Savage Seduction

by Sharon Kendrick

  Jade stared at him wide-eyed, her heart starting to race in exultant beat. ‘What did you say?’ she said, very quietly.

  The black eyes glittered. ‘You heard me very well,’ he said softly.

  She wanted to believe him—oh, how she wanted to believe him. ‘But you can’t love me! You don’t even know me!’

  ‘Wrong!’ he contradicted arrogantly. ‘I knew you the moment I first set eyes on you. As you did me.’

  ‘Oh, Constantine,’ she said helplessly, feeling herself beginning to melt. ‘I’m lost. Confused. What are you saying? What do you want?’

  He moved the powerful shoulders in a tiny shrug. ’I want to spend every moment that I can with you. I want you in my arms when I fall asleep, and beside me when I wake up. I want to make love to you; I think you know how much. But first I intend to marry you.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  JADE sighed loudly as she settled back into one of the plush leather banquettes which adorned the foyer of the Granchester—undoubtedly one of London’s finest hotels.

  She had been sent here by Maggie Marchant, her editor—and was waiting to interview Russ Robson for the Daily View. Typical! It was just her luck to get stuck with the notoriously lecherous ageing rock- star, but that wasn’t the real reason for the deep sigh.

  It was because she missed Constantine.

  She missed him like hell.

  Sometimes she could hardly believe that it was only a week since he had stared down into her eyes and said those amazing words which had turned her world upside down: ‘First I intend to marry you’.

  And she had ecstatically agreed to let him do just that, and as soon as possible—in fact, as soon as he arrived in England, which Jade hoped would be very, very soon.

  A buzz of excited chatter sounded over by the hotel reception, and she looked up to see Russ Robson approaching.

  From a distance the rock-star looked quite good, slim and wearing the ubiquitous uniform of ripped jeans and a black leather jacket. But he was surprisingly small, and as he grew closer Jade could see quite clearly all the signs of a dissipated life- style: the bloodshot eyes and the ravaged and pock- marked skin. He swaggered over, and his eyes began a leisurely passage from the tip of Jade’s head to her toes as she stood up to meet him.

  ‘C’mon upstairs,’ he leered at her as though she were some kind of groupie, ‘and I’ll give you the interview of a lifetime.’ His hand went out to snake around her waist when there was the buzz of some other commotion and Jade looked up to see a group of men walking into the foyer, her mouth falling open in disbelief when she saw who it was, scarcely recognising the evidence of her own eyes.

  Constantine.

  Jade blinked.

  It couldn’t be. What on earth would Constantine be doing here, and dressed like that?

  He hadn’t seen her; he was deep in discussion with one of the group—another elegantly dressed businessman, who also looked Greek—and she was sure that he’d been one of the men seated with Constantine in the taverna, the very first time she’d seen him. She stared again at the impressive and unfamiliar sight he made. The thick and unruly curls had been trimmed and made sleeker, and the darkness of his chin was paler than the smoky growth of stubble which Jade was used to seeing, as though he’d shaved twice already that day.

  But it was his outfit which completely knocked the stuffing out of her. He wore a beautifully cut linen suit, but it wasn’t rumpled and crumpled like every linen suit she’d ever seen—it hung in elegant folds around the magnificently muscular frame. Beneath it he had on a shirt of the finest pure white silk, so fine that she could just make out the shadowy hint of the thick whorls of hair which grew in such riotous abandon across his broad chest. And, with the shirt, a tie of dark green silk. His shoes were of soft, black leather; hand-made, she’d bet. He looked… Jade swallowed. He looked so different.

  He looked… rich.

  Very, very rich.

  It was all terribly confusing.

  She shook her head a little. His family owned a restaurant on a small Greek island, for heaven’s sake! He couldn’t possibly be staying here!

  ‘Hey, babe,’ said Russ Robson impatiently, and Jade recoiled as his arm did actually make contact with her slender waist, sliding up so that his hor- rible heavily ringed hand brushed against her breast.

