All That Glitters Page 3

  Jessica stayed in the kitchen with the dog, and as time wore on and no puppies were born, she began to get worried, for Samantha appeared to be in distress. Was something wrong? Jessica had no idea what kind of four-legged Romeo Samantha had met; was it possible that she had mated with a larger breed and now the puppies were too big to be born? Certainly the little black dog was very swollen.

  She rang over to Sallie's side of the house, but the phone rang endlessly and she hung up. Her neighbors were out. After chewing her lip indecisively for a moment, Jessica took the phone directory and began looking for the vet's number. She didn't know if Samantha could be moved while she was in labor, but perhaps the vet made house calls. She found the number and reached for the phone, which rang just as she touched it. She gave a startled cry and leaped back, then she grabbed up the receiver. "Mrs. Stanton."

  "This is Nikolas Constantinos."

  Of course it was, she thought distractedly. Who else had such a deep voice? "What do you want?" she demanded.

  "We have unfinished business—" he began.

  "It will just have to stay unfinished," she broke in. "My dog is having puppies and I can't talk to you. Goodbye, Mr. Constantinos." She hung up and waited a second, then lifted the receiver again. She heard a dial tone as she checked the vet's number again, then began dialing.

  Half an hour later she was weeping in frustration. She could not get her vet, or any other, on the phone, probably because it was Saturday night, and she was sure that Samantha was going to die. The dog was yelping in agony now, squirming and shuddering with the force of her contractions. Jessica felt appallingly helpless, and grief welled up in her so that the tears streamed down her cheeks.

  When the doorbell rang, she scrambled to answer it, glad to have some company, even if the caller knew nothing about dogs. Perhaps it was Charles, who was always so calm, though he would be as useless as she. She jerked the door open and Nikolas Constantinos stepped in as if he owned the house, closing the door behind him. Then he swung on her and she had a glimpse of a grim, angry face before his expression changed abruptly. He took in her jean-clad figure, her mane of hair and tear-streaked face, and he looked incredulous, as if he didn't believe it was really her. "What's wrong?" he asked as he produced a handkerchief and offered it to her.

  Without thinking, Jessica took it and scrubbed at her cheeks. "It—it's my dog," she said thinly, and gulped back fresh tears. "I don't think she can have her puppies, and I can't get a vet on the phone…"

  He frowned. "Your dog is really having puppies?"

  For answer, she burst into a fresh flow of tears, hiding her face in the handkerchief. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, and after a moment she felt an arm slide about her waist.

  "Don't cry," Constantinos murmured. "Where is she? Perhaps I can help."

  Of course, why not? She should have thought of that herself; everyone knew billionaires were trained in animal husbandry, she told herself hysterically as she led the way into the kitchen.

  But despite the incongruity of it, Nikolas Constantinos took off his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair, removed the gold studs from his cuffs and slid them into his pants pocket, then rolled up the sleeves of his white silk shirt. He squatted on his heels beside Samantha's bed and Jessica knelt next to him, because Samantha was inclined to be snappy with strangers even when she was in the best of moods. But Samantha did not offer to snap at him, only watched him with pleading, liquid eyes as he ran his hands gently over her swollen body and examined her. When he had finished, he stroked Samantha's head gently and murmured some Greek words to her that had a soft sound to them, then he turned his head to smile reassuringly at Jessica. "Everything seems to be normal. We should see a pup any minute now."

  "Really?" Jessica demanded, her excitement spiraling as her fears eased. "Samantha is all right?"

  "Yes, you've worried yourself to tears for nothing. Hasn't she had a litter before?"

  Ruefully Jessica shook her head, explaining, "I've always kept her in before. But this time she managed to slip away from me and, well, you know how it goes."

  "Mmmm, yes, I know how it goes," he mocked gently. His black eyes ran over her slim build and made her aware that he had a second meaning for his statement. He was a man and he looked on her as a woman, with a woman's uses, and instinctively she withdrew from his masculine appraisal. But despite that, despite everything he had said to her that afternoon, she felt better now that he was here. Whatever else he was, the man was capable.

