by Jane Porter
It was a contract stipulating what he expected from her in terms of behavior.
Kassiani snorted as she turned the page, scanning the second sheet, and then the third, and finally the fourth. Finished reading, she dropped the paperwork on the table and leaned back in her chair to give Damen a long, level, concerned look. “I’d love to understand your rationale. What do you think this paperwork is going to accomplish?”
“It will simplify things between us.”
“How?”
“You won’t be confused about what I need from you, and you won’t be surprised by my expectations, either.”
She tipped her head, considering him. He was so ruggedly good-looking, and had the most amazing skills in bed, but goodness, he was also incredibly out of touch with reality. “My gut tells me this...document...was something you used to give your mistresses. And I am sure it was useful for them. But it’s not at all beneficial for us, and I’m not going to sign it because there is no way it would work—”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t tell me what to feel, or if I’m allowed to have feelings, including feelings of attachment. I’m not a hooker, I’m not a mistress, I’m your wife.”
“This was not a love marriage. I do not love you, I will not love you, and I will not discuss love every single day.”
Kassiani laughed, tucking a flyaway tendril behind her ear. “I only asked you once if you’d ever been in love. Once. And I never said I loved you. I never said I wanted to love you. I merely said I cared for you. Frankly, I don’t expect you to love me after everything you said. I’ve accepted you have rocks in your chest instead of a heart. But your determination to control who I am, and how I feel, makes me think you don’t just have rocks in your chest, but rocks in your head.”
She stood up, leaving the paperwork on the table between them. “I’m not one of your silly mistresses,” she said, voice dropping to little more than a whisper. “I don’t need your money, either, but thank you for offering me a very generous allowance in exchange for keeping my unnecessary and unwanted feelings to myself. Thank you for thinking of me, and trying to be a good provider. I can respect that you’re trying to give me something.”
And then she squeezed between the small tables, and climbed the stairs to reach the street, the white skirt of her sundress swirling around her legs, her temper seething, her vision blurred because all she could see was red.
She didn’t know how he did it, time and time again, but he had the ability to take a perfectly lovely morning and ruin it. Honestly, all he needed was sixty seconds and he smashed life’s gorgeous possibilities in no time flat.
* * *
Damen caught up with her before she’d walked too far. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Back to the ship. I don’t feel like dealing with tourists, or you, at the moment.”
He blocked her progress down the street. “You can’t just walk away from me every time you don’t like what I have to say.”
“You wanted a wife, and I wanted to be a good wife, but I realize I will never be a traditional Greek wife. I’m Greek American, and obviously more American than Greek because I wanted to laugh in your face when you presented your contract. It was ridiculous. Damen, you have a problem with control, and I’m not good with that. That was not part of the marriage deal. I never agreed to relinquish all control—”
“You said you’d make my comfort your chief goal.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Then understand that your emotions are making me uncomfortable.”
“You make it sound as if I’m a hysterical female, crying and screaming and having tantrums from one end of your ship to the other. Have I cried on this trip? Yes. But I have only cried in the privacy of my bedroom—”
“It’s actually my bedroom.”
She threw up her hands in dismay. “Do you want your bedroom back? Would you like to move your wife to a guest bedroom? Is that where your mistresses usually sleep?”
His silence told her all she needed to know.
Kassiani laughed, because it was that, or scream, and she couldn’t allow herself to lose control now, not after everything he’d said. “What were these other women like, the ones you love throwing in my face? I’d love to know more about your mistresses, and how they were such paragons of virtue.”
“They weren’t paragons of virtue,” he said tightly. “But they understood the limitations of our relationship and didn’t make excessive demands.”
“Because they were grateful you paid their bills. I’m sure you spoiled them with jewelry and trips and clothes, and they probably loved every little trinket and special treat, but I don’t care about things, Damen. I don’t care about the yacht, or your villas, or your numerous expensive cars. I’ve grown up surrounded by nice things, expensive things. What I want from you isn’t trinkets and treats. I want honesty, kindness, happiness, respect. I want a marriage that is a partnership—”
“I don’t do partnerships.”
“My father thinks he and you are partners.”
Damen’s jaw tightened, and his expression hardened.
She lifted a shoulder. “You allowed Elexis to think she’d be your partner.”
“Because she would have been happy with trinkets and treats and trips to London and New York and Milan for Fashion Week.”
“Because she would have accepted your idea of a partnership.” Her chin jerked up. “And she would have been happy with the lies and deceit because she would have been just as deceitful. She wouldn’t have been faithful to you, and maybe you don’t care. You wouldn’t be absolutely sure, short of a DNA test, that your children were your children. And you probably would have been happier with a woman who pretends to care for you, but doesn’t. You would be able to sleep at night knowing you got what you wanted—money, power and the illusion of control—while she got what she wanted—money, prestige and tremendous freedom away from you.”
