All That Glitters Page 16

  A long time later she was roused by the sound of someone shouting her name. Oddly, she couldn't raise her head, but she opened her eyes and stared through the dim gray light of dawn, trying to see who had called her. She was cold, so cold, and it hurt to keep her eyes open. With a sigh, she closed them again. The shout came again, and now the voice was strangled. Perhaps someone was hurt and needed help. Gathering her strength, she tried to sit up, and the explosion of pain in her head sent her reeling into a tunnel of darkness.

  Nightmares tormented her. A black-eyed devil kept bending over her, hurting her, and she screamed and tried to push him away from her, but he kept coming back when she least expected it. She wanted Nikolas, he would keep the devil from hurting her, but then she would remember that Nikolas didn't love her and she knew she had to fight alone. And there was the pain in her head, her legs, that stabbed at her whenever she tried to push the devil away. Sometimes she cried weakly to herself, wondering when it would end and someone would help her.

  Gradually she realized that she was in a hospital. She knew the smells, the sounds, the starchy white uniforms that moved around. What had happened? Oh, yes, she had fallen on the rocks. But even when she knew where she was, she still cried out in fear when that big, black-eyed man leaned over her. Part of her knew now that he wasn't a devil; he must be a doctor, but there was something about him…he reminded her of someone…

  Then at last she opened her eyes and her vision was clear. She lay very still in the high hospital bed, mentally taking stock of herself and discovering what parts worked, what parts didn't work. Her arms and hands generally obeyed commands, though a needle was taped to the inside of her left arm and a clear plastic line attached it to an upside-down bottle that hung over her head. She frowned at the apparatus until that became clear in her mind and she knew it for what it was. Her legs worked also, though every movement was painful and she was stiff and sore in every muscle.

  Her head. She had banged her head. Slowly she raised her right arm and touched the side of her head. It was still swollen and tender, but her hair was still there, so she knew that the injury hadn't been serious enough to warrant surgery. All in all, she was extremely lucky, because she hadn't drowned, either.

  She turned her head and discovered immediately that it wasn't a smart move; she closed her eyes against the bursting pain, and when it had subsided to a tolerable ache, she opened her eyes again, but this time she didn't move her head. Instead, she looked about the hospital room carefully, moving nothing but her eyes. It was a pleasant room, with curtains at the windows, and the curtains were drawn back to let in the golden crystal of the sunshine. Comfortable-looking chairs were set about the room, one right beside her bed and several others against the far wall. An icon was set in the corner, a gentle little statue of the Virgin Mary in colors of blue and gold, and even from across the room Jessica could make out the gentle, glowing patience on her face. She sighed softly, comforted by the delicate Little Mother.

  A sweet fragrance filled the room, noticeable even above the hospital smells of medicine and disinfectant.

  Great vases of flowers were set about the room, not roses as she would have expected, but pure white French lillies, and she smiled as she looked at them. She liked lillies; they were such tall, graceful flowers.

  The door opened slowly, almost hesitantly, and from the corner of her eye Jessica recognized the white of Madame Constantinos's hair. She wasn't foolish enough to turn her head again but she said, "Maman," and was surprised at the weakness of her own voice.

  "Jessica, love, you're awake again," Madame Constantinos said joyously, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. "I should tell the doctor, I know, but first I want to kiss you, if I may. We've all been so worried."

  "I fell on the rocks," Jessica said by way of explanation.

  "Yes, we know," Madame Constantinos said, brushing Jessica's cheek with her soft lips. "That was three days ago. To complicate the concussion you had, you developed an inflammation in your lungs from the soaking you received, all on top of shock. Niko has been frantic; we haven't been able to make him leave the hospital even to sleep."

  Nikolas. She didn't want to think about Nikolas. She thrust all thoughts of him out of her tired mind. "I'm still so tired," she murmured, her eyelashes fluttering closed again.

  "Yes, of course," Madame Constantinos said gently, patting her hand. "I must tell the nurses now that you're awake; the doctor will want to see you."

