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.