  It was at that precise moment that Constantine looked over and saw her, before she had time to move, to shake off the revolting Robson’s arm, and what happened next sickened her to the pit of her stomach.

  She saw Constantine stiffen and still, frozen in beautiful, elegant pose. But there was no welcome or affection in that hard, bronzed mask of a face. She watched as his eyes narrowed to become so cold and so ruthless that Jade felt the icy fingers of pure fear chill her skin, saw the little tableau they must make—with Robson’s hand resting intimately around her. She pushed the hand away angrily with a snort of disgust. Showbiz people were usually tactile, but Russ Robson had really overstepped the mark and Jade tried to imagine what Constantine must be thinking. He must be appalled. He came from a land where values were much more robust, more fundamental… wasn’t that one of the things that had made her fall in love with the land as well as the man?

  Wordlessly, Jade stepped away from Robson, automatically moving towards Constantine, scarcely allowing herself to register that his mouth had thinned to a hard, cold line, that from his eyes blazed a stony kind of censure; a look which she defined all too quickly.

  She started to walk towards him, aware of the murmured comment of one of the men he was with as she did so. She caught sight of herself in one of the glittering mirrors, at the blonde disarray of hair which had fallen out of her French plait to spill in profusion around her neck. At the two high spots of colour on her cheeks which seemed to com- pound a guilt she simply shouldn’t be feeling. She’d done nothing wrong.

  But you lied to him about your job, prompted an unnerving little voice inside her head.

  ‘Constantine!’ she called, just yards away.

  The proud mouth curled. He made a small sound of disgust beneath his breath before speaking in rapid Greek to his companion. And then he walked right past her, as though she was invisible- no, worse than that, as though she was garbage. Walked right past her and straight into the lift without speaking.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JADE stood in the centre of the foyer staring after Constantine, watching in disbelief as the lift doors closed behind him, feeling as though she’d just shot herself in the foot.

  And then the questions began to crowd into her mind.

  Like—just what was he doing in the Granchester dressed like that? And what right did he have to walk past her with that haughty look on his face as though she were something the dog had dragged in?

  Every right, she admitted to herself gloomily. She had known instinctively that he would have a strongly possessive and jealous streak, and wasn’t it part of his charm that he would use passion before logic? Perhaps to Constantine it might have ap- peared that the pose she struck with Russ Robson was intimate. And what else would she expect him to do while an ageing rock-star gave a display of the wandering hands syndrome? Rush up and ask to be introduced?

  ‘Jade?’ Brent, the Daily View’s staff photogra- pher, who had been clicking away furiously, was now staring at her curiously. ‘Do you know that guy?’

  I thought I was going to marry him, thought Jade, which all goes to show that you can never be too old to believe in fairy-tales. ‘You could say that,’ she answered in a flat tone.

  Brent’s mouth had dropped open, but she scarcely took in the expression of disbelief on his face. ‘How the hell can you—?’

  She couldn’t face his questions; not when she didn’t have any answers which made sense; not even to her. She felt like opening her mouth and howling in disbelieving anger. What was Constantine doing here? she wondered in total confusion, feeling so dazed that she automatically sought solace in work. ’I have an interview to do,�
�� she bit out crisply. ‘And Mr Robson is waiting—’

  ‘Call me Russ,’ came a drawled voice by her side, and she looked up to find him surveying her with curiosity. ‘Though perhaps I’m now making sense of those “keep off” vibes you keep sending out.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the lift which Constantine had disappeared into, and grinned. ’Rich pickings, huh, baby? But it don’t look like he’s interested to me. So let’s go up to my suite, huh?’

  Jade’s stomach turned over in revulsion. For two pins she felt like telling Mr Russ Robson what he could do with his interview; it was very tempting indeed. But she supposed that would be the height of unprofessionalism, and you didn’t just throw in your job at the height of a recession without another to go to. She thought quickly, then gave him a briskly efficient smile.

