by Jess Bentley
The black car whisks us up the winding hill to the villa. Sophie rolls down her window and the scent of tropical flowers makes my nostrils flare. Breathing deeply, the clean, male scent of Jayson teases my nose. I turn my head away from him and lean closer to the open window. At least until I realize my butt is even closer to Jayson, and I jump back as though his touch burns. In a way, it does.
It burns me to have him so close, infringing upon my space.
Liar, whispers that annoying voice, which I quickly quash.
“Would you like to hang your head out the window, Harper? Maybe let the breeze flap your tongue?” teases Jayson.
I shoot him a glare and soon we pull up the driveway, parking in front of the villa. Jayson is the first out, and I breathe a sigh of relief that his presence isn’t tormenting me any longer. The relief is short-lived, however, because he pauses, reaching in to offer me a hand out as the driver comes around to let out Sophie. “I can manage,” I say through gritted teeth as I swing my legs out the door.
“It’s no trouble.” He overrides my objection by grasping my hand and giving me a gentle tug. My momentum shifts, sending me sprawling forward, straight into Jayson’s arms.
“A simple thank you would have sufficed.” His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. I’d like to think my hot glower helped make that decision.
I jerk upright, straighten my spine, and step away from him. “Thank you for making me stumble,” I say as coldly as I can manage, then turn away from him. To my annoyance, he laughs softly.
Irina comes bustling out of the villa. The housekeeper has to be over sixty by now, but she’s still at her post. In a shower of Greek, Irina sweeps Sophie into a big hug, her larger girth swallowing up the girl’s smaller frame. After a moment, Sophie fights her way free, and Irina moves on to Jayson. I can’t hide my pleasure at the way the older woman engulfs him in one of her massive hugs. When she releases him, she pats his face and speaks lovingly in Greek.
I slip by them, surprised when Irina touches my arm. I turn to smile at the older woman and find myself wrapped in her arms. I’ve known Irina from other visits, but it’s been years, and she’s never greeted me with a big hug before.
“Ah, Kyria Satyros, welcome. The last time I saw you, you were younger than Miss Sophie.”
I shake my head as best I can with Irina’s hands framing my face. “I think I was seventeen.” It was the summer before Sophie’s mother died, the year I developed a huge crush on Jayson. Thank goodness I’m over that.
“You have become a beautiful woman, Kyria Satyros. I can see why Mr. Jayson married you.”
My cheeks burn, and I look anywhere but at Jayson. “Please call me Harper, Irina.”
Irina nods, clearly not one to adhere to rigid standards of conduct. “Come, Kyria Harper, and Miss Sophie.” She threads her arms through ours, practically marching us up the marble stairs and into the house, with Jayson trailing behind.
The interior is more luxurious than I remembered, complete with a marble mosaic of one of the saints on the foyer floor. It seems almost… disrespectful to walk on it, and I’m not even religious. The others tread over the saint without a glance downward, so I do the same. More marble stairs, carpeted with a blue runner, leads us to the next floor where Irina releases Sophie in front of her room. Irina doesn’t wait for the girl to enter as she hurries me on. “You will love the master suite, Kyria Harper. It is perfection. Heaven on earth.”
I pretend to be paying attention, but really I’m too busy trying to keep up with the powerhouse of an old woman as she bustles around the place. When we enter the master suite, I don’t give it much thought. At Jayson’s home in New York, we share the master suite, though with separate bedrooms and bathrooms. If the staff there think it odd, they know better than to express the opinion.
“Heaven,” repeats Irina with a sigh. “This is the perfect place to make a baby, Kyria Harper. Miss Sophie and Mr. Jayson were both conceived here.” She winks at me. “Very romantic.”
Choking, I somehow manage to nod. I thank Irina and after one last hug, she leaves. It’s then I notice Jayson is also in the room. I hoped he’d gone straight to the study, or anywhere else. Being in a bedroom with him, alone, is awkward.
Turning toward the doors, I open the first to reveal a dressing room with another door. “Is my room through here?”
