by Jane Porter
“You said earlier that you didn’t want to be a single mother.”
“I don’t. It wouldn’t be right for the baby. But that doesn’t mean you can have him or her.”
He walked toward her. “But I’m ready to be a father, and you’re not wanting to be a mother right now—”
“You can’t say that. You don’t know that. My God, Drakon! Where are you getting this from?”
“First of all, right now, as far as we know, there’s no baby. And secondly, should you conceive, then of course I’d want to support my child—financially, emotionally, physically. I won’t be an absentee father.”
Her skin prickled as he stood above her. The man was pure electricity. The air practically pulsed with energy. “No, I don’t want to be pregnant right now, it’s not high on my to-do list at the moment, with my father being held hostage and my family in chaos, but if I was pregnant, I’d manage.”
“That’s not good enough. My child deserves better than that. If you are pregnant, we’ll have to do the right thing for our child, which means raising him or her in a calm, stable home, without chaos.”
“Then you’d be stuck with me, Drakon, because I’m not handing over my child.”
“Our child.”
“Which might not even exist.”
“Which probably doesn’t exist, because when we were newlyweds and having unprotected sex every day, twice a day, for months, you didn’t get pregnant.”
She bit into her lip, hating the panic rushing through here. This was just a conversation of hypotheticals. “Does that mean if I do conceive, you’d want the baby and me to live with you?”
“Yes.”
It’s not real, she reminded herself, don’t freak out. “And we’d be divorced?”
“No.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not. If you’re pregnant, we’ll stay together. If you’re not, I’ll have my attorney file the divorce papers. But as we won’t know that for a couple more weeks, I won’t have my attorney file until we know for certain.”
“Awfully convenient,” she muttered under her breath.
“Happily so,” he answered, not rising to the bait. “This way there would be no stigma attached to the child. We’re still legally married. The baby would be a result of our reconciliation.”
“And if I’m not pregnant?”
“You’ll be free—single—within a couple months.”
Morgan didn’t immediately speak. Instead she looked out across the water and listened to the waves break and felt the breeze catch and lift her hair. She might appear calm, but her thoughts were tangled and her emotions intense. “And should the unthinkable happen, should I conceive…we would all live together, as a family?”
“Yes.”
She turned to look at him. “Where would we raise the baby?”
“Greece,” he said firmly.
She made a rough sound, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d prefer not to raise a child in Greece.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like Greece.”
“How can you not like Greece? It’s beautiful and warm and so full of life.”
“I found it excruciatingly isolating, and horribly boring—”
“There was no reason for you to be bored. You had money, a driver, you could have gone shopping. The salesclerks would have loved you. They would have waited on you hand and foot.”
Battling her temper, Morgan drew her feet out of the water, wrapped her arms around bent knees. “Not all women live to shop.”
“Most women do.”
“You can’t generalize like that. It’s not true.” He started to protest and she overrode him. “Obviously one or more of your past girlfriends managed to convince you that retail therapy was the answer for everything, but I’m not one of them.” She rose to her feet. “Shopping when I’m lonely just makes me feel worse…wandering alone from store to store looking for something to buy…how pathetic is that?”
“It would have been better than you sitting sulking at home.”
Heat rushed through her, and her cheeks suddenly burned. “Sulking? Shopping? Why in God’s name did you even marry shallow, materialistic me?”
“You were young. I thought you’d change.”
“I can’t believe you just said that! I can’t believe you think you’re so perfect…that you had no blame in our failed marriage.”
“So what did I do wrong?” he asked.
“You didn’t talk to me.”
He laughed. “That’s my mistake?”
Her eyes blazed. “Fine, laugh, but it’s true. Our marriage ended because we didn’t talk to each other. It ended because we both kept everything bottled inside and I think it’s time we started talking, and saying those things that aren’t comfortable, but true—”
“It’s not going to change anything.”
“No, but at least it’ll clear the air. Perhaps give us better understanding of what happened…maybe help me understand you.”
“Me?” he said incredulously. “What is there to understand about me?”
“Everything! I married one person and yet I ended up with another.”
He drew back, shocked. “I didn’t change. Morgan, it was you. When we married, you were strong and confident, and then before I knew what happened, you turned into an angry, silent woman who only responded when I touched her. So I touched you, as often as I could, as much as I could, trying to get you back.”
“Words would have worked. Words and conversation.”
“I don’t trust words. Don’t put much stock in conversation.”
“Obviously, but would it have killed you to ask me about my day, or tell me about your day—” She broke off, averting her head, unable to look at him when her heart felt so bruised and tender. What a mistake it had been…falling in love…thinking it would work. “Let’s just hope I’m not pregnant,” she added hoarsely. “Because I don’t want to go through life like this, trying to explain myself, trying to be accepted, only to be mocked by you.”
Drakon shook his head, muttering something under his breath, something with quite a few syllables and from his inflection, sounded far from flattering.
