Impulse Page 6

  With a quiet laugh, he looked back at her, balancing the gift in both hands. “No, I don’t—at least not of this nature.”

  “Well, it’s more ornamental than functional, I suppose. The man couldn’t tell me much about it—at least not that I could understand.” She reached out to run a finger along the edge of the bowl. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.” When she sent him a puzzled look, he leaned over to brush her lips with his. “Matia mou, this is a hashish pipe.”

  “A hashish pipe?” She stared, first in shock, then in fascination. “Really? I mean, did people actually use it?”

  “Undoubtedly. Quite a number, I’d say, since it’s at least a hundred and fifty years old.”

  “Imagine that.” She pouted, imagining dark, smoky dens. “I guess it’s not a very appropriate souvenir.”

  “On the contrary, whenever I see it I’ll think of you.”

  She glanced up quickly, unsure, but the amusement in his eyes had her smiling again. “I should have bought you the plaster statue of Athena.”

  Taking her hands, he drew her to her feet. “I’m flattered that you bought me anything.” She felt the subtle change as his fingers tightened on hers. “I want time with you, Rebecca. Hours of it. Days. There’s too much I need to know.” When she lowered her gaze, he caught her chin. “What are those secrets of yours?”

  “Nothing that would interest you.”

  “You’re wrong. Tomorrow I intend to find out all there is to know.” He saw the quick flicker of unease in her eyes. Other men, he thought with an uncomfortable surge of jealousy. The hell with them. “No more evasions. I want you, all of you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Tomorrow.” He cut her off, suddenly, completely, frustratingly Greek. “I have business that can’t be avoided now. I’ll come for you at seven.”

  “All right.”

  Tomorrow was years away, she told herself. She had time to decide what she would say, how she would say it. Before tomorrow came tonight. She would be everything she’d ever wanted to be, everything he wanted her to be.

  “I’d better go.” Before he could touch her again, she bent to gather her bags. “Stephen …” She paused at the door and turned to look at him as he stood in the middle of the room, comfortable with the wealth that surrounded him, confident with who and what he was. “You might be disappointed when you find out.”

  She left quickly, leaving him frowning after her.

  Chapter Seven

  She was as nervous as a cat. Every time she looked in the mirror Rebecca wondered who the woman was who was staring back at her. It wasn’t a stranger, but it was a very, very different Rebecca Malone.

  Was it just the different hairstyle, poufed and frizzed and swept around her face? Could it be the dress, the glittery spill of aquamarine that left her arms and shoulders bare? No, it was more than that. More than makeup and clever stylists and glamorous clothes. It was in her eyes. How could she help but see it? How could anyone? The woman who looked back from the mirror was a woman in love.

  What was she going to do about it? What could she do? she asked herself. She was still practical enough to accept that some things could never be changed. But was she bold enough, or strong enough, to take what she wanted and live with the consequences?

  When she heard the knock on the door, Rebecca took a deep breath and picked up the useless compact-size evening bag she’d bought just that afternoon. It was all happening so fast. When she’d come back from Stephen’s suite there had been a detailed message from Elana listing appointments—for a massage, a facial, hairstyling—along with the name of the manager of the hotel’s most exclusive boutique. She hadn’t had time to think, even for a minute, about her evening with Stephen. Or about any tomorrows.

  Perhaps that was best, she decided as she pulled open the door. It was best not to think, not to analyze. It was best to accept and to act.

  She looked like a siren, some disciple of Circe, with her windswept hair and a dress the color of seductive seas. Had he told himself she wasn’t beautiful? Had he believed it? At that moment he was certain he’d never seen, never would see, a more exciting woman.

  “You’re amazing, Rebecca.” He took her hand and drew her to him so that they stood in the doorway together. On the threshold.

  “Why? Because I’m on time?”

  “Because you’re never what I expect.”

  He brought her hand to his lips. “And always what I want.”

