The Fallen Greek Bride\At the Greek Boss's Bidding (9 page)

“But I could care, Drakon, and I would at least know what’s happening in your life and I could grieve for the families of your crew, too, because I would have grieved, and I would have wanted to comfort you—”

“I don’t need comforting.”

“Clearly.”
Hot, sharp emotions rushed through her, one after the other, and she gave her head a fierce, decisive shake. “Just as you clearly didn’t need me, either, because you don’t need anything, Drakon Xanthis. You’re perfect and complete just the way you are!”

She brushed past him and walked out, not quickly, or tearfully, but resolutely, reassured all over again that she had done the right thing in leaving him. He really didn’t want a wife, or a partner, someone that was equal and valuable. He only wanted a woman for physical release. In his mind, that was all a woman was good for, and thank God she’d left when she had or he would have destroyed her completely.

Drakon caught up with her in the narrow stairway at the back of the villa. It had once been the staircase for the servants and was quite simple with plain plaster walls and steep, small stairs, but it saved Morgan traversing the long hallway.

He clasped her elbow, stopping her midstep. “You are so very good at running away, Morgan.”

She shook him off and turned to face him. He was standing two steps down but that still put them on eye level and she stared into his eyes, so very full of anger and pain. “And you are so good at shutting people out!”

“I don’t need to report to you, Morgan. You are my wife, not my colleague.”

“And funny enough, I would rather have been your colleague than your wife. At least you would have talked to me!”

“But then there would have been no lovemaking.”

“Perhaps it will surprise you to know that I’m actually far more interested in what’s in your brain than what’s in your trousers.” She saw his incredulous expression and drew a ragged breath, horrified all over again that their entire relationship had been based on sex and chemistry. Horrified that she’d married a man who only wanted her for her body. “It’s true. Lovemaking is empty without friendship, and we had no friendship, Drakon. We just had sex—”

“Not this again!”

“Yes, this again.”

“You’re being absurd.”

“Thank God we’ll both soon be free so we can find someone that suits us both better. You can go get another pretty girl and give her an orgasm once or twice a day and feel like a real man, and I’ll find a man who has warmth and compassion, a man who cares about what I think and feel, a man who wants to know
me,
and not just my body!”

He came up one step, and then another until they were on the same narrow stair, crowding her so that her back was against the plaster of the stairwell, and his big body was almost touching hers.

A dangerous light shone in his eyes, making her blood hum in her veins and her nerves dance. “Is that all I’m interested in? Your body?” he growled, a small muscle popping in his jaw.

She stared at his jaw, fascinated by that telling display of temper. He was angry and this was all so new...his temper and emotion. She’d always thought of him as supremely controlled but his tension was palpable now. He practically seethed with frustration and it made her skin tingle, particularly her lips, which suddenly felt unbearably sensitive. “Apparently so.”

He stepped even closer, his eyes glittering down at her. “I wish I’d known that before I married you. It would have saved me half a billion dollars, never mind years of trouble.”

“We all make mistakes,” she taunted, deliberately provoking him, but unable to help herself. Drakon Xanthis’s famous icy control was cracking and she wondered what would happen when it shattered completely. “Best thing you can do now is forgive yourself for making such a dreadful mistake and move forward.”

Fire flashed in his eyes and he leaned in, closing the gap between them so that his broad chest just grazed the swell of her breasts and she could feel the tantalizing heat of his hips so close to hers.

“Such an interesting way to view things,” he said, his head dropping, his voice deepening. “With you as my mistake.”

His lips were so close now and her lower back tingled and her belly tightened, and desire coursed through her veins, making her ache everywhere.

She could feel his need, feel the desire and her mouth dried, her heart hammering harder. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted the kiss, craved his kiss, even as a little voice of reason inside her head sounded the alarm....

Stop. Wait. Think.

She had to remember...remember the past...remember what had happened last time...this wasn’t just a kiss, but an inferno. If she gave in to this kiss, it’d be all over. Drakon was so dangerous for her. He did something to her. He, like his name, Drakon, Greek for dragon, was powerful and potent and destructive.

But he was also beautiful and physical and sensual and he made her
feel.
My God, he made her feel and she wanted that intensity now. Wanted him now.

