All That Glitters

  He stood also, calmly laying his napkin aside. "I'm taking you home," he said, "if I have to drag you to my car. Now, do you want to make your exit in a dignified manner, or slung over my shoulder? Before you decide, let me assure you that no one will come to your aid. Money does have its uses, you know."

  "Yes, I know," she agreed frigidly. "It allows some people to act like bullies without fear of retribution. Very well, shall we leave?"

  He smiled in grim triumph and placed a bill on the table, and even in her anger she was startled at the amount he had laid down. She looked up in time to see him nod to the maitre d', and by the time they had made their way across the room her wrap was waiting. Nikolas took the wrap and gently placed it about her shoulders, his hands lingering there for a moment as his fingers moved over her flesh. A blinding flash of light told her that this, too, had been photographed, and involuntarily Jessica shrank closer to him in an effort to hide. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he frowned as he looked down at her suddenly pale face. He looked around until he located the photographer, and though he said nothing, Jessica heard a muttered apology somewhere behind them. Then Nikolas had his arm firmly around her waist and he led her outside, where his car was just being driven up. When the doorman and the young man who had brought the ear had been settled with and Nikolas had seen that she was securely buckled into her seat, he said, "Why do you flinch whenever a flash goes off?"

  "I dislike publicity," she muttered.

  "It scarcely matters whether you like it or not," he said quietly. "Your actions have made certain that you will have it, regardless, and you certainly should be used to it by now. Your marriage made quite a lot of grist for the mill."

  "I'm aware of that," she said. "I've been called a bitch to my face and a lot worse to my back, but that doesn't mean that I've ever become accustomed to it. I was eighteen years old, Mr. Constantinos"—she stressed the word—"and I was crucified by the press. I've never forgotten."

  ' 'Did you think no one would notice when you married a rich, elderly man of Robert Stanton's reputation?" he almost snarled. "For God's sake, Jessica, you all but begged to be crucified!"

  "So I discovered," she said, her voice catching. "Robert and I ceased going out in public when it became obvious that I would never be accepted as his wife, though he didn't care on his own account. He said that he would find out who his true friends were, and there were a few. He seemed to cherish those few, and never said anything that indicated he wanted his life to be any different, at least in my hearing. Robert was endlessly kind," she finished quietly, for she found that even the memories of Robert helped to calm her. He had seen life so clearly, without illusions and with a great deal of humor. What would he think about this predatory man who sat beside her now?

  He drove in silence and she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, tired and rather drained. All in all, it had been a long day, and the worst part was still to come, unless he decided to act decently and leave her alone. But somehow she doubted that Nikolas Constantinos ever acted in any way except to please himself, so she had best brace herself for war.

  When he pulled up in the drive on her side of the house, she noticed thankfully that Sallie and Joel were home and were still awake, though her watch told her that it was ten-thirty. He cut off the engine and put the keys in his pocket, then got out and came around to open her door. He leaned in and helped her to gather her long skirt, then all but lifted her out of the car. "I'm not an invalid," she said tartly as his arm slid about her waist and pulled her against his side.

  "That's why I'm holding you," he explained, his low laughter brushing her hair. "To prevent you from running."

  Fuming helplessly, Jessica watched as he took the key from her bag and opened the door, ushering her inside with that iron arm at her back. She ignored him and marched into the kitchen to check on Samantha. She knelt and scratched the dog behind the ears, receiving a loving lick on the hand in return. A puppy squeaked at being disturbed and it too received a lick of the warm tongue, then Jessica was startled as two hard hands closed over her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

  She had had enough; she was tired of him and his arrogance. She exploded with rage, hitting at his face and twisting her body in his grasp as he tried to hold her against him. "No, damn you!" she cried. "I told you I won't!"

