by Jane Porter
“You mean, if the pirates kill him?” Drakon asked.
She nodded.
“Your mother is probably right,” he said.
She shot him a swift glance before pushing away from the railing to pace the length of the terrace. For a long minute she just walked, trying to master her emotions. “Maybe,” she said, “maybe Mom is right, but I don’t care. I don’t care what people think of me. I don’t care if they like me. I care about what’s right. And while what Dad did, just blindly giving Michael the money, wasn’t right, it’s also not right to leave him in Somalia. And maybe the others can write him off, but I can’t.”
She shivered, chilled, even though the sun was shining warmly overhead. “I can’t forget how he taught me to swim and ride a bike and he went to every one of my volleyball games in high school. Dad was there for everything, big and small, and maybe he was a terrible investment advisor, but he was a wonderful father. I couldn’t have asked for better—” Morgan broke off, covering her mouth to stifle a sob. She couldn’t help it, but she missed him, and worried about him, and there was just no way she could turn her back on him now. No way at all.
“I think you have your answer,” Drakon said quietly. “You have to do this. Have to help him. Right or wrong.”
They both turned at the sound of a squeaky gate. Rowan was heading up toward them from the lower garden.
“And if anybody can get your father home, it’s Argyros,” Drakon said.
Morgan wrinkled her nose. “He looks like a drug smuggler.”
The corner of Drakon’s mouth lifted. “He isn’t what one expects. That’s what makes him so successful.”
“As long as you trust him.”
“I do.”
On reaching their side, Rowan announced that his office was now ready for Morgan to try to phone her pirate contact in Somalia. “We have a special line set up that will allow us to record the conversation,” he said. “And my team is standing by now, to listen in on the call.”
“But I can only use my phone,” she answered. “And my number. They know my number—”
“We know. And we can make it appear to look like your number. Today’s technology lets us do just about anything.”
In the villa’s dark-paneled library they attempted the call but no one answered on the other end. Morgan left a message, letting her contact know that she had six million in cash, in used bills, and was ready to make the drop but she wanted to speak to her father first. “I need to know he’s alive,” she said, “and then you’ll have the money.”
She hung up, glanced at Rowan and Drakon. “And now what?”
“We wait for a call back,” Rowan said.
* * *
They had a light lunch in the library while waiting, but there was no return call. Morgan wanted to phone again but Rowan said it wasn’t a good idea. “We’re playing a game,” he explained. “It’s their game, but we’re going to outplay them. They just don’t know it yet.”
The afternoon dragged. Morgan hated waiting as it made her restless and anxious. She wanted to hear her father’s voice, and she wanted to hear it sooner than later. After a couple hours, she couldn’t sit still any longer and began to walk in circles. She saw Morgan and Drakon exchange glances.
“What?” she demanded. “Am I not allowed to move out of my chair?”
Drakon smiled faintly. “Come, let’s go get some exercise and fresh air.”
Stretching her legs did sound nice, but Morgan didn’t want to miss the call. “What if the pirate calls back and I’m not here?”
“He’ll leave a message,” Drakon said.
“Won’t he be angry?” she asked.
Rowan shrugged. “They want your money. They’ll call back.”
It was close to four when Morgan and Drakon left the house to walk down to the water, and the afternoon was still bright, and warm, but already the sun was sitting lower in the sky. Morgan took a deep breath, glad to have escaped the dark cool library and be back outside.
“Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said to Drakon as they crossed the lawn, heading for the stone and cement staircase that hugged the cliff and took them down to the little dock, where they used to anchor the speedboat they used to explore the coast.
“You were looking a little pale in there,” Drakon said, walking next to her. “But your father’s going to be all right.”
“If I was pale, it’s because I was thinking about what we did earlier.” Her fingers knotted into fists. “Or what we shouldn’t have done.” She glanced up at him as he opened the second wrought-iron gate, this one at the top of the stairs.
“Which was?” he asked innocently.
She shot him a disbelieving look and his golden brown eyes sparked, the corner of his sexy mouth tugging in a slow, wicked smile and just like that the air was suddenly charged, and Morgan shivered at the sudden snap and crackle of tension and the spike of awareness. God, it was electric between them. And dangerous.
“It can’t happen again,” she whispered, her gaze meeting his.
“No?” he murmured, reaching out to lift a soft tendril of hair back from her cheek, but then he couldn’t let it go and he let the strand slide between his fingers, before curling it loosely around his finger and thumb.
Her breath caught in her throat and she stared up at him, heart pounding, mouth drying. She loved the way he touched her and he was making her weak in the knees now. “It confuses me.”
“Confuses you, how?”
The heat between them was intense. Dizzying. So much awareness, so much desire, so impossible to satisfy. She swayed on her feet and he immediately stepped between her and the edge of the stairs, pressing her up against the wall. “I can’t think around you,” she whispered, feeling his dazzling energy before her, and the sun warmed rock at her back.
