Книга - The Fallen Greek Bride

The Fallen Greek Bride
Jane Porter


Infamous Morgan Copeland has graced the tabloids as America’s Sweetheart for years.Until scandalous family allegations change the headlines overnight to Socialite in Disgrace! Her reputation in tatters, and holding onto the last shreds of her pride, Morgan seeks her estranged husband’s help, knowing that to convince merciless Drakon Xanthis she will have to get down on her knees and beg…At first Morgan was merely the Greek’s trophy bride, but their explosive passion shocked them both – leaving Morgan now with only one weapon left to negotiate with: her body.‘Jane Porter’s stories are full of intrigue, emotion and conflict. I loved the writing style, a real page-turner!’ – Fiona, 39, Essex










“Help me, Drakon,” Morgan said, her voice pitched low, hoarse. “Do youwantme to beg? Is that what you’re asking me to do?”

Her chin lifted and tears sparkled in her eyes, even as her heart burned as if it had been torched with fire. “Am I to go onto my knees in front of you and plead my case?”

He didn’t move a muscle. “I do like you on your knees,” he said cordially.

She drew a ragged breath, locked her knees, praying for strength. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said, aware that she was in trouble here, aware that she ought to go. Now. “So on my knees it is,” she said mockingly, lifting the hem of her pale blue skirt to kneel on his limestone floor.

Her mind was whirling, her insides churning. She felt sick, dizzy, off-balance by the contradictions and the intensity and her own desperation.

He had to help her.

He had to.




About the Author


JANE PORTER grew up on a diet of Mills & Boon


romances, reading late at night under the covers so her mother wouldn’t see! She wrote her first book at age eight, and spent many of her high school and college years living abroad, immersing herself in other cultures and continuing to read voraciously. Now Jane splits her time between rugged Seattle, Washington, and the beautiful beaches of Hawaii, with her sexy surfer and three very active sons. Jane loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 524, Bellevue, WA 98009, USA. Or visit her website at www.janeporter.com

Recent titles by the same author:

HIS MAJESTY’S MISTAKE

(A Royal Scandal)

NOT FIT FOR A KING?

(A Royal Scandal)

A DARK SICILIAN SECRET

ONE CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN VENICE

(Short Story)

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




The

Fallen Greek

Bride

Jane Porter





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Randall Toye—

thank you for the friendship and support.




CHAPTER ONE


“WELCOME HOME, MY WIFE.”

Morgan froze inside Villa Angelica’s expansive marble and limestone living room with its spectacular floor-to-ceiling view of blue sky and sea, but saw none of the view, and only Drakon’s face.

It had been five years since she’d last seen him. Five and a half years since their extravagant two-million-dollar wedding, for a marriage that had lasted just six months.

She’d dreaded this moment. Feared it. And yet Drakon sounded so relaxed and warm, so normal, as if he were welcoming her back from a little holiday instead of her walking out on him.

“Not your wife, Drakon,” she said softly, huskily, because they both knew she hadn’t been his anything for years. There had been nothing, no word, no contact, not after the flurry of legal missives that followed her filing for divorce.

He’d refused to grant her the divorce and she’d spent a fortune fighting him. But no attorney, no lawsuit, no amount of money could persuade him to let her go. Marriage vows, he’d said, were sacred and binding. She was his. And apparently the courts in Greece agreed with him. Or were bought by him. Probably the latter.

“You are most definitely still my wife, but that’s not a conversation I want to have across a room this size. Do come in, Morgan. Don’t be a stranger. What would you like to drink? Champagne? A Bellini? Something a little stronger?”

But her feet didn’t move. Her legs wouldn’t carry her. Not when her heart was beating so fast. She was shocked by Drakon’s appearance and wondered for a moment if it really was Drakon. Unnerved, she looked away, past his broad shoulders to the wall of window behind him, with that breathtaking blue sky and jagged cliffs and azure sea.

So blue and beautiful today. A perfect spring day on the Amalfi Coast.

“I don’t want anything,” she said, her gaze jerking back to him, although truthfully, a glass of cool water would taste like heaven right now. Her mouth was so dry, her pulse too quick. Her head was spinning, making her dizzy from nerves and anxiety. Who was this man before her?

The Drakon Xanthis she’d married had been honed, sleek and polished, a man of taut, gleaming lines and angles.

This tall intimidating man in front of the picture window was broader in the shoulders and chest than Drakon had ever been, and his thick, inky brown and black hair hung in loose curls to almost his shoulders, while his hard fierce features were hidden by a dark beard. The wild hair and beard should have obscured his sensual beauty, rendered him reckless, powerless. Instead the tangle of hair highlighted his bronzed brow, the long straight nose, the firm mouth, the piercing amber gold eyes.

His hair was still damp and his skin gleamed as if he’d just risen from the sea, the Greek god Poseidon come to life from ancient myth.

She didn’t like it. Didn’t like any of this. She’d prepared herself for one thing, but not this….

“You look pale,” he said, his voice so deep it was almost a caress.

She steeled herself against it. Against him. “It was a long trip.”

“Even more reason for you to come sit.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She hated being here. Hated him for only seeing her here at Villa Angelica, the place where they’d honeymooned for a month following their spectacular wedding. It’d been the happiest month of her life. When the honeymoon was over, they had left the villa and flown to Greece, and nothing was ever the same between them again. “I’m fine here,” she said.

“I won’t hurt you,” he replied softly.

Her nails pierced her skin. Her eyes stung. If her legs would function, she’d run. Protect herself. Save herself. If only she had someone else to go to, someone else who would help her, but there was no one. Just Drakon. Just the man who had destroyed her, making her question her own sanity. “You already did that.”

“You say that, my love, and yet you’ve never told me how—”

“As you said, that isn’t something to discuss across a room of this size. And we both know, I didn’t come here to discuss us. Didn’t come to rehash the past, bring up old ghosts, old pain. I came for your help. You know what I need. You know what’s at stake. Will you do it? Will you help me?”

“Six million dollars is a lot of money.”

“Not to you.”

“Things have changed. Your father lost over four hundred million dollars of what I gave him.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” She met his gaze and held it, knowing that if she didn’t stand up to him now, he’d crush her. Just as he’d crushed her all those years ago.

Drakon, like her father, played by no rules but his own.

A Greek shipping tycoon, Drakon Sebastian Xanthis was a man obsessed with control and power. A man obsessed with amassing wealth and growing his empire. A man obsessed with a woman who wasn’t his wife. Bronwyn. The stunning Australian who ran his Southeast Asia business.

Her eyes burned and her jaw ached.

But no. She wouldn’t think of Bronwyn now. Wouldn’t wonder if the willowy blonde still worked for him. It wasn’t important. Morgan wasn’t part of Drakon’s life anymore. She didn’t care whom Drakon employed or how he interacted with his female vice presidents or where they stayed on their business trips or what they discussed over their long dinners together.

“Is that what you really believe?” he asked now, voice almost silky. “That your father is blameless?”

“Absolutely. He was completely misled—”

“As you have been. Your father is one of the biggest players in one of the biggest Ponzi schemes ever. Twenty-five billion dollars is missing, and your father funneled five billion of that to Michael Amery, earning himself ten percent interest.”

“He never saw that kind of money—”

“For God’s sake, Morgan, you’re talking to me, Drakon, your husband. I know your father. I know exactly who and what he is. Do not play me for a fool!”

Morgan ground her teeth together harder, holding back the words, the tears, the anger, the shame. Her father wasn’t a monster. He didn’t steal from his clients. He was just as deceived as they were and yet no one would give him an opportunity to explain, or defend himself. The media had tried and convicted him and everyone believed the press. Everyone believed the wild accusations. “He’s innocent, Drakon. He had no idea Michael Amery was running a pyramid scheme. Had no idea all those numbers and profits were a lie.”