“My beautiful, expensive mistake,” he murmured, his lips brushing across the shell of her ear, making her breath catch in her throat and sending hot darts of delicious sensation throughout her body, making her aware of every sensitive spot.

“Next time, don’t marry the girl,” she said, trying to sound brazen and cavalier, but failing miserably as just then he pushed his thigh between her legs. The heat of his hard body scalded her, and the unexpected pressure and pleasure was so intense she gasped, making her head spin.

“Would you have been happier just being my mistress?” he asked, his tongue tracing the curve of her ear even as his muscular thigh pressed up, his knee against her core, teasing her senses, making her shiver with need.

She was wet and hot, too hot, and her skin felt too tight. She wanted relief, needed relief, and it didn’t help that she couldn’t catch her breath. She was breathing shallowly, her chest rising and falling while her mouth dried.

“Would you have been able to let go more? Enjoyed the sex without guilt?” he added, biting her tender earlobe, his teeth sharp, even as he wedged his thigh deeper between her knees, parting her thighs wider so that she felt like a butterfly pinned against the wall.

“There was no guilt,” she choked, eyes closing as he worked his thigh against her in a slow maddening circle. He was so warm and she was so wet and she knew it was wrong, but she wanted more, not less.

His teeth scraped across that hollow beneath her ear and she shuddered against him, thinking he remembered how sensitive she was, how her body responded to every little touch and bite and caress.

“Liar.” He leaned in closer, his knee grinding and his hips pressing down against her hips, making her pelvis feel hot and yet hollow, and the muscles inside her womb clench. “You liked it hot. You liked it when I made you fall apart.”

And it was true, she thought, her body so tight and hot and aching that she arched against him, absolutely wanton. There was no satisfaction like this, though, and she wanted satisfaction. Wanted him. Wanted him here and now. Wanted him to lift her tunic and expose her breasts and knead and roll the tight, aching nipples between his fingers. He’d made her come that way before, just by playing with her nipples, and he’d watched her face as she came, watched every flicker of emotion that crossed her face as he broke her control....

If only he’d peel her clothes off now, if only she could feel his skin on her skin, feel him in her, needing the heat and fullness of him inside her, craving the pleasure of being taken, owned, possessed—

Morgan’s eyes flew open.

Owned?

Owned?
My God. She
was
insane.

Visions of her months at McLean Hospital filled her head and it dragged her abruptly back to reality. She had to be smart. Couldn’t destroy herself again. Never wanted to go back to McLean Hospital again.

The very memory of McLean was enough for her to put her hands on his chest and push him back, and she pushed hard, but he didn’t budge and all she felt was the warm dense plane of muscle that banded his ribs, and the softness of his cashmere sweater over the dense carved muscle.

“Get off,” she panted, pushing harder, putting all of her weight into the shove but Drakon was solid, immoveable. “I’m not a toy, Drakon, not here for your amusement.”

His hand snaked into her hair, twisting the dark length around his fist, holding her face up to his. “Good, because I’m not amused.”

“No, you’re just aroused,” she answered coldly, furious with herself for responding to him with such abandon. So typical. So pathetic. No wonder her family had locked her up.

He caught one of her hands and dragged it down his body and between their hips to cup his erection. “Yes,” he drawled, amber gaze burning, “so I am.”

She inhaled sharply, her fingers curving around him, clasping his thick shaft as if measuring the hard length, and it was a terrible seductive pleasure, touching him like this. She remembered how he felt inside her—hot, heavy—and how the satin heat of his body would stretch her, stroke her, hitting nerve endings she hadn’t even known she had.

Curiosity and desire warred with her sense of self-preservation, before overriding her common sense.

Morgan palmed the length of him, slowly, firmly running her hand down his shaft and then, as if unable to stop herself, back up again to cup the thick, rounded head. She’d never thought a man’s body was beautiful before she’d met Drakon, but she loved every muscle and shadow of his body, loved the lines and the planes and the way his cock hung heavy between his muscular legs. He was such a powerfully built man, and yet the skin on his shaft was so smooth and sensitive, like silk, and the contradiction between his great, hard body and that delicate skin fascinated her.

But then he fascinated her. No, it was more than that, more than fascination. It was an obsession. She needed him so much she found it virtually impossible to live without him.

