Jade sat upright and took a sip of her tea. ‘Such as?’
‘Who you wish to come to our wedding.’
‘You mean I have a choice?’
The black eyes flashed a silent warning. ‘I mean that I have no intention of letting your ex-colleagues provide a “scoop”—but that if you wish your parents to come, then obviously—’
‘No,’ cut in Jade quickly.
His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re quite sure?’
On the island they had not, she realised, done more than merely skate over their family life—he knew that she was an only child, and she knew that he had a brother and a stepsister. Her own reluc- tance to talk about it had been due to the highly unsatisfactory nature of her early years. Now, for the first time she began to wonder whether his own reluctance stemmed from a similar source.
‘You don’t wish for either of your parents to come?’ he asked curiously.
‘No.’
He frowned. ‘I see.’
He didn’t, not really. Jade realised that her bald answer must sound uncaring. Not that it could possibly matter if he thought her an unfeeling daughter. He couldn’t possibly think any worse of her than he already did. But even so, she decided to elaborate, for her pride’s sake more than any need to confide in him. ‘My father is dead—’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, and a totally new ex- pression came into his face.
She rushed on, not wanting to be affected by the sympathy which had softened the dark eyes. ‘My mother is on her own—she lives in Devon. Her health is—frail. The journey would be too much for her.’
‘Even if I arrange for a private jet?’
Jade swallowed. Even if he arranged for the re- ception to take place in the presence of the Queen, it would make no difference. ‘Thank you, but no.’ She saw the puzzlement darkening his eyes, and suddenly she wanted the score evened—why had he never talked about his own family? ‘And your family?’ she challenged. ‘Will they be attending?’
‘No,’ he said determinedly. ‘Just Stavros, as witness.’
‘I see.’ She put her cup and saucer down, under- standing immediately his own reasons for not wanting a family celebration. Because why bother when the wedding was nothing but a farce? To have his family come dance at it would make further mockery of it. And yet, didn’t it hurt more than a little bit to imagine a cold little signing of papers in some anonymous little register office some- where, when she’d once imagined an enchanting union with them whispering their heartfelt vows to each other?
Jade rose to her feet, feeling drained, and knowing that her face was blanched of all colour. ’If that will be all,’ she said, in the manner of a secretary speaking to her boss, rather than that of a prospective bride speaking to her husband-to-be. ‘Then I’ll go to my room.’
He inclined his dark head, but said nothing, and Jade, with the prospect of another long, empty evening ahead of her, found herself wishing that he had asked her to join him tonight, at his business dinner.
She would have said no, of course, but it would be nice to have been asked.
CHAPTER NINE
JADE, refusing to cower in her bedroom as though she’d done something wrong, was sitting in one of the armchairs watching the television—though she couldn’t have described a single second of the pro- gramme she had been watching—when Constantine emerged from his room, ready for dinner. He had showered and changed and was wearing the most exquisitely cut suit in deepest blue, and a dark blue and white spotted tie of raw silk knotted around the strong sinews of his neck. The dark wavy hair was almost dry, but a tendril had fallen on to the wide and aristocratic forehead, and this one untidy deviation in an otherwise immaculate appearance somehow added even more to his physical appeal. As if he needed anything to do that, thought Jade ruefully.
He stood looking down at her for an instant, the lean face indifferent, but not as cold as before. ‘Get some sleep,’ he instructed. ‘There are dark shadows beneath your eyes. Goodnight, Jade.’
She watched as the door closed quietly behind him and found herself again wishing that he had asked her to have dinner with him. But what would have been the point? Too many cosy get-togethers like the one they had shared this afternoon over tea would surely be detrimental? That way spelt danger, and the threat of her succumbing to the subtle web of charm he could spin. And painted a false picture of him. Because the way he’d behaved while sharing scones with her was about as far removed as it was possible to be from the man who had ruthlessly seduced her, then taken over the newspaper and threatened to boot out half the staff if she didn’t agree to his proposal of marriage.
