Constantine's Revenge

She forced herself to say it. Forced herself to turn the handle and open her door. Felt the rush of warm air from the hall out into the coldness of the night.

But she couldn’t make herself step over the threshold and into the house. Even now she couldn’t turn and move away from him.

It was not enough! She wanted more, so much more. That one kiss had sparked off all the need, the hunger, the passion she had once felt for this man and which she had thought was safely buried, out of sight.

But it seemed that Constantine had spoken nothing more or less than the truth when he had said so casually, ‘I’m over it.’

‘I—I’ll…’

Go! Her mind screamed at her. Out of here now, before it gets any worse!

But, no, her heart pleaded. Let me have just a little bit more. Just one moment longer in his company. After these two long, empty years, let me have one more chance to hear his voice, see him smile.

Before she knew she had even formed the thought she had acted impulsively. The aroma of Constantine’s cologne and the warm, clean scent of his body reached her nostrils as she leaned towards him, making her head swim with the force of its sensual impact. His eyes were deeper, darker pools in the shadows of the night, and she could hear the soft, regular sound of his breathing.

‘Goodnight,’ she said on a very different note as, taking her cue from him, she pressed her lips to the hard, lean plane of his cheek. The warm satin of his skin was slightly roughened by the result of a day’s growth of beard that brushed abrasively against her mouth.

‘And thank you…’

But that one unthinking act proved her undoing. With a phenomenal speed of reaction, Constantine turned his head so that her lips were forced to move. Unable to do anything but slip over the bronzed skin, as if on ice over a frozen pond, they found themselves sliding inexorably towards the heated softness that was his mouth.

‘Grace…’

He muttered something thick and rough in Greek against her lips before taking them harshly, urgently, crushing her mouth under his.

‘You should have gone—headed for safety—while you had the chance. Now it’s much too late.’

Too late! Grace echoed inside her head on a note of disbelief. It had already been too late in the moment that he’d kissed her. Even such a desultory peck on the cheek had told her all she needed to know.

No, it had been earlier than that. It had happened in the moment when she had opened Ivan’s door and looked into the black depths of his eyes and known that, no matter what had happened, Constantine was still the only man in the world for her.

‘Sweet Grace…’

A cold sneaking wind wound itself around Grace’s legs, but she was beyond noticing it. The bulk of Constantine’s strong body protected her from the cold, and the heated race of her blood through her own veins warmed her skin until she felt as if she was on fire. Her heartbeat was staccato with excitement, the coming and going of air in her lungs feverishly erratic.

‘You really should have gone in.’ Constantine’s breathing was every bit as uneven as her own, his voice hoarse and jerky. ‘Now there’s no turning back. Grace, agape mou…invite me in.’

Invite me in. It was a command, not a request. She knew exactly what was behind it, what was uppermost in his mind.

So why wasn’t she saying no? Why wasn’t she telling him to get out of there and out of her life? The thought slid into her mind very briefly, but then, just as swiftly, slid straight out again.

‘D-do…?’

Her voice failed her, drying painfully, so that she had to moisten her lips before she could speak again. In the light from the hall she saw Constantine’s black eyes drop to her mouth, to follow the tiny, unconsciously provocative movement with an intensity that made her heart jerk convulsively against her chest.

‘Do you want to come in?’

‘Do I…?’ It was a shaken, husky laugh. ‘Grace, I swear to God that if you don’t let me in with you right now, I’ll—’

‘There’s no need for that!’ Grace broke in hurriedly, shaken, breathless, half terrified of what he might be about to say. ‘Come in, out of the cold.’

It seemed to her that the slam of the door behind her, shutting out the world and closing them in together, was a sound of decision, defining a moment that would change her life for ever. It was now too late to go back, to even think of changing her mind.

And she didn’t want to. All she wanted was right here, with her, at her side. His arms enclosed her. His heart beat under her cheek, and she felt as if she had come home.

But once inside the mood changed sharply. She had barely closed the door before Constantine released her so abruptly that she felt as if she had been dropped from a great height, landing, stunned and disbelieving, on a very hard floor.

She could only watch as he pushed his way into her flat and prowled around it like some caged wild beast, scenting out the borders of its new territory.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned on his heels so that his dark-eyed gaze could take in the comfortable living room with the pale cream armchairs—the room was too small to take a settee—peach velvet curtains, and softly polished pinewood dresser. On the far wall, opposite the big bay window, was a Victorian style cast-iron open fireplace set in a tiled surround.

‘It’s not very big…’ he murmured at last, his survey completed.

‘It’s all I could afford!’ Grace protested indignantly. ‘We can’t all have homes on every continent and a private plane to ferry us between them.’

‘Half of the houses are owned by my parents,’ Constantine pointed out, his tone coolly reasonable. ‘I only have the use of them.’

‘But what you do own my poky little flat would fit into a hundred times over.’

‘Did I say it was poky?’ he murmured smoothly, continuing his exploration.

He didn’t need to, Grace was forced to reflect, ruing her foolish tongue. What she had really meant was that now she saw him in her flat it was as if his tall, imposing presence so dominated the room that it appeared it had shrunk around him, becoming impossibly small and claustrophobic.

‘W-would you like coffee?’ Belatedly she remembered her role as hostess.

‘No.’

Stark and uncompromising, it was tossed over his shoulder at her as he studied the collection of paperbacks on her bookshelf.

‘Tea, then?’

‘No…’

‘Something stronger?’

The question was high-pitched and uneven, coming from a throat that had tightened uncomfortably over the question she knew she was really asking. This was his opportunity to say no, he couldn’t drink any more because he was driving.

‘Some wine, perhaps?’

An autocratic gesture dismissed the question; Constantine’s attention was still fixed on her book collection. But then a moment later he shook his dark head.

‘Perhaps—yes…’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Constantine!’ Grace exploded, more on edge than she had allowed herself to admit. ‘Yes—no—perhaps… Which is it?’ she added, braving his swift frown. ‘Make up your mind.’

‘Cristos, I am trying to be civilised, that is all! But I feel—’

‘You feel?’ Grace echoed when he broke off abruptly. ‘What do you feel?’