  Samantha gave a short, sharp yelp and Jessica turned anxiously to her dog. Nikolas put his arm about Jessica's shoulders and pulled her against his side so that she felt seared by the warmth of his body. "See, it's beginning," he murmured. "There's the first pup."

  Jessica knelt there enthralled, her eyes as wide and wondrous as a child's, while Samantha produced five slick, squirming little creatures, which she nudged one by one against the warmth of her belly. When it became obvious that Samantha had finished at five, when all of the squeaking little things were snuggled against the furry black belly and the dog was lying there in tired contentment, Nikolas got to his feet and drew Jessica to hers, holding her for a moment until the feeling had returned to her numb legs.

  "Is this the first birth you've witnessed?" he asked, tilting her chin up with his thumb and smiling down into her dazed eyes.

  "Yes…wasn't it marvelous?" she breathed.

  "Marvelous," he agreed. The smile faded from his lips and he studied the face that was turned up to him. When he spoke, his voice was low and even. "Now everything is fine; your tears have dried, and you are a lucky young woman. I came over here determined to shake some manners into you. I advise you not to hang up on me again, Jessica. My temper is"—here he gave a shrug of his wide shoulders, as if in acceptance of something he could not change—"not calm."

  Half-consciously she registered the fact that he had used her given name, and that his tongue had seemed to linger over the syllables, then she impulsively placed her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she apologized warmly. "I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been so worried about Samantha. I was trying to call the vet."

  "I realize that now. But at the time I thought you were merely getting rid of me, and very rudely, too. I wasn't in a good mood anyway after you had walked out on me this afternoon. But when I saw you…" His eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down again. "You made me forget my anger."

  She stared at him blankly for a moment before she realized that she hadn't any makeup on, her hair was tumbled about her shoulders, and worse than that, she was barefoot! The wonder was that he had even recognized her! He had been geared up to smash a sophisticated woman of the world, and instead he had found a weeping, tousled girl who did not quite reach his shoulder. A blush warmed her cheeks.

  Nervously she pushed a strand of hair away from her face. "I—ummm—I must look a mess," she stammered, and he reached out and touched the streaked gold of her hair, making her forget in midsentence what she had been saying.

  "No, you don't look a mess," he assured her absently, watching the hair slide along his dark fingers. "You look disturbingly young, but lovely for all your wet lashes and swollen lids." His black eyes flickered back to hers. "Have you had your dinner yet, Jessica?"

  "Dinner?" she asked vaguely, before she mentally kicked herself for not being faster than that and assuring him that she had indeed already had her meal.

  "Yes, dinner," he mocked. "I can see that you haven't. Slip into a dress and I'll take you out for dinner. We still have business to discuss and I think it would be wiser if the discussion did not take place in the privacy of your home."

  She wasn't certain just what he meant by that, but she knew better than to ask for an explanation. Reluctantly she agreed. "It will take me about ten minutes," she said. "Would you like a drink while I'm dressing?"

  "No, I'll wait until you can join me," he said.

  Jessica ran upstairs and washed her face in cold water, w
hich made her feel immensely better. As she applied her makeup, she noticed that her mouth was curved into a little smile and that it wouldn't go away. When she had completed her makeup, she took a look at herself and was disturbed by the picture she presented. Because of her bout of weeping, her lids were swollen, but with eye shadow and mascara applied, they looked merely sleepy and the irises gleamed darkly, wetly green, long Egyptian eyes that had the look of passions satisfied. Her cheeks bloomed with color, natural color, because her heart was racing in her breast, and she could feel the pulse throbbing in her lips, which were still smiling.