“Then if he’s so innocent, why did he flee the country? Why didn’t he stay, like Amery’s sons and cousins, and fight instead of setting sail to avoid prosecution?”

“He panicked. He was frightened—”

“Absolute rubbish. If that’s the case, your father is a coward and deserves his fate.”

She shook her head in silent protest, her gaze pinned to Drakon’s features. He might not look like Drakon, but it was definitely him. She knew his deep, smooth voice. And those eyes. His eyes. She’d fallen in love with his eyes first. She’d met him at the annual Life ball in Vienna, and they hadn’t danced—Drakon didn’t dance—but he’d watched her all evening and at first she’d been discomfited by the intensity of his gaze, and then she’d come to like it. Want it. Crave it.

In those early weeks and months when he’d pursued her, Drakon had seduced her with his eyes, examining her, holding her, possessing her long before he’d laid a single finger on her. And, of course, by the time he did, she was his, completely.

The last five years had been brutal. Beyond brutal. And just when Morgan had found herself again, and felt hopeful and excited about her future, her world came crashing down with the revelation that her beloved, brilliant financier father, Daniel Copeland, was part of Michael Amery’s horrific Ponzi scheme. And instead of her father handling the crisis with his usual aplomb, he’d cracked and run, creating an even bigger international scandal.

She drew a slow, unsteady breath. “I can’t leave him in Somalia to die, Drakon. The pirates will kill him if they don’t get the ransom money—”

“It would serve him right.”

“He’s my father!”

“You’ll put yourself in debt for the rest of your life, just to buy his freedom, even though you know that his freedom will be short-lived?”

“Yes.”

“You do understand that he’ll be arrested the moment he tries to enter any North American or European country?”

“Yes.”

“He’s never going to be free again. He’s going to spend the rest of his life in prison, just like Michael Amery will, once he’s caught, too.”

“I understand. But far better for my father to be in an American prison than held by Somali pirates. At least in the United States he could get medical care if he’s sick, or medicine for his blood pressure. At least he could have visitors and letters and contact with the outside world. God knows what his conditions are like in Somalia—”

“I’m sure they’re not luxurious. But why should the American taxpayer have to support your father? Let him stay where he is. It’s what he deserves.”

“Do you say this to hurt me, or is it because he lost so much of your money?”

“I’m a businessman. I don’t like to lose money. But I was only in four hundred million of the five billion he gave to Amery. What about those others? The majority were regular people. People who trusted your father with their retirement money … their life savings. And what did he do? He wiped them out. Left them with nothing. No retirement, no security, no way to pay the bills now that they’re older and frailer and unemployable.”

Morgan blinked hard to clear her vision. “Michael Amery was my father’s best friend. He was like family. Dad trusted him implicitly.” Her voice cracked and she struggled to regain her composure. “I grew up calling him Uncle Michael. I thought of him as my family.”

“Yes, that’s what you told me. Just before I gave your father four hundred million dollars to invest for me. I nearly gave him more. Your father wanted more. Twice as much, as a matter of fact.”

“I am so sorry.”

“I trusted your father.” His gaze met hers and held. “Trusted you. I know better now.”

She exhaled slowly. “Does that mean you won’t help me?”

“It means …” His voice faded, and his gaze narrowed as he looked at her, closely, carefully, studying her intently. “Probably not.”

“Probably?” she repeated hoarsely, aware that if Drakon wouldn’t help her, no one would. The world hated her father, and wanted him gone. They all hoped he was dead. And they all hoped he’d suffered before he died, too.

“Surely you must realize I’m no fan of your father’s, glykia mou.”

“You don’t have to be a fan of my father’s to loan me the money. We’ll draft a contract, a legal document that is between you and me, and I will pay you back in regular installments. It will take time, but it’ll happen. My business is growing, building. I’ve got hundreds of thousands of dollars of orders coming in. I promise—”

“Just like you promised to love me? Honor me? Be true to me for better or worse, in sickness and in health?”

She winced. He made it sound as if she hadn’t ever cared for him, when nothing could be further from the truth. The truth was, she’d cared too much. She’d loved him without reservation. And by loving him so much, she’d lost herself entirely. “So why haven’t you divorced me then? If you despise me so much, why not let me go? Set me free?”

“Because I’m not like you. I don’t make commitments and run from them. I don’t make promises and then break them. I promised five and a half years ago to be loyal to you, and I have been.”

His deep gravelly voice was making her insides wobble while his focused gaze rested on her, examining her, as if she were a prized pet that had been lost and found.

“Those are just words, Drakon. They mean nothing to me. Not when your actions speak so much louder.”

“My actions?”

“Yes, your actions. Or your lack of action. You only do something if it benefits you. You married me because it benefited you … or you thought it would. And then when times were difficult … when I became difficult … you disappeared. You wouldn’t grant me a divorce but you certainly didn’t come after me, fight for me. And then when the world turned against us, where were you again? Nowhere. God knows you wouldn’t want your name sullied by connection with the Copeland family!”

He studied her for an endless moment. “Interesting how you put things together. But not entirely surprising. You’ve inherited your mother’s flair for the dramatic—”

“I hate you! I do.” Her voice shook and her eyes burned, but she wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He’d taken everything from her, but not anymore. “I knew you’d mock me, humiliate me. I knew when I flew here, you’d make it difficult, but I came anyway, determined to do whatever I had to do to help my father. You’ll let me plead with you, you’ll let me beg—”

“That was a very passionate speech, so please forgive my interruption, but I’d like to clarify something. I don’t believe you’ve begged. You’ve asked for money. You’ve demanded money. You’ve explained why you needed money. But there’s been very little pleading, and absolutely no begging, at all.”

A pulse beat wildly in her throat. She could feel the same wild flutter in her wrists and behind her ears. Everything in her was racing, raging. “Is that what you want? You’d like for me to beg you to help me?”

His head cocked, and he studied her, his gaze penetrating. “It’d certainly be a little more conciliatory, and far less antagonistic.”

“Conciliatory.” She repeated the word, rolling it over in her mouth, finding it sharp and bitter.

He said nothing, just watched her, and she felt almost breathless at the scrutiny, remembering how it had been between them during their four weeks here on their honeymoon. It was in this villa she’d learned about love and lust, sex and pleasure, as well as pain and control, and the loss of control.

Drakon never lost control. But he’d made sure she did at least once a day, sometimes two or three times.

Their sex life had been hot. Explosive. Erotic. She’d been a virgin when she’d married him and their first time together had been uncomfortable. He was large and it had hurt when he entered her fully. He’d tried to make it pleasurable for her but she’d been so overwhelmed and emotional, as well as let down. She couldn’t respond properly, couldn’t climax, and she knew she was supposed to. Knew he wanted her to.

He’d showered with her afterward, and kissed her, and beneath the pulsing spray of the shower, he lavished attention on her breasts and nipples, the curve of her buttocks and the cleft between her thighs, lightly playing with her clit until he finally accomplished what he hadn’t in bed—she came. One of his arms held her up since her legs were too weak to do the job, and then he’d kissed her deeply, possessively, and when she could catch her breath, he’d assured her that the next time he entered her, it wouldn’t hurt. That sex would never hurt again.

It hadn’t.

But that didn’t mean sex was always easy or comfortable.

Drakon liked it hot. Intense. Sensual. Raw. Unpredictable.

He loved to stand across the room from her—just as he was doing now—and he’d tell her what to do. Tell her what he wanted. Sometimes he wanted her to strip and then walk naked to him. Sometimes he wanted her to strip to just her panties and crawl to him. Sometimes he wanted her to wear nothing but her elegant heels and bend over … or put a foot on a chair and he’d tell her where to touch herself.

