He stood watching her, his black eyes grim and his mouth set in a thin line that at any other time would have made her apprehensive but now left her curiously unmoved. He had thrust his hands into his pants pockets as if he didn't trust himself to control his temper, but now he took them out and his eyes gleamed. "It always amazes me how you can look like a queen, just by lifting that little chin."
Her face showed no reaction. "Is that all you brought me in here to say?" she demanded coolly.
"You know damned well it isn't." For a moment he had the grace to look uncomfortable, and a dull flush stained the brutal cheekbones. "Jessica, what you saw…it wasn't serious."
"That really doesn't matter to me," she thrust scornfully, "because our relationship isn't serious, either. You don't have to explain yourself to me, Nikolas; I have no hold on you. Conduct your little affairs as you please; I don't care."
His entire body jerked under the force of her words and the flush died away to a white, strained look. His eyes grew murderous and an instant before he moved she realized that she had gone too far, pushed him beyond control. She had time only to suck in her breath to cry out in alarm before he was across the room with a lithe, savage movement, his hands on her shoulders. He shook her violently, so violently that her hair tumbled down about her shoulders and tears were jerked from her eyes before his mouth closed on hers and his savage kiss took her breath away. When she thought that she would faint under his onslaught, he lifted her slumping body in his arms and carried her to the soft, worn sofa where their host had obviously spent many comfortable hours. Fiercely he placed her on it and covered her body with his, holding her down with his heavy shoulders and muscular thighs. "Damn you!" he whispered raggedly, jerking her head back with cruel fingers tangled in her hair. "You have me tied in knots; I can't even sleep without dreaming about you, and you say you don't care what I do? I'll make you care, I'll break down that wall of yours—"
He kissed her brutally, his lips bruising hers and forcing a moan of protest from her throat, but he paid no attention to her distress. With his free hand he slid down the zipper of her dress and pulled the cloth from her shoulders, and only then did his mouth leave hers to press his sensual attack on the soft mounds of her breasts.
Jessica moaned in fright when her mouth was free, but as his hot lips moved hungrily down her body, a wanton need surged through her. She fought it fiercely, determined not to surrender to him after what had passed between them tonight, knowing that he thought her little better than a whore. And then he had gone straight into Diana's arms! The memory of the smugly victorious smile the woman had given her sent tears streaming down her face as she struggled against his overpowering strength. He ignored her efforts to free herself and moved to press completely over her, his hands curving her against his powerful, surging contours. He was feverish with desire and she was helpless against him; he would have taken her, but when he raised his head from her throbbing breasts, he saw her tear-drenched face and stopped cold.
"Jessica," he said huskily. "Don't cry. I won't hurt you."
Didn't he understand? He had already hurt her; he'd torn her heart out. She turned her head away from him with a jerky movement and bit her bruised lip, unable to say anything.
He eased his weight from her and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her face. "It's just as well," he said grimly. "I don't want to make love to you for the first time on a sofa in someone else's house. I want you in a bed, ma chere, with hours in which I can show you how it should be between a man and a woman."
"Any woman," she said bitterly, remembering Diana.
"No!" he refuted fiercely. "Don't think of her, she means less than nothing to me. I was foolish—I'm sorry, darling. I wanted to ease myself with her, to relieve the tension that you arouse and won't satisfy, and instead I found that she leaves me cold."
"Really?" Jessica taunted, glaring at him. "You didn't look so cold to me."
He tossed the tear-wet handkerchief aside and captured her chin with one hand. "You think not? Did I act as if I was carried away by passion?" he demanded, forcing her to look at him. "Did I kiss her as I kiss you? Did I say sweet things to her?"
"Yes! You called her— No," she interrupted herself, becoming confused. "You said she was lovely, but you didn't—"
"I didn't call her darling, as I call you, did I? One kiss, Jessica! One kiss and I knew that she couldn't even begin to damp down the fires you've lit. Won't you forgive me for one kiss?"
