Читать книгу Constantine's Revenge - Kate Walker - Страница 7

‘OVER there.’

Grace lifted a finger to point, then immediately dropped it again when her hand showed a worrying tendency to shake in a way that revealed her inner turmoil.

‘It’s the last house on the right. The one with the blue door.’

Constantine’s nod of acknowledgement was curt and silent as he steered the car to a halt precisely opposite the door she had indicated. Perhaps, like her, he was already regretting the impulse that had pushed him to insist on taking her home. Perhaps he too had found what stiff and hesitant conversation there had been during the brief journey so uncomfortable that he was glad their time together was almost over.

Which suited Grace fine. All she wanted was to get out of the car and get inside, into the safety and privacy of her small flat. If she had to sit next to Constantine for a moment longer, listen to his stilted, one-word responses to the few remarks she had managed to force herself to make, she was going to scream with frustration.

‘That’s perfect. Thank you.’

Already she was fumbling with the seatbelt, even before the powerful vehicle had fully come to a halt at the side of the kerb, anxious to be out of the car and away from his unsettling presence.

‘It was kind of you to see me home… What did you say?’

The question was jolted from her in response to something Constantine had muttered. Something incomprehensible in Greek that had sounded rough and impatient, stilling her nervous movements suddenly.

But even as she asked the question, she saw the change in his mood. With an obvious effort he smoothed away the frown that had drawn his brows, the cynical twist to his carved mouth.

‘I’ll see you to your door,’ he said, his voice retaining nothing of the disturbing intonation of moments before.

‘There’s no need.’

But she was talking to thin air. Already Constantine was out of the car and moving round to open the passenger door for her.

It was only a few yards from the edge of the kerb to the threshold of her house. Just a few short steps, but they seemed to take an eternity, every sound of their feet on the pavement ringing unnaturally loudly in the midnight silence of the street. At her side, Constantine was a dark, silent figure, his long stride outstripping hers so that she had to hurry to keep up with him.

To her intense annoyance she found that her inner tension had communicated itself to her hands, so that she fumbled clumsily as she tried to insert her key in the lock. Supremely conscious of Constantine’s eyes, dark as the night sky, watching every awkward move, she cursed herself silently under her breath, trying again. Luckily this time she succeeded, and turned back to face him, relief evident in her smile and her voice.

‘Well, here I am. Safe and sound, as you can see. Thank you again for seeing me home.’

If this really had been a first meeting, she would have added something about having enjoyed her evening, perhaps even a suggestion that they could do it again some time. But of course the idea that they could turn back the clock in that way was a pure fiction, throwing her mind into total confusion as she hunted for a way to say goodbye that fitted the circumstances.

‘I—I’ll say goodnight, then.’

‘Is that all?’

‘All? You— I mean, what else is there? After all…’ She aimed for flippancy and missed it by a mile, her voice becoming high-pitched and shrill. ‘We’ve only just met tonight.’

‘So would it be too forward to ask for a kiss goodnight?’

The question sounded light, friendly even. The way he’d been earlier in the evening, in the kitchen, when they’d been pretending that they really had just met.

A goodnight kiss; nothing more. She could cope with that.

But underneath all the carefully rational, logical reasoning lay something darker, something more disturbing. Something that lurked like the jagged rocks at the bottom of a still, calm sea, just waiting to catch at the base of her thinking and rip it apart, laying open the real truth. The one she hardly dared acknowledge to herself. The fact that she wanted this, wanted Constantine’s kiss more than she would ever admit.

‘Okay.’ She nodded—casually, she hoped. ‘One kiss goodnight…’

Constantine’s head lowered, blocking out the light from the nearby streetlamp, and instinctively her lips parted slightly.

But it was her cheek that his mouth made contact with, the kiss brushing against it warm and soft and so painfully familiar. And heartbreakingly brief.

‘Goodnight.’

Before she even had time to think, even as she was steadying herself for the real kiss, the one her lips were aching for, the one that had already quickened her heartbeat in anticipation, he had stepped back.

‘Goodnight,’ he said again, his voice harsh and flippantly dismissive. ‘See you around.’

Grace couldn’t believe it. She shivered inside as pain, raw and cruel, ripped through her, lacerating her heart. She had actually let herself believe—had hoped… Bitter tears of humiliation burned in her eyes, blinding her.

‘G-goodnight.’

She forced herself to say it. Forced herself to turn the handle and open her door. Felt the rush of warm air from the hall out into the coldness of the night.

But she couldn’t make herself step over the threshold and into the house. Even now she couldn’t turn and move away from him.

It was not enough! She wanted more, so much more. That one kiss had sparked off all the need, the hunger, the passion she had once felt for this man and which she had thought was safely buried, out of sight.

But it seemed that Constantine had spoken nothing more or less than the truth when he had said so casually, ‘I’m over it.’

‘I—I’ll…’

Go! Her mind screamed at her. Out of here now, before it gets any worse!

But, no, her heart pleaded. Let me have just a little bit more. Just one moment longer in his company. After these two long, empty years, let me have one more chance to hear his voice, see him smile.