Each time Morgan would protest, but he’d look at her from beneath his black lashes, his amber gaze lazy, his full mouth curved, and he’d tell her how beautiful she was and how much he enjoyed looking at her, that it gave him so much pleasure to see her, and to have her trust him….

Obey him …

She hated those words, hated the element of dominance, but it was part of the foreplay. They had good sex in bed, but then they had this other kind of sex—the sex where they played erotic games that pushed her out of her comfort zone. It had been confusing, but inevitably she did what he asked, and then somewhere along the way, he’d join her, and his mouth would be on her, between her legs, and his hands would hold her, fingers tight on her butt, or in her hair, or gripping her thighs, holding them apart, and he’d make love to her with his mouth and his fingers and his body and he’d arouse her so slowly that she feared she wouldn’t ever come, and then just when the desire turned sharp and hurt, he’d relent. He’d flick the tip of his tongue across that small sensitive nub, or suck on her, or stroke her, or enter her and she’d break. Shatter. And the orgasms were so intense they seemed to go on forever. Maybe because he made sure they went on forever. And by the time he was finished, she was finished. There was nothing left. She was drained, spent, but also quiet. Compliant.

He loved her flushed and warm, quiet and compliant. Loved her physically that is, as long as she made no emotional demands. No conversation. No time, energy or patience. Required no attention.

Morgan’s chest ached. Her heart hurt. She’d been so young then, so trusting and naive. She’d been determined to please him, her beautiful, sensual Greek husband.

Their honeymoon here, those thirty days of erotic lovemaking, had changed her forever. She couldn’t even think of this villa without remembering how he’d made love to her in every single room, in every way imaginable. Taking her on chairs and beds, window seats and stairs. Pressing her naked back or breasts to priceless carpets, the marble floor, the cool emerald-green Italian tiles in the hall …

She wanted to throw up. He hadn’t just taken her. He’d broken her.

“Help me out if you would, Drakon,” she said, her voice pitched low, hoarse. “I’m not sure I understand you, and I don’t know if it’s cultural, personal or a language issue. But do you want me to beg? Is that what you’re asking me to do?” Her chin lifted and tears sparkled in her eyes even as her heart burned as if it had been torched with fire. “Am I to go onto my knees in front of you, and plead my case? Is that what it would take to win your assistance?”

He didn’t move a muscle and yet the vast living room suddenly felt very small. “I do like you on your knees,” he said cordially, because they both knew that on her knees she could take him in her mouth, or he could touch her or take her from behind.

She drew a ragged breath, locked her knees, praying for strength. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said, aware that she was in trouble here, aware that she ought to go. Now. While she could. While she still had some self-respect left. “Although God knows, I’ve tried.”

“Why would you want to forget it? We had an incredible sex life. It was amazing between us.”

She could only look at him, intrigued by his memory of them, as well as appalled. Their sex life had been hot, but their marriage had been empty and shallow.

Obviously that didn’t trouble him. It probably didn’t even cross his mind that his bride had feelings. Emotions. Needs. Why should it? Drakon’s desires were so much simpler. He just needed her available and willing, as if she were an American porn star in a rented Italian villa.

“So on my knees it is,” she said mockingly, lifting the hem of her pale blue skirt to kneel on his limestone floor.

“Get up,” he growled sharply.

“But this is what you want?”

“No. It’s not what I want, not like this, not because you need something, want something. It’s one thing if we’re making love and there’s pleasure involved, but there’s no pleasure in seeing you beg, especially to me. The very suggestion disgusts me.”

“And yet you seemed so charmed by the memory of me on my knees.”

“Because that was different. That was sex. This is …” He shook his head, features tight, full mouth thinned. For a moment he just breathed, and the silence stretched.

Morgan welcomed the silence. She needed it. Her mind was whirling, her insides churning. She felt sick, dizzy and off balance by the contradictions and the intensity and her own desperation.

He had to help her.

He had to.

If he didn’t, her father was forever lost to her.

“I’ve no desire to ever see my wife degrade herself,” Drakon added quietly, “not even on behalf of her father. It actually sickens me to think you’d do that for him—”

“He’s my father!”

“And he failed you! And it makes me physically ill that you’d beg for a man who refused to protect you and your sisters and your mother. A man is to provide for his family, not rob them blind.”

“How nice it must be, Drakon Xanthis, to live, untouched and superior, in your ivory tower.” Her voice deepened and her jaw ached and everything in her chest felt so raw and hot. “But I don’t have the luxury of having an ivory tower. I don’t have any luxuries anymore. Everything’s gone in my family, Drakon. The money, the security, the houses, the cars, the name … our reputation. And I can lose the lifestyle, it’s just a lifestyle. But I’ve lost far more than that. My family’s shattered. Broken. We live in chaos—”

She broke off, dragged in a breath, feeling wild and unhinged. But losing control with Drakon wouldn’t help her. It would hurt her. He didn’t like strong emotions. He pulled away when voices got louder, stronger, preferring calm, rational, unemotional conversation.

And, of course, that’s what she’d think about now. What Drakon wanted. How he liked things. How ironic that even after five years, she was still worrying about him, still turning herself inside out to please him, to be what he needed, to handle things the way he handled them.

What about her?

What about what she needed? What she wanted? What about her emotions or her comfort?

The back of her eyes burned and she jerked her chin higher. “Well, I’m sorry you don’t like seeing me like this, but this is who I am. Desperate. And I’m willing to take desperate measures to help my family. You don’t understand what it’s like for us. My family is in pain. Everyone is hurting, heartsick with guilt and shame and confusion—how could my father do what he did? How could he not know Amery wasn’t investing legitimately? How could he not protect his clients … his friends … his family? My sisters and brother—we can’t even see each other anymore, Drakon. We don’t speak to each other. We can’t handle the shame of it all. We’re outcasts now. Bottom feeders. Scum. So fine, stand there and mock me with your principles. I’m just trying to save what I can. Starting with my father’s life.”

“Your father isn’t worth it. But you are. Stop worrying about him, Morgan, and save yourself.”

“And how do I do that, Drakon? Have you any advice for me there?”

“Yes. Come home.”

“Home?”

“Yes, home to me—”

“You’re not home, Drakon. You were never home.”

She saw him flinch and she didn’t like it, but it was time he knew the truth. Time he heard the truth. “You asked me a little bit ago why I’d want to forget our sex life, and I’ll tell you. I don’t like remembering. It hurts remembering.”

“Why? It was good. No, it was great. We were unbelievable together—”

“Yes, yes, the sex was hot. And erotic. You were an incredibly skillful lover. You could make me come over and over, several times a day. But that’s all you gave me. Your name, a million-dollar diamond wedding ring and orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms. But there was no relationship, no communication, no connection. I didn’t marry you to just have sex. I married you to have a life, a home. Happiness. But after six months of being married to you, all I felt was empty, isolated and deeply unhappy.”

She held his gaze, glad she’d at last said what she’d wanted to say all those years ago, and yet fully aware that these revelations changed nothing. They were just the final nail in a coffin that had been needing to be sealed shut. “I was so unhappy I could barely function, and yet there you were, touching me, kissing me, making me come. I’d cry after I came. I’d cry because it hurt me so much that you could love my body and not love me.”

“I loved you.”

“You didn’t.”

“You can accuse me of being a bad husband, of being cold, of being insensitive, but don’t tell me how I felt, because I know how I felt. And I did love you. Maybe I didn’t say it often—”

“Or ever.”

“But I thought you knew.”

“Clearly, I didn’t.”

He stared at her from across the room, his features so hard they looked chiseled from stone. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said finally.