  Because it was evening, she twisted her hair into a swirl atop her head and secured it with a gold butterfly clasp. She would wear a long dress, and she knew exactly which one she wanted. Her hands were shaking slightly as she drew it out of the closet, a halter-necked silk of the purest white, almost glittering in its paleness. She stepped into it and pulled the bodice up, then fastened the straps behind her neck. The dress molded itself to her breasts like another skin, then the lined silk fell in graceful folds to her feet—actually, beyond her feet, until she stepped into her shoes. Then the length was perfect. She slung a gold gauze wrap over her arm and she was ready, except for stuffing a comb and lipstick into a tiny evening bag—and remembering at the last minute to include her house key. She had to descend the stairs in a more dignified manner than she had gone up them, for the delicate straps of her shoes were not made for running, and she was only halfway down when Nikolas appeared from the living room and came to stand at the foot of the stairs, waiting for her. His gleaming eyes took in every inch of her in the shimmering white silk and she shivered under the expression she could see in them. He looked… hungry. Or…what?

  When she reached the bottom step, she stopped and looked at him, eye to eye, but still she could not decide just what it was that glittered in those black depths. He put his hand on her arm and drew her down the last step, then without a word took the gold wrap and placed it about her bare shoulders. She quivered involuntarily under his touch, and his gaze leaped up to hers; this time it was all she could do to meet it evenly, for she was disturbed by her response to the lightest touch of his fingers.

  "You are…more than beautiful," he said quietly.

  What did that mean? She licked her lips uncertainly and his hands tightened on her shoulders; a quick glance upward revealed that his gaze had fastened on her tongue. Her heart leaped wildly in response to the look she saw, but he dropped his hands from her and stepped back.

  "If we don't go now, we won't go at all," he said, and she knew exactly what that meant. He wanted her. Either that, or he was putting on a very good act, and the more she thought about it, the more such an act seemed likely. Hadn't he admitted that he always tried his charm on a woman in order to get his own way?

  He certainly must want those shares, she mused, feeling more comfortable now that she had decided that he was only putting on the amorous act in order to get around her on the shares. Constantinos in a truly amorous mood must be devastating to a woman's senses, she thought, but her own leaping senses had calmed with the realization of what he was up to and she was once more able to think clearly. She supposed she would have to sell the shares; Charles had advised it, and she knew now that she would certainly not be able to continuously defy this man. She would tell him over dinner that she was willing to sell the shares to him.

  He had turned out all of the lights except for a dim one in the kitchen for Samantha, and now he checked to make certain the door was locked behind them. "Haven't you any help living in with you?" he asked, frowning, his hand sliding under her elbow as they walked to his car.

  "No," she replied, amusement evident in her voice. "I'm not very messy and I don't eat very much, so I don't need any help."

  "But that means you're alone at night."

  "I'm not frightened, not with Samantha. She sets up a howl at a strange footstep, and besides, Sallie and Joel Reese are in the other side, so I'm not really alone."

  He opened the door of the powerful sports car he was driving and helped her into the seat, then went around to his side. She buckled her safety belt, looking with interest at the various dials and gauges. This thing looked like the cockpit of an airplane, and the car was at odds with what she had expected of him. Where was the huge black limousine with the uniformed chauffeur? As he slid into his seat and buckled up, she said, "Do you always drive yourself?"

  "No, but there are times when a chauffeur's presence isn't desirable," he said, smiling a little. The powerful engine roared into life and he put the car into gear, moving forward with a smooth rush of power that pushed her back into her seat.

  "Did you sell the country estate?" he asked from out of nowhere, making her wonder just how much he did know about her. More than just that vicious gossip, evidently; but he had known Robert before their marriage, so it was only natural that he should know about Robert's country home.

  "Robert sold that a year before he died," she said steadily. "And after he died, I let the penthouse go; it was far too big and costly for just me. My half-house is just large enough."

  "I would have thought a smaller apartment would have been better."

  "I really don't like apartments, and then, there was Samantha. She needs room to run, and the neighborhood is friendly, with a lot of children."

  "Not very glamorous," he commented dryly, and her ire rose a bit before she stifled it with a surge of humor.

  "Not unless you think lines of drying laundry are glamorous," she agreed, laughing a little. "But it's quiet, and it suits me."

  "In that dress, you look as if you should be surrounded by diamonds and mink, not lines of laundry."