  ‘It just occurred to me, Mr Robson, that if we do the interview right here in the foyer,’ and here Jade gestured to the exquisitely pillared seating area, ‘then surely it would get you—er—noticed. And you know what they say about there being no such thing as bad publicity…’

  Jade watched as the canny blue eyes considered what she’d said and wondered if he was remem- bering his last album, which had bombed so badly.

  ‘OK.’ He shrugged.

  It took the most superhuman effort to put Constantine out of her mind, but an hour later Jade had her interview, in which she had somehow managed to discover that Russ Robson’s main passion in life was breeding guppy fish!

  ‘I can think of the headline already! “From Yuppy to Guppy”!’ laughed Brent as he pocketed a used roll of film in the top-pocket of his denim jacket.

  But Jade felt sick at heart and couldn’t even raise a smile. She found Brent staring at her unrespon- sive face as if sensing gossip. ‘Let’s share a cab back to the office,’ he suggested, but Jade shook her head.

  She couldn’t face going back. Not yet. She wanted to be alone with the turmoil of her thoughts. She shook her head. ‘Not just now, Brent—I’ll catch you later—I’ve just had an idea for another feature.’

  Brent shrugged, looking unconvinced. ‘OK,’ he said easily. ‘See you later.’

  At last he was gone and Jade stood hesitantly in the foyer. What should she do now? She needed to talk to Constantine more badly than she had ever needed anything before in her life. But would he agree to see her, and was he actually staying here? Presumably, as he had taken the lift. Should she enquire at Reception?

  Unless… and here a cold, clammy sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Unless…

  What could be the other perfectly legitimate reason for a man taking a lift to one of the hotel bedrooms? What if he was having an assignation with someone? Some beautiful woman lying naked and waiting for him? As willing a capitulation as hers in Greece had almost been…

  But surely to believe that would be to believe that all Constantine’s words to her had been lies. And yet perhaps the most logical explanation was that they had been lies. For what was the owner of a restaurant on a small Greek island doing walking around in costly clothes in one of London’s best hotels?

  But you lied to him, prompted the voice of her conscience. Letting him believe that you were some little goody-two-shoes office-worker instead of a tabloid journalist.

  Well, she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life wondering what might have happened. I have to know, she decided, and, determinedly drawing her shoulders back, she walked over to the recep- tion desk.

  ‘My name is Jade Meredith,’ she began.

  ‘Yes, of course, Miss Meredith,’ said the recep- tionist smoothly. ‘Mr Sioulas is expecting you.’

  Jade’s heart hammered, though she couldn’t decide whether it was with excitement or sheer fright. ‘He is?’

  ‘Certainly. He’s in the Garden Suite. I’ll get someone to show you the way.’

  ‘Please don’t worry,’ said Jade hastily. ‘I’ll find it myself.’

  The receptionist made no demur; he was obvi- ously used to the capriciousness of guests. ‘Cer- tainly, Miss Meredith. You’ll find the Garden Suite on the ninth floor.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The smooth purring of the lift only increased her tension, and when it stopped at the appropriate floor Jade almost turned tail and ran, feeling more frightened than she’d ever done before in her life.

  You pathetic little coward, she told herself, before stepping forward and rapping loudly on the door.

  The door was opened by the man who had been talking to Constantine downstairs. The man she had been sure had been with Constantine in the taverna, thought Jade as she stared into impassive brown eyes.

  She forced herself to stay calm. ‘I’m Jade Meredith. I believe that Constantine is expecting me.’

  A dark head made the faintest inclination, but he offered no introduction of his own. ‘Mr Sioulas is inside.’ He stepped aside to let Jade pass, and she got the strangest sensation of being summoned into the presence of some ancient potentate, an im- pression which was only partially dispelled by the sight of Constantine, his back to her, in the most rigid and forbidding of stances, an awesome stillness about him which completely unnerved her.

  ‘Hello, Constantine,’ she said, not surprised at the unusually high squeak in her voice.

  He stayed unmoving. There was a rustle behind her, and the man who had shown her in rattled off what sounded like a question in Greek.

  ‘Ochi!’ Constantine’s negation was savagely controlled, and the other man withdrew from the suite, one last curious look at Jade as he did so.