Jade continued to try and concentrate on the documentary before giving up; and, going into her bedroom, she had a quick shower, then changed into an Edwardian nightgown of fine lawn, brushing her newly washed hair and leaving it hanging loose all the way down her back. She read a book, rang down for a salade Nicoise and a glass of milk, and after she’d eaten and brushed her teeth she took the book to bed with her to read.
It was a story which a few weeks ago she would have thoroughly lost herself in, but tonight the words on the pages bobbed around like midges, and eventually she gave up the struggle and turned out the light.
She thought she’d crash out as soon as her head hit the pillow, but sleep was surprisingly slow in coming. Behind closed eyes, she kept seeing Constantine’s face in its many guises—stark with passion, dark with a fiercely controlled rage, exhausted and weary, and—this afternoon—like a rare jewel, the sight of his uninhibited laughter again. Pathetic really, to think how much that had warmed her in response.
Sleep came, but it was the deep yet restless sleep which accompanied a troubled mind. Jade found herself far away from the comfort of her luxury hotel bed, poised instead in the doorway of an empty house, her panama school-hat on her head, the sunlight streaming in from the bright day behind her, even though the house was strangely dark. And cold.
‘Mummy?’ she called out tentatively into the silence. ‘Mummy?’ But the silence continued, growing more vast and more awesome by the second as she realised the implication of the sealed letter addressed to her father which lay on the hall table. ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘No!’
‘Jade!’
The deep voice penetrated her consciousness. Warm, strong hands were on her shoulders, shaking her awake.
‘No!’ she screamed again, and then fell into the blissful safety of an embrace, but a masculine em- brace, not her mother’s embrace. Her mother had never embraced her…
‘Sssh.’ His voice was strangely comforting, but it seemed to come from a long way away. ‘Sssh. It’s a dream, agape mou,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Nothing but a dream.’
But if this was a dream, then she never wanted to wake up. Here, half awake in his arms, existed a kinder reality, an infinitely more attractive reality than the true circumstances of why they were together. In dreams, wishes could come true…
She didn’t want to open her eyes; she wanted her dream to stay, never wanted to leave it. She allowed his arms to tighten around her, knowing that she had found what she wanted. She wanted this: Constantine’s protection and Constantine’s possession.
But he was breaking into the tender and blissful disorientation she felt at being within the strong circle of his arms. Breaking in with a question she didn’t want to even acknowledge, for to do that would be to resurrect the unbearable pain of her childhood.
‘Jade,’ he whispered softly. ‘What is it that troubles you? Is it the marriage?’
The marriage? Right at this moment, with her emotions swamping her senses, marriage to him seemed like a bedrock of heavenly security. If only the rock didn’t happen to be built on sand…
‘Is it the marriage?’ he asked again, and she shook her head, her silky hair fanning over that warm, strong neck as she did so, and she heard him sigh.
‘What, then?’
She shook her head.
‘Tell me,’ he urged her. ‘I
can help.’
Who could resist such a soft appeal from such a normally steely man? Certainly not Jade, half asleep, and half… half in love with the man… ‘It was just a dream. I’m being silly—’
‘Let me be the judge of that. Something made you dream badly. What was it?’
It came out in a rush then, like a bottle of cham- pagne which had been shaken vigorously. ‘When we talked earlier—’
‘About the wedding?’
‘Yes, but not that.’
‘What then?’ he urged, his voice deep and husky.
Jade submitted to its command. ‘It was—when we were talking about my mother…’ Her voice tailed off, ashamed, helpless.
‘Tell me! I need to know.’