  "Well, what about you?" she asked cheerfully. "You in your silk shirt and expensive suit, squatting down to help a dog have puppies?"

  He flashed her a look that glinted in the green lights from the dash. "On the island, life is much simpler than in London and Paris. I grew up there, running wild like a young goat."

  She had a picture of him as a thin young boy, his black eyes flashing as he ran barefoot over the rough hills of his island. Had the years and the money and the layers of sophistication stifled the wildness of his early years? Then, even as she formed the thought in her mind, she knew that he was still wild and untamed, despite the silk shirts he wore.

  Conversation died after that, each of them concerned with their own thoughts, and it wasn't until he pulled up before a discreetly lit restaurant and a doorman came to open the doors for them that Jessica realized where he had brought her. Her fingers tightened into fists at the curl of apprehension that twisted in her stomach, but she made her hands relax. He couldn't have known that she always avoided places like this—or could he? No, it was impossible. No one knew of her pain; she had always kept her aloof air firmly in place.

  Taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to be helped out of the car, then it was being driven away and Nikolas had his hand on her elbow, escorting her to the door. She would not let it bother her, she told herself fiercely. She would talk with him and eat her meal and it would be finished. She did not have to pay any attention to anyone else they might meet.

  After a few dinners out after their marriage, Robert had realized that it was intensely painful to his young bride to be so publicly shunned by people who knew him, and they had ceased eating out at the exclusive restaurants he had always patronized. It had been at this particular restaurant that a group of people had literally turned their backs on her, and Robert had gently led her away from their half-eaten dinner before she lost all control and sobbed like a child in front of everyone. But that had been five years ago, and though she had never lost her horror at the thought of eating in such a place—and this place in particular—she held her head proudly and walked without hesitation through the doors being held open by the uniformed doorman.

  The maitre d' took one glance at Nikolas and all but bowed. "Mr. Constantinos, we are honored!"

  "Good evening, Swai
ne; we'd like a quiet table, please. Away from the crowd."

  As they followed the maitre d', winding their way between the tables, Jessica recovered herself enough to flash an amused glance up at the tall man beside her. "An isolated table?" she queried, her lips twitching in a suppressed smile. "So no one will notice the mayhem?" The black head inclined toward her and she saw his flashing grin. "I think we can keep it more civilized than that."

  The table that Swaine selected for them was as isolated as was possible on a busy Saturday night. It was partially enclosed by a bank of plants that made Jessica think of a jungle, and she half-listened for the scream of birds before she chided herself for her foolishness.

  While Nikolas chose a wine, she glanced about at the other tables, half afraid that she would see a familiar face; she had noticed the little silence that had preceded them as they made their way to their table, and the hiss of rapid conversation that broke out again in their wake. Had Nikolas noticed? Perhaps she was overly sensitive, perhaps the reaction was for Nikolas rather than herself.

  As a billionaire, he was certainly more noticeable than most people!

  "Don't you like the table?" Nikolas's voice broke in on her thoughts and she jerked her eyes back to him, to find that he wore an irritated expression on his hard, dark face as he stared at her.

  "No, the table's fine," she said hastily.

  "Then why are you frowning?" he demanded.

  "Black memories," she said. "It's nothing, Mr. Constantinos. I just had an…unpleasant experience in here once."

  He watched her for a moment, then said calmly, "We can leave if it bothers you."

  "It bothers me," she admitted, "but I won't leave. I think it's past time I got over my silly phobias, and what better time than now, when I have you to battle with and take my mind off old troubles?"

  "That's twice you have alluded to an argument between us," he commented. He leaned closer to her, his hard brown hand reaching out to touch the low flower arrangement between them. "There won't be any arguments tonight. You're far too lovely for me to want to spend our time together throwing angry words about. If you start to argue, I'll simply lean over and kiss you until you're quiet. I've warned you now, so if you decide to spit defiance at me like a ruffled kitten, I can only conclude that you want to be kissed. What do you think about that, hmmm?"