Jayson shrugs. “It can be yours if you’d like.”
Frowning at the odd comment, I walk through the dressing room to open the other door and step into the room, startled to find a nursery. An antique crib, armoire, and chair takes up most of one wall. There are toys lined neatly on shelves, obviously kept just so and dusted regularly. To my relief, there’s a single bed against another wall — probably for a nanny. It’s not the luxurious king-size bed I’ve gotten used to, but it’ll be fine. I can make do. I’d even go with the crib in order to avoid sharing a room with Jayson.
Suddenly I hear a voice behind me. It’s Jayson, who must have followed me. “Will this room suit you?”
“It’s fine.” Feeling lost, reluctant to meet his eyes, I fuss with the button of my linen jacket. “Though it is lacking something when it comes to closet space.”
Jayson nods, leaning against the doorjamb as though he plans to stay there all day. “There’s plenty of room in my closet. We can share.”
“Thanks.” An awkward silence falls, and I search for something to say. “What are — ?”
“Dinner is — ” says Jayson simultaneously. “What were you saying?”
“I was going to ask if you knew Sophie’s plans for the summer?”
He shrugs. “I imagine she’ll spend most of her time on the beach. She has a lot of old friends here. They like to do this and that in the village.”
“Ah.”
Jayson straightens, walking toward me. It feels like he’s looming over me even more than usual. I don’t usually feel uncomfortable when he stands so close — not that he’s stood this close to me in a long time. “And what are your plans, Harper?”
His hand brushes against my cheek as he pushes a strand of hair back in place. “Nothing.” My voice is husky.
Jayson lifts a dark brow. “Nothing? Staying in bed all day? Not exactly productive, but it might be fun.” He winks. “A real vacation.”
I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “Of course not. I’ll find something to amuse myself. I always do.” I take a step back from him, forcing my face to go blank. “I think I will take a nap though.” I glance pointedly at the door.
With a crook of his full lips, Jayson turns and saunters away, pausing once more at the door to glance back at me. “If you decide that bed is too small, Harper, you’re welcome to mine.”
I don’t reply, but his chuckle and the gleam in his eyes as he leaves stay with me. I wait until I hear the outer door of his room close to confirm he’s gone from the suite, before I feel my muscles and stiff posture relax. Exhaustion from the trip fills me. But will I be able to sleep with all these thoughts whirling through my head? What is Jayson up to? He never acts like that. Why has he suddenly started treating me like this when he made it very clear nothing physical would happen so long ago?
Chapter 3
Harper
A glance out the window reveals the sun about to set, and dinnertime will be soon. I guess I slept longer than I meant to. Stretching, I wince at the kink in my neck. This bed certainly leaves a lot to be desired, but at least it’s mine. I won’t be borrowing Jayson’s anytime soon.
Never, I correct myself. Slipping from the bed and straightening my slept-in clothes, I go in search of the bathroom. The other door from the main bedroom opens to reveal a gorgeous one with a sunken marble tub with whirlpool jets and painted in soothing colors.
Shedding my wrinkled travel clothes, I leave them in a heap near the tub. The water rushes from the crystal faucet with a small nudge, filling the whirlpool in great swirls. I pick my way into the tub, going down the marble steps until I’m waist-deep
in the warm water. Settling onto the built-in bench, I turn on the jets after figuring out the control panel and then lie back, resting my head on the padded ledge and sinking into the water.
When I glance up, a fresco of cavorting, bare-bottomed cherubs on the ceiling meets my eyes. Someone’s obviously tried to give the room a romantic feel, from the tub which is clearly meant for two to the tiny votives in crystal holders scattered all around the room. Too bad any romantic vibe comes to a screeching halt with the cherubs. How can anyone feel sexy with a bunch of chubby little angels staring down at them?
Not that Jayson and I would indulge in any such thing, any day of the week. I close my eyes again, and unbidden comes an image of my husband in the tub with another woman. A scowl spreads across my face and I’m no longer relaxed. I struggle for a while to relax. It’s counterproductive. Letting out the water I stand up, wrapping myself in a luxurious plush towel the color of ripe plums.