  Samantha rose to her feet and gave a growl at seeing her mistress treated so roughly, but the puppies began to cry in alarm as she left them and she turned back to look at her offspring. By that time Nikolas had swept Jessica off her feet and into his arms and was back through the kitchen door with her, shouldering it shut behind him. He wasn't even breathing hard as he captured her flailing arms, and that made her even angrier. She arched her back and kicked in an effort to wiggle out of his arms; she hit out at that broad chest, and when that failed to stop him, she opened her mouth to scream. Swiftly he forced her head against his shoulder and her scream was largely muffled by his body. Blinded and breathless with fury, she gave a strangled cry as he suddenly dropped her.

  Soft cushions broke her fall, then her body was instantly covered by his hard weight as he dropped down on her and pinned her. "Damn you, be still," he hissed, stretching a long arm up over her head. For a sickening moment she thought he would slap her, and she caught her breath, but no blow fell. Instead, he switched on the lamp at the end of the sofa and a soft light bathed the room. She hadn't realized where they were until he turned on the lamp and now she looked about her at the comfortable, sane setting of her living room. She turned her head to look up with bewilderment into the furious dark face above her.

  "What's the matter with you?" he barked.

  She blinked. Hadn't he been attacking her? He had certainly been manhandling her! Even now his heavy legs pressed down on hers and she knew that her skirt was twisted above her knees. She moved restlessly under him and he let his weight down more heavily on her in warning. "Well?" he growled.

  "But…I thought…weren't you attacking me?" she asked, her brow puckering. "I thought you were, and so did Samantha."

  "If I had been attacking you, the situation was reversed before I got very far," he snapped. "Damn you, Jessica, you don't know how tempting you are—and how infuriating—" He broke off, his black eyes moving to her lips. She squirmed and turned her head away, a breathless little "No" coming from her, but he captured her head with a hand on each side of her face and turned her mouth back to him. He was only a breath away and she tried to protest again, then it was too late. His hard mouth closed over her soft one, forcing her lips open, and his warm, wine-fragrant breath filled her mouth. His tongue followed, exploring and caressing her inner mouth, flicking at her own tongue, sending her senses reeling.

  She was frightened by the pressure of his big, hard body over hers and for a moment her slim hands pushed uselessly at his heavy shoulders. But his mouth was warm and he wasn't hurting her now, and she had never before been kissed like this. For a moment—only one moment, she promised herself—she allowed herself to curve in his arms, to respond to him and kiss him back. Her hands slid over his broad shoulders to clasp about his neck, her tongue responded shyly to his; then she no longer had the option of returning his caresses or not. He shuddered and his arms tightened painfully about her and his mouth went wild, ravaging, sucking her breath hungrily from her body. He muttered something, thickly, and it took her dazed mind a minute to realize he had spoken in French and to translate the words. When she did, her face flamed and she tried to push him away, but still she was helpless against him.

  He slid one hand under her neck and deftly unhooked the halter strap of her bodice. As his mouth left hers and trailed a fiery path down her neck, she managed a choked

  "No," to which he paid no attention at all. His lips moved the loosened straps of her bodice down as he planted fierce kisses along her shoulder and collarbone, licking the tender spot in the hollow of her shoulder until she almost forgot her rising fear and quivered with pleasure, clutching his
ribs with helpless hands. He became impatient with the straps, still in the way of his wandering mouth, and jerked roughly at them, intent on baring her to the waist, and panic erupted in Jessica with the force of a volcano.

  With a strangled cry she twisted frantically in his arms, holding her bodice up with one arm while, with the other, she tried to force his head away from her. He snarled in frustration and jerked her arm above her head, reaching for the material of her dress with his other hand. Her heartbeat came to a standstill and with superhuman effort she pulled her hand free, beating at his back. "No!" she cried out, nearly hysterical. "No, Nikolas, don't; I beg you!"

  He stilled her words with the forceful pressure of his mouth, and she realized in a jolt of pure terror that she couldn't control him; he was bent on taking her. A sob erupted from her throat and she released her bodice to beat at him with both hands, crying wildly and choking out the muffled words, "No! No…" He raised his lips from hers and she moaned, "Please! Nikolas! Ah, don't!"