“Thinking is overrated,” he murmured, moving in closer to her, brushing his lips across her forehead.
She closed her eyes, breathing in his light clean fragrance and savoring the teasing caress. “Is it?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to think, either?”
She felt the corners of his mouth curve against her brow. He was smiling. And God, didn’t that turn her on?
She locked her knees, her inner thighs clenching, wanting him, needing. Damn him.
“One of us should probably keep our heads,” he answered, his hands cupping her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “Less frantic that way.”
“And I suppose you think that should be you?” she breathed, trying to resist the pleasure of his hands pushing deep into her hair, his fingers wrapping around the strands, his knuckles grazing her scalp. He was so good at turning her on, making her feel, and he was making her feel now with a little tug, a touch, and just like that, desire rushed through her…hot, consuming, intense.
“Of course,” he said, leaning in to her, his mouth lightly kissing down from her brow, over her cheekbone, to the soft swell of her lips.
“Why?”
“Because no one has ever loved you the way I loved you.”
Her eyes flew open and she stared into his eyes. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. You know how I feel about you. You know I can not refuse you anything.”
“Not true. For five years you refused to grant me the divorce.”
“Because I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Five years is a long time to wait for someone.”
“I would have waited forever for you, Morgan.”
Her heart was pounding again, even harder. “That doesn’t make sense, Drakon. Nothing about this…us…makes sense.”
“Who said love was supposed to make sense?”
She exhaled hard, in a quick, desperate rush, and she had to blink hard to clear her vision. “Did you really love me?”
“How can you doubt it?”
She frowned, thinking, trying to remember. Why had she doubted it? Why had she not felt loved?
How did she get from besotted bride to runaway wife?
He reached out, tipped her chin up, so he could look deeper into her eyes. “Morgan, tell me. How could you doubt me?”
“Because after our honeymoon…after we left here…I didn’t feel loved….” Her voice drifted off as she struggled to piece it together. How lost she’d felt in Athens, how confused waiting for him all day, needing him so much that when he walked through the door, she didn’t know if she should run to him, or hide, ashamed for feeling so empty. “But then, after a while, I didn’t feel anything anymore—” She broke off, bit down into her lip, piercing the skin. “No, that’s not true. I did feel something. I felt crazy, Drakon. I felt crazy living with you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
He stepped away from her, turned and faced the sea, then rubbed his palm across the bristles on his jaw.
Morgan watched him just long enough to see the pain in his eyes. She’d hurt him. Again.
Hating herself, hating what they did to each other, she slipped past him and continued down the stairs to the water’s edge.
She had to get out of here. And she had to get out of here soon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE SWORE SOFTLY, and shook his head.
God, that woman was frustrating. And to think he hadn’t just fallen in love with her, but he’d married her.
Married her.
Long before his wedding day, Drakon had been warned by other men that getting married changed things. He’d been warned that wives—and marriage—were a lot of work. But Drakon hadn’t been daunted. He didn’t mind work. He’d succeeded because he’d always worked hard, put in long hours, never expecting life to be easy.
But marriage to Morgan hadn’t started out difficult. It’d been amazing initially. She’d been amazing, and everything had been easy, since Morgan had been easiness herself…joyful, uncomplicated, undemanding. And then they moved into the new villa in Ekali, the affluent Athens neighborhood, and she’d changed…expressing worries, and then doubts, and then needs which came to sound like demands.
Be home from work early.
Don’t work too late.
Why aren’t you ever here?
And if he were honest, he had worked long hours, really long hours, and the more Morgan pressured him to come home, the more he wanted to be at the office, and he’d told himself he was working late to provide for her, working late to ensure she had everything she needed, when deep inside he knew he was just avoiding going home to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her…but he was suddenly so aware of how she now depended on him for everything. It overwhelmed him. How could he meet all those needs? How could he manage her, and his work, and his responsibilities?
While he grew more distant, she grew more emotional, her sunny smiles fading until they were gone, replaced by a woman who looked fragile and haunted, her eyes sad, her lovely face taut, her expression stricken.
It made him angry, this change in her. Made him angry that she couldn’t be like his other women…happy to shop and visit salons and spas and just enjoy being spoiled, enjoy the prestige of being Drakon Xanthis’s pampered wife. It was good enough for his other women. Why not for her?
Why did Morgan want more? More to the point, what did she want from him?
He’d never told her—or anyone—but in his mind, she’d become like his mother. Drakon loved his mother, he was a dutiful son, but he didn’t want to be around her, and that’s what happened with Morgan. Morgan made him feel inadequate and he dealt with it by avoiding her.
And then one day Morgan disappeared, abruptly returning to America, and he had exploded.
