‘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.
‘So English,’ he murmured. ‘So very, very English.’ He peeled the nightgown over her head and threw it aside, staring down at her, his eyes blazing as he drank in her nakedness. She shut her eyes hurriedly; afraid to look into his eyes for fear of what she might read there.
‘Open them,’ he commanded again. ‘There is no need for shyness.’ His hand slipped to his belt, which he unbuckled with unhurried ease, so that he somehow managed to instil infinite grace into the act of stripping off the rest of his clothes, until he was as naked as she and he climbed into the bed and pulled the sheet over both of them.
For a moment he lay above her, his desire pressing hard and full against the softness of her belly, and she breathed a sigh of delectable antici- pation, her mouth curving into a soft smile of pleasure. His eyes narrowed momentarily with some unknown question as he stared down at her, and Jade knew the briefest surge of uneasiness, but it was dispelled as his arms went about her, their bodies moulding even closer and their lips fusing in a heady union which threatened to stop her heart.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS the most perfect night of her life, and one which Jade would remember for the rest of her life, no matter what happened between them afterwards.
Her instincts had been right; it had not been ’good sex’—it had been much, much more than that. Constantine had made love to her over and over again, she had lost count of the times she cried out her pleasure into the silence of the night, but when she awoke in the morning he was gone.
As if he’d never been there; not one scrap of clothing remaining to show that he’d spent the night in her arms. Nothing to show, but plenty to feel. And not just the aching deep inside her, or the tiny bruises of teeth-marks on her swollen breasts—the discovery that he was no longer there beside her produced both anger and pain. She recognised bit- terly that on the two occasions he’d made love to her he’d cast her off afterwards with a ruthlessness which left her feeling nothing short of cheap.
And why not? What did she expect? Nothing had changed. He still believed that she had deliberately deceived him, had tried to seduce him into getting a story. He still believed she had kissed and told by giving her story to the Daily View.
What she didn’t understand was why he had been so reluctant to make love to her last night, after boasting to her that he intended to talk his way into her bed.
And why she had been so reluctant to let him go back to his own room, after everything she’d said. Was it just that the man was capable of throwing all her senses into overdrive, or did it go deeper than that? Was she still, as she suspected—still in love with him?
Damn Constantine Sioulas, thought Jade, as she pulled on a bathrobe and padded through into the shower.
Half an hour later, she had just finished brushing her hair when there was a knock at the door. It was Stavros.
He gave her what appeared to be a genuine smile, which she returned, hoping against hope that she didn’t resemble a woman who’d just spent the night being ravished by his brute of a brother. How many of those had Stavros seen over the years? she won- dered. I don’t want to be just like all the others, she thought, with a pang of regret for her stupid, impetuous behaviour—pleading with him to stay the night with her while knowing that there could only be one outcome if he did. And didn’t men— particularly proud and possessive Greek men like Constantine—only respect women who fought them off? She sighed. What a mess everything was.
‘Hello, Stavros.’ She was not going to ask.
Was she?
‘Er—do you happen to know where Constantine went?’
Shaking his head, Stavros gave a broad grin and a wink as if to say that her question as to his brother’s whereabouts was entirely predictable. ‘He didn’t tell me—but he sure as hell looked mad when I saw him first thing.’
Her heart sank.
He narrowed his eyes—eyes like splinters of jet, so like Constantine’s own, and yet lacking some- thing of their enigmatic brilliance. ‘Did you two have a fight or something?’ he mused.
Not unless the dictionary version of fighting had undergone a radical change overnight. ‘Urn—not exactly.’
Stavros shook his head. ‘What is it that you do to him, Jade? He’s been like a crazy man since he met you, you know?’
‘Yes,’ answered Jade drily. Crazy was right. Sane men did not generally blackmail women they con- sidered had wronged them into marrying them as some primitive form of revenge!
Stavros gave her a quick look. ‘I know he’s not always easy,’ he began.
Jade almost laughed. ‘You’re certainly given to understatement!’
Stavros shook his head. ‘He hasn’t always had it easy himself, you know. People think that the money is an answer to everything, but it isn’t.’
She knew that. She remembered his fear that she’d been kidnapped, his apparent isolation as he’d sat fatigued in his chair yesterday evening. But that wasn’t really relevant to their situation.
But Stavros seemed to be possessed of a great need to present Constantine in a more favourable light. ‘You know that our mother died?’