The Sapphire Pendant Read Free

absently, his amused expression gone. “Go get something to drink.”
    “But—”
    He stopped her with a hard look. She lowered her beautiful lashes and walked away.
    “Looks like your date wants her nappy changed,” Jessie muttered.
    He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground. “Just for a minute, stop being a smartass and look at your left hand.”
    She lifted her hand and saw a pencil-thin cut slashed through her palm; a stream of blood seeped through and dripped onto the floor. Pain suddenly registered, but it was quickly replaced with an odd sense of annoyance. “Damn.”
    Kenneth handed her a crisp, white handkerchief, forcing her to apply pressure. Before she could argue, he turned away. “Clean up this mess, please,” he told a passing waiter.
    The waiter stopped and stared at the mess as if he had come upon a car wreck and was being asked to provide emergency care. “But that’s not my job.”
    Kenneth nodded and grinned. “Do you want to have a job?” His voice was soft; his threat was not.
    The man swallowed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “Thank you.” Kenneth pointed to a woman in a maid’s uniform, who was standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Get me some bandages and antibiotic ointment, please,” he said, the hint of an island accent sweetening his words. The woman nodded and disappeared. He took hold of Jessie’s other arm. “Come with me.”
    Trapped in his iron grip, she reluctantly followed him, inwardly groaning as she heard the crunch of broken glass under her feet.
    In the powder room, he cleaned the cut, then had her press her hand against his in a fist.
    “Does that hurt?”
    She snatched her hand away. “Yes, of course!”
    “Good. No nerve damage,” he explained when she stared at him, outraged. “You’ve hurt yourself enough times to know the procedure.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “You were the most reckless tomboy around. What do they call grown tomboys? ‘Tommen’?”
    “I am not a tomboy.”
    “Just afraid of being a woman, then?”
    A timid knock interrupted her reply.
    “Come in,” he said.
    The maid entered, staring at Kenneth with eyes of worship. She held out the bandages, her hand trembling, as though offering a famous celebrity a handmade gift. “Here are the bandages you needed.”
    “Thanks.” He flashed one of his hundred-watt smiles. The woman blushed and shut the door. He turned to Jessie, and the smile disappeared.
    Jessie felt both sickened and mesmerized by how quickly he could turn on the charm. She had to admit it was a gift. His smile made every woman believe he thought she was special, that she was number one in his life. Jessie knew: she had once been on the receiving end of one of those deceptive smiles. “Doesn’t it get tiresome?”
    He applied the ointment. “What?”
    Jessie looked towards the ceiling, praying for patience. “The women.”
    He sent her an intense look, then began to gently wrap her hand. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
    Jessie shrugged, indifferent. “You can wrap it tighter, you know,” she said, annoyed by his tenderness. She just wanted him to wrap her hand and leave.
    “I know. However, I must try to resist stopping your blood flow.” He flashed a malicious grin. “The urge is tempting.”
    She made a face and surveyed the small powder room. Her gaze fell on the hand-painted violet-blossom tiles shipped in from Spain and the cobalt-blue-on-white china basin. She wished the room were larger, since Kenneth seemed to take up most of the free space and air. She could feel the heat from his body reach out and embrace her; the musky scent of his cologne played havoc with her senses. She began to feel lightheaded, which she was certain was a direct result of lost blood and eating only toast for breakfast. The flowers on the walls suddenly seemed to sway from an unknown breeze, and Kenneth felt far away—just the way she liked it. Then he was gone.
    * * *
    “Drink it,”