  Because she was speechless, she was glad when he closed the door at her back and led her to the elevators. He looked different from the man she had first met, the one who dressed with such casual elegance. Tonight there was a formality about him, and the sophistication she had sensed earlier was abundantly apparent in the ease with which he wore the black dinner jacket.

  “The way you look,” he told her, “it seems a shame to waste the evening on a business dinner.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting some of your friends.”

  “Associates,” he said with an odd smile. “When you’ve been poor—and don’t intend to be poor again—you rarely make friends in business.”

  She frowned. This was a side of him, the business side, that she didn’t know. Would he be ruthless? She looked at him, saw it, and accepted it. Yes, a man like Stephen would always be ruthless with what belonged to him. “But enemies?”

  “The same rule, in business, applies to friends and enemies. My father taught me more than fishing, Rebecca. He also taught me that to succeed, to attain, you must learn not only how to trust, but how far.”

  “I’ve never been poor, but I imagine it’s frightening.”

  “Strengthening.” He took her hand again when the elevator doors opened. “We have different backgrounds, Rebecca, but, fortunately, we’ve come to the same place.”

  He had no idea how different. Trust. He had spoken of trust. She discovered she wanted to tell him, tell him everything. Tell him that she knew nothing of elegant parties and glamorous life-styles. She was a fraud, and when he found out he might laugh at her and brush her aside. But she wanted him to know.

  “Stephen, I want to—”

  “Stephen. Once more you outdo us all in your choice of women.”

  “Dimitri.”

  Rebecca stopped, caught on the brink of confession. The man who faced her was classically handsome. His silver mane contrasted with bronzed skin lined by a half century of sun. He wore a mustache that swept majestically over gleaming teeth.

  “It was kind of you to invite us here this evening, but it would be kinder still to introduce me to your lovely companion.”

  “Rebecca Malone, Dimitri Petropolis.”

  A diamond glittered on the hand he lifted to clasp Rebecca’s. The hand itself was hard as rock. “A pleasure. Athens is already abuzz with talk of the woman who arrived with Stephen.”

  Certain he was joking, she smiled. “Then Athens must be in desperate need of news.”

  His eyes widened for a moment, then creased at the corners when he laughed. “I have no doubt you will provide an abundance of it.”

  Stephen slipped a hand under Rebecca’s elbow. The look he sent Dimitri was very quick and very clear. They had competed over land, but there would be no competition over Rebecca.

  “If you’ll excuse us a moment, Dimitri, I’d like to get Rebecca some champagne.”

  “Of course.” Amused—and challenged—Dimitri brushed at his mustache as he watched them walk away.

  Rebecca had no way of knowing that to Stephen a small dinner party meant a hundred people. She sipped her first glass of wine, hoping she wouldn’t embarrass them both by being foolishly shy and tongue-tied. In the past, whenever she had found herself in a crowd, she had always looked for the nearest corner to fade into. Not tonight, she promised herself, straightening her shoulders.

  There were dozens of names to remember, but she filed them away as easily as she ha
d always filed numbers. In the hour before dinner, while the guests mixed and mingled, she found herself at ease. The stomach flutters and hot blushes she’d often experienced at parties and functions simply didn’t happen.

  Perhaps she was the new Rebecca Malone after all.

  She heard business discussed here and there. Most of it seemed to be hotel and resort business—talk of remodeling and expansions, mergers and takeovers. She found it odd that so many of the guests were in that trade, rather than prosperous farmers or olive growers.

  Stephen came up behind her and murmured in her ear, “You look pleased with yourself.”

  “I am.” He couldn’t know that she was pleased to find herself at ease and comfortable in a party of strangers. “So many interesting people.”

  “Interesting.” He brushed a finger over her wispy bangs. “I thought you might find it dull.”

  “Not at all.” She took a last sip of champagne, then set the glass aside. Instantly a waiter was at her side, offering another. Stephen watched her smile her thanks.