  She left the room and Jessica dozed, to be awakened some unknown time later by cool fingers closing around her wrist. She opened her eyes to drowsily study the dark, slightly built doctor who was taking her pulse. "Hello," she said when he let her wrist down onto the bed.

  "Hello, yourself," he said in perfect English, smiling. "I am your doctor, Alexander Theotokas. Just relax and let me look into your eyes for a moment, h'mmm?"

  He shone his little pencil flashlight into her eyes and seemed satisfied with what he found. Then he listened intently to her heart and lungs, and at last put away his chart to smile at her.

  "So, you've decided at last to wake up. You sustained a rather severe concussion, but you were in shock, so we postponed surgery until you had stabilized, and then you confounded us by getting better on your own," he teased.

  "I'm glad," she said, managing a weak smile. "I don't fancy myself bald-headed."

  "Yes, that would have been a pity," he said, touching a thick tawny strand. "Until you consider how adorable you would have been with short baby curls all over your head! Nevertheless, you've been steadily improving. Your lungs are almost clear now and the swelling is nearly gone from your ankles. Both legs were badly bruised, but no bones were broken, though both ankles are sprained."

  "The wonder is that I didn't drown," she told him. "The tide was coming in."

  "You were soaking wet anyway; the water reached at least to your legs," he told her. "But you've improved remarkably; I think that perhaps in another week or ten days you may go home."

  "So long?" she questioned sleepily.

  "You must wait until your head is much better," he said, gently insistent. "Now, you have a visitor outside who is pacing a trench in the corridor. I will light a candle tonight in thanks that you have recovered consciousness, for Niko has been a wild man and I was at my wits end trying to control him. Perhaps after he has talked to you he will get some sleep, eh, and eat a decent meal?"

  "Nikolas?" she asked, her brow puckering with anxiety. She didn't feel up to seeing Nikolas now; she was so confused. So many things had gone wrong between them…

  "No!" she gasped, reaching out to clutch the doctor's sleeve with weakly desperate fingers. "Not yet—I can't see him yet. Tell him I've gone back to sleep—"

  "Calm down, calm down," Dr. Theotokas murmured, looking at her sharply. "If you don't want to see him, you don't have to. It's simply that he has been so worried, I thought perhaps you might tell him at least to go to a hotel and get a good night's sleep. He has been here for three days, and he's scarcely closed his eyes."

  Madame Constantinos had said much the same thing, so it must be true. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her wildly tingling nerves and breathed out an assenting murmur.

  The doctor and his retinue of nurses left the room, and immediately the door was pushed open again as Nikolas shouldered his way past the last nurse to leave. After one shocked glance, Jessica looked away. He needed to shave and his eyes were hollow and red with exhaustion. He was pale, his expression strained. "Jessica," he said hoarsely.

  She swallowed convulsively. After that one swift glance, she knew that the devil who had tormented her in her nightmares was Nikolas; the devil had had those same dark, leanly powerful features. She remembered him bending over her that night, her wedding night, and she shuddered.

  "You—you look terrible," she managed to whisper. "You need to sleep. Maman and the doctor said you haven't slept—"

  "Look at me," he said, and his voice sounded as thoug
h he was tearing it out of his throat.

  She couldn't. She didn't want to see him; his face was the face of the devil in her nightmares, and she still lingered halfway between reality and that dream world.

  "Jessica, my God, look at me!"

  "I can't," she choked. "Go away, Nikolas. Get some sleep; I'll be all right. I just—I just can't talk to you yet."

  She sensed him standing there by her side, willing her to look at him, but she closed her eyes again on an acid burning of tears, and with a smothered exclamation he left the room.