“Because you hated me talking to you.” Her throat ached and she swallowed around the lump with difficulty. “Every time I opened my mouth to say anything you’d roll your eyes or sigh or turn away—”

“Not true, either.”

“It is true. For me, it’s true. And maybe you were raised in a culture where women are happy to be seen and not heard, but I’m an American. I come from a big family. I have three sisters and a brother and am used to conversation and laughter and activity and the only activity I got from you was sex, and even then it wasn’t mutual. You were the boss, you were in control, dictating to me how it’d be. Strip, crawl, come—” She broke off, gasping for air, and shoved a trembling hand across her eyes, wiping them dry before any tears could fall. “So don’t act so shocked that I’d beg you to help me save my father. Don’t say it’s degrading and beneath me. I know what degrading is. I know what degrading does. And I’ve been there, in our marriage, with you.”

And then she was done, gone.

Morgan raced to the door, her heels clicking on the polished marble, her purse on the antique console in the grand hall close to the front door, her travel bag in the trunk of her hired car.

She’d flown to Naples this morning from London, and yesterday to London from Los Angeles, almost twenty hours of traveling just to get here, never mind the tortuous winding drive to the villa perched high on the cliffs of the coast between Positano and Ravello. She was exhausted and flattened. Finished. But she wasn’t broken. Wasn’t shattered, not the way she’d been leaving him the first time.

Count it as a victory,she told herself, wrenching open the front door and stepping outside into the blinding sunshine.You came, you saw him and you’re leaving in one piece. You did it. You faced your dragon and you survived him.




CHAPTER TWO


DRAKON WATCHED MORGAN spin and race from the living room, her cheeks pale, her long dark hair swinging. He could hear her high-heeled sandals clicking against the gleaming floor as she ran, and then heard the front door open and slam shut behind her.

He slowly exhaled and focused on the silence, letting the stillness and quiet wash over him, calm him.

In a moment he’d go after her, but first he needed to gather his thoughts, check his emotions. It wouldn’t do to follow her in a fury—and he was furious. Beyond furious.

So he’d wait. He’d wait until his famous control was firmly in check. He prided himself on his control. Prided himself for not taking out his frustrations on others.

He could afford to give Morgan a few minutes, too. It’s not as if she would be able to go anywhere. Her hired car and driver were gone, paid off, dispensed with, and the villa was set off the main road, private and remote. There would be no taxis nearby. She wasn’t the sort to stomp away on foot.

And so Drakon used the quiet and the silence to reflect on everything she’d said. She’d said quite a bit. Much of it uncomfortable, and some of it downright shocking, as well as infuriating.

She’d felt degraded in their marriage?

Absolute rubbish. And the fact that she’d dare say such a thing to his face after all these years made him want to throttle her, which seriously worried him.

He wasn’t a violent man. He didn’t lose his temper. Didn’t even recognize the marriage she described. He had loved her, and he’d spoiled her. Pampered her. Worshipped her body. How was that degrading?

And how dare she accuse him of being a bad husband? He’d given her everything, had done everything for her, determined to make her happy. Her feelings had been important to him. He’d been a respectful husband, a kind husband, having far too many memories of an unhappy childhood, a childhood filled with tense, angry people—namely his mother—to want his wife to be anything but satisfied and content.

His mother, Maria, wasn’t a bad woman, she was a good woman, a godly woman, and she tried to be fair, just, but that hadn’t made her affectionate. Or gentle.

Widowed at thirty-five when Drakon’s father died of a heart attack at sea, Maria had found raising five children on her own overwhelming. The Xanthis family was wealthy and she didn’t have to worry about money, but that didn’t seem to give her much relief, not when she was so angry that Drakon’s father, Sebastian, had died leaving her with all these children, children she wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted. One child might have been fine, but five was four too many.

Drakon, being the second eldest, and the oldest son, tried to be philosophical about her anger and resentment. She came from a wealthy family herself and had grown up comfortable. He told himself that her lack of affection and attention wasn’t personal, but rather a result of grief, and too many pregnancies too close together. And so he learned by watching her, that she was most comfortable around her children if they asked for nothing, revealed no emotion or expressed no need. Drakon internalized the lesson well, and by thirteen and fourteen, he became the perfect son, by having no needs, or emotions.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy pleasing others. Throughout his twenties he had taken tremendous pride in spoiling his girlfriends, beautiful glamorous women who enjoyed being pampered and showered with pretty gifts and extravagant nights out. The women in his life quickly came to understand that he didn’t show emotion and they didn’t expect him to. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel, but it wasn’t easy to feel. There were emotions in him somewhere, just not accessible. His girlfriends enjoyed his lifestyle, and his ability to please them, and they accepted him for who he was, and that he expressed himself best through action—doing or buying something for someone.

So he bought gifts and whisked his love interests to romantic getaways. And he became a skilled lover, a patient and gifted lover who understood the importance of foreplay.

Women needed to be turned on mentally before they were turned on physically. The brain was their largest erogenous zone, with their skin coming in second. And so Drakon loved to seduce his partner slowly, teasing her, playing with her, whetting the appetite and creating anticipation, because sex was how he bonded. It’s how he felt close to his woman. It was how he felt safe expressing himself.

And yet she hadn’t felt safe with him. She hadn’t even enjoyed being with him. Their lovemaking had disgusted her. He had disgusted her. He’d turned off Morgan.

Drakon’s stomach heaved. He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth.

How stupid he’d been. Moronic.

No wonder she’d left him. No wonder she’d waited until he had flown to London for the day. He had only been away for the day, having flown out early on his jet, returning for a late dinner. But when he had entered their villa in Ekali, a northern suburb of Athens, the villa had been dark. No staff. No dinner. No welcome. No Morgan.

He remembered being blindsided that night. Remembered thinking, he could go without dinner, could live without food, but he couldn’t live without Morgan.

He’d called her that night, but she didn’t answer. He’d left a message. Left another. Had flown to see her. She wasn’t to be found.

He’d called again, left another message, asking her to come home. She didn’t. She wouldn’t even speak to him, forcing him instead to interact with her trio of attorneys as they informed him that their client was filing for divorce and moving on with her life, without him.

His surprise gave way to frustration and fury, but he never lost his temper with her. He tried to remain cool, focused, pragmatic. Things had a way of working out. He needed to be patient, and he refused to divorce her, insisting he wouldn’t agree to a divorce until she met with him. Sat down and talked with him. In person.

She wouldn’t. And so for two years her attorneys had battled on her behalf, while Drakon had battled back. His wife would not leave him without giving him a proper explanation. His wife could not just walk away on a whim.

While the Copeland attorneys filed their lawsuits and counter lawsuits, Drakon had made repeated attempts to see Morgan. But every attempt to reach her was stymied. Her cell phone was disconnected. He had no idea where she was living. Her family would only say she’d gone away indefinitely. Drakon had hired private investigators to find her, but they couldn’t. Morgan had vanished.

For two and a half years she’d vanished into thin air.

And then in October she had reappeared, emerging again on the New York social scene.

The private investigators sent Drakon her address, a high-rent loft in SoHo, paid for by her father. She’d started her own business as a jewelry designer and had opened a small shop down the street from her loft, locating her little store close to big hitters.

Drakon immediately flew to New York to see her, going straight from the airport to her boutique, hoping that’s where he’d find her at 11:00 a.m. on a Wednesday morning. Before he even stepped from his limousine, she walked out the shop’s front door with her youngest sister, Jemma. At first glance they looked like any glamorous girls about town, slim and chic, with long gleaming hair and their skin lightly golden from expensive spray-on tans, but after that first impression of beauty and glamour, he saw how extremely thin Morgan was, dangerously thin. She looked like a skeleton in her silk tunic and low-waisted trousers. Wide gold bangles covered her forearms, and Drakon wondered if it was an attempt to hide her extreme slenderness, or perhaps accent her physique?