At the mirror, I meet my own gaze briefly before looking away, disconcerted by the expression on my face. It looks jealous. Which, of course, I’m not. My relationship with Jayson isn’t anything like that. Scowling at the idea of Jayson having sex with another woman in the bathtub is simply due to the possibility Sophie might find out. She knows I’m returning to college when she goes off to university, but she doesn’t have a clue that Jayson and I are divorcing. Having another woman show up would be a terrible way for the poor girl to discover the true state of our marriage.
That’s all it is.
This time when I turn around, I avoid looking at myself. It’s just easier not to have to read the expressions on my own damn face.
A few moments later, I leave the bathroom, pulling the towel tight around me. The last door has a huge walk-in closet. Someone, presumably Irina, unpacked my clothes. A quick search reveals my underwear in one of the drawers built into the closet. Nestled snugly alongside Jayson’s.
Barf.
I’m not proud of it, but I reach out a shaking hand to lift a pair of his. The silky black material is cool against my fingers, though I can imagine how hot it might be with his skin underneath. I find myself picturing him wearing nothing but boxer briefs, his golden, suntanned skin and… and then nothing.
With a growl of annoyance, I drop the underwear, snatch up a pair of my panties, and slam the drawer shut. Whatever is wrong with me has to stop now. It’s taken far too long for me to become completely and perfectly immune to Jayson’s presence, but I did it. To risk destroying all that effort by allowing myself to think about him naked is not helping one bit.
Frustration.
That’s all it is.
I’m physically frustrated, and since we’re so close to the end of our marriage of convenience, my body is simply stirring to life. It’s a long time for a girl my age, to have no sexual contact with anyone. And what can I say? I’m curious. I’ve never had sex before. Within just a few months, I’ll be able to indulge in all my natural urges.
To have desire while married to Jayson would ruin everything, so I just shut off that part of me, ruthlessly quashing any sexual sparks that cropped up. The vacation and change of scenery must be the cause of this temporary insanity. The fresh ocean air. That’s all it is. The last thing I want is to feel attracted to Jayson again, when I’m so close to being free.
Slipping out of the towel, I drape it on a hook, and slide on the white panties I grabbed randomly from the drawer. They might be comfortable, but they’re not at all sexy.
And that’s fine. What do I need to be sexy for?
Sorting through my clothes, I finally choose a sleeveless, backless yellow dress. The sun is gone, but it’ll still be hot, especially if we eat outside. That was the custom the last time I visited the island.
To my horror, as I pull the dress from its hanger, the main door opens. I scramble to slip on the dress, trying to cover my nakedness before Jayson sees me. Somehow, I manage to wriggle into it, thankful the built-in bra of the dress hides my nipples.
I’m so flushed and flustered that when Jayson stops at the entryway to the closet and leans in slightly, I feel like he knows I was practically naked just a millisecond ago. Are his eyes lingering on my breasts? It’s just for a moment before his gaze rises to meet mine.
“Are you ready for dinner?” His tone is casual, but his dark eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Of course,” I nod. I grab a pair of golden sandals from the small selection on the floor, sliding them onto my feet as fast as possible. I can practically feel the heat of his gaze caressing my ass as I kneel to adjust the straps.
I turn around, quickly. There’s no hint that he was ogling me, but I do find myself ogling him. He’s stripped off his shirt and is reaching for another. Sure, khaki slacks and being bare from the waist up for a moment before he slides on a polo shirt isn’t sexual — but tell that to my nether regions, which are getting that telltale tingling feeling. Soon my white panties are going to be wet. I want to slide my hands all over his soft skin, to trace the angles of his body..
I clear my throat and yank my gaze from the rippling muscles of his tanned torso, sidling past him. “Excuse me,” I say as my body touches his. My adrenaline kicks in and I run from the closet and the master suite, anxious to put space between us.
It’s almost over, and I’m already out of control.