Before she knew she had even formed the thought she had acted impulsively. The aroma of Constantine’s cologne and the warm, clean scent of his body reached her nostrils as she leaned towards him, making her head swim with the force of its sensual impact. His eyes were deeper, darker pools in the shadows of the night, and she could hear the soft, regular sound of his breathing.

‘Goodnight,’ she said on a very different note as, taking her cue from him, she pressed her lips to the hard, lean plane of his cheek. The warm satin of his skin was slightly roughened by the result of a day’s growth of beard that brushed abrasively against her mouth.

‘And thank you…’

But that one unthinking act proved her undoing. With a phenomenal speed of reaction, Constantine turned his head so that her lips were forced to move. Unable to do anything but slip over the bronzed skin, as if on ice over a frozen pond, they found themselves sliding inexorably towards the heated softness that was his mouth.

‘Grace…’

He muttered something thick and rough in Greek against her lips before taking them harshly, urgently, crushing her mouth under his.

‘You should have gone—headed for safety—while you had the chance. Now it’s much too late.’

Too late! Grace echoed inside her head on a note of disbelief. It had already been too late in the moment that he’d kissed her. Even such a desultory peck on the cheek had told her all she needed to know.

No, it had been earlier than that. It had happened in the moment when she had opened Ivan’s door and looked into the black depths of his eyes and known that, no matter what had happened, Constantine was still the only man in the world for her.

‘Sweet Grace…’

A cold sneaking wind wound itself around Grace’s legs, but she was beyond noticing it. The bulk of Constantine’s strong body protected her from the cold, and the heated race of her blood through her own veins warmed her skin until she felt as if she was on fire. Her heartbeat was staccato with excitement, the coming and going of air in her lungs feverishly erratic.

‘You really should have gone in.’ Constantine’s breathing was every bit as uneven as her own, his voice hoarse and jerky. ‘Now there’s no turning back. Grace, agape mou…invite me in.’

Invite me in. It was a command, not a request. She knew exactly what was behind it, what was uppermost in his mind.

So why wasn’t she saying no? Why wasn’t she telling him to get out of there and out of her life? The thought slid into her mind very briefly, but then, just as swiftly, slid straight out again.

‘D-do…?’

Her voice failed her, drying painfully, so that she had to moisten her lips before she could speak again. In the light from the hall she saw Constantine’s black eyes drop to her mouth, to follow the tiny, unconsciously provocative movement with an intensity that made her heart jerk convulsively against her chest.

‘Do you want to come in?’

‘Do I…?’ It was a shaken, husky laugh. ‘Grace, I swear to God that if you don’t let me in with you right now, I’ll—’

‘There’s no need for that!’ Grace broke in hurriedly, shaken, breathless, half terrified of what he might be about to say. ‘Come in, out of the cold.’

It seemed to her that the slam of the door behind her, shutting out the world and closing them in together, was a sound of decision, defining a moment that would change her life for ever. It was now too late to go back, to even think of changing her mind.

And she didn’t want to. All she wanted was right here, with her, at her side. His arms enclosed her. His heart beat under her cheek, and she felt as if she had come home.

But once inside the mood changed sharply. She had barely closed the door before Constantine released her so abruptly that she felt as if she had been dropped from a great height, landing, stunned and disbelieving, on a very hard floor.

She could only watch as he pushed his way into her flat and prowled around it like some caged wild beast, scenting out the borders of its new territory.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned on his heels so that his dark-eyed gaze could take in the comfortable living room with the pale cream armchairs—the room was too small to take a settee—peach velvet curtains, and softly polished pinewood dresser. On the far wall, opposite the big bay window, was a Victorian style cast-iron open fireplace set in a tiled surround.

‘It’s not very big…’ he murmured at last, his survey completed.

‘It’s all I could afford!’ Grace protested indignantly. ‘We can’t all have homes on every continent and a private plane to ferry us between them.’

‘Half of the houses are owned by my parents,’ Constantine pointed out, his tone coolly reasonable. ‘I only have the use of them.’

‘But what you do own my poky little flat would fit into a hundred times over.’

‘Did I say it was poky?’ he murmured smoothly, continuing his exploration.

He didn’t need to, Grace was forced to reflect, ruing her foolish tongue. What she had really meant was that now she saw him in her flat it was as if his tall, imposing presence so dominated the room that it appeared it had shrunk around him, becoming impossibly small and claustrophobic.

‘W-would you like coffee?’ Belatedly she remembered her role as hostess.

‘No.’

Stark and uncompromising, it was tossed over his shoulder at her as he studied the collection of paperbacks on her bookshelf.

‘Tea, then?’

‘No…’

‘Something stronger?’

The question was high-pitched and uneven, coming from a throat that had tightened uncomfortably over the question she knew she was really asking. This was his opportunity to say no, he couldn’t drink any more because he was driving.

‘Some wine, perhaps?’

An autocratic gesture dismissed the question; Constantine’s attention was still fixed on her book collection. But then a moment later he shook his dark head.