He didn’t know, wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The only thing he knew for certain was that she didn’t look well and he was baffled by the change in her.

He let her go, leaving her with Jemma, and had his driver take him to her father’s building on 53rd and Third Avenue. Daniel Copeland could barely hide his shock at seeing Drakon Xanthis in his office, but welcomed him cordially—he was, after all, taking care of Drakon’s investment—and asked him to have a seat.

“I saw Morgan today,” Drakon had said bluntly, choosing not to sit. “What’s wrong with her? She doesn’t look well.”

“She hasn’t been well,” Daniel answered just as bluntly.

“So what’s wrong with her?” he repeated.

“That’s her business.”

“She’s my wife.”

“Only because you won’t let her go.”

“I don’t believe in divorce.”

“She’s not happy with you, Drakon. You need to let her go.”

“Then she needs to come tell me that herself.” He’d left Daniel’s office after that, and for several weeks he’d expected a call from Morgan, expected an email, something to say she was ready to meet with him.

But she didn’t contact him. And he didn’t reach out to her. And the impasse had continued until three days ago when Morgan had called him, and requested a meeting. She’d told him up front why she wanted to see him. She made it clear that this had nothing to do with them, or their marriage, but her need for a loan, adding that she was only coming to him because no one else would help her.

You are my last resort,she’d said.If you don’t help me, no one will.

He’d agreed to see her, telling her to meet him here, at Villa Angelica. He’d thought perhaps by meeting here, where they’d embarked on their married life, they could come to an understanding and heal the breach. Perhaps face-to-face here, where they had been happy, he could persuade Morgan to return to Athens. It was time. He wanted children, a family. He wanted his wife back where she was supposed to be—in his home, at his side.

Now he realized there was no hope, there never had been, and he felt stupid and angry.

Worse, he felt betrayed. Betrayed by the woman he’d vowed to love and protect, a woman he’d continued to love these past five years, because it was his duty to love her. To be faithful to her. To provide for her.

But he was done with his duty. Done with his loyalty. Done with her.

He wanted her gone.

It was time to give her what she wanted. Time to give them both what they needed—freedom.

Drakon ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the dense beard, a beard he’d started growing that day he’d learned she intended to end their marriage without uttering a single word, or explanation, or apology to him.

He’d vowed he’d grow his beard until his wife returned home, or until he’d understood what had happened between them.

It had been an emotional, impulsive vow, but he’d kept it. Just as he’d kept hope that one day Morgan, his wife, would return to him.

And she had returned, but only to tell him how much she hated him. How much she despised him. How degrading she’d found their marriage.

Drakon exhaled slowly, trying to control the hot rush of emotion that made his chest ache and burn. He wasn’t used to feeling such strong emotions. But he was feeling them now.

He headed into the small sitting room, which opened off the living room to his laptop and his briefcase. He took a checkbook to his personal account out of his briefcase and quickly scrawled her name on a check and filled in the amount, before dating it and signing it. He studied the check for a moment, the anger bubbling up, threatening to consume him, and it took all of his control to push it back down, suppressing it with ruthless intent.

He wasn’t a failure. She was the failure. She was the one who had walked out on him, not the other way around. He was the one who had fought to save their marriage, who had honored their vows, who had honored her by thinking of no other woman but his wife, wanting no other woman than Morgan.

But now he was done with Morgan. He’d give her the money she wanted and let her go and once she left, he wouldn’t waste another moment of his life thinking or worrying about her. She wanted her freedom? Well, she was about to get it.

Morgan was standing on the villa’s front steps gazing out at the sweeping drive, with the stunning view of the dark green mountains that dropped steeply and dramatically into the sapphire sea, anxiously rubbing her nails back and forth against her linen skirt, when she heard the front door open behind her.

Her skin prickled and the fine hair at her nape lifted. She knew without even turning around it was Drakon. She could feel his warmth, that magnetic energy of his that drew everything toward him, including her.

But she wouldn’t allow herself to be drawn back into his life. Wouldn’t give him power over her ever again.

She quickly moved down the front steps, putting distance between them. She refused to look at him, was unable to look at him when she was filled with so much anger and loathing.

“You had no right to send away my car,” she said coolly, her gaze resolutely fixed on the dazzling blue and green colors of the coast, but unable to appreciate them, or the lushness of the dark pink bougainvillea blooming profusely along the stone wall bordering the private drive. Panic flooded her limbs. He was so close to her she could barely breathe, much less think.

“I didn’t think you’d need it,” he said.

She looked sharply at him then, surprised by his audacity, his arrogance. “Did you imagine I was going to stay?”

“I’d hoped,” he answered simply.

She sucked in a breath, hating him anew. He could be so charming when he wanted to be. So endearing and real. And then he could take it all away again, just like that. “You really thought I’d take one look at you and forget my unhappiness? Forget why I wanted the divorce?”

“I thought you’d at least sit down and talk to me. Have a real conversation with me.”

“You don’t like conversation, Drakon. You only want information in bullet form. Brief, concise and to the point.”

He was silent a moment, and then he nodded once, a short, decisive nod. “Then I’ll be brief in return. The helicopter is on the way for you. Should be here soon. And I have this for you.” He handed her a folded piece of paper.

Morgan took it from him, opened it. It was a check for seven million dollars. She looked up at Drakon in surprise. “What’s this?”

“The money you begged for.”

She flinched. “The pirates are only asking for six.”

“There will be other expenses. Travel and rescue logistics. You’ll want to hire an expert to help you. Someone with the right negotiation skills. There are several excellent firms out there, like Dunamas Maritime Intelligence—”

“I’m familiar with them.”

“They won’t be cheap.”

“I’m familiar with their fees.”

“Don’t try to do it on your own, thinking you can. Better to pay for their expertise and their relationships. They know what they’re doing, and they’ll help you avoid a trap. The Somali pirates sound like they’re a ragtag organization, but in truth, they’re being funded by some of the wealthiest, most powerful people in the world.”

She nodded, because she couldn’t speak, not with her throat swelling closed. For the first time in a long, long time, she was grateful for Drakon Xanthis, grateful he had not just the means to help her, but knowledge and power. There weren’t many people like Drakon in the world, and she was suddenly so very glad he had been part of her life.

“Use whatever is left after you pay your management fee to pay your father’s travel expenses home. There should be enough. If there isn’t, let me know immediately,” he added.

“Thank you,” she whispered huskily.

His jaw tightened. “Go to London before you return to New York, cash the check at the London branch of my bank. There won’t be any problems. They’ll give you the six million in cash you need for the ransom. You must have it in cash, and not new bills, remember that. But I’m sure your contact told you that?”

“Yes.”

His lashes dropped, concealing his expression. “They’re very particular, agapi mou. Follow the instructions exactly. If you don’t, things could turn unpleasant.”

“As if storming my father’s yacht off the Horn of Africa, and killing his captain, wasn’t unpleasant enough—” She broke off, hearing the distinctive hum of the helicopter. It was still a distance from them, but it would be here soon.

For a moment neither said anything, both listening to the whir of the helicopter blades.

“Why have you kept the news of your father’s kidnapping private?” he asked her. “I would have thought this was something you’d share with the world … using the kidnapping to garner sympathy.”

“Because it wouldn’t garner sympathy. The American public hates him. Loathes him. And if they discovered he was kidnapped by Somali pirates, they’d be glad. They’d be dancing in the streets, celebrating, posting all kinds of horrible comments all over the internet, hoping he’ll starve, or be killed, saying it’s karma—”

“Isn’t it?”