With her eyes still closed, she could picture it as though it were yesterday—the clarity of the un- welcome memory had not diminished over the years. ‘I don’t know what made me mention it. I was ten and my parents had taken me on holiday to Brighton. My mother went—’Jade’s voice faltered. ‘Out. It was pouring with rain, and the hotel was tiny. My father took me to a cafe for lunch. I think the waitress felt sorry for us, because she let us stay, and we sat there all afternoon, playing I-spy and watching the rain run down the windows.’ Snake-like rivulets. Like tears. ‘Then we went back,’ she finished flatly.
‘And your mother was waiting for you?’ he asked curiously.
‘That time, yes.’ Her mother’s voice had been slurred from too many cocktails at lunchtime, her cracked voice shrilling insults at her bewildered, father. It had been their last family holiday; Jade had not known it at the time, but the cracks had been starting to widen irreparably even then.
‘And the next time?’ he prompted discerningly.
That soft, dark voice could coax blood from a stone, thought Jade as she found herself nestling further into the beating warmth of his chest. ‘One day—oh, it must have been a year later—she didn’t come back. She’d—she’d—met another man.’ The passing of the years hadn’t dulled the pain of memory. ‘I came home from school one day to find that she’d—gone. I didn’t see her for years, not until after my father died last year. I rarely see her now, and even now the relationship is… rocky…’
‘I’m not surprised!’ Constantine’s eyes nar- rowed in disbelief. ‘She left you? She left her child?’
‘Is that so inconceivable to you?’
His voice sounded savage. ‘Of course it is. The bond between mother and child is unbreakable.’
‘Then you’re very lucky, Constantine. That your mother wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving you.’
He shook his head. ‘Not in the way you speak of, no. She died when I was twelve.’
She opened her eyes immediately, struck to the very core by some indefinable note in his voice. It was the first time she had ever seen any trace of vulnerability in the severe lines of his face. No wonder he never talked of his family. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
He briefly laid a finger over his lips, shook his head. ‘I know that.’
But his voice held no recrimination and the darkness gave her the courage to question him further. ‘And your father?’ she ventured.
In the shadowy half-light, she saw the faint outline of that hard mouth twist, though whether it was with pain or derision she couldn’t guess. ‘It broke him,’ he said simply. ‘It was a love match, you see. But he…’ There was a pause.
‘He?’ she whispered.
Now there was definitely derision there. ‘He married again a year later.’
Jade let out a sigh. ‘Why?’
‘Because he felt that Stavros and I needed a mother—especially Stavros, who was so young. As ifanyone could have taken her place,’ he said bit- terly. ‘Instead he found himself a wife and a step- daughter whose sole purpose in life seemed to be the elimination of his fortune.’
She said nothing; nothing to say—but for answer she let her lips drift upwards to kiss his cheek, very very gently, and she heard him softly expel the air from his lungs.
‘Now—’ And he moved his hands purposefully to her shoulders, as if to distance her, but she couldn’t bear to leave the safe haven of his em- brace, here, where childhood scars were eased and soothed. And so she nestled closer into his chest, pushed her cheek against the strong column of his neck, his scent invading her nostrils and over- whelming her with its distinctive masculine aroma.
She felt his heart quicken beneath her breast, felt his arms imperceptibly tighten around her shoulders, and still he said nothing, just started to stroke her hair with a rhythmic caress which had her sighing with pleasure.
‘Go back to sleep,’ he urged her quietly.
She said nothing in response to this, but she felt her body answering for her—in the thrust of her nipples which had begun to nudge insistently against that hair-roughened chest, in the hot ache between her thighs and in her hungry lips which lay pass- ively against his neck, but in whose centre beat an eager pulse which longed for his kiss above all else.
She heard him mutter something beneath his breath, felt him shift a little as if to move away from her. ‘I must go,’ he said with quiet emphasis.
But Jade did not want to be alone with her fears and her insecurities and her nightmares. More than that, she did not want him to go. Not tonight. To- night she needed Constantine, as she needed no other. She laid her soul bare for him to see, and in doing so she felt completely empty. She needed Constantine to cover her, to fill her, to make her whole once more.