“You make me sound like a horrible human being.”
“You don’t have to be horrible,” she said softly. “It’s a choice you make.” And then she shrugged and stepped around him, her shoulder bumping his chest as she pushed by, before continuing down the street, grateful she’d been to Chora before because it meant she knew how to get back to the harbor and out of these narrow, twisting streets.
The speedboat was waiting for her, as if it had never left, and it ferried her back to the yacht anchored in the harbor.
She kept her jaw set during the short trip, and as she climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. Once there she rang for staff and asked them to pack her things and move her to a different room, one that Mr. Alexopoulos’s female guests usually enjoyed.
If he wanted his room, he could have his room.
And if he wanted a marriage, it was going to be a partnership.
She could appreciate the erotic sex, and she could handle his being dominant in the bedroom, but she wasn’t going to be a doormat out of the bedroom.
She might not be beautiful, and she might not ever command admiration and respect from the rest of the world, but she refused to feel less than worthy in her new home.
* * *
Damen wandered around the charming old town with the whitewashed buildings and brightly painted doors in a temper. He didn’t know which upset him more: the fact that Kassiani had moved out of the master bedroom, or the brazen announcement that she didn’t need his money because she had her own. He also knew why she’d left the master bedroom—his flippant remark about it being his room had annoyed her—but he didn’t understand why she felt it necessary to brag about having her own money. Of course she had money. She was an heiress. The Dukases owned large chunks of San Francisco’s waterfront, a historic mansion in the most coveted neighborhood of the city, plus more valuable real estate all over the West Coast. So what did she think she was a
ccomplishing by mentioning her wealth?
What did she think she’d accomplish by throwing her weight around?
After an hour of walking, he returned to the yacht, going to the master bedroom, but she was no longer there. He was informed by one of his maids that she’d changed rooms, taking a smaller room on another floor.
Temper stirred all over again, he descended a flight of stairs, and knocked hard on the door of the guest room she’d claimed as her own.
It took Kassiani forever to open it.
She stood in the doorway in what looked like comfortable yoga pants and a soft T-shirt, her long thick hair loose and tumbling over her shoulder. She looked up at him, eyes wide, expression innocent. “Hello, Damen. How was your morning?”
He had to draw a careful breath to check his temper. He was not going to fight with her. There would be no scene. “How are your new accommodations?” he asked, because he could match her at her game. She wanted civilized. He could give her civilized. “I hope the guest room will be sufficiently comfortable. The bed is much smaller, and there is no private deck, or I believe a jetted tub, but I suppose if you are craving a really long soak, you could use the master bathroom.”
“Or I can visit your spa here on the yacht. It’s a very well-appointed spa.”
“I spared no expense,” he agreed.
“I’ve been able to take advantage of the spa on a daily basis, so thank you.”
He gazed down into her upturned face, thinking the softness of her mouth, the pale pink flush in her cheeks and her firm chin belied her inner strength. Kassiani was nobody’s fool. He felt grudging respect. “So are you going to invite me in, or do I carry you back to the master bedroom?”
Her nose wrinkled. She appeared to think, her head cocked, a finger tapping her chin. “Hmm. I wish I had remembered the details of that agreement better. Because there was something in that document about me being available for sex, on demand, and it was strange, because in the United States we have television like that. You can watch whatever you want when you want. Is that what you are thinking I would be? A wife on demand? With my very privates on demand?” Her brows pulled and she gave her head a faint, frustrated shake. “Maybe I should have paid better attention to that agreement.”
“I knew I should have read it to you.”
He enjoyed the flash of outrage in her dark eyes. Her eyes glowed hot, the little sparks of gold unusually bright right now. If he had an issue with her, it wasn’t with her desirability. He found Kassiani incredibly seductive. There wasn’t anything about her body he didn’t like. But she was never more beautiful and appealing than when she was unhappy with him. He usually didn’t like angry women, but Kassiani in a temper was absolutely arousing.
He was getting hard just looking at her now, and seeing the defiant shine in her eyes and the set of her full lips.
Maybe he shouldn’t be turned on right now, but he was, and he wondered if it was because she was the first woman who had ever truly stood up to him. He couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had stood up to him. It was interesting. Maybe a little refreshing.
“I feel as if I need to prepare a statement or tutorial for you, my husband, because I am happy to be in your bed, when you treat me as an equal. I am happy to be in your bed when you respect me. But I won’t be happy if you treat me as if I am something you own. I am not real estate. I am not your property. I am not a possession.”
“You are making too much of the agreement. And there were benefits to you signing the agreement.”
“Yes, I would receive extra bonuses with my allowance when we have smooth, drama-free weeks. To receive those bonuses, all I have to do is be compliant, serene and undemanding.” She smiled up at him and yet her smile was fierce. “You don’t like women very much, do you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like anyone very much.”