She acted as though Drakon hadn’t spoken. “But he’s my father, not theirs, and I’m not using their money. Not spending government funds, public funds or trust funds. We haven’t gone to the police or the FBI, haven’t asked for help from anyone. We’re keeping this in the family, handling it on our own, and since my brother and sisters don’t have the means, I’m using my money—”

“You mean my money.”

She flushed, and bit hard into her lower lip, embarrassed. His money. Right. They weren’t married, not really, and she had no right to spend his money, just because she had nothing left of her own.

“I stand corrected,” she whispered. “Your money. I’m using your money. But I will pay you back. Every penny. Even if it takes me the rest of my life.”

A small muscle popped in his jaw. “There is no need for that—” He paused, glancing up at the dark speck overhead. The helicopter.

One of the reasons Drakon had chosen this villa for their honeymoon five and a half years ago was that the outdoor pool had a special cover that converted it into a heli landing pad, making the remote villa far more appealing for a man who needed to come and go for meetings in Naples, Athens and London.

“No need to pay me back,” Drakon said, picking up his broken train of thought, “because I’m calling my attorney this afternoon and asking him to process the paperwork for the divorce. He will make sure the dissolution is expedited. By the end of the month, it will be over.”

It will be over. For a moment Morgan couldn’t take this last bit in. What was he saying? He’d finally agreed to the divorce?

He was giving her the money and granting her the divorce?

She just looked up at him, eyes burning, too overwhelmed to speak.

He dipped his head and raised his voice in order to be heard over the hum of the helicopter, which had begun to descend. “You will receive your full settlement once the dissolution occurs. With the current state of affairs, I’d suggest you allow me to open a personal account for you in London or Geneva and I can deposit the funds directly into the account without fear of your government freezing it. I know they’ve frozen all your family accounts in the United States—”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Yes, you do. You came here for my money. So take what you came for—”

“I came to see you for my father, and that was the only reason I came here today.”

“A point you made abundantly clear.” He smiled at her but his amber gaze looked icy, the golden depths tinged with frost. “So I am giving you what you wanted, freedom and financial security, which fulfills my obligation to you.”

She shivered at the hardness in his voice. She had never heard him speak to her with so much coldness and disdain and it crushed her to think they were ending it like this—with contempt and anger.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her heart beating too fast and aching far too much.

He didn’t answer her, his gaze fixed on the helicopter slowly descending. Morgan watched him and not the helicopter, aware that this just might be the last time she would see Drakon and was drinking him in, trying to memorize every detail, trying to remember him. This.

“Thank you,” she added, wanting him to just look at her, acknowledge her, without this new terrible coldness.

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. “I’ll walk you to the landing pad,” he said, putting his hand out to gesture the way without touching her or looking at her.

Perhaps it was better this way, she told herself, forcing herself to move. It was hard enough being near him without wanting to be closer to him. Perhaps if he’d been kind or gentle, she’d just want more of him, because she’d always wanted more of him, never less. The doctors had said she was addicted to him, and her addiction wasn’t healthy. He wasn’t the sun, they lectured her, and Drakon, despite his intense charisma and chemistry, couldn’t warm her, nor could he actually give her strength. She was the only one who could give herself strength, and the only way she could do that was by leaving him, putting him behind her.

And so here she was again, leaving him. Putting him behind her.

So be strong,she told herself.Prove that you ‘re strong on your own.

Morgan blinked to clear her vision, fighting panic as they rounded the villa and walked across the lawn for the open pool terrace where the helicopter waited, balancing like a peculiar moth on the high-tech titanium cover concealing the pool. The roar from the helicopter’s spinning blades made conversation impossible, not that Drakon wanted to talk to her.

One of the household staff met them at the helicopter with Morgan’s travel bag and Drakon set it inside the helicopter, then spoke briefly to the pilot before putting out his hand to assist Morgan inside.

She glanced down at his outstretched hand, and then up into his face, into those unique amber eyes that had captivated her from the start. “Thank you again, Drakon, and I hope you’ll be happy.”

His lips curved, but his eyes glittered with silent fury. “Is that a joke? Am I supposed to be amused?”

She drew back, stunned by his flash of temper. For a moment she could only stare at him, surprised, bewildered, by this fierce man. This was a different Drakon than the man she’d married. This was a Drakon of intense emotions and yet after they’d married she’d become convinced that Drakon felt no emotion. “I’m serious. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy—”

“As you said I’m not one for meaningless conversation, so I’m going to walk away now to save us from an embarrassing and uncomfortable goodbye,” he said brusquely, cutting her short, to propel her into the helicopter. Once he had her inside, he leaned in, his features harsh, and shouted to her, “Don’t try to cut corners, Morgan, and save money by handling the pirates yourself. Get help. Call Dunamas, or Blue Sea, or one of the other maritime intelligence companies. Understand me?”

His fierce gaze held hers, and she nodded jerkily, even as her stomach rose up, and her heart fell. If he only knew …

If he only knew what she had done….

And for a split second she nearly blurted the truth, how she had been negotiating with the pirates on her own, and how she’d thought she was in control, until it had all gone terribly wrong, which was why she was here … which was why she needed Drakon so much. But before she could say any of it, Drakon had turned around and was walking away from the helicopter.

Walking away from her.

Her eyes burned and her throat sealed closed as the pilot handed Morgan a set of headphones, but she couldn’t focus on the pilot’s instructions, not when she was watching Drakon stride toward the villa.

He was walking quickly, passing the rose-covered balustrade on the lower terrace then climbing the staircase to the upper terrace, and the entire time she prayed he’d turn around, pray he’d acknowledge her, pray he’d wave or smile, or just look at her.

He didn’t.

He crossed the terrace to the old ballroom and disappeared into the great stone house without a backward glance.

So that was it. Done. Over. She was finally free to move on, find happiness, find love elsewhere.

She should be happy. She should feel at peace. But as the helicopter lifted off the pad, straight into the air, Morgan didn’t feel any relief, just panic. Because she didn’t get the help she needed, and she’d lost him completely.

It wasn’t supposed to have gone like this. The meeting today … as well as their marriage. Because she had loved him. She’d loved him with everything she was, everything she had, and it hadn’t been enough. It should have been enough. Why wasn’t it enough? In the beginning she’d thought he was perfect. In the beginning she’d thought she’d found her soul mate. But she was wrong.

Seconds passed, becoming one minute and then another as the helicopter rose higher and higher, straight up so that the villa fell away and the world was all blue and green, with the sea on one side and the sharp, steep mountains on the other and the villa with its famous garden clinging to that bit of space on the rock.

Fighting tears, her gaze fell on the check she still clutched in her hand. Seven million dollars. Just like that.

And she’d known that he’d help her if she went to him. She’d known he’d come through for her, too, because he’d never refused her anything. Drakon might not have given her much of his time or patience, but he’d never withheld anything material from her.

Guilt pummeled her, guilt and fear and anxiety, because she hadn’t accomplished everything she’d come to Villa Angelica to accomplish. She needed more from Drakon than just a check. She needed not just financial assistance, but his help, too. There were few men in the world who had his knowledge of piracy and its impact on the shipping industry. Indeed, Drakon was considered one of the world’s leading experts in counter piracy, and he’d know the safest, quickest method for securing her father’s release, as well as the right people to help her.

Morgan exhaled in a rush, heart beating too hard.

She had to go back. Had to face Drakon again. Had to convince him to help her. Not that he’d want to help her now, not after everything that was said.

But this wasn’t about pride or her ego. This was life and death, her father’s life, specifically, and she couldn’t turn her back on him.

Swallowing her fear and misgivings, Morgan grabbed at her seat belt as if throwing on brakes. “Stop, wait,” she said to the pilot through the small microphone attached to her headphones. “We have to go back. I’ve forgotten something.”

