The Fallen Greek Bride\At the Greek Boss's Bidding (13 page)

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 had 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

T
HERE
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?”

“You used to attend events like that all the time.”

“Yes, when we were socially desirable, but we’re not anymore. We’re hated, loathed, but Mom doesn’t get it. She’s trying to carry on as if everything is the same, but nothing’s the same. Only Mom refuses to face facts, refuses to accept that no one wants us at their balls or parties or fund-raisers anymore.” Morgan tried to laugh but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Dad’s being held hostage in Somalia and Mom’s trying to find a date for this Saturday’s symphony gala. What a horrible family you married into, Drakon!”

His amber gaze suddenly locked with hers. “I didn’t marry them. I married you.”

“And I’m the craziest of them all!”

He said nothing for a long moment and then he smiled, a slow, wicked smile that put an equally wicked gleam in his eye. “Is that why sex was always so much fun?”

She blushed but was saved from answering by the sudden appearance of Rowan. “Your contact from Somalia just phoned,” he said, entering the living room. “He left a message. They’re not going to let you speak with your father. But since you have the money ready, they want to arrange the drop, and give you instructions on where you’ll find your hostage.”

Morgan’s smile died on her lips and she glanced at Drakon, and then back at Rowan. “Did they really say it like that?”

Rowan nodded and Morgan paled and swallowed hard. “They make my father sound like a carcass,” she whispered, sickened.

“We’re not dealing with sensitive people,” Rowan answered.

“But don’t panic,” Drakon added. “I’m sure he’s still alive.”

She drew a quick breath and lifted her chin. “I want him out of there.”

“He will be,” Drakon said.

Rowan nodded. “Soon.

* * *

It took them a while to move from the living room to the dining room for dinner, but once they got there, the dining room glowed with candlelight. The dining room’s antique chandelier was filled with tapers, and the iron and glass sconces on the white walls reflected onto the ceiling making every surface gleam and dance with light. But the meal was definitely subdued. Morgan was both angry and heartsick and felt impossibly distracted. Rowan barely spoke and Drakon didn’t say much more than Rowan. But every now and then Morgan looked up to find Drakon watching her, his expression shuttered and impossible to read.

Perhaps if she and Drakon had been alone, she would have asked him what he was thinking, but with Rowan present, Morgan left Drakon to his own thoughts, and she tried not to dwell on her father, or his conditions in Somalia.

As Drakon said, her father would be home soon. Rowan had agreed with him.

She had to focus on that, cling to that, not allow herself to slide into panic or doubt.

Finally the dinner dishes were being cleared away and coffee was served. But sitting in silence with coffee proved even more uncomfortable than eating in silence.

“I hate them,” she choked out, unable to remain silent another moment. “I hate how they’ve taken him and are treating him like he’s nothing...nobody...just an object to be bartered.”

“It is horrendous,” Drakon agreed quietly.

“But it’s on the rise, isn’t it?” She looked up at him as she added another half teaspoon of sugar to her coffee and gave it a brisk stir. “From what I read, attacks have doubled in the last few years.”

Drakon’s dark head inclined. “Last year there were more hostages taken than ever before.”

“Nearly twelve hundred,” Morgan murmured, having done a fair amount of research on her own, trying to understand what had happened to her father. “With many being held for nine months or more. Unthinkable. But it’s real. It’s happening.”

“At least your father will be freed,” Rowan said brusquely. “There are hundreds of hostages who haven’t been ransomed...that will never be ransomed.”

Morgan’s insides twisted. She couldn’t imagine being one of the unfortunate crew who were never freed. How terrible to sit day after day, week after week, month after month waiting for a ransom that might never come. “Because someone isn’t willing to pay the ransom?” she asked.

“Or able to pay it. Not all shipping companies have insurance that will pay it, and most ordinary people can’t come up with millions of dollars, not even to save a loved one,” Drakon answered.