How could she have just walk away from him like that? How could she give up? How dare she give up? He hadn’t been happy all those years ago, but he hadn’t walked away from her. He hadn’t felt the magic, either, but he wasn’t a quitter—
And then it struck him. He had quit on her. Maybe he hadn’t physically left, but he’d checked out emotionally.
And only now he could see that her needs hadn’t been so overwhelming. She hadn’t asked for that much. But the fact that she’d asked for anything—time, tenderness, reassurance—had triggered the worst in him, and he’d reacted like the boy he’d once been, retreating, hiding, rejecting.
He’d given her money but not affection.
He’d given her toys but not his heart.
He’d given her stuff…as long as she didn’t engage him, want him, need him. Don’t bother him because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, deal with anyone else’s problems—he had plenty of his own.
Ah.
And there it was. The ugly, ugly truth.
Drakon Xanthis was a selfish, shallow, stunted man. A man that looked strong on the outside but was just an angry child on the inside. And that’s when he knew, that he’d wronged Morgan…badly. Cruelly. He’d taken a twenty-two-year-old woman from her home and her country and dropped her into his white marble house and told her to be silent and to not feel and to not need. To not express emotion, to not reach out, to not cry, to not talk, to not be human.
My God.
He’d done to her what his mother had done to him. Be there, Drakon, but do not need. Be present, Drakon, but do not feel….
Five years ago Drakon went in search of Morgan, seeking to right the wrongs, but she was gone. She’d vanished…completely disappeared…and his anger with himself grew. He’d loved Morgan and he’d treated her so badly. He’d taken the person who loved him, wanted him, the real him—the man, not the name, the bank account, the status—and crushed her.
He’d broken her.
He knew it. And all he’d wanted was to find her, apologize, fix everything. And he couldn’t. Morgan was gone again. And Drakon was shattered. Until she came back, until he could make things right, he was a man in hell.
Now, from the top of the stairs, he watched Morgan step onto the platform down below, her brown hair gleaming in the sunlight, spilling down her back. His chest hurt, heavy and aching with suppressed emotion.
Morgan. His woman. His.
She stood on the platform, a hand shadowing her eyes as she looked out across the water. A wooden rowboat, the color of a robin’s egg, was tethered to the platform and bobbed next to her. The blue rowboat, and dark sapphire sea, perfectly framed Morgan in her fitted white dress, which accented her slim curves.
She looked fresh and young standing on the platform, and when she slipped off her shoes and sat down on the pier’s edge, pulling her crisp skirts high on her thigh so that she could put her bare feet in the water, he felt a fierce surge of emotion.
It had been his job to love her, cherish her and protect her. And he’d failed in all three counts.
Watching her, Drakon’s chest grew tight. He’d vowed five years ago to make things right, and he hadn’t made them right yet. Giving her a check and a divorce wasn’t right. It was easy. Easier to let her go than to change, or struggle to save them. But he didn’t want easy. He wanted Morgan. And she was worth fighting for, and she was worth changing for, and she was worth everything to him.
She was everything to him.
He’d known it the moment he’d lost her.
And now that she was here, he realized that he could not give up on her. Could not give up on them. Not because he needed to win her back, not because he needed to prove anything—for God’s sake, he was Drakon Xanthis, and the world was his oyster—but because he loved her, Morgan Copeland.
And for the past five years, Morgan Copeland had tied him up in knots. But he was a smart man. He could figure out how to untie the knots. He could figure out how to reach her, how to make this—them—work.
It was a challenge, but he liked challenges. He’d never been afraid of tackling difficult situations. What was it that his father used to say? Problems were just opportunities in disguise?
Morgan being here was an opportunity. And Drakon would make the most of the opportunity.
* * *
“It was a mistake making love without protection,” Drakon said quietly. “And I accept full responsibility should you get pregnant.”
Morgan stiffened. She hadn’t heard Drakon approach, but now she felt him there behind her, and her nape prickled, the hair on her arms lifted, and a shiver raced through her as she remembered how it felt being with him in her room, his skin on her skin, his mouth taking hers, his body giving her so much pleasure.
It had been so good. So intense and physical that she lost perspective. Forgot what was important. But then, hadn’t that always been his effect on her?
“What does that mean?” she asked quietly, reaching up to pluck a fine strand of hair away from her eyelashes as she kept her gaze fixed on the watery horizon, where the sunlight shimmered in every direction. “That you will accept full responsibility if I get pregnant?”
“I’ll assume full financial responsibility, for you and the child, and once the baby is born, I will assume full physical custody of the child—”
“What?” she choked, cutting him short as she turned to look at him where he was standing on the narrow stair landing behind her, leaning against the rock wall. “You’ll take my baby?”
“Our baby,” he calmly corrected, broad shoulders shifting, “and I am quite able to raise a child on my own, Morgan. I will get help, of course, but I’ll be a good father—”
“You’d take the baby away from me?”
“If that would make you feel better—”
“It wouldn’t.”