“What happened to you to make you so...you? There are selfish men in the world, and there are arrogant men, and there are detached men, but you are without a doubt—”
“I really am not interested in discussing my personality,” he interrupted, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. “Or whatever you perceive to be my personality—”
“Disorder,” she now interjected.
“Or disorder you want to assign me.” He smiled, and he could see that his smile infuriated her and his shaft just grew harder. What was it about her that made him want—even be willing—to engage her in these conversations? Because he didn’t allow criticism from others. He didn’t tolerate dissension, either. But with Kassiani, he gave her so much freedom. He was shockingly patient, and tolerant.
And lenient.
He smiled again, aware that his smile would provoke her. “I really don’t care about labels. I am who I am. I am comfortable with who I am.” He stopped talking and waited, curious to see what she’d do now. And Damen was never curious about anything. He wasn’t curious about anyone. What kind of power did Kassiani have over him?
The silence was thick and crackling with energy. Kass lifted her chin, and looked him in the eye, her gaze locking with his. She was so mad at him, he could see it in the quiver of her lip, a lip she punished by biting into it.
“Invite me in,” he said lazily, even though nothing in his body felt lazy. His erection ached in his trousers. His body tensed. He wanted to bury himself in her soft wet heat and make her arch and whimper and shatter.
“Or what?” she flashed. “You’ll reduce my allowance? Take away my privileges?”
When he didn’t answer quickly enough, she added, “And just what are those privileges, my dear husband? What do I get from this marriage besides money? Because there has to be something else I get from this relationship, otherwise what is my incentive to remain? I have money. I don’t need your money. What I need is something I can’t give myself. Have you ever asked yourself that?”
Suddenly the heat in his groin faded, and the warmth he’d been feeling cooled. He no longer felt like smiling. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I married you for companionship and friendship. I married you so I’d have someone to share my life with. I didn’t marry you so you could constantly control me and lecture me and make me feel worthless. My father did that quite nicely and I’ve had enough of being marginalized. I expect better of you. In fact I demand better.”
Ice water seemed to wash through his veins. Damen stiffened. “This is not the way to entice me into your bed, kitten. I do not respond well to demands. Not from anyone.”
“I want you to take me seriously. I want you to respect me the way I respect you.”
“But you don’t sound respectful. You sound like a spoiled, rich woman who thinks she is entitled to whatever she wants.”
Kassiani flinched. “You are calling me entitled?”
He shrugged. “If the shoe fits?”
“It doesn’t!”
“If you say so,” he added with another careless shrug before turning around and walking away from her.
* * *
Kassiani refused to give in to tears. She wasn’t going to cry, not again today or tonight. But her guest room, even though luxurious, felt like a cage and she couldn’t bear feeling trapped so she went down a floor to the living room and dining room and its expansive deck so that she could walk outside on the deck and try to calm down.
Damen had called her entitled. Clearly he—captain of his universe—didn’t know what the word entitled meant.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KASSIANI CHANGED INTO one of her swimsuits and headed upstairs to the pool deck with one of the books she’d brought to Greece with her. They were at sea again and the afternoon was warm, and as she stood at the railing she welcomed the breeze and the panoramic views of shimmering water dotted with distant islands. The Aegean was truly remarkable and she loved how the rich sapphire sea lightened to turquoise and aqua a
s the yacht approached islands with their shallow bays and inlets.
It was a shame they hadn’t spent more time on Mykonos today.
It was a shame that she and Damen couldn’t get along. She could almost understand why he wanted a contract... He wanted peace. He wanted undemanding companionship. She could respect that. But she didn’t like how he went about it. She didn’t want to be paid to be kind, and pleasant. She was his wife!
After swimming several laps in the pool, Kassiani climbed out and claimed one of the lounge chairs, and tried to read, but her thoughts kept circling back to Damen.
He was such a puzzle. Something had happened to him at some point that had made him mistrustful. Something rather terrible.
She didn’t know what it was, and she wished she didn’t care, but she did. When she and Damen weren’t fighting about power and position, she really enjoyed his company. He was smart and driven and utterly gorgeous, which made him fascinating.
And then as if her thoughts had conjured him, he appeared on the pool deck.
“Is this lounger taken?” he asked, pointing at the chair next to hers.
“I was hoping my husband would claim it, but he’s gone, working.”
“Your husband is working on your honeymoon?”
“Tragic, I know,” she answered lightly. “But he’s brilliant, and really successful, so I try to be understanding.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, and please don’t tell him, because it will only upset him, but I like him.” She smiled wryly. “Do you still want the lounge chair?”
Damen smiled crookedly, and creases fanned from his gray eyes and he looked young and rather boyish. “That was a lot of information. I’m not sure your husband would appreciate you spilling intimate marital secrets to strangers.”
“No, he’d want to tie me up and maybe put some nipple clamps—”
