All That Glitters Read online

  Sallie cast about for a different subject, for although Jessica was trying to act casual about the whole matter, her face had gone pale and she looked stricken. Sallie jabbed the photo in the newspaper and said, "What about this dish, Jess? He's a gorgeous man! When did you meet him?"

  "What?" Jessica looked down and two spots of color came back to her cheeks as she gazed at the photo of Nikolas kissing her. "Oh…actually, I only met him yesterday."

  "Wow! He certainly is a fast worker! He looks the strong, masterful type, and his reputation is mind-boggling. What's he like?"

  "Strong, masterful, and mind-boggling," Jessica sighed. "Just like you said. I hope I don't have to meet with him again."

  "You've mush in your head!" exclaimed Sallie indignantly. "Honestly, Jess, you are unbelievable. Most women would give their right arm to go out with a man like that, rich and handsome, and you aren't interested."

  "But then, I'm wary of rich men," Jessica replied softly. "You've seen an example of what would be said, and I don't think I could go through that again."

  "Oh! I'm sorry, love," said Sallie. "I didn't think. But—just think! Nikolas Constantinos!"

  Jessica didn't want to think of Nikolas; she wanted to forget the entire night. Looking at her friend's pale, closed face, Sallie patted her shoulder and slipped away. Jessica sat for a time at the table, her mind blank, but when she stood up to place her cup and saucer in the sink, it suddenly became more than she could handle and the tears fell freely.

  When the bout of weeping ended, she was exhausted from the force of it and she wandered into the living room to lie down on the sofa, but that reminded her of Nikolas lying there with her, and instead she collapsed into a chair, pulling her feet up into the seat and wrapping her robe about her legs. She felt dead, empty inside, and when the phone rang, she stared at it dumbly for a long moment before she lifted the receiver. "Hello," she said dully.

  "Jessica. Have you—"

  She took the receiver away from her ear when she heard the deep voice, and listlessly let it drop back onto the cradle. No, she couldn't talk to him now; she hurt too deeply.

  When the doorbell pealed some time later, she continued to sit quietly, determined not to answer it, but after a moment she heard Charles's voice call out her name and she got to her feet.

  "Good morning," she greeted him while he eyed her sharply. She looked beaten.

  "I read the paper," he said gently. "Go upstairs and wash your face and put on some clothes, then you can tell me about it. I intended to call you yesterday, but I had to go out of town, not that I could have done anything. Go on, my dear, upstairs with you."

  Jessica did as she was told, applying cold water to her face and smoothing the tangles from her hair, then changing out of her nightgown and robe into a pretty white sundress with tiny blue flowers on it. Despite her numbness, she was glad that Charles was there. With his cool lawyer's brain he could pick at her responses until they were all neatly arranged where she could understand them, and he would analyze her feelings. Charles could analyze a rock.

  "Yes, much better," he approved when she entered the living room. "Well, it is rather obvious that my fears for you were misplaced; Constantinos was obviously quite taken with you. Did he mention the Dryden issue?"

  "He did," said Jessica, and even managed a smile for him. "I'm selling the stock to him, but don't imagine everything was sweetness and light. We get along like the proverbial cats and dogs. His comments on my marriage make that gossip column seem mild in comparison, and I have walked out on him and hung up on him once each—no, I've done it twice; he called this morning and I didn't want to talk to him. It would be best if I don't see him again, if you could handle all of the details of the stock transaction."

  "Of course I will," replied Charles promptly. "But I feel certain you're underestimating your man. From that photo in the newspaper, he's attracted to more than your ConTech stock."

  "Yes," admitted Jessica, "but there's no use. I couldn't live with that type of publicity again, and he attracts reporters and photographers by the dozens."

  "That's true, but if he doesn't want something to be published, it isn't published. His power is enormous."

  "Are you trying to argue his side, Charles?" Jessica asked in amazement. "Surely you understand that his attraction is only temporary, that he's only interested in an affair?"