  The savage movements of his hands stopped and he lay still, his breath heaving raggedly in his chest. She shook with sobs, her small face drenched with tears. He groaned deep in his throat and slid off the sofa, to kneel beside it and rest his black head on the cushion beside her. Silence fell on the room again and she tried to choke back her tears. Hesitantly she put her hands on his head, sliding her fingers through his thick hair, not understanding her need to comfort him but unable to resist the impulse. He quivered under the touch of her hands and she smelled the fresh sweat on his body, the maleness of his skin, and she realized how aroused he had been. But he had stopped; he hadn't forced her, after all, and she could feel all of her hostility draining away. For all her inexperience she knew enough about men to know that it had been quite a wrench for him to become so aroused and then stop, and she was deeply grateful to him.

  At length he raised his head, and she gasped at the strained, grim expression on his face. "Straighten your dress," he said thickly, "or it may be too late yet."

  Hastily she hooked her straps back into place and pushed the skirt down over her legs. She would have liked to sit up, but with him so close it would have been awkward, so she remained lying against the cushions until he moved. He ran his hand wearily through his hair. "Perhaps it's just as well," he said a moment later, getting to his feet. "We made no preparations, and I know I couldn't have— Was that what frightened you, Jessica? The thought of the risk we'd have been taking with an unwanted pregnancy?"

  Her voice was husky when she spoke. "No, it…it wasn't that. You just…frightened me." She sat up and wiped at her wet cheeks with the palms of her hands. He looked at her and grimly produced the handkerchief that she had used earlier, to dry her eyes when he had first arrived—was it only a few hours ago? She accepted the square of linen and dried her face, then gave it back to him.

  He gave a short, harsh laugh. "So I frightened you? I wanted to do a lot of things to you, but frightening you wasn't one of them. You're a dangerous woman, my dear, deadly in your charm. You leave a man aching and empty after you've pulled away." He inhaled deeply and began to button his shirt, and only then did she notice that somehow his jacket had been discarded and his shirt unbuttoned and pulled loose from his pants. She had no memory of opening his shirt, but only she could have done it, for his hands had been too busy on her to have accomplished it.

  His face still wore that taut, strained look and she said in a rush, "I'm sorry, Nikolas."

  "So am I, my dear." His dark gaze flickered to her and a tight little smile touched his mouth. "But you're calling me Nikolas now, so something has been accomplished." He tucked his shirt inside his pants and dropped down on the sofa beside her. "I want to see you again, and soon," he said, taking her hand. "Will you come sailing with me tomorrow? I promise that I won't rush you; I won't frighten you as I did tonight. I'll give you time to get to know me, to realize that you'll be perfectly safe with me. Whoever frightened you of men should be shot, but it won't be like that with me. You'll see," he said encouragingly.

  Safe? Would she ever be safe with this man? She strongly doubted it, but he had been nicer than she would have expected and she didn't want to make him angry, so she tempered her words. "I don't think so, Nikolas. Not tomorrow. It's too soon."

  His mouth pressed into an ominous line, then he sighed and got to his feet. "I'll call you tomorrow, and don't try anything foolish like trying to hide from me. I'd only find you, and you might not like the consequences. I won't be put off like that again. Do you understand?"

  "I understand that you're threatening me!" she said spiritedly.

  He grinned suddenly. "You're safe so long as you don't push me, Jessica. I want you, but I can wait."

  Jessica tossed her head. "It could be a long wait," she felt compelled to warn.

  "Or it could be a short one," he warned in his turn. "As I said, I'll call you tomorrow. Think about the sailing; you'd like it."

  "I've never been sailing; I don't know the first thing about it. I could be seasick."

  "It'll be fun teaching you what you don't know," he said, and he meant more than sailing. He leaned over and pressed a warm kiss to her mouth, then drew away before she could either respond or resist. "I'll let myself out Good night, Jessica."