"Would you forgive me?" she snapped, trying to turn her head away, but he held her firmly. Against her will she was softening, letting him talk her out of her resolve. The heavy weight of his limbs against her was comforting as he wrapped her in the security of his strength, and she began to feel that she could forgive any transgression so long as she could still touch him.
"I would have snatched you away from any man foolish enough to touch you," he promised her grimly, "and broken his jaw. I don't think I could control myself if I saw someone kissing you, Jessica. But I'd never walk away from you; I'd take you with me."
She shuddered and closed her eyes, recalling those awful moments when she had watched their embrace. "Neither can I control myself, Nikolas," she admitted hoarsely. "I can't bear to watch you make love to another woman. It tears me apart."
"Jessica!"
It was the first admission she had made that she cared for him, even a little. Despite their closeness over the past weeks, she had still resisted him in that, had refused to tell him that she cared. Now she could no longer hide it.
"Jessica! Look at me. Look at me!" Fiercely he shook her and her eyes flew open to stare into his blazing, triumphant eyes. "Tell me," he insisted, bending closer to her, his mouth poised above hers. His hand went to her heart, felt the telltale pounding, and lingered to tenderly stroke the soft womanly curves he found.
"Tell me," he whispered, and brushed his lips against hers.
Her arms went about his shoulders, clinging tightly to his strength as her own was washed away in the floodtide of her emotion. "I love you," she moaned huskily. "I've tried not to—you're so…arrogant. But I can't help it."
He crushed her to him so tightly that she cried out, and he loosened his hold immediately. "Mine," he muttered, pressing hot kisses over her face. "You're mine, and I'll never let you go. I adore you, darling. For weeks I've been half-mad with frustration, wanting you but afraid of frightening you off. You'll have no more mercy from me, you'll be my woman now!" And he laughed exultantly before he sat up and helped her to pull her gown back up. He zipped it for her, then his hard hands closed about her waist.
"Let's leave now," he said, his voice rough. "I want you so badly!"
Jessica shivered at the raw demand in his voice, elated but also frightened. The time had come when he would no longer allow her to draw away from him, and though she could feel her heart blooming at his admission of love, she was still wary of this man and the control he had over her.
Nikolas sensed her hesitation and pulled her close to him with a possessive arm. "Don't be frightened," he murmured against her hair. "Forget whatever has happened to you; I'll never do anything to hurt you. You said that you aren't frightened of me, but you are, I can tell. That's why I've suffered through these weeks of hell, waiting for you to lose your fear. Trust me now, darling. I'll take every care with you."
She buried her face against his shoulder. Now was the time to tell him that she had never made love before, but when she gathered her courage enough to raise her head and open her mouth, he forestalled her by laying his fingers gently across her bruised lips. "No, don't say anything," he whispered. "Just come with me, let me take care of you."
Her hair was a tumbled mass about her shoulders and she lifted her hands to try to twist it up again. "Don't bother," Nikolas said, catching her hand. "You look adorable, if anyone should see you, but we'll leave by the back way. Wait here while I make our excuses to our host; I'll only be a moment."
Left by hers
elf, Jessica sat down and tried to gather her dazed and scattered thoughts. Nikolas loved her, he had admitted it. Love was the same as "adore," wasn't it? Certainly she loved him, but she was also confused and uncertain. She had always thought that a mutual declaration of love led to sweet plans for the future, but instead Nikolas seemed to plan only on taking her to bed. She tried to tell herself that he was an extremely physical man, and that afterward he would want to talk about wedding plans. It was just that she had always dreamed, in her heart, of going to her husband in white, and of de-serving the symbol of purity. For a moment she toyed with the idea of telling Nikolas she didn't want to leave, but then she shook her head. Perhaps she had to prove her love for Nikolas by trusting him as he had requested and giving him the full measure of her love.
Then it was too late to worry, because Nikolas came back, and she drowned in the possessive glow of his dark eyes. Her nervousness was swamped by her automatic response to his nearness and she leaned pliantly against him as he led her out of the house by the back way and to his car parked down the narrow, quiet street.