  It was two days before he visited her again and she was grateful for the respite. Madame Constantinos had carefully explained that Nikolas was asleep, and Jessica believed it. He had looked totally exhausted. According to his mother, he slept for thirty-six hours, and when she reported with satisfaction in her voice that Niko had finally woken up, Jessica began to brace herself. She knew that he would be back, and she knew that this time she wouldn't be able to put him off. He had given in to her the last time only because she was still so groggy and he had been tired; she wouldn't have that protection now. But at least now she could think clearly, though she still had no idea what she would do. She only knew her emotions; she only knew that she bitterly resented him for ruining her wedding day, childish though she knew she was being about that. She was also angry, with him and with herself, because of the fiasco of their wedding night. Anger, humiliation, resentment and outraged pride all warred within her, and she didn't know if she could ever forgive him.

  She had improved enough that she had been allowed out of bed, even though she went no farther than the nearest chair. Her head still ached sickeningly if she tried to move rapidly, and in any case her painful ankles did not yet permit much walking. She found the chair to be marvelously comfortable after lying down for so long, and she talked the nurses into leaving her there until she tired; she was still sitting up when Nikolas came.

  The afternoon sun streamed in through the windows and caught his face, illuminating starkly the strong bone structure, the grim expression. He looked at her silently for a long moment, and just as silently she stared back, unable to think of anything to say. Then he turned and hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, or at least she thought that was what it said, as she couldn't read Greek.

  He closed the door securely behind him and came around the foot of the bed to stand before her chair, looking down at her. "I won't let you run me out this time," he said grimly.

  "No," she agreed, looking at her entwined fingers.

  "We have a lot to talk about."

  "I don't see why," she said flatly. "There's nothing to say. What happened, happened. Talking about it won't change anything."

  His skin tightened over his cheekbones and suddenly he squatted down before her so he could look into her face. His chiseled lips were pulled into a thin line and his black eyes burned over her face. She almost flinched from him; fury and desire warred in his eyes, and she feared both. But she controlled herself and gave him back look for look.

  "I want to know about your marriage," he demanded curtly. "I want to know how you came to me still a virgin, and damn it, Jessica, I want to know why in hell you didn't tell me!"

  "I tried," she replied just as curtly. "Though I don't know why. I don't have to explain anything to you," she continued, unable to give in to his anger. She had endured too much from Nikolas; she couldn't take any more.

  A vein throbbed dangerously in his temple. "I have to know," he muttered in a low tone, his voice becoming strained. "God in heaven, Jessica—please!"

  She trembled to hear that word from him, to hear Nikolas Constantinos saying please to anyone. He, too, was under a great deal of tension; it was revealed in the rigid set of his shoulders, the uncompromising lines of his mouth and jaw. She let out her breath on a shuddering sigh.

  "I married Robert because I loved him," she finally muttered, her fingers picking unconsciously at the robe she wore. "I still do. He was the kindest man I've ever known. And he loved me!" she asserted with a trace of wildness, lifting up her tangled tawny head to glare at him. "No matter how much filth you and people like you throw at me, you can't change the fact that we loved each other. Maybe—maybe it was a different kind of love, because we didn't sleep together, didn't try to have sex, but I would have given my life for that man, and he knew it."

  His hand lifted, and even though she shrank back in the chair, he put his hand on her throat, caressing her soft skin and letting his fingers slide warmly to her shoulder, then downward to cup a breast where it thrust against her robe. Despite the tingle of alarm that ran along her skin, she didn't object to his touch, because she had learned to her cost that he could be dangerous when he was thwarted. Instead, she watched the raw hunger that leaped into his eyes.

  His gaze lifted from where his thumb teased and aroused her flesh to probe her face. "And this, Jessica?" he asked hoarsely. "Did he ever do this to you? Was he incapable? Did he try to make love to you and fail?"

  "No! No to all of it!" Her voice wobbled out of control and she took a deep breath, fighting for poise, but it was hard to act calm when the mere touch of his thumb on her breast was searing her flesh. "He never tried. He said once that love was much sweeter when it wasn't confused by basic urges."