  Charles shrugged. "So are most men," he said dryly. "In the beginning."

  "Yes, well, I'm not interested. By the way, the shares are going for market value. He offered much more than that, but I refused it."

  "I see Robert's standards there," he said.

  "I'll sell the stock to him, but I won't be bought."

  "I never thought you would. I wished myself a fly on the wall during your meeting; it must've been diverting," he said, and smiled at her, his cool, aristocratic face revealing the dry humor behind his elegant, controlled manner.

  "Very, but it stopped short of murder." Suddenly she remembered and she smiled naturally for the first time since reading that horrid gossip column. "Charles, Samantha had her puppies last night, five of them!"

  "She took time enough," he observed. "What will you do with five yelping puppies about the house?"

  "Give them away when they're old enough. There are plenty of children in the neighborhood; it shouldn't be that difficult."

  "You think so? When have you last tried to give away a litter of unknown origin? How many females are there?"

  "How should I know?" she demanded, and laughed. "They don't come with pink and blue bows around their necks, you know."

  Charles grinned in return and followed her into the kitchen, where she proudly displayed the pups, all piled together in a little heap. Samantha watched Charles closely, ready to nip if he came too near her babies, but he was well aware of Samantha's tendencies and kept a safe distance from her. Charles was too fastidious to be an animal lover and the dog sensed this.

  "I see you've no tea made," he commented, looking at the coffeepot. "Put the water on, my dear, and tell me more about your meeting with Constantinos. Did it actually become hot, or were you teasing?"

  Sighing, Jessica ran water from the tap into a kettle and put it on the stove. "The meeting was definitely unfriendly, even hostile. Don't let the photo of that kiss fool you, Charles; he only did that as a punishment and to make me shut up. I can't—" She started to say that she couldn't decide if she trusted him or not, but the ring of the doorbell interrupted her and she stopped in her tracks, a chill running up her spine. "Oh, glory," she gulped.

  "That's him now; I know it is! I hung up on him, and he'll be in a raging temper."

  "I'll be brave and answer the door for you while you make the tea," offered Charles, searching for an excuse to get to Constantinos before he could upset her even more. That shattered look was fading from her eyes, but she was still hurt and vulnerable and she wasn't up to fending off someone like Constantinos. Jessica realized why Charles offered to get the door; he was the most tactful man in the world, she thought as she set out the cups and saucers for tea. And one of the kindest, always trying to shield her from any unpleasantness.

  She stopped in her tracks, considering that. Why hadn't Charles offered to meet with Constantinos and work out the deal on the shares rather than letting her go herself? The more she thought about it, the more out of character it seemed. A wild suspicion flared and she dismissed it instantly, but it crept back. Had Charles deliberately thrown her into Nikolas's path? Was he actually matchmaking? Horrors! What had he been thinking of? Didn't he know that Nikolas Constantinos, while very likely to ask her to be his mistress, would never even consider marriage? And Charles certainly knew her well enough to know that she would never consider anything but!

  Marriage? With Nikolas? She began to shake so violently that she had to put the tray down. What was wrong with her? She had only met the man yesterday, yet here she was thinking that she would never settle for less than being his wife! It was only th
at he was physically attractive to her, she told herself desperately. But Jessica was nothing if not honest with herself and she knew immediately that she was hiding from the truth. It wasn't only a physical attraction that she felt for Nikolas. She had seen a great many men who were handsome and physically appealing to her, but none that she had wanted as she had wanted Nikolas last night. Nor would she have been so receptive to Nikolas's caresses if her mind and emotions hadn't responded to him, too. He was brutal and ruthless and maddeningly arrogant, but she sensed in him a masculine appreciation for her femininity that tore down her barriers of hostility. Nikolas wanted her. That was fairly obvious, and she could have resisted that, had she not been aware that he delighted in her sharp mind and equally sharp tongue.