London was a golden city by night, gleaming like a crown on the banks of the Thames, and it had never seemed more golden to her than it did tonight, sitting quietly beside Nikolas as he drove through the city. She looked at the familiar landmarks as if she had never seen them before, caught by the unutterable loveliness of the world she shared with Nikolas.
He didn't drive her home, as she had expected, but instead they went to his penthouse. That alarmed her, though she wasn't sure why, and she hung back, but he pulled her into the elevator and held her close, muttering hot words of love to her. When the elevator doors slid open, he took her hand and led her down the quiet, dim hallway to his door. Unlocking it, he let her inside and followed, locking the door behind him with a final-sounding click. She had gone a few steps forward and now stood very still in the darkness, and with a flick of his finger he switched on two lamps. Then he went over to his telephone console to make sure his automatic answering service was on.
"No interruptions tonight," he said, turning to her now. His eyelids drooped sensuously over his gleaming eyes as he came to her and drew her against his hard body. "Do you want anything to drink?" he asked, his lips moving against her temples.
She closed her eyes in ecstasy, breathing in the heady male scent of him, basking in his warmth. "No, nothing," she replied huskily.
"Nor do I," he said. "I don't want alcohol dulling my senses tonight; I want to enjoy every moment. You've obsessed me from the first moment I saw you, so forgive me if I seem to…" He paused, trying to find the word, and she smiled tenderly.
"If you seem to gloat?" she murmured.
"Gloat is too strong a word, but I do admit to a sense of triumph." He grinned.
She watched with a pounding heart as he shed his dinner jacket and draped it over a chair. His tie followed, and his satin waistcoat, then he came to her and she shrank back at the look on his face. So would the Spartan warriors of long ago have looked, proud and savage and lawless. He frightened her, and she wanted to run, but then he had her in his arms and his mouth covered hers and all thoughts fled as her senses were filled with him.
He lifted her and carried her along the corridor to his bedroom, shouldering the door closed behind them, then crossing to the huge bed and standing her before it.
Sanity fought with desire and she choked, "No, Nikolas, wait! I have to tell you—"
"But I can't wait," he interrupted huskily, his breathing ragged. "I have to have you, darling. Trust me, let me wipe out the touch of the others who have hurt you."
His mouth shut off anything else she might have said. He was far more gentle than she would ever have expected, his hands moving over her with exquisite tenderness, molding her to him as his lips drank greedily of hers. She gasped at the surge of pleasure that warmed her, and she curled her slender arms about his neck, arching herself against his powerful form and hearing his deep groan reverberating in her ears like music. With shaking hands he unzipped her gown and slid it down her hips to lie in a silky pool about her feet. He caught his breath at the slim, graceful delicacy of her body, then he snatched her close to him again and his mouth lost its gentleness as he kissed her hungrily. He muttered love words in French and Greek as his strong, lean fingers removed her underwear and dropped it carelessly to the floor, and she thrilled at the hoarse desire so evident in his voice. It was right, it had to be right, he loved her and she loved him…
Feverishly she unbuttoned his silk shirt, her lips pressing hot little kisses to his flesh as she revealed it. She had never caressed him so freely before, but she did so now, discovering with delight the curling hair that roughened his chest and ran in a narrow line down his abdomen. Her fingers flexed mindlessly in that hair, pulling slightly, then her hands dropped to his belt and fumbled awkwardly with the fastening.
"Ah…darling," he cried, his fingers closing almost painfully on hers. Then he brushed her hands aside and helped her, for she was trembling so badly that she couldn't manage to undo the belt.
Rapidly he stripped, and she caught her breath at the sight of his strong, incredibly beautiful body. "I love you," she moaned, going into his arms. "Oh, Nikolas, my love!"
He shuddered and lifted her, placing her on the bed and following her down, his mouth and hands all over her, rousing her to wilder, sweeter heights, then slowing and letting her drift back to awareness before he intensified his efforts again and took her to the brink of madness before drawing away. He was seducing her carefully, making certain of her pleasure, though he was going wild with his own pleasure as he stroked her lovely curves and soft hollows.