“You want me,” he said. “You want me to peel your trousers and knickers off and take you here, on these steps, don’t you?”

Fire surged through her veins, fire and hunger and shame. Because yes, she did want him and her orgasms were the most intense when he pushed it to the edge, making every touch into something dangerous and erotic. “You do like to dominate,” she answered breathlessly.

He tugged on her hair, and it hurt a little, just as he’d intended, making her nipples harden into tight, aching buds even as she stiffened against him, her body rippling with need.

“And you do like to be dominated,” he rasped in her ear.

CHAPTER SIX

S
HE
SHOVED
AWAY
from him and this time he let her go and Morgan ran the rest of
the way up the stairs, racing back to her room, his voice echoing in her head.
And you like to be dominated....

Morgan barely made it to her bed before her legs gave out, the
mocking words making her absolutely heartsick, because he wasn’t completely
wrong. Part of her did like it. It was sexy...hot...exciting.

But she shouldn’t like it. It wasn’t politically correct. She
couldn’t imagine her mother approving. Not that she wanted to think about her
mother and sex at the same time...or even about sex in general since she wasn’t
going to be having sex anytime soon and God help her, she wanted to.

She wanted to be ravished. Stripped. Tied up. Taken. Tasted.
Devoured—

Oh, God, she was mad, she was. What sane woman wanted to be
ravished? What kind of woman ached to be tied up and taken? Tasted?

What was wrong with her?

Before Drakon she’d never had these thoughts. She’d never
imagined that sex could make one feel absolutely wild. She’d never dreamed that
desire could be an uncontrollable fire that made one lose all perspective...as
well as one’s reason....

But desire was an inferno, and she felt absolutely consumed by
need now. Lying facedown on her bed, her body ached with need. Her skin burned,
her senses swam. Every muscle in her body felt taut and every nerve ending far
too tight. She wanted relief, craved release, and the fact that she couldn’t
have it made the aching emptiness worse.

Morgan buried her face in a pillow and knotted her fists and
screamed. And screamed some more.

She wanted him. She wanted him, wanted him, wanted him and he
could give her what she wanted, too. He’d do it. He’d do anything she wanted and
yet it was wrong. They weren’t together, they hadn’t been together in years, and
she couldn’t use him to scratch an itch...no matter how powerful the itch.

And yet, oh, God, her body ached and throbbed and she felt
wild...hot and tense and so very raw.

Dammit. Damn him. Damn that kiss in the stairwell. Damn this
terrible incredible unforgettable chemistry.

It wasn’t right to want him this much still. Wasn’t fair to
still feel so much, either, especially when she knew how bad he was for her, how
very destructive. She couldn’t blame him entirely. The doctors said the problem
was hers...that she didn’t have proper boundaries. She didn’t have a clear or
strong sense of self and the only way she’d achieve a strong, mature sense of
self was by leaving Drakon....

As if it were that easy...

Just leave him. Forget him. Forget he ever existed...

And now he was downstairs, so intense and real, so physical, so
sensual, so fiercely beautiful.

Morgan beat the bed with her fist, maddened by the futility of
her desire. Blood drummed in her veins, need coiled tightly, hotly in her belly,
and her entire body ached with emptiness. How could emptiness throb and pulse?
How could emptiness burn? But it did. And she felt wild and furious and
frustrated beyond reason.

If only she could go to him, and beg for him to help her, beg
him to give her release. Beg for pleasure.

She’d happily crawl for him, crawl to him, if it meant that he
could tame the beast inside her...that voracious hunger that made her feel too
wild, too frantic, too much.

* * *

Drakon stood just inside the doorway of Morgan’s suite
and watched her beat her fist against the bed, her dark hair gleaming, her tunic
riding high on her thighs, the soft fabric clinging to the firm, rounded curves
of her hips and butt.

She had a gorgeous butt, and it made him want to spank her,
restrain her, knowing it’d arouse her, make things hotter, make her wet and
anxious and hungry for him.

And then he’d make love to her.

With his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his hands, his cock. He
loved the softness of her skin and the scent of her, the way she blushed, the
way her tongue traveled across the bow of her upper lip and the way she’d squirm
beneath him, her slim body arching, her hips grinding up to meet his, her legs
opening for him.