  “So you enjoy parties?”

  “Sometimes. I’m enjoying this one, and having a chance to meet your associates.”

  Stephen glanced over her shoulder, summing up the looks and quiet murmurs. “They’ll be talking about you for weeks to come.”

  She only laughed, turning in a slow circle. Around her was the flash of jewels and the gleam of gold. The sleek and the prosperous, the rich and the successful. It pleased her that she’d found more to talk about than tax shelters.

  “I can’t imagine they have so little on their minds. This is such a gorgeous room.”

  She looked around the huge ballroom, with its cream-and-rose walls, its glittering chandeliers and its gleaming floors. There were alcoves for cozy love seats and tall, thriving ornamental trees in huge copper pots. The tables, arranged to give a sense of intimacy, were already set with ivory cloths and slender tapers.

  “It’s really a beautiful hotel,” she continued. “Everything about it runs so smoothly.” She smiled up at him. “I’m torn between the resort in Corfu and this.”

  “Thank you.” When she gave him a blank look, he tipped up her chin with his finger. “They’re mine.”

  “Your what?”

  “My hotels,” he said simply, then led her to a table.

  She spoke all through dinner, though for the first fifteen minutes she had no idea what she said. There were eight at Stephen’s table, including Dimitri, who had shifted name cards so that he could sit beside her. She toyed with her seafood appetizer, chatted and wondered if she could have made a bigger fool out of herself.

  He wasn’t simply prosperous. He wasn’t simply well-off. There was enough accountant left in Rebecca to understand that when a man owned what Stephen owned he was far, far more than comfortable.

  What would he think of her when he found out what she was? Trust? How could she ever expect him to trust her now? She swallowed without tasting and managed to smile. Would he think she was a gold digger, that she had set herself up to run into him?

  No, that was ridiculous.

  She forced herself to look over and saw that Stephen was watching her steadily. She picked up her fork with one hand and balled up the napkin in her lap with the other.

  Why couldn’t he be ordinary? she wondered. Someone vacationing, someone working at the resort? Why had she fallen in love with someone so far out of her reach?

  “Have you left us?”

  Rebecca jerked herself back to see Dimitri smiling at her. Flushing, she noticed that the next course had been served while she’d been daydreaming. “I’m sorry.” With an effort she began to toy with the salata Athenas.

  “A beautiful woman need never apologize for being lost in her own thoughts.” He patted her hand, then let his fingers linger. He caught Stephen’s dark look and smiled. If he didn’t like the boy so much, he thought, he wouldn’t get nearly so much pleasure from irritating him. “Tell me, how did you meet Stephen?”

  “We met in Corfu.” She thought of that first meal they had shared … quiet, relaxed, alone.

  “Ah, soft nights and sunny days. You are vacationing?”

  “Yes.” Rebecca put more effort into her smile. If she stared into her salad she would only embarrass herself, and Stephen. “He was kind enough to show me some of the island.”

  “He knows it well, and many of the other islands of our country. There’s something of the gypsy in him.”

  She had sensed that. Hadn’t that been part of the attraction? Hadn’t Rebecca just discovered the gypsy in herself? “Have you known him long?”

  “We have a long-standing business relationship. Friendly rivals, you might say. When Stephen was hardly more than a boy he accumulated an impressive amount of land.” He gestured expansively. “As you can see, he used it wisely. I believe he has two hotels in your country.”

  “Two? More?” Rebecca picked up her glass and took a long swallow of wine.

  “So you see, I had wondered if you had met in America and were old friends.”

  “No.” Rebecca nodded weakly as the waiter removed the salad and replaced it with moussaka. “We only just met a few days ago.”

  “As always, Stephen moves quickly and stylishly.” Dimitri took her hand again, more than a little amused by the frown he saw deepening in Stephen’s eyes. “Where is it in America you are from?”

  “Philadelphia.” Relax, she ordered herself. Relax and enjoy. “That’s in the Northeast.”