‘Perhaps—yes…’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Constantine!’ Grace exploded, more on edge than she had allowed herself to admit. ‘Yes—no—perhaps… Which is it?’ she added, braving his swift frown. ‘Make up your mind.’

‘Cristos, I am trying to be civilised, that is all! But I feel—’

‘You feel?’ Grace echoed when he broke off abruptly. ‘What do you feel?’

Unexpectedly those black eyes avoided her questioning grey ones. It was such a shock to see the confident, self-assured Constantine Kiriazis so uncharacteristically at a loss for words that it gave her the determination to go on, push him a little harder.

‘Constantine? What do you feel?’

For the space of another heartbeat he still hesitated. But then, just when she was sure he was going to ignore her completely, or change the subject, a dismissive lift of the broad shoulders under the elegant coat shrugged off whatever restraint he was imposing on himself.

‘I feel totally uncivilised,’ he muttered, his voice thickened and rough. ‘If you want the truth, I feel wild, pagan—primitive.’

Well, she’d asked!

‘And why…?’

‘You know why!’

Constantine flung the words at her as if he hated having to speak them. Yellow flames of emotion flared in his eyes, burning away the control he had been imposing so ruthlessly up until this moment, and his proud head went back in a gesture of defiance.

‘I feel this way because of you. I want you! I’ve wanted you all night! I’ve always wanted you—and I doubt if I’ll ever be cured of this need. The two years we’ve been apart have been hell. Not having you has been like an ache in my gut, always there, always reminding me of how it used to be.’

‘Me?’

She couldn’t believe what she had heard. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but right now it was enough. He wanted her. He had missed her. He had hurt being without her.

‘Grace.’

Her name was a raw, rough-voiced sound.

‘Grace, come here!’

Common sense screamed at her to be careful, to hesitate, to allow time for second thoughts. But her heart brushed aside such foolish considerations impatiently.

She wasn’t even aware of having moved before she was across the room and in his arms, feeling them close around her, holding her tight.

His mouth claimed hers in the same second, shocking in its wild, hungry demand. And Grace responded in kind, all the pent-up longing, the loneliness, the agony of the past two years exploding into a white-hot, raging conflagration of need. She kissed him back with all the force of her emotions laid bare for him to see.

‘Grace, pethi mou…beautiful Grace…’ Constantine muttered against her mouth. ‘You are mine. You always have been mine. I will let no one else…’

‘There is no one else,’ Grace managed breathlessly, dragging in air in a brief respite from the calculated assault upon her senses. ‘No one now, no one—’

Some sixth sense had her snatching back the final word before she spoke it. She wanted Constantine to know that there was no other man in her life right now. Whether she also wanted to admit that there had been no one else since he had walked out on her was quite another matter entirely.

Oh, there had been plenty of interest. She had even been out on a few dates. But they had been short and not particularly sweet. No matter how hard she’d tried, she’d found it impossible to put on even a show of an interest she was very far from feeling.

And now she knew why. For the past two years she had been slowly starving inside, wasting away emotionally without a sight or sound of Constantine to nourish her. She had been in suspended animation, like Sleeping Beauty, waiting only for his kiss to bring her alive again.

And she never wanted to go back to those empty days. Never wanted even to think of them. Particularly not now, with Constantine’s arms enclosing her, his hands caressing her body, his mouth following a heated trail from her lips, across the soft skin of her cheek and down her throat to where her heightened pulse beat frantically in the scooped neckline of her tee shirt.

‘I lied, you know…’ he muttered against her hot skin.

‘What?’

Adrift on a warm sea of pleasure, Grace only registered that he had spoken. But then the true import of that lied hit home, slashing into her delirium.

‘You what?’ Fear clutched at her heart. ‘Constantine?’

His laughter feathered over her tightly stretched nerves, softly reassuring.

‘I lied. When I said I didn’t like what you were wearing.’

“‘Distressingly unflattering” were the words you used, I believe,’ Grace managed, the words sounding strangled and uneven as long-fingered bronzed hands smoothed over the offending outfit, making her writhe in responsive delight.

‘Distressingly provocative is more like it!’ Constantine growled. ‘Do you know what it does to me to see the way those jeans hug your pert little backside, the sway of your breasts underneath your tee shirt?’

‘I never wore a bra when I was fourteen.’

Her reply broke in the middle, cracking noticeably as those wickedly knowing fingers found the small gap between the bottom of her shrunken tee shirt and the tight-fitting waistband of the denim jeans. Shuddering in response to the tiny electric shocks of pleasure his touch sparked off along her sensitised nerves, she caught her lower lip between her teeth in order to hold back the cry of delight that almost escaped her.

‘And every time you moved, this tiny patch of skin could just be seen…tormenting me, tantalising, just begging to be touched.’

He was touching it now—with a vengeance! Making her shiver and writhe against him in a way that made the heated force of his desire only too obvious through the fine fabric of his well-cut trousers. Her blood raced through her veins, making her heart pound, her thoughts swim.