“Undress,” he said, his voice pitched so low it sounded like a
growl.

Morgan swiftly sat up, eyes enormous in her face, cheeks
flushed.

“Do it,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Her lips parted in silent protest and yet he knew she was
tempted, seriously tempted, because she wanted the same thing he did—excitement,
pleasure, release.

“And what?” she whispered, her tongue darting to her lower lip,
moistening it.

He was already hard. Now he wanted to explode. “And let me look
at you. I want to see you, my beautiful wife.”

“I’m not your wife.”

“Oh, you are my wife. And have been my wife and will be my wife
until the day the divorce is granted. Then...you’ll be someone else’s woman, but
until then, you are mine. And you know you are. That is why you came here to me,
wanting my help. You knew I’d refuse you nothing.”

He saw the flicker in her eyes, that recognition of truth.
“Just as you know I’ve never refused you anything,” she whispered, her voice
unsteady.

No, she hadn’t, he thought, his shaft growing even harder,
making him hotter, remembering how she always responded to him.

He’d known plenty of women who liked hot sex, but he’d never
been with anyone as passionate as Morgan. She wasn’t comfortable with her
passionate nature, though, and during their six months together she’d struggled
with the concept of physical pleasure, and resisted giving in to her sensual
side, viewing it as a weakness, or something shameful, instead of an intimacy
that brought them closer together...binding, bonding, making them one. “But I’ve
never forced you, Morgan—”

“Not forced, no, but you have pushed me, pushed me beyond what
I was comfortable doing.”

“Isn’t that exciting, though? To try new things...explore new
things...to know and then go outside your comfort zone?”

Another flicker of emotion passed over her lovely face. She had
such fine, elegant features, as well as that famous Copeland reserve, a trait
shared by her equally glamorous sisters. The reserve came from the way they’d
been raised...from birth they’d been privileged, and had enjoyed a luxurious
lifestyle of private schools, private jets, private islands. Their money
attracted attention, and men, lots and lots of men, and by the time the four
Copeland girls had become women, they knew they were special. Unique. They
believed they deserved better.

Drakon had been drawn to Morgan’s beauty, but also her reserve.
He’d viewed it as a challenge to break through her cool, haughty exterior to
discover the warm woman underneath.

And once he’d touched her, she’d been more than warm. She’d
burned as if consumed by a fever and during their honeymoon, those four weeks
here at Villa Angelica, he’d enjoyed discovering the depths of her passion and
exploring her desires, her fears and her limits.

“But everything with you was outside my comfort zone,” she
said, trying to hide the quiver of her lower lip. “Everything was
overwhelming.”

She’d said this once before to him, during the last week of
their honeymoon after an erotic afternoon on a private island, and he’d been
startled that her memory of lovemaking on the pristine ivory beach had been so
different from what he’d felt. Returning to his yacht, which had been anchored
off the island while they picnicked on the beach, he had never felt closer to
her, or more committed, and he’d been shocked when she accused him of taking
advantage of her. Shocked and sickened.

He was Greek—a man of surprisingly simple tastes. He valued his
family, his friends and his culture, which included good food, good drink and
great sex. He wouldn’t apologize for enjoying sex, either, or enjoying his
wife’s beautiful body. What did she expect him to do? Pretend he didn’t like
sex? Act as though he didn’t find pleasure in her warmth and softness?

Back in Athens after the honeymoon, Drakon had tried to be the
husband she wanted. He stopped reaching for her quite as often, and then when he
did reach for her, he changed the way he touched her, holding back to keep from
overwhelming her. He knew she didn’t like it when he expressed hunger, or
focused too much on her pleasure, and so instead of just being with her, and
enjoying her, he practiced control and distance, hoping that a less passionate
husband would be more to her liking.

Instead she’d left.

And just remembering how he’d turned himself inside out trying
to please her, trying to give her what she wanted, made him angry all over again
now.

He’d hated second-guessing himself back then, hated not being
able to please her, hated failing as a husband.

His gaze swept over her, slowly, critically, examining her as
if he owned her, and he did...at least for a few more weeks.