The pilot was too well-trained, and too well-paid, to question her. For a moment nothing seemed to happen and then he shifted and the helicopter began to slowly descend.

Drakon didn’t wait for the helicopter to leave. There was no point. She was gone, and he was glad. While climbing the stairs to his bedroom suite, he heard the helicopter lift, the throbbing of the rotary blades vibrating all the way through the old stone walls.

In his bathroom, Drakon stripped his clothes off and showered, and then dried off, wrapping the towel around his hips and prepared to shave. It would take a while. There was a lot of beard.

He gathered his small scissors and his razor and shaving cream, and as he laid everything out, he tried not to think, particularly not of Morgan, but that was impossible. He was so upset. So angry.

What a piece of work she was. To think he’d wanted her back. To think he’d loved her. But how could he have loved her? She was shallow and superficial and so incredibly self-centered. It was always about her … what she wanted, what she needed, with no regard for anyone else’s needs.

As he changed the blade on his razor, he felt a heaviness inside, a dull ache in his chest, as if he’d cut his heart. And then Drakon took the razor to his beard.

He had loved her, and he had wanted her back. Wanted her home with him. But that was before he understood how disgusted she was with him, how disgusted she’d been by their marriage.

Disgust.

He knew that word, and knew disgust produced shame. His mother used to be disgusted by emotion, and as a young child, Drakon had felt constant shame in her presence, shame that he had such strong emotions, emotions she found appalling. He still remembered how wild he’d felt on the inside as a little boy, how desperate and confused he’d felt by her rejection, and how determined he’d been to win her affection, even if it meant destroying part of himself. And so that became the goal, his sole objective as a child. To master his hideous emotions. To master want and need, to stifle them, suppress them, thereby winning his mother’s approval and love.

He succeeded.

Drakon rinsed the shaving cream from his face and studied his smooth, clean jaw in the mirror. He’d forgotten what his face looked like without a beard, had forgotten how lean his cheeks were above his jutting chin. He had a hard chin, a stubborn chin, which was fitting since he knew he’d become a very hard, stubborn man.

A knock sounded on the outer door of his suite. Drakon mopped his damp face, grabbed a robe and crossed his room to open the door, expecting one of the villa staff.

It wasn’t one of the staff. It was Morgan.

Something surged in his chest, hot and fierce, and then it was gone, replaced by coldness. Why was she back? What game was she playing now? He leaned against the door frame, and looked her up and down, coolly, unkindly. “Need more money already?”

Color stained her cheeks, making her blue eyes even deeper, brighter. “You … shaved.”

“I did.”

“We need to talk.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Thank you, but no. I’ve heard more than enough from you already. Now if you’d be so good as to see yourself out, and get back into the helicopter—”

“The helicopter is gone. I sent him away.”

“That was foolish of you. How are you getting back home?”

“We’ll figure that out later.”

“You mean, you can figure that out later. There is no more we. I’m done with you, and done helping you. You’ve got your check, and in a month’s time you’ll receive your settlement, but that’s it. That’s all there is. I’ve nothing more for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

Her eyebrows lifted and she walked past him, into his room, glancing around the impressive bedroom where they’d spent the first month of their marriage. “Looks just as I remembered,” she said, turning to face him. “But you don’t. You’ve changed.”

“Yes, I grew a beard, I know.”

“It’s not just the beard and hair. It’s you. You’re different.”

“Perhaps you weren’t aware. My wife left me. It wasn’t an easy thing.”

She gave him a long, level look. “You could have come after me.”

“I did.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“I’m not talking about phone calls, or emails or texts. Those don’t count.”

“No, they don’t, and they don’t work, either, not once you turned your phone off. Which is why I flew repeatedly to New York, drove up to Greenwich—”

“You didn’t!”

His hands clenched at his sides. “Good God, if you contradict me one more time, I will throttle you, Morgan, I will. Because I did go after you, I wanted you back, I wanted you home and I did everything I could to save our marriage. I visited your father at work. I appeared on your parents’ doorstep. I spoke—repeatedly—to each of your siblings—”

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered.

“Believe it,” he said grimly, moving toward her, stepping so close he could smell the hint of fragrance from her shampoo, and the sweet clean scent of her perfume on her skin. He loved her smell. Loved her softness. Loved everything about his woman.

But that was then, and this was now, and he was so done with the craziness and the chaos that had followed their marriage.

His gaze caught hers, held, and he stared down into her eyes, drinking in that intense blue that always made him think of the sea around his home in Greece. Tiny purple and gold flecks shimmered against the deep blue irises … like the glimmer of sun on the surface of water. He used to think her eyes perfectly expressed who she was … a woman of magic and mystery and natural beauty.

Now he knew he’d been tricked. Tricked and deceived by a beautiful face, by stunning blue eyes.

Bitterness rolled through him and his gut clenched, his jaw hardening, anger roiling. He really didn’t like remembering, and he really didn’t like feeling the fury and rejection again, but it was what it was. They were what they were. Such was life.

“And if you don’t believe me, make some enquiries. Ask your brother, or your sister Tori, or Logan, or Jemma. Ask them all. Ask why no one would tell me anything. Demand answers, if not for you, then for me. Find out why the entire Copeland family turned their backs on me. I still don’t know why. Just as I don’t know why you disappeared, or where you went, but you were gone. I even hired private investigators, but you were nowhere to be found.”

Morgan bundled her arms across her chest and drew a slow, unsteady breath. A small pulse beat wildly at the base of her throat. “You really came after me?”

“Of course I came after you! You were my wife. You think I just let you go? You think I’d just let you leave?”

She swallowed hard, her blue eyes shining. “Yes.”

He swore softly, and walked away from her, putting distance between them. “I don’t know what kind of man you think you married, but I am not he. In fact, you, my wife, know nothing about me!”

She followed him, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. “Maybe that’s because you never gave me a chance to get to know you, Drakon.”

He turned abruptly to face her, and she nearly bumped into him. “Or maybe it’s because you didn’t stay long enough to get to know me, Morgan.”

Morgan took a swift step backward, stunned by his blistering wrath. She squeezed her hands into fists, crumpling the check in her right hand.

The check.

She’d forgotten all about it. Her heart ached as she glanced down at the paper, creased and crumpled in her hand. “If that is truly the case,” she said, voice husky, “I’m sorry.”

“If,” he echoed bitterly, his upper lip lifting. “I find it so ironic that you don’t believe a word I say, and yet when you need something, you’ll come running to me—”

“I didn’t want to come to you.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure of that.” He made a rough sound and turned away, running a hand over his newly shaven jaw. “My God, what a joke. I can’t believe I waited five years for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“Forget it. I don’t want to do this.” He turned and looked at her, cheekbones jutting against his bronzed skin, his amber gaze hard. “I have finally come to the same realization you did five years ago. That we don’t work. That we never worked. That there is no future. And since there is no future, I’ve nothing to say to you. You have the money, you have what you came for—”

“I didn’t just come for money. I need your help.”

“That’s too bad, then, because the check is all you’re getting from me.”

She inhaled sharply. He sounded so angry, so bitter, so unlike her husband. “Drakon, please. You know how the pirates operate. You’ve dealt with them before—”

“No. Sorry. I’m not trying to be ugly, just honest. I’m done. Done with you. Done with your family. Done with your father—my God, there’s a piece of work—but he’s not my problem anymore, because I’m not his son-in-law anymore, either. And I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually glad to be done … glad to have a complete break. You’ve exhausted every one of my resources, and I’ve nothing more to give. To you, or the rest of the Copeland family.”