‘Don’t leave me,’ she whispered.
‘I must.’
She gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘Stay.’
There was a sense of urgency in the deep voice. ’But if I stay, you know what will happen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Better another night.’ She could hear his reluc- tance, but in her need, she chose to disregard it. ‘When you aren’t so…’ He paused, as if searching for a gentle put-down.
He was giving her a way out, but she didn’t want to take it. ‘When I’m not so—what?’ she whis- pered throatily. ‘You told me you wanted my body; told me you wanted to slake your desire until it was no more.’ Her eyes fluttered open to surprise a look of such naked, feral heat which burned in the depths of his eyes, but she began to tremble. ‘Are you telling me now that you weren’t speaking the truth?’
It was as though her own tremor had set up an answering response in his, for she felt a shudder rake through the length of his body.
‘Were you?’ she whispered. ‘Speaking the truth?’
‘You know I was,’ he ground out. ‘But then I spoke in anger. Tonight there is no anger between us; tonight…’ His words tailed off.
‘Tonight?’ she prompted, in a husky whisper.
She caught the gleam of steel from behind the narrowed eyes. ‘You are vulnerable tonight, agape mou. And your heart is aching—’
‘Then take that aching away,’ she said softly, as- tounded by her own daring, but urged on by needs which could not be constrained by the mere con- vention that the man should be the seducer, and not the woman.
There was a pause; she could almost hear him battling with his conscience—if a conscience he had.
But how could he have a conscience which was troubling him now, after he had taken her so cold- bloodedly and without compunction the other day?
Could it be because she knew and he knew that if he came to her tonight it would not just be ‘good sex’ as he had so ruthlessly said after that frantic coupling on the sofa just next door? Tonight, her emotions were too raw and exposed; she had laid herself open to him honestly, as he had to her, and she knew, with some kind of unerring instinct, that tonight he would have to respond to her in kind. With his heart.
If he came to her. She closed her eyes, prepared for him to take his leave of her.
‘Open your eyes,’ he commanded. ‘And look at me.’
Weakly, she obeyed, fearful of what she would read in his, but she saw his o
wn need shining through the dark waters of that ebony stare.
For a long moment, he stared down at her, and then, slowly, lingeringly, began to kiss her mouth as if he had all the time in the world.
It was a kiss so delectably sweet that she started to tremble again; she had never believed that a kiss could be so poignant and so tender. The last time she had lain in his arms like this, he had kissed her with all the masculine authority of the dominant sex, had branded her with fiery kisses which led straight into the blaze of sexual consummation. But this kiss—it was infinitely more subtle; and in its way far more distracting. She felt her eyelids flutter to a close again.
‘No!’ came the soft command, the accent very slightly emphasised. ‘Watch me now, as I watch you. Drink in my body, Jade, as I do yours, and see the effect you’re having on me. Keep your eyes open all the time, and watch me while I love you.’
Her gaze ran hungrily over him. He was still wearing the suit he’d had on earlier, and as if he’d captured her thoughts he gave a small, brief smile before momentarily releasing her to shrug out of the jacket where it fell to the floor with a whisper. He sat, motionless on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed firmly on hers, compelling, waiting.
With trembling fingers she reached out to unknot the silk of his tie then to pull it off and discard it, so that it joined the jacket on the floor. Suddenly shy, she made as if to move her hand away, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.
‘Continue,’ he murmured. ‘I like it.’
Jade swallowed as she slowly unbuttoned the shirt, until it revealed the olive-skinned torso, shadowed by the hair which grew there. He took the palm of her hand, laid it flatly over his heart, and she heard the dull thundering of his heart which hammered out his desire for her.
He took the shirt off, then pushed her gently back against the pillows before turning his attention to the fine white cotton of her nightgown. It was full of detail; she’d bought it for just that reason—tiny tucks and pleats, and a myriad minute pearl buttons, which he began to snap open, one by one.
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