“Undress,” he said roughly, feeling raw and so very carnal, and
liking it. Enjoying it. “I want to see my wife. It doesn’t seem like too much to
ask for, not after giving you seven million dollars.”

One of her eyebrows lifted. “At least you didn’t mention the
four hundred million.”

“That was to your father, not to you.”

“I wonder what he had to do for four hundred million.”

“You think I should have asked for some sexual favors, do
you?”

“You like sex a lot.”

“I liked it with
you
a lot.” He suddenly reached down, palmed
his erection through his trousers, and he saw her gaze settle on his shaft,
measuring the length and size.

Dark pink color stormed her cheeks and she licked her lower
lip, once and again, before finding her voice. “That’s obscene,” she
whispered.

“You did it a moment ago.”

“You made me.”

“You liked it. But you’ll tell me you didn’t. You’ll tell me
sex is disgusting. You’ll tell me I’m disgusting, but if I touched you now, my
woman, you’d be dripping wet—”

“Disgusting.”

“And I’d open you and lick you and taste you and make you
come.” His head cocked and he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “When is
the last time you came? How long has it been since you had an orgasm? A day? A
week? A month?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I did it in the shower yesterday, before you arrived. Stroked
myself as I thought about you, picturing your breasts and your pale thighs and
how much I enjoy being between them.”

“Is there any point to this, Drakon? Or do you just wish to
humiliate me?”

“Humiliate you, how? By telling you how much I want you, even
now, even after you walked out on me?”

“But you don’t want me, you just want to have sex with me.”

“That’s right. You don’t believe you’re attached to your body,
or that your body is part of you. Instead it’s a separate entity, which makes me
think of a headless chicken—”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Then stop jumping to conclusions. Just because I like your
body, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the rest of you.”

“Humph!”

His eyebrows shot up, his expression mocking. “Is that the best
you can do?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, her chin jerking up. “I
get nowhere arguing with you.”

“Very wise. Much better to just dispense with the clothing and
let me have what I want.” He paused, and his gaze moved slowly, suggestively
over her. “And what I know you want, too. Not that you’ll admit it.”

Her chin lifted another notch. “And what do I want?”

“Satisfying sex without pushing the limits too far.”

Dark pink color stormed her cheeks. “Without pushing the limits
at all.”

The corners of his mouth curled. So she did want sex. Just
nice-girl sex...sweet, safe missionary-position sex. His cock throbbed at the
thought. He’d like some sweet, safe-missionary sex as well. “I’ll see what I can
do. But first, I’d like to see you. But I’m getting bored by all the discussion.
Either we’re going to do this, or we’re not—”

“Your shirt first.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want to do this? Then we’ll do this. But you’re not the
boss and I’m not taking orders.” Her tone was defiant and her eyes flashed and
she’d never been angry before when they’d played these games. She’d been shy and
nervous, but also eager to please. She wasn’t eager to please now. “You don’t
get to have all the power anymore.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not your servant or slave—”

“Which is good, since I don’t make love with my servants, and I
don’t have slaves.”

“The point is, you might be able to bark orders at Bronwyn, but
not at me.”

“I had no idea you were so hung up on Bronwyn,” he drawled,
liking this new feisty Morgan. She was a very different woman from the one he’d
married and that intrigued him.

“I wasn’t hung up on her. You were.”

“Is that how it was?”

“Yes.”

“So are we going to talk about Bronwyn, or are we going to have
sweet, safe missionary-position sex?”

Her lips compressed primly. “You’re horrible. You know that,
don’t you?”

“Horribly good, and horribly hard, and horribly impatient. Now,
are we, or aren’t we?” he asked, sauntering toward her, relaxed, easy, his arms
loose at his sides. But it was a deceptive ease, and they both knew it as the
temperature in the luxurious bedroom seemed to soar and the air sparked with
heat and need, the tension between them thick and hot and electric.

Closing the gap between them, Drakon could feel Morgan tense,
her hands squeezing in convulsive fists, even as her eyes widened and her lips
parted with each quick shallow breath.

“You’re trembling,” he said, “but there’s no need for that. I
won’t eat you. Not unless you want me to.”

“Drakon.”
Her voice sounded
strangled and her cheeks were crimson, making her blue eyes darken and shimmer
like the sapphire sea beyond the window.