She winced and looked away, hoping he didn’t see the tears that filled her eyes. “No one told me you came after me,” she said faintly, her gaze fixed on the view of the sea beyond the window. “But then, in that first year after I left you, no one told me anything.”

“I don’t see how that is relevant now.”

“It probably won’t mean anything to you now, but it’s relevant to me. It’s a revelation, and a comfort—”

“A comfort?” he repeated sarcastically.

She lifted her chin a fraction, squared her shoulders. “Yes, a comfort, knowing you didn’t give up on me quickly, or easily.”

“Unlike you, who gave up so quickly and easily.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are, now that the privileged Copelands are broke.”

She laughed to keep from crying. He was so very, very changed. “We’re broke,” she agreed, “every last one of us, and struggling, but my brother and sisters, they’re smart. They’ll be fine. They’ll come out of this okay. Me … I’m in trouble. I’m stupid—”

“If this is a play for my sympathy, it’s not working.”

“No. I’m just telling you the truth. I’m stupid. Very, very stupid. You see, I didn’t come to you first. I tried to handle the pirates on my own. And I’ve already given them money—”

“What?”

She licked her lower lip. “We didn’t want it known about my father, and so we kept the details to ourselves, and I tried to manage freeing my father on my own, and I gave them money. But they didn’t free my father.”

Drakon just looked at her, his jaw clenched, his lips a hard flat line. She could see the pulse beating at the base of his throat. His amber gaze burned. He was furious.

Furious.

Morgan exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself, trying to steady her nerves, but it wasn’t easy when her heart raced and the blood roared in her ears. “I didn’t want to have to bother you, Drakon. I thought I could manage things better than I did.”

He just kept staring at her, his spine stiff, his muscles tensed. He was clearly at war within himself and Morgan felt his anger and frustration. He wanted to kick her out of the villa but he didn’t run from responsibilities, or from providing for his family.

He was Greek. Family was everything to him. Even if he didn’t enjoy his family.

His tone was icy cold as he spoke. “You should have never tried to handle the pirates on your own. You should have gone to Dunamas or Blue Sea immediately—”

“I didn’t have the money to pay for outside help or expertise,” she said softly, cutting him short, unable to endure another lecture. “I didn’t even have enough to pay the three million ransom. You see, that’s what they asked for in the beginning. Three million. But I couldn’t come up with exactly three million, and I’d run out of time, so I made the sea drop with what I had, thinking that almost three million was better than nothing, but I was wrong. The pirates were really angry, and accused me of playing games, and they were now doubling the ransom to six million and I had just two weeks or they’d execute Dad.”

“How much were you short?”

“A hundred thousand.”

“But you dropped two-point-nine million?”

She nodded. “I was so close to three million, and to get it I emptied my savings, sold my loft, liquidated everything I had, but I couldn’t get more. I tried taking out personal loans from family and friends but no one was able to come up with a hundred thousand cash in the amount of time we had.”

“You didn’t come to me for the hundred thousand.”

“I didn’t want to involve you.”

“You have now.”

“Because there was no one else who would help me. No other way to come up with six million without my father’s situation becoming public knowledge.”

“One hundred thousand would have been a hell of a lot cheaper than six million.”

“I know.” Her stomach heaved. She felt so terribly queasy. “But then, I told you I was stupid. I was afraid to come to you, afraid to face you—”

“I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“No, but I have my pride. And then there were all those feelings—” she broke off, and gulped air, thinking she might just throw up “—because I did have feelings for you, and they confused me, but in the end, I had to come. Had to ask you for help … help and money, because the pirates are playing games. They’re toying with me and I’m scared. Scared of botching this, scared of never seeing my father again, scared that they have all the power and I have none.”

She opened her fist, smoothed the creased check, studied the number and sum it represented. “I know you’re angry with me, and I know you owe me nothing. I know it’s I that owe you, but I need your help, Drakon. At the very least, I need your advice. What do I do now? How do I make sure that they will release my father this time?” Her gaze lifted, met his. “Who is to say that they will ever release him? Who is to say that he’s even … he’s even …” Her voice drifted off, and she gazed at him, unable to finish the thought.

But she didn’t have to finish the thought. “You’re afraid he might not be alive,” Drakon said, brutally blunt.

She nodded, eyes stinging. “What if he isn’t?”

“That’s a good question.”

“So you see why I need you. I’ve already given them three million. I can’t give them another six without proof, but they refuse to let me speak to him, and I don’t know what to do. I’m frightened, Drakon. And overwhelmed. I’ve been trying to keep it together, but I don’t know how to do this—”

“You and your father sing the same tune, don’t you?”

She just stared at him, confused. “What does that mean?”

“The only time I hear from you, or your father, is when one of the Copelands needs money. But I’m not a bank, or an ATM machine, and I’m tired of being used.”

Morgan struggled to speak. “I never meant to use you, Drakon. And I certainly didn’t marry you for money, and I’m ashamed my father asked you to invest in his company, ashamed that he’d put you in that position. I didn’t agree with it then, and I’m shattered now that he lost so much of your personal wealth, but he is my father, and I can’t leave him in Somalia. It might be acceptable … even fiscally responsible, but it’s not morally responsible, not to me. And so I’m here, begging for your help because you are the only one who can help me.”

She paused, swallowed, her gaze searching his face, trying to see a hint of softening on his part. “You might not want to hear this right now, Drakon, but you’d do the same if it were your family. I know you … I know who you are, and I know you’d sacrifice everything if you had to.”

Drakon looked at her hard, his features harsh, expression shuttered, and then turned away, and walked to the window where he put his hand on the glass, his gaze fixed on the blue horizon. Silence stretched. Morgan waited for him to speak, not wanting to say more, or rush him to a decision, because she knew in her heart, he couldn’t tell her no … it’d go against his values, go against his ethics as a man, and a protective Greek male.

But it was hard to wait, and her jaw ached from biting down so hard, and her stomach churned and her head throbbed, but she had to wait. The ball was in Drakon’s court now.

It was a long time before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was pitched so low she had to strain to hear. “I have sacrificed everything for my family,” he said roughly. “And it taught me that no good deed goes unpunished.”

Her eyes burned, gritty, and her chest squeezed tight with hot emotion. “Please tell me I wasn’t the one who taught you that!”

His hand turned into a fist on the window.

Morgan closed her eyes, held her breath, her heart livid with pain. She had loved him … so much … too much….

“I need to think, and want some time,” Drakon said, still staring out the window, after another long, tense silence. “Go downstairs. Wait for me there.”




CHAPTER THREE


DRAKON WAITED FOR the bedroom door to close behind Morgan before turning around.

His gut churned with acid and every breath he drew hurt.

He wasn’t going to do it. There was no way in hell he’d actually help her free her father. For one—he hated her father. For another—Drakon had washed his hands of her. The beard was gone. The vigil was over. Time to move forward.

There was no reason he needed to be involved. No reason to do more than he had. As it was, he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty. He’d given her the money, he’d told her what to do, he’d made it clear that there were those who knew exactly what to do, he’d named the people to call … he’d done everything for her, short of actually dialing Dunamas on his cell phone, and good God, he would not do that.

Drakon stalked back to the bathroom, stared at his reflection, seeing the grim features, the cold, dead eyes, and then suddenly his face dissolved in the mirror and he saw Morgan’s instead.

He saw that perfect pale oval with its fine, elegant features, but her loveliness was overshadowed by the worry in her blue eyes, and the dark purple smudges beneath her eyes, and her unnatural pallor. Worse, even here, in the expansive marble bathroom, he could still feel her exhaustion and fatigue.

She’d practically trembled while talking to him, her thin arms and legs still too frail for his liking and he flashed back to that day in New York where he’d spotted her walking out of her shop with Jemma. Morgan might not be sick now, but she didn’t look well.





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