Morgan put her spoon down, her eyes burning, guilt eating at her because she was able to help her father. She was able to do something and yet she felt for those who couldn’t. “Fortunately, I understand the counter-piracy measures put in place this past year seem to be helping. From what I read, piracy was down during the first quarter of the year—not enough of course to give cause for celebration, but enough to know that the experts might be on to something.”

“That’s true,” Drakon agreed. “Right now there’s a concerted international effort to check piracy, and it’s helping, but it certainly hasn’t stopped the pirates. It’s just slowed them a little.”

“How do you stop them?”

“Put a stable, strong, and effective government in place. Change their economic structure. Take out the group who is arming the pirates, and profiting from the hostage ransoms.” Rowan’s lips curved, his expression hard. “But if that were easy, it would have been done already. And so we do the next best thing—increase maritime intelligence and continue international cooperation on monitoring the water off the Horn of Africa.”

“Until I began researching piracy I didn’t realize that until recently, few countries worked together...that for the most part, most countries just focused on their own pirated vessels,” Morgan answered.

Rowan shrugged. “Typical nationalistic reaction.”

“How so?”

“Every country has its own navy, military intelligence and sources, so it’s not easy getting everyone on the same page. Governments are protective of their military and don’t want to share resources,” he answered her.

Morgan frowned. “But you’re military?”

“Former, yes. Just as most of us in maritime intelligence have served in one arm of the navy or another.”

“Were you in the Royal Navy?” she asked.

“I’ve actually served in both the U.S. Navy and the Royal Navy, but at different times and in different capacities.”

Morgan glanced to Drakon and then back to Rowan. “How is that possible?”

“I have dual nationalities...I was born in Northern Ireland to an Irish mother, and an American Greek father, giving me both American and British citizenship.”

“Irish, too,” Drakon said.

“They let you have all those passports?” Morgan asked, rather amazed.

Rowan shrugged. “If you’re good at what you do.”

“And you are good, I take it?”

His lips curved but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Have to be. There’s a lot at stake—” He broke off as the sound of high heels clicking briskly on hard tiles echoed in the hallway.

They were all listening to the footsteps and Morgan stiffened, her shoulders drawing back as unease rolled through her in a huge dark wave.

Bronwyn.

Morgan went hot and then cold. But no, it couldn’t be. What would Bronwyn be doing here?

And yet no one else walked that way. No one else sounded so fiercely confident in high stiletto heels.

Then there she was, appearing in the dining room doorway as if she owned Villa Angelica, as tall and blonde and statuesque as ever, dressed tonight in a formfitting red jersey knit that clung to her curves, making the most of her voluptuous body. Bronwyn, a stunning blonde with brilliant blue eyes and a dark golden tan, knew how to make an entrance.

“Hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” she said, smiling, as her gaze swept the dining room, before lingering on Drakon.

Morgan’s stomach hurt as she saw the way Bronwyn looked at Drakon. Drakon had always said that Bronwyn was just part of his management team, a valuable employee and nothing more, but from the possessive expression on Bronwyn’s face, Morgan knew that Bronwyn was fiercely attached to Drakon.

“You haven’t kept us waiting,” Drakon answered, rising and gesturing to a chair at the table. “Join us. Have you eaten? Would you like coffee? Something sweet?”

Bronwyn flashed Drakon a grateful smile as she moved around the dining room table to take an empty chair. “A glass of wine would be perfect. You know what I like.”

Morgan ground her teeth together as she glanced from Bronwyn to Drakon and then back to Bronwyn again. How could he have invited her here, now, when they were in the middle of a crisis? How could he possibly think it was appropriate?

Bronwyn sat down and crossed one leg over the other, then gave her head a small toss, sending her long, artfully layered blond hair spilling over her shoulders down to the tops of her high full breasts. “Drakon, next time, send the helicopter for me, not a driver. I was nauseous from Sorrento on. Such a grueling drive. So many hairpin curves.”

Drakon didn’t respond; too busy speaking to one of the kitchen staff, requesting Bronwyn’s wine.

Bronwyn turned to Rowan. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”