“What did you just say?” she demanded.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“No, it does. I want to hear this. I want to hear everything you wouldn’t tell me before.”
“You gave up on us so quickly, Morgan. You didn’t give yourself time to adjust to married life, nor did you try to make friends.”
“Maybe I did give up too soon, but you could have tried to help me adjust to Athens. Instead you dropped me off at the house and expected me to keep myself busy until you returned every night.”
“I had a job to do.”
“You could have made more of an effort to help me adjust. You could have taken the time to show me around, or cut your day short now and then so we could take a walk, or visit a nearby beach, or even have people over.”
Drakon looked bewildered. “Have people over? For what?”
“Have dinner, visit, socialize.” She could see by his expression that he still didn’t get it. “Surely, you’re used to entertaining…having some friends over for a barbecue or a party.”
“To my house?”
“Yes.”
“Never have.”
“Why not?”
“My family didn’t. I never did. I don’t have time, nor is it something I’d want to do. I work long days, and when I go home, I want to relax, rest, focus on what I need to do the next day.”
“But while you were working twelve- and fourteen-hour days, Drakon, what was I supposed to do?”
“Read a book…take language courses…learn to cook?” He shrugged, sighed, running a hand through his cropped dark hair. “Eventually we would have had children. And then, of course, you had the house.”
“The house?” Morgan suppressed a sudden urge to throw rocks at his head. “Did you actually just say I h
ad the house?”
“Yes, the house. The one I had built for you.”
“You did not build that marble mausoleum for me. You bought it for me—”
“No, I bought the lot, scrapped the old house that was there and built our home for you.”
“I hated the villa.”
“What?”
Her eyebrows lifted, her lips twisting. “Yes. I hated it. It’s awful. It was too white and sterile, never mind cold, modern and boxy—”
“It’s a ten-million-dollar architectural masterpiece, Morgan.”
“Or merely an outrageously expensive ice cube tray!”
His eyes sparked. “You disappoint me.”
“Yes, so I’ve gathered. You work twelve-hour days while I’m home learning Greek, and how to cook, and hopefully getting pregnant.” She shuddered. “What a horrendous life that would have been. Thank God I escaped when I did!”
He reached out, his fingers wrapping around her biceps to haul her against him. “Do you know how many women would be thrilled to live in that house?”
“I have no idea, although I’m sure Bronwyn would love to be one.” She flung her head back to look him in the eye. “How is she, by the way? Doing well?”
“She’s fine.”
“I bet she is.”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means, Drakon?”
“I think it means you’re petty and irrational when it comes to Bron. She’s never been anything but polite to you—”
“Give me a break!”
“—ordering you flowers, arranging for your birthday cake,” he continued, as if she’d never interrupted.
Morgan shook his hand off her arm. “How nice of her to get me flowers from you and order birthday cake for me. It makes me feel so good to know that your vice president of Southeast Asia was able to do those little things to make my birthday special since you were too busy to do it yourself.”
He tensed and his jaw popped. “That’s not why I didn’t do it.”
“No? Then why didn’t you do it?” She dragged in a breath of air, holding it a moment, fighting for control, not wanting to cry now. She would not cry while discussing Bronwyn. Would not lose it now when she needed to be strong. “Because I didn’t want flowers picked out by the woman who is spending all day at the office with you. I didn’t want a cake ordered by her, either. She’s not my friend. She’s not my family. She doesn’t like me and is only trying to get closer to you.”
“She was doing me a favor.”
“Ah. I knew it. It was about you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, that her favor to you, was not just unnecessary, but it actually hurt me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
And this was why she and Drakon weren’t together. This was why she’d left him, and this was why they’d never be together.
Even though part of her would always love him, they couldn’t be together, because outside the bedroom, they simply didn’t work. There was no real understanding, no meeting of the minds. The only time they connected, the only time they made sense, was when they were having sex. But sex was just a part of a relationship, it couldn’t be the relationship.
She looked up at him, her expression fierce. “Perhaps you will permit me to give you a little advice. Maybe I can do something for the future Mrs. Xanthis. Don’t let Bronwyn, or any other woman, intrude so much in your personal life. The women you work with shouldn’t be allowed to overshadow the woman you live with. And should you want to send your wife flowers, or a gift, do it yourself or don’t do it at all.”
His eyes glittered and he looked almost pale beneath his tan. “Anything else, Morgan?”
“Yes, actually. Next time you marry, ask your bride what kind of home she wants to live in. Or better yet, include her on the design process, or take her with you when you go house hunting. That way your poor wife might actually like her cage.”
“Cage?” he choked out, expression furious.
She shrugged, shoulders twisting. “It’s what it felt like,” she said, slipping past him to climb the stone and cement stairs that led back up to the house. And then halfway up the staircase, she paused. “But I’m not your pet, Drakon, and I won’t be kept!”
And then with her skirts in her hands, she raced on up, half hoping he’d follow and end this terrible fight the only way they knew how to end things—through sex.