  All in all, she was dangerously attracted to him, even vulnerable to falling in love with him, and that realization was a blow that surpassed the unpleasant shock of that vicious gossip column. White-faced, trembling, she stared at the kettle of boiling water, wondering what she was going to do. How could she avoid him? He was not a man to accept no for an answer, nor was she certain that she could say no to him, anyway. Yet to be in his company was to invite even greater pain, for he would not offer marriage and she would not be satisfied with less.

  Eventually the shrill whistle of the kettle drew her mind back to the present and she hurriedly turned the heat off and poured the water over the tea. She had no idea if Nikolas would drink tea and decided that he wouldn't, so she poured coffee for him and also for herself; then, without allowing herself time to think about it, she picked up the tray and carried it through to the living room before she could lose all her courage.

  Nikolas was lounging on the sofa like a big cat, while Charles had taken a chair; they both got to their feet as she entered, and Nikolas stepped forward to take the heavy tray from her hands and place it on the low table. She shot him a wary glance from under her lashes, but he didn't look angry. He was watching her intently, his gaze so penetrating that she shivered. He immediately noted her reaction and a sardonic half-smile curved his mouth. He put his hand on her arm and gently forced her to a seat on the sofa, then took his place beside her.

  "Charles and I have been discussing the situation," he said easily, and she started, shooting a desperate look at Charles. But Charles merely smiled and she could read nothing from his expression.

  "What situation?" she asked, reaching for some hidden well of calmness.

  "The position our relationship will put you in with the press," he explained smoothly as she handed Charles's tea across to him. By some miracle she kept from dropping the cup and saucer, though she felt her entire body jerk. When Charles had rescued his drink, she turned a pale face up to Nikolas.

  "What are you saying?" she whispered.

  "I think you know, my dear; you're far from stupid. I'll take certain steps that will make it plain to all observers that I don't feel I need the press to protect me from you, and that any long noses poked into my private life will rouse me to…irritation. You won't have to worry any longer about being the subject of a nasty Sunday-morning column; in fact, after I finish convincing the press to do as I want, all sympathy will probably swing to you."

  "That's quite unnecessary," she said, lowering her lashes as she offered a cup of coffee to him. She felt confused; it had not occurred to her that Nikolas might use his influence to protect her, and rather than feeling grateful, she withdrew into a cool reserve. She didn't want to be indebted to Nikolas and drawn further into his sphere of influence. The paper had gotten it all wrong; he was the spider, not she! If she allowed it, he would weave silken threads all about her until she was helpless against him.

  "I'll be the judge of that," Nikolas snapped. "If you'd told me last night why you were so upset about that damned photographer, I could have prevented both the column and the photos from being printed. Instead, you let your pride stand in the way, and look what you've endured, all for nothing. Now I know the extent of the situation and I'll act as I think best."

  Charles said mildly, "Be reasonable, Jessica. There's no need for you to endure spiteful gossip. You've suffered it for five years; it's time that state of affairs was ended."

  "Yes, but…" She halted, for she had been about to say, But not by him, and she wasn't certain enough of Nikolas's temper to risk it. She took a deep breath and began again. "What I meant was, I don't see the need for any intervention, because there won't be another opportunity for this to happen. I'd have to be a fool to allow myself to get into that situation after what happened last night. I'll simply live here as quietly as possible; there's no need for me to frequent places where I'd be recognized."

  "I won't allow that," Nikolas put in grimly. "From now on, you'll be by my side when I entertain or when I go out. People will meet you, get to know you. That's the only sure way of forever stifling the gossip, to let these people become acquainted with you and find out that they like you. You are a likable little wench, despite your damnable temper."

  "Thank you!" she returned smartly, and Charles grinned.

  "I could kick myself for missing your first meeting," he put in, and Nikolas gave him a wolfish grin.

  "The first wasn't as interesting as the second," he informed Charles dryly. "And the third meeting isn't beginning all that well, either. It'll probably take me all day to convince her not to be obstinate over the matter."

  "Yes, I can see that." Charles winked and replaced his empty cup on the tray. "I'll leave you to it, then; I've some work to do."

