” He threw her a hard, glittering look. “Never give an inch, never show any weakness, hmm?”

Rebecca ducked her head, refusing to meet his angry eyes, reluctant to reveal how much the electrical charge of the accidental touch had unnerved her. After a moment Damon’s footsteps retreated, and for a wild instant she felt a sudden stupid sense of loss. Shaking, she hugged T.J. tightly against her breasts and inhaled his special baby smell until her turmoil calmed.

Then she gently deposited T.J. onto the royal-blue sheet and held her breath as he rolled over and gave a short grunt. He didn’t waken. Instead his breathing steadied into the deep rhythm of sleep.

For a minute Rebecca stared at his sleeping face, the soft baby skin, the tousled dark curls, and pride and love stretched her heart to a tender pain.

T.J.

T.J. was her priority now.

Not her career. Not Damon. Not the wild, all-consuming attraction that had once upon a time nearly destroyed her. The most important thing in her life was T.J. And he rewarded her devotion with an uncritical, unconditional love that she would never, ever consider trading for the ferocious and destructive passion Damon had once stirred.

Damon’s narrowed gaze and the sheer, untrammelled intensity emanating from him as he stood legs apart, arms folded, caused Rebecca’s nerve endings to prickle warningly as she entered the living room.

“The boy is sleeping, yes?”

“Yes,” she replied, pausing inside the doorway, more unsettled by his speculative stare than she cared to admit. Her gaze slid away. Took in the tailored suit that accentuated the hard, sleek lines of his body. His trademark white silk shirt was open at the neck, tie gone, the top button undone to reveal a glimpse of his tanned throat. She yanked her gaze back up to his face.

“I’m sorry he is not well. Is it something serious?”

The genuine concern in those devastating eyes forced Rebecca to say, “Just a routine ear infection.”

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