  It infuriated Stephen to watch her flirting so easily, so effectively, with another man. She sat through course after course, barely eating, all the while gifting Dimitri with her shy smiles. Not once did she draw away when the older man touched her hand or leaned close. From where he sat, Stephen could catch a trace of her scent, soft, subtle, maddening. He could hear her quiet laugh when Dimitri murmured something in her ear.

  Then she was standing with him, her hand caught in his, as he led her to the dance floor.

  Stephen sat there, battling back a jealousy he despised, and watched them move together to music made for lovers. Under the lights her dress clung, then swayed, then shifted. Her face was close, too damn close, to Dimitri’s. He knew what it was like to hold her like that, to breathe in the scent of her skin and her hair. He knew what it was to feel her body brush against his, to feel the life, the passion, bubbling. He knew what it was to see her eyes blur, her lips part, to hear that quiet sigh.

  He had often put his stamp on land, but never on a woman. He didn’t believe in it. But only a fool sat idly by and allowed another man to enjoy what was his. With a muttered oath, Stephen rose, strode out onto the dance floor and laid a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder.

  “Ah, well.” The older man gave a regretful sigh and stepped aside. “Until later.”

  Before she could respond, Rebecca was caught against Stephen. With a sigh of her own, she relaxed and matched her steps to his. Maybe it was like a dream, she told herself as she closed her eyes and let the music fill her head. But she was going to enjoy every moment until it was time to wake up.

  She seemed to melt against him. Her fingers moved lightly through his hair as she rested her cheek against his. Was this the way she’d danced with Dimitri? Stephen wondered, then cursed himself. He was being a fool, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Then again, he’d had to fight for everything else in his life. Why should his woman be any different?

  He wanted to drag her off then and there, away from everyone, and find some dark, quiet place to love her.

  “You’re enjoying yourself?”

  “Yes.” She wouldn’t think about what he was, not now. Soon enough the night would be over and tomorrow would have to be faced. While the music played and he held her, she would only think of what he meant to her. “Very much.”

  The dreamy tone of her voice almost undid him. “Apparently Dimitri entertained you well.”

  “Mmm. He’s a very nice man.”

  “You moved easily from his
arms to mine.”

  Something in his tone pried through the pleasure she felt. Carefully she drew back so that she could see his face. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”

  “I believe you do.”

  She was tempted to laugh, but there was no humor in Stephen’s eyes. Rebecca felt her stomach knot as it always did when she was faced with a confrontation. “If I do, then I’d have to think you ridiculous. Maybe we’d better go back to the table.”

  “So you can be with him?” Even as the words came out he realized the unfairness, even the foolishness, of them.

  She stiffened, retreating as far as she could from anger. “I don’t think this is the place for this kind of discussion.”

  “You’re quite right.” As furious with himself as he was with her, he pulled her from the dance floor.

  Chapter Eight

  “Stop it.” By the time he’d dragged her to the elevators, Rebecca had gotten over her first shock. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I’m simply taking you to a more suitable place for our discussion.” He pulled her into the elevator, then punched the button for their floor.

  “You have guests,” she began, but he sent her a look that made her feel like a fool. Falling back on dignity, she straightened her shoulders. “I prefer to be asked if I want to leave, not dragged around as though I were a pack mule.”

  Though her heart was pounding, she sailed past him when the doors opened, intending to breeze into her own rooms and slam the door in his face. In two steps he had her arm again. Rebecca found herself guided, none too gently, into Stephen’s suite.

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, because she was certain her teeth would begin to chatter at any moment. She didn’t argue well in the best of circumstances.

  Faced with Stephen’s anger, she was certain she would lose.

  He said nothing as he loosened his tie and the first two buttons of his shirt. He went to the bar and poured two brandies. He was being irrational and he knew it, but he seemed unable to control it. That was new, he decided. But there had been many new emotions in him since Rebecca.