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‘But there are other newspapers, surely, more serious newspapers which carry more weight and are more prestigious—why not choose to work on one of those?’
Jade laughed sardonically. ‘Oh, come on! I was eighteen, green as grass, politically naive—serious papers don’t go for people like that, they want uni- versity graduates.’
‘And couldn’t you have gone to university?’
‘No,’ Jade answered flatly.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh? I find that hard to believe. You certainly aren’t stupid.’
‘Thanks!’
‘So why didn’t you go?’
Jade could have shaken him by the shoulders for his total lack of comprehension as she remembered her father’s strained face, regretfully informing her that going through college simply wasn’t an option open to her. ‘For that very romantic reason of not having enough money—except that the reality of it isn’t romantic at all! Besides, I thought that working on the Daily View might get me a foot in the door.’
‘But it didn’t?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it didn’t. I didn’t— learn very much there.’ She met a pair of frankly interested black eyes. ‘Actually,’ she said, remem- bering some of the good things about the Daily View, ‘it wasn’t all bad there. They do do some very creditable investigative journalism. They raise a hell of a lot of money for charity, and they cer- tainly expose corruption in high places.’
‘But that wasn’t your particular line?’ he queried.
‘No,’ said Jade bitterly. ‘Because I’m a woman, and a “cub”—I get stuck in features; showbiz. At first it had novelty appeal, but now it’s worn off. As a matter of fact—’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Come on—I’m intrigued.’
She met his stare belligerently. ‘If you must know, I came to Piros with the idea of rethinking my future, and to see whether I had a book in me.’
‘And have you?’ he asked quietly.
‘I don’t know yet. I didn’t write much for the first part of the holiday, and then I’
‘Met me?’ he finished slowly.
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’
‘And one other thing,’ she blurted out. ‘My editor happened to trick me into talking about you. I was upset and she gave me brandy and kindness and asked me all about you, and all the time she had a tape-recorder going! I certainly did not go to the Press willingly about you!’
He muttered something violent beneath his breath, the black eyes boring into her, before looking down to study his hands, so that his ex- pression was shielded from her.
There was a moment’s silence. He doesn’t care, she thought. Nothing you say will make any differ- ence. She bit her lip, staring sightlessly into the blur of traffic, before returning her attention defiantly to his dark gaze which was now fixed on her face once more. ‘Anyway, none of that matters. I don’t work there any more, do I?’ Or anywhere, for that matter—which didn’t bode well for her future once that Constantine had tired of her. She had tried to make her voice deliberately bright but she knew that it sounded put on, and he frowned at her, his lips parting very slightly, and Jade’s eyes were drawn to them, and he watched her, his own gaze flick- ering down to her lips. I want him, thought Jade unhappily. How can I stop myself from wanting him? How is it possible to want a man who can treat you so appallingly? Perhaps that’s why I’ve never fallen for anyone before—perhaps I’m a masochist!
An uneasy silence descended and she had to con- centrate very hard not to stare at his long legs; sitting with her own knees held primly closed together, she tried to force herself not to think about him, about the way that he had brought her to that heart-stopping climax yesterday afternoon on the sofa. But it was no good, the memories of it were too intense.
And he could feel it, too—she could sense that from the awkwardly tense way in which he held himself. A brittle stillness enveloped them both as the sexual tension grew. And Jade grew madder and madder with herself. How could she possibly still fancy him? The man was a brute!
She could have wept with relief when the car drew up outside her flat. ‘Stop right here,’ she said coldly. ’This is where I live.’
But, infuriatingly, he followed her inside, push
ing his way through the couple of reporters who re- mained, ignoring all their called pleas for a photo, and slamming the door shut behind them. Once inside, he prowled around, those intelligent dark eyes taking in the simple surroundings—the white walls, the brightly coloured rugs, and, on the wall in pride of place, the water-colour she’d bought on Piros before she’d met him, showing the shaded, narrow streets with the tantalising azure flash of sky which glimmered through one of the arches.
He went to stand beneath it.