By the time I fly past the marble staircase on the way to the salon, I’ve regained my cool, collected self. And if I haven’t, I’ll fake it till I make it.
Sophie’s on a white velvet couch, casually clad in capris and a modest halter top. That means there will be no guests tonight, to my great relief. I’m just not up to putting on the usual married act. When Jayson and I socialize, I’m required, of course, to act like the doting wife of the powerful man.
I just sit down on the couch when Jayson appears. He looks at ease in casual clothes, not like the CEO of an international corporation that has made him one of the richest men in the world. He seems nearly approachable, which makes my stomach knot with tension. It’s easier when Jayson is remote, distracted, and buried in his work. Seeing him so relaxed puts me off. At least it’ll be my last vacation with him. I won’t have to worry for much longer.
Irina appears in the doorway. “Dinner is served,” she says with a small smile.
I jump to my feet as though propelled by a spring, hurrying forward. I’m desperate to escape this room they call the salon, since Jayson seems to consume all the oxygen and take up all the space. If we’re outside, I won’t notice his larger-than-life presence. Or his beautiful body in those clothes. Or imagine him naked again.
Forcing myself to fall into step with Jayson and Sophie instead of racing ahead, my head swims for a moment when Jayson places his large, warm hand on my bare back. It’s nothing more than a courteous gesture, but his fingers scorch my skin, making me shift with discomfort, though I don’t break contact. It just wouldn’t be polite to act like I can’t stand him to touch me at all.
Choosing not to step away has nothing to do with liking his touch entirely too much.
It’s a relief to break free of his touch and settle into the chair he pulls out for me before he does the same for Sophie. I’m reading too much into Jayson’s behavior. He’s mostly freed from the burden of work for the first time since we got married, and it’s only natural that he’s more open and friendly. It means nothing. I mean nothing to him. There’s no doubt about that, despite a little chivalry today.
Thank heaven, Sophie is chattering away as we dine on olives and eggplant marinated in olive oil, followed by fish in a yogurt-mint sauce, perfectly grilled vegetables, and a plate of cheese and figs that round out the meal. I contribute to the conversation on autopilot while my brain continuously scolds me.
Nothing more than remote politeness in regard to Jayson is allowed, I tell myself.
When we return to the salon for more conversation and thick Greek coffee served in demitasse cups, I ignore Jayson’s proximity, despite his sitting just a fe
w feet away. Instead, I focus on Sophie, discussing the girl’s plans for her vacation.
When I catch Sophie smothering a yawn behind her hand, I stretch slightly. “Would anyone mind if we cut the evening short? I am completely exhausted.” My nap gave me a fresh burst of energy, but I don’t want to embarrass Sophie by suggesting it’s bedtime for the younger girl.
Sophie nods. “Yeah, you know what? I could use an early night.”
My stomach drops when Jayson answers, “So could I.” To my relief, he doesn’t place a hand on my back this time as we walk up the stairs close together. My stomach knots with apprehension as we bid goodnight to Sophie and continue on to the master suite. Despite my constant mental reassurances that Jayson’s actions don’t mean anything, I can’t help worrying that they might. Is he as sexually frustrated as I am?
Probably.
Do I seem like a convenient body for him to use over the summer?
I doubt it. Jayson’s never been blatant about having other women, but I know he must have during our marriage. Just instinctively I know he wouldn’t remain celibate for three years — just as I instinctively know his Greek pride would insist that I am.
I hold my breath as we enter the suite, pausing uncertainly near the door to the nursery. “Good night,” I offer with a hint of chill, prepared to turn down any advances he might make.
“Good night, Harper.” His voice betrays nothing as he walks past me to the bathroom.
I close the door with more force than truly necessary, not certain why I am annoyed. I should be overjoyed that he is so disinterested in me that he practically looked right through me on his way to the bathroom. I certainly shouldn’t be gnashing my teeth with anger that he’s suddenly become so distant again. The last thing I want is the complication of sex when we are so close to the end of our marriage.
Right?
…Right?
Chapter 4