  "Call me tomorrow and we'll settle about the shares," said Nikolas, getting to his feet and holding out his hand.

  Jessica's warning sirens went off. "The shares are already settled," she said in fierce determination. "Market value only! I told you, Nikolas, I won't sign the papers if you try to buy me off with a ridiculously high price!"

  "I shall probably break your neck before the day is out," returned Nikolas genially, but his eyes were hard. Charles laughed aloud, something very rare for him, and Jessica glared at him as he and Nikolas walked to the door. They exchanged a few low words and her suspicions flared higher. Then Nikolas let him out and returned to stand before her with his hands on his hips, staring down at her with an implacable expression on his hard face.

  "I meant what I said," she flared, scrambling to her feet to stand before him and braving the volcanic heat of his eyes.

  "So did I," he murmured, raising his hand and absently stroking her bare shoulder with one finger, his touch as light and delicate as that of a butterfly. Her breath caught and she stood very still until the caress of that one finger drove her beyond control and she began to tremble. The finger moved from her shoulder to her throat, then up to press under her chin and raise her face to his. "Have you decided if you want to go out on the boat with me?" he asked as his eyes slipped to her mouth.

  "I—yes. I mean, yes, I've decided, and no, I don't want to go," she explained in confusion, and the comers of his mouth lifted in a wry smile.

  "Then I suggest we go for a drive, something to keep me occupied. If we stay here all day, Jessica, you know what will happen, but the decision is yours."

  "I haven't invited you to stay at all, much less all day!" she informed him indignantly, pulling away from him.

  His arm dropped to his side and he watched sharply as the color rose in her cheeks. "You're afraid of me," he observed in mild surprise. Despite her brave, defiant front, there had been a flash of real fear in her eyes, and he frowned. "What is it about me that frightens you, Jessica? Are you afraid of me sexually? Have your experiences with men been so bad that you fear my love-making?"

  She stared numbly at him, unable to formulate an answer. Yes, she was afraid of him, as she had never before feared any other human being. He was so lawless—no, not that. He made his own laws, his influence was enormous; he was practically untouchable by any known power. She already knew that her emotions were vulnerable to him and that she had no weapons against him at all.

  But he
was waiting for an answer, his strong features hardening as she moved involuntarily backward. She gulped and whispered wildly, "You—you wouldn't understand, Nikolas. I think that a woman would be in very good hands with you, so to speak, wouldn't she?"

  "I like to think so," he drawled. "But if it isn't that,

  Jessica, what is it about me that makes you as wary as a frightened doe? I promise I won't slaughter you."

  "Won't you?"

  The whispered, shaking words had scarcely left her mouth before he moved, closing the distance between them with two lithe strides and capturing her as she gave an alarmed cry and tried to dart away. His left arm slid about her waist and pulled her strongly against him, while his right hand caught a fistful of her tawny hair and pulled firmly on it until her face was tilted up to his.

  "Now," he growled, "tell me why you're afraid."

  "You're hurting me!" she cried, anger chasing away some of her instinctive fear. She kicked at his shins and he gave a muffled curse, releasing her hair and scooping her up in his arms instead. Holding her captive, he sat down on the sofa and pinned her squirming body on his lap. The struggle was woefully unequal and in only a moment she was exhausted and subdued, lying quietly against the arm that was so hard and unyielding behind her back.

  He chuckled. "Whatever you're afraid of, you're definitely not afraid to fight me. Now, little wildcat, tell me what bothers you."

  She was tired, too tired to fight him right now, and she was beginning to understand that it was useless to fight him, in any event. He was determined to have everything his way. Sighing, she turned her face into his shoulder and inhaled the warm, earthy male scent of him, slightly sweaty from their struggle. What could she tell him? That she feared him physically because she had known no man, that it was a virgin's instinctive fear? He would never believe that; he would rather believe the tales that many men had made love to her. And she couldn't tell him that she feared him emotionally, that she was far too vulnerable to his power, or he would use that knowledge against her.