  There was silence for a moment. This is ridicu- lous, thought Jade. Is he going to pretend I’m not here?

  But he turned around then, and Jade wished that he hadn’t, for it was as though the Constantine she had known had gone forever, and in his place was the face of a hard, cold and implacable stranger. She had seen a glimpse of it once, had suspected that it existed, that steely streak—but now she saw it revealed in all its true, formidable strength. And suddenly she knew that only a fool would have be- lieved Constantine to be the owner of a restaurant on a tiny Greek island. This man was no small-time achiever, she realised with a sudden and penetrat- ing flash of insight; here stood a ruthless tycoon.

  ‘Hello, Jade.’ But the greeting was denied any warmth by the cutting note of scorn which dis- torted it. ‘To which, I would imagine,’ he con- tinued implacably, ‘you reply, “Fancy meeting you here!’”

  His mimicry, she thought bizarrely, was quite superb considering that it was not done in his native tongue. ‘Wh-what are you doing here?’ she blurted out, sounding nothing like a journalist and more like a schoolgirl confronting her head teacher with more than a little trepidation.

  ‘What do you think I’m doing here, Jade?’ he queried softly. ‘Perhaps doing a little trading in the yoghurt or honey which our restaurant produces?’

  ‘Dressed like that?’ she blurted out.

  He gave a little laugh; Jade had never heard any- thing more chilling in her entire life. ‘Dressed like what, agape mou?’

  But the term he had once used, she thought, with deep affection now sounded like nothing more then denigration when spoken in a tone which dripped scorn.

  How dared he?

  ‘Dressed in clothes which would probably cost a restaurateur’s entire year’s wages!’ she returned. ’The man you allowed me to believe you were!’

  He nodded. ‘You’re correct, you’re absolutely correct, Jade. But I think that your accusation is a little misplaced. I did wonder,’ he mused, almost as though she were not in the room with him, ‘why you agreed marriage to a poor Greek so promptly. Why such a woman would be so willing, so eager to marry such a man—a man so many light-years away from the sophisticates she doubtless deals with in England.’ He turned cold, black eyes on her. ’You are wasted in journalism, my dear—you should have turned your hand to acting. Such a fine performance! So convincing!’

  It was like some awful dream. So much of what he said confused her, but one
thing stood out in her mind: that he had somehow discovered her true identity. In a minute, surely—she would wake up? ‘When did you find out that I was a journalist?’ she asked quietly, her long fingers pleating at her skirt. ‘Did you know on the island?’

  He gave her a steady, stony stare. ‘On the island?’ His mouth twisted into a cruel parody of a smile. ’I think not. If I had known then…’ He gave a deliberate pause while his gaze flicked to her breasts, and, hatefully, humiliatingly, she felt them prickle with anticipation; his cold smile indicated that her reaction had not gone unnoticed. ‘Then I should not have played the gentleman quite so assidiously.’

  The implication was as clear as crystal. ‘Then— when?’

  He was shrugging out of the linen jacket now, throwing it negligently across the butter-coloured sofa. He walked across to the bar and poured himself a large shot of brandy. He didn’t even offer her any, and Jade was suddenly more affronted by this simple lack of courtesy than by any of his earlier insulting remarks; because on Piros he had shown her more courtesy than she had ever re- ceived before.

  ‘I’d like a drink, please.’ Never in her life had she needed one more.

  ‘Then get it yourself,’ he ground out, in a voice of granite.

  He watched while she walked over to the cabinet and picked up the heavy decanter with a hand which trembled uncontrollably, and she heard him make a muttered curse in Greek before taking the bottle from her and sloshing some brandy into a second glass.

  ‘Here.’ He pushed the glass into her hand, but even that brief contact of skin on skin was electri- fying. Jade felt his touch like a whisper of fire to which her body screamed its instant response as if it were bone-dry timber, and she looked up to see his eyes darken, before an expression of disgust marred the autocratic features, and he stepped away from her, swallowing the rest of his brandy in an abrupt gesture of dismissal which spoke volumes.