then looked down at the thick fragments of glass which glittered by their feet. Mostly from a desire to steer the conversation away from her shameful lack of experience with the opposite sex, she began to turn away. ‘I’d better go and fetch a dustpan and brush’
‘No.’
There he went again, dishing out the orders! Jade stared up at him, half in anger, half in admiration, marvelling that it actually felt extraordinarily good to be around such a masterful man. Shame on her!
‘You put some covering on your finger. Go! I will deal with the glass.’
She found herself obeying him without question. In the tiny bedroom she found the box of Elastoplast she had brought with her from England, and, after removing the wrapping, she shakily ap- plied one to her thumb. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen, presumably looking for the dustpan and brush. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d find it!
She wondered fleetingly whether she had a touch of sunstroke. Surely normal women of her age didn’t allow half-clothed perfect strangers the run of their house? And yet, given the outstanding at- traction of the man, she didn’t feel in the least bit threatened. She examined her finger carefully. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She felt a threat, all right, but it had absolutely nothing to do with thinking that he might be some mad axeman. It was more an interested kind of wondering just what would happen if she caught him in a judo stranglehold. That expressive little ‘whoosh’ sound he’d made… implying… mmmm…
She went outside to find him disposing of the last of the glass. It was strange to see such a self- proclaimed non-modern man doing it so com- petently, and yet to see Constantine brushing up the fragments of glass… it almost emphasised his masculinity, rather than detracting from it. Con- fusing, she thought fleetingly. He’d talked about the man assuming the dominant role, and had teased her about feminists, and yet he didn’t seem to mind lending a hand. Interesting.
As she appeared, he straightened up.
‘I will wrap it up tightly in newspaper,’ he in- structed. ‘So no more cut fingers.’
Jade nodded, acknowledging the perverse sinking of her heart. There was something of the farewell in the way he spoke. Surely he wasn’t going?
She ventured a smile. ‘You didn’t have your drink.’
‘No matter. It is time I was going.’
She had been right. ‘Yes.’ Disappointment crept through her veins like a debilitating drug.
‘I shall collect you at seven.’
‘Collect me?’ squeaked Jade, only keeping the excitement from her voice with the most monu- mental of efforts. ‘What for?’
The mouth moved again in its curious smile. ’Why, for dinner, of course.’
‘I’m having dinner with you?’
‘Of course. Don’t you want to?’
Which he asked with all the casual arrogance of a man who knew damned well that of course she wanted to have dinner with him! Who wouldn’t? Jade had never experienced this overwhelming at- traction before; it made you weak and it made you powerless. And she wasn’t really sure whether she liked the feeling or not. Besides which—wouldn’t it be totally foolhardy to go tripping off with him? Why should he presume that she’d just drop every- thing and have dinner with him? And what hap- pened after dinner? What did he expect? Did he assume that because she was English she was going to fall into bed with him?
‘What makes you think I’ll say yes?’
He gave a slow smile, then raised that olive- skinned hand to her face. ‘These,’ he said softly, as he indicated her eyes. ‘They give me one answer and one answer only. Then this—’ And a finger brushed negligently over the bow of her mouth. ‘It trembles with anticipation. And—’ and here the eyes changed, the spark in their ebony depths be- coming a feverish flame ‘—there are other outward signs of how much you want to see me again, but we will not go into those. Not now.’
She was innocent, but she knew exactly what he meant. She had been unsuccessfully trying to ignore the hot tingling as her tiny breasts thrust against the still damp material of her bikini top. The tips were as painfully hard as metal and yet the pain was bearable, pleasurable even, and her eyelids dropped to hide her confusion. She knew what she wanted, what she clamoured for. She clamoured for his touch. And, oh, heavens—wasn’t it desperately shameful to want a complete stranger to touch her intimately? To run those strong brown fingers all over her pale breasts and to linger on the soft swell of her belly? Her cheeks burned.
He moved his hand beneath her chin, so that their eyes were locked on a collision course. In his eyes she could see reflected the febrile glitter in hers. ’I’ll pick you up at seven,’ he said huskily.
It wasn’t fair, thought Jade. For a man to wield so much power over women—all women, she rec- ognised with a violently jealous flare. I’ll bet he never has to ask twice, she thought, with a sudden inexplicable anger, and was determined that in this, at least—she would be different. ‘No, I can’t,’ she said stubbornly and immediately saw a momentary flare of irritation before it was replaced by a ques- tioning look.
‘You’re busy?’
‘That’s right.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he said quietly.
‘Why, of all the—’
But he cut her off with an arrogant shake of his black head. ‘Listen to me, Jade,’ he said quietly. ’You return to England shortly, yes?’
‘In three days,’ something compelled her to tell him.
‘So.’ The hand was still holding her face with gentle strength. ‘We can either play foolish little games with each other. Or…’
‘Or?’
His eyes narrowed; his expression was rueful— as though he was reluctant to complete the sentence.
‘Or we can follow our hearts,’ he said simply.
If anyone else had said it, she would have told them that they were being ridiculously corny, that no one said things like that and meant them, and yet it was the most romantic thing she’d ever en- countered, and Jade felt a warm glow suffuse every pore of her body.
She stared up at him, a lost cause for assertive womanhood. ‘OK,’ she said, giving him a faltering smile as she looked into his eyes. ‘I’ll see you at seven.’
‘Until seven,’ he said, his hand falling from her face as he strode swiftly from the courtyard.
IN THE five hours until Constantine collected her, Jade experienced just about every mood-swing in the book. What the hell was she playing at? He could be anyone—anyone at all!
What did she know about him?
Absolutely nothing.
Well,