  "Good night, Nikolas." It felt odd to be saying good night to him as if those moments of passion and terror had never happened. She watched as he picked up his jacket from the floor and walked out, his tall, lean body moving with the wild grace of a tiger. When he was gone, the house felt empty and too quiet, and she had a sinking feeling that Nikolas Constantinos was going to turn her life upside down.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Despite feeling edgy when she went to bed, Jessica slept deeply and woke in a cheerful frame of mind. She had been silly to let that man work her into a state of nerves, but she would try to avoid him in the future. Charles could handle all the details of selling the stock.

  Humming to herself, she fed Samantha and praised the puppies to their proud mother, then made toast for herself. She had not acquired the English habit of tea, so instead she drank coffee; she was lingering over the second cup when Sallie rapped on the window of the back door. Jessica got up to unlock the door and let her in, and she noticed the worried frown that marred Sallie's usually smiling face. Sallie held a folded section of newspaper.

  "Is anything wrong?" asked Jessica. "But before you tell me, would you like a cup of coffee?"

  Sallie made a face. "Coffee, my girl? You're not civilized yet! No, Jess, I think you should see this. It's a nasty piece, and just when all of that business was beginning to die down. I wouldn't have brought it over, Joel thought I shouldn't, but—well, you'll be hit with it when you go out, and I thought it would be better for you to see it privately."

  Jessica held out her hand wordlessly for the paper, but she already knew what it was. Sallie had folded it to the gossip and society pages, and there were two photographs there. One, of course, was of Nikolas kissing her. She noticed dispassionately that it was a good picture, Nikolas so dark and strong, she much slighter in build, their mouths clinging together over the table. The other photo was the one taken when they had been leaving and Nikolas had had his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with an expression that made her shiver. Raw hunger was evident in his face in that photo, and remembering what had happened when he brought her home made her wonder anew that he had stopped when she became frightened.

  But Sallie was pointing to the column under the photos and Jessica sat down at the table to read it. It was a witty, sophisticated column, tart in places, but at one point the columnist became purringly vicious. Nausea welled in her as she skimmed over the lines of print:

  London's notorious Black Widow was observed spinning her web over another helpless and adoring victim last night; the elusive Greek billionaire Nikolas Constantinos appeared to be completely captivated by the Widow's charm. Can it be that she had exhausted the funds left to her by her
late husband, the esteemed Robert Stanton? Certainly Nikolas is able to maintain her in her accustomed style, yet from all reports this man may not be as easy to capture as she found her first husband. One wonders just who will be the victor in the end. The Widow seems to stop at nothing—but neither does her chosen prey. We will observe with interest.

  Jessica dropped the paper onto the table and sat staring blindly across the room. She shouldn't let it bother her; she had been expecting this to happen. And certainly she should be accustomed to it, after five years, but it seemed that rather than becoming hardened, she was more sensitive now than she had been years ago. Then she had had Robert to buffer her, to ease the pain and make her laugh, but now she had no one. Any pain she suffered was suffered alone. The Black Widow—that phrase had been coined immediately after Robert's death, and it had stuck. Before that they had at least referred to her by name. The cutting little bits had always been nasty but stopped short of libel, not that she would ever have pursued the matter. The publicity involved in a suit would have been even nastier, and she would rather live a quiet life, with her few friends and small pleasures. She would even have returned to the States if it hadn't been for Robert's business interests, but she wanted to see to them and use the knowledge Robert had given her. Robert would have wanted that, too, she knew.

  Sallie was watching her anxiously, so Jessica pulled a deep, shuddering breath into her lungs and forced herself to speak. "Well, that was certainly a vicious bit, wasn't it? I had almost forgotten how really rotten it can be… But I won't make the mistake of going out again. It isn't worth it."

  "But you can't hide away all your life," protested Sal-lie. "You're so young; it isn't fair to treat you like—like a leper!"

  A leper—what an appalling thought! Yet Sallie wasn't so wrong, even though Jessica had yet to be stoned out of town. She was still welcome in very few homes.