Package Deal

by Jess Bentley

  I imagine running my fingertips over the soft seams of her back pockets, as I pull her close. Maybe grip her belt and jerk it against me so she can feel how hard I am from just looking at her. Her green eyes would darken with passion just before I press my mouth to hers to taste those sinfully full, pink lips.

  I groan softly, doing my best to wipe the images from my mind. It’ll never happen. Harper will never be in my bed, because she treats me with friendly distance and nothing else.

  My wife.

  I brood about that word. It’s maddening. Sure, Harper is my wife in name only, but for months now I’ve been wondering how stupid I was for marrying her when I can’t touch her. I can pinpoint the exact night when I suddenly realized my wife was an attractive, desirable woman: we were at a party for some charity function, and she was wearing a stunning red dress. The silk caressed her curves, making me notice just how much she has changed in the three years since we were married. Harper went from an unsophisticated college girl to a polished, poised woman. My woman.

  Except she’s not my woman. Our marriage is going to end in three months. The end of summer. Sophie will head off to university, and Harper and I will go our separate ways. The whole goddamned plan was my idea, after all. We even signed a contract, to make everything official.

  What a moron I’d been.

  Harper, unsurprisingly, is preparing to move on. I’ve known for a while now. In fact it’s hard to miss, with various college catalogs appearing here and there around the apartment. She’s checking property in the boroughs, and I even watched over her shoulder one night as she surfed Craigslist and other proper furniture stores, adding different things to her wish list.

  She clearly has no doubts about ending this farce of a marriage. For me, the business deal is simply coming to a close. She fulfilled her part, and I have to do the same.

  I groan softly again, but this time it’s at the idea of letting her go. I never go back on my word, but the idea of letting Harper walk out of my life pains me. She’s my wife. And I’ve finally figured out what I wanted from her, just in time for her to become my ex-wife.

  No.

  I won’t allow it. I want her. I want the wedding night we should have had, the one I deprived us of, along with three years’ worth of lost nights.

  Somehow, I have to find a way to make Harper want to stay.

  Harper

  This is the first summer anyone from Jayson’s family came to the island since the jet crashed three years ago. It’s been even longer since I set foot on the soft, white sand of the beaches here, but it’s Sophie I worry about. On the flight to the island, she was calmer than either I or Jayson expected. The last time she’d flown that route, the plane crashed. And poor Sophie was the sole survivor.

  I’ve been trying to keep her attention focused anywhere but the travel. Being on the island has to bring back overwhelming memories. How could it be any different?

  Our conversations mostly revolve around college, because Sophie’s so excited about it. I’m excited for her too, of course. I’m happy knowing she’s not such a little girl anymore. But if I’m honest, it does hurt a little knowing I’m not needed for much longer.

  Sure, I might be too young to be Sophie’s mother, but I’ve acted the role for the past three years. Some of it has sunk in.

  The one shining light about Sophie becoming more independent is that this means the sham marriage to Jayson is coming to an end.

  Finally, I can get on with my life and build a new one. I just want to find a man to hold me in his arms at night and warm my empty bed. I might even have babies of my own, one day. The thought of that, at least, lessens the sting of Sophie growing up.

  I ignore the small voice in the back of my head that whispers a suggestion for the as-yet-unknown husband. Someone with nearly black eyes and the longest lashes ever. I turn my attention to Sophie, putting my arm around her waist. She’s too tall now for me to sling an arm around her neck like I used to do. “Are you okay?”

  Sophie nods and smiles bravely, though there are traces of sadness on her face. “I’d forgotten how beautiful the island is.”

  “Me too.” A collection of elegant, ancient buildings line the hills of the island leading up to the summit, where one villa stands alone — the Satyros home. Together, we walk across the sand from the landing strip, toward the waiting car. The villa is a couple of miles away, but even from this distance, it’s visible. Up close, it’s even more magnificent, with pale walls and a red tiled roof. The grounds are immaculate, and I can’t wait to explore it and dig my fingers into the earth. I miss the feel of soil between my fingers, though Jayson’s never been too keen about me gardening. When I asked about making a small garden at his New York home, he coldly pointed out more duties to keep me busy, leaving no time for such things. A few indoor houseplants in my room had to do. Succulents, a leggy pothos, and an orchid that I was waiting to bloom had to be enough.

  Sophie slides into the car first, and I go after her. A sound of surprise escapes me when Jayson sits down beside me, instead of taking the seat across from us. When he makes no move, I scoot closer to Sophie. He follows. Gritting my teeth, I tell myself the ride will be over quickly.

  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 Ha
rper, 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?

  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 con
tact 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..