‘Ah. Yes. When I began to make my plans to join you in England, I thought that as your pro- spective lover I should surprise you, as lovers often do—to meet you from work with the extravagant bunch of roses. Women appreciate these kind of gestures.’
I’ll bet they do, she thought dully.
‘But you, Jade, surprisingly, had neglected to give me your work number.’ The voice had a steely ring. ‘Not surprisingly, as I now realise. So I rang you at home; late one night. You were not there. Night- clubbing, your flatmate told me. Then I asked her when you’d be back but she didn’t know. Very late, most probably. The early hours.’ The primitive censure in his voice was stark, the accusation plain, and Jade found herself automatically defending herself.
‘There’s no need to make me sound like Mata Hari! It’s my job!’
His mouth tightened. ‘So I believe. Then I asked for your work number—I would ring you first thing. Imagine my astonishment to discover that you work for what can only be loosely described as a newspaper. The kind of newspaper which prints photographs of half-clothed women!’
Which Jade had always hated herself, but she couldn’t really imagine convincing Constantine of that. ‘How come Sandy didn’t tell me any of this? She didn’t mention that you’d rung!’
‘Because I persuaded her not to,’ he said with soft menace. ‘I can be very persuasive, you know.’
Jade’s mind was buzzing. ‘Then today—you being here at the same time as me—you’d—you’d actually followed me?’
An expression of scorn mocked her. ‘Followed you? After discovering that? No, I often stay at the Granchester when I’m in London.’ He gave her a black look which could have come from the devil himself before continuing.
‘No, Jade, my being here today was purely co- incidence. Coincidence,’ he reiterated savagely. ‘The weapon of the gods. And that coincidence enabled me to see just how far you would go to get a story with that ridiculous singer downstairs whom you allowed to touch you so freely. But it did not sur- prise me. After all—you offered yourself to me without any of the normal persuasion a man has to use to bed a woman. Was that your brief? Is that what your editor instructed you to do? To get your interview with me—come’ and here his voice twisted with derision ‘—what may,’ he finished softly.
She had never been so hurt and disgusted in her life, nor so angry. Too angry to question his absurd suggestion that she had been sent to Greece to in- terview him, for heaven’s sake. Why on earth should she? A red flare of pure temper erupted and misted in front of her eyes, and she slammed her tumbler down on to one of the small tables and launched herself at him, wanting to punch him, kick him, scratch him, wound him as he had wounded her, but he was ready for her. His palms came up to deflect her flailing hands, then with a swift movement he had captured both her hands in one strong hand, holding them high above her head.
She tried to twist, to lock one leg behind his in classic judo position, but he had countered with the reverse movement and with his other hand he held her waist in a vice-like grip, bringing her close into his body, and she felt his hardness pushing against her. She stared up in him in horrified disbe- lief to realise that even after all his vile insults he still wanted her; wanted her very badly indeed, and then all thought flew from a mind already pun- ished by the onslaught of emotion as he bent his head to take her mouth in a savage kiss.
Jade opened her lips to protest as Constantine’s mouth brutally ground into hers but the movement condemned her for he quickly used his tongue to sweeten the assault.
Oh, no, she thought desperately, but the half- hearted struggle she gave only reminded her all too clearly just how aroused he was, and her body re- sponded like a betraying stranger, so that she gave a tiny cry, a mixture of anguish and desire as she felt her breasts becoming heavy, their tips hard and painful and jutting against the thin silk of his shirt; and they were so sensitive and aware that through them she could feel the thick carpet of hair which roughened his chest.
The pressure on her mouth never ceased, and something was happening to her; something way beyond her control. For his hungry, savage need was matched by her own, overpowering her until she was nothing but a slave to her own desire. Be- cause she needed him. Needed the man she knew lay beneath this punishing exterior. She wanted the real Constantine back, the man she had grown to love in a few short idyllic days. Surely he couldn’t throw all that promise away—that mutual passion which happened once in a lifetime, and only then if you were very lucky? But when his hand moved down to touch her breast she stopped thinking altogether—about past or future, right or wrong, because nothing that felt this good could possibly be wrong.
It was as though he sensed her mental surrender, for he gentled the kiss to one of such poignant sweetness that Jade felt a strange, lingering sense of triumph, knowing that all could not be lost if he could kiss her like that. A proud man like Constantine, who could call a halt on the brink of rapture as he had done on the island—he would not be governed by the needs of his body alone. Dared she hope that he still cared for her? Still loved her?
She realised that he had freed her hands, that they had fallen to rest on the broad spread of his shoulders, and her fingers automatically began rhythmically to massage at the solid wall of muscle, loving the warm feel of his strength, longing to touch his naked skin instead.
He pulled his mouth away from hers. ‘Come,’ he commanded, his voice an unsteady, uneven rasp.
She had thought that he would take her into the bedroom, but he did not; instead he pushed aside the linen jacket which he had thrown down so casually, and moved her on to the sofa, which was scarcely wide enough for them both, forcing him to lie above her, his eyes staring down at her; hot, black coals which burned into her heart but told her nothing.
She stared back at him, her slanting eyes nar- rowing with confusion, wondering whether she was doing the most stupid thing imaginable, and yet rejoicing in the feel of his hard body pressed so intimately close to hers. Knowing that even if the hotel were falling down all around them she simply did not have the power to walk away from this.
He bent his head to hers, and with sweet sav- agery kissed away her final doubts. She locked her arms about his neck, her legs parting to receive his thrusting thigh. She did not know how long he kissed her for; she sensed his body’s impatience, but none of that was evident in the honeyed se- duction of his kiss. She felt an aching pull in the apex of her thighs, felt her breasts swell until it was almost too much to bear, and she began to move restlessly, her senses orchestrating these new move- ments as though she had been born to do only this.
And only then did he touch her breast again; little stroking movements, circling round and round the nipple through her shirt until she thought that she would die; and precisely as she thought it he captured the nipple between thumb and forefinger, rubbing it so that it stood even prouder, aching desperately to be freed of the confines of bra and shirt. ‘Constantine!’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Constantine.’
His fingers never ceased, but he drew his mouth away from hers to look down at her as he touched her, his face starkly unfamiliar with passion, a rigid mask kept only under control by the restraint he was obviously exercising on his own needs.
‘You like it?’ He sounded almost casual.
‘It’s—heaven,’ she breathed, but he shook his head.
‘Not heaven. Not yet. Heaven comes later.’ He moved his hand away from her nipple and she made a little moan of protest, but her mouth softened in
to a smile of anticipation as she realised that he was only doing so in order to unbutton her shirt, which he did slowly, degree by teasing degree until her small breasts, encased in a tiny sheer black lace and silk bra, thrust towards him for his delectation.
She didn’t know what caused it, but his face darkened; his eyes like the blackest recesses of hell as he stared down at the flimsy, totally inadequate piece of underwear.
‘What is it?’ she asked him, her question husky, because her lips were swollen and tender from so much kissing.
For answer, he flicked at one nipple in a gesture which was almost casual, though the unsteadiness in his voice belied it. ‘Do you always dress to tanta- lise, agape mou?’ And then when she made no answer, began to speak again, as if to himself. ‘I find myself wanting to rip this foolish little garment from your body. Shall I do that?’