At last, aching with the need for his complete possession, Jessica moved her body urgently against him. She didn't know how to demand what she needed; she could only moan and clutch at him with frantic fingers. Her head moved mindlessly from side to side, rolling on the tawny pillow of her hair. "Nikolas—ah, beloved," she moaned, scarcely knowing what she said as the words tripped over themselves coming from her tongue. She wanted only his touch, the taste of his mouth on hers. "I never knew—oh, darling, please! Being your wife will be heaven." Her hands moved over his muscled ribs, pulling at him, and she called out to him with surrender plain in her voice. "Nikolas…Nikolas!"
But he had gone stiff, pulling away from her, and he rose up on his elbow to look at her. After a moment she realized that she had been deserted and she turned her head to look at him questioningly. "Nikolas?" she murmured.
The silence lengthened and thickened, then he made an abrupt, savage movement with his hand. "I've never mentioned marriage to you, Jessica. Don't delude yourself; I'm not that big a fool."
Jessica felt the blood draining from her face and she was glad of the darkness, of the dim lights that left only black and white images and hid the colors away. Nausea roiled in her stomach as she stared up at him. No, he wasn't a fool, but she was. Fiercely she fought back the sickness that threatened to overwhelm her, and when she spoke, her tone was even, almost cool.
"That's odd. I thought marriage was a natural result of love. But then, you've never actually said that you love me, have you, Nikolas?"
His mouth twisted and he got out of bed, walking to the window to stand looking out, his splendid body revealed to her in its nudity. He wasn't concerned with his lack of dress, standing there as casually as if he wore a suit and tie. "I've never lied to you, Jessica," he said brutally. "I want you as I've never wanted another woman, but you're not the type of woman I would ever take as my wife."
Jessica ground her teeth together to keep from crying out in pain. Jerkily she sat up against the pillows and drew the covers up over her nakedness, for she couldn't be as casual about it as he could. "Oh?" she inquired, only a slight strain revealed in her voice, for, after all, hadn't she had years of experience in hiding her feelings? "What type of woman am I?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders. "My dear, that's rather obvious. Just because Robert Stanton ma
rried you doesn't make it any less an act of prostitution, but at least he married you. What about all the others? They didn't bother. You've had some unpleasant experiences that have turned you against men, and I was prepared to treat you with a great deal of consideration, but I've never considered making you my wife. I wouldn't insult my mother by taking a woman like you home to be introduced to her."
Pride had always been a strong part of Jessica's character and it came to her rescue now. Lifting her chin, she said, "What sort of woman would you take home to Mama? A nun?"
"Don't get vicious with me," he snarled softly in warning. "I can deal with you in a way that will make your previous experiences seem like heaven. But to answer your question, the woman I marry will be a virgin, as pure as the day she was born, a woman of both character and morals. I admit that you have the character, my dear; it's the morals that you lack."
"Where will you find this paragon?" she mocked, not at all afraid of him now. He had already hurt her as badly as she could ever be hurt; what else could he do?
He said abruptly, "I have already found her; I intend to marry the daughter of an old family friend. Elena is only nineteen, and she's been schooled in a convent. I wanted to wait until she's older before we became betrothed; she deserves a carefree youth."
"Do you love her, Nikolas?" The question was torn from her, for here, after all, was an even deeper pain, to think that he loved another woman. By contrast to this unknown, unseen Elena, Diana seemed a pitiful rival.
"I'm fond of her," he said. "Love will come later, as she matures. She'll be a loving, obedient wife, a wife I can be proud of, a good mother to my children."
"And you can take her home to Mama," Jessica mocked in pain.
He swung away from the window. "Don't mock my mother," he hissed between his teeth. "She's a wonderful, valiant woman; she knew your late husband—are you surprised? When she heard of his disastrous marriage, she was shocked and dismayed, as most people were. Her friends here in London who wrote to her about you didn't ease her worries for an old friend. Should I insult her now by showing up with you in tow and saying, 'Mother, do you remember the gold-digger who took Robert Stanton for all he was worth and ruined the last years of his life? I've just married her.' Were you really such a fool as to think that, Jessica?"