Because right now she wanted him and needed him, not to make her come, but to make her feel safe. Sane. Only she didn’t know how to ask him for comfort, and he didn’t know how to give comfort. Just raw, carnal pleasure.
But even raw, carnal pleasure would be better than nothing right now, and as she continued up toward the house, she tried not to think how good it’d feel to have him push her back against the rock wall and capture her hands in his and hold her immobile all the while kissing her senseless, kissing her until she was wet and ready for him and he could take her here, in the sun, near the sea, with the tang of salt in her nose and the sweet heady fragrance of jasmine perfuming the air, and the taste of Drakon—her husband, and her heart—on her tongue.
CHAPTER NINE
THERE WAS NO call back from the pirates and Morgan spent the rest of the afternoon in her bedroom. She didn’t have to stay in her room, but she thought it safer than wandering around the villa or the extensive grounds, where she might bump into Drakon.
In her room, Morgan tried napping and she actually fell asleep, but didn’t sleep long, as her mother called, waking her. It was a brief, meaningless conversation about social events and it infuriated Morgan that her mother would even ask, much less expect, Morgan to drop everything to attend a charity fund-raiser with her.
“I’m in Italy working to bring Dad home,” Morgan told her mother.
“No one is going to give you the money, Morgan.” Her mother paused. “And if they do, they are fools.”
After hanging up, Morgan tried to fall back asleep, but she couldn’t, too unsettled from the call. So she took a long bath, trying to forget the things her mother said, remaining in the tub until the water turned cold and the skin on her fingers shriveled up.
Morgan was chilled by the time she got out of the bath, and she blew her hair dry and dressed carefully for dinner, trying to fill her time, trying to stay busy so she wouldn’t go find Drakon.
She wanted Drakon. She missed him. Didn’t want to be at the villa with him and yet not with him. The last time she was here, on that delicious, luxurious honeymoon, they spent almost every moment together and it didn’t seem right being at the villa and not seeing him.
But then, life didn’t seem right without him in it.
But finally, thankfully, she’d managed to get through the afternoon and now it was almost dinner, and time for the nightly aperitivo.
Morgan was the first to the living room for the Italian aperitivo. The pre-dinner drink was a tradition at Villa Angelica, one she and Drakon had come to enjoy during their honeymoon.
In the living room, Morgan went to the antique table that had been set up as the bar with a selection of alcohol and juices, sodas, sparkling water and tonic water and other cocktail mixes. Morgan bypassed the mixes for the pitcher of Campari. Tonight it was Campari with pomegranate. Tomorrow night it might be Campari orange. The cocktail changed every night and Morgan enjoyed sampling the different variations.
She wandered now with her cocktail to the window to watch the sunset. It would be another stunning sunset and the sky was a fiery red orange at the moment and she sipped the cocktail, basking in the warm rays of the sun reaching through the glass.
This was like a dream, she thought, one of those dreams she had when she was at McLean Hospital, when she’d dream of Drakon every night, and in her dreams they were together still, and happy…so very, very happy….
Suddenly footsteps sounded in the stairwell and Morgan turned to watch Drakon descend the final flight of stairs and step into the grand
entry. Her heart turned over in her chest as she watched him. He moved with such ease, and so much grace, that he made other men look clumsy. But then, he’d always had confidence, and a physicality that other men didn’t have. She’d wondered if growing up on boats, working on cargo ships as if he were a deckhand instead of the owner’s son, had given him that awareness and balance.
As he crossed the hall and joined her in the living room, the enormous Venetian chandelier bathed him in light and she sucked in a breath, struck all over again by his intensity and that strong, hard face with those intensely observant eyes.
He was looking at her now. She grew warm under his inspection, remembering how much she’d wanted to go to him earlier, how much she’d craved him all afternoon.
“Hello,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see her blush.
“Hello,” he answered, the corner of his mouth quirking as if amused.
His smile did something to her and she felt a frisson of pleasure race through her. Flustered, Morgan lifted her drink to her lips, sipped her cocktail and studied Drakon covertly over the rim of her glass. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt open at the collar and fine trousers and he looked like the Drakon she’d married—polished, elegant, handsome—but she’d learned something new about him during the last twenty-four hours. He wasn’t as controlled as she’d imagined. If anything he was a man of passion.
And that was both good and bad. Good, because he met her intensity and answered her fierce need for touch and sensation. Bad, because soon he’d be out of her life again and she couldn’t imagine ever feeling this way about any other man. Couldn’t imagine ever wanting any other man.
“Were you able to get a nap?” he asked, turning away to pour himself a drink.
He, too, chose the Campari cocktail and for some reason that made her happy. “I did lie down,” Morgan answered, her back now to the window so she could face Drakon, “but the moment I finally fell asleep, my phone rang. It was my mother.”
“Calling to get news about your father?”
“No. She just wanted to know if I’d be home to attend a fund-raiser in Greenwich with her this weekend.” Morgan shook her head incredulously. “A black-tie fund-raiser! Can you imagine?”