  "He was old," Nikolas muttered, suddenly losing patience with the robe and tugging it open, exposing the silky nightgown underneath. His fingers slid inside the low neckline to cup and stroke the naked curves under the silk, making her shudder with mingled response and rejection. "Too old," he continued, staring at her bosom. "He'd forgotten the fires that can burn away a man's sanity. Look at my hand, Jessica. Look at it on your body. It drove me mad to think of an old man's spotted, shriveled hand touching you like this. It was even worse than thinking of you with other men."

  Involuntarily she looked down and a wild quiver ran through her at the contrast of his strong, dark fingers on her apricot-tinted flesh. "Don't talk about him like that." she defended shakily. "I loved him! And one day you, too, will be old, Nikolas."

  "Yes, but it will still be my hand doing the touching." He looked up again and now two spots of color were spreading across his cheekbones as he became more aroused. "It wouldn't have made any difference how old he was," he admitted raggedly. "I couldn't bear the thought of any other man touching you, and when you wouldn't let me make love to you, I thought I'd go mad with frustration."

  She couldn't think of anything to say and she drew back so that his hand was dislodged from her breast. Temper flared in his eyes and she realized that Nikolas would never be able to accept her will over his, even in the matter of her own body. The thought killed the tiny heat of response in her and she threw out coolly, "None of that matters now; it's over with. I think it would be best if I returned to London—"

  "No!" he snapped savagely, rising to his feet and pacing about the small room with the restless stride of a panther. "I won't let you run away from me again. You ran away the other night and look what happened to you. Why, Jessica?" he asked, his voice suddenly husky. "Were you so frightened of me that you couldn't stay in my bed? I know that I— My God, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you make me listen? By the time I realized, it was impossible for me to stop. It won't be like that again, sweet, I promise. I felt so guilty; then, when I saw you lying across those rocks, I thought that you'd—" He stopped, his face grim, and suddenly Jessica remembered the voice she thought had been pure imagination, calling out her name. So it had been Nikolas who had found her.

  But his words froze her emotions in her breast. He felt guilty. She could think of a lot of reasons he could have given her for wanting her to stay, but few of them would have so insulted her sense of pride. She'd swim back to England before she'd stay with him merely to let him assuage his sense of guilt! She wanted to rage at him in her hurt and humiliation, but instead she pulled a mantle of deceptive calm about her and strove instinctively for her mask of cool disdain, so carefully cultivated over the years. "Why sh
ould I have told you?" she asked in a remote little voice, ignoring the fact that she had tried to do that very thing for weeks. "Would you have believed me?"

  He made a slashing movement with his hand, as if that wasn't important. "You could have had a doctor examine you, given me proof," he growled. "You could have let me find out for myself, but in a manner much less brutal than what you endured. If you'd told me, if you hadn't fought…"

  For a moment she merely stared at him, astonished at his unbelievable arrogance. Regardless of his billions and his surface sophistication, underneath he was Greek to the core of him and a woman's pride counted for nothing.

  "Why should I prove anything to you?" she jeered out of the depths of her misery. "Were you a virgin? Who set you up to judge my character?"

  Dark anger washed into his face and he took one long stride toward her, reaching out as if he longed to shake her, but then he remembered her injuries and he let his arms fall. She glared at him stonily as he drew a deep breath, obviously trying to control his temper. "You brought it on yourself," he finally snapped, "if that is your attitude."

  "Is it my fault you're a bully and a tyrant?" she challenged, hearing her voice rise with temper. "I tried to tell you from the day we met that you were wrong about me, but you categorically refused to listen, so don't try to throw it all back on me! I should never have come back from Cornwall."

  He stood looking down at her, his hard face unreadable, then his mouth twisted bitterly. "I'd have come after you," he said.

  She pushed away the disturbing words and sought for control over her temper. When she could speak without any heat, she said distantly, "It's all over, anyway; it's no use crying about what might have been. I suggest a quiet, quick divorce—"

  "No!" he gritted murderously. "You're my wife, and you'll stay my wife. I'm a possessive man, and I don't let my possessions go. You're mine, Jessica, in fact as well as in name, and you'll stay on the island even if I have to make you a prisoner."