Package Deal

by Jess Bentley

Eyes narrowing at his evasion, I murmur words of agreement and turn toward the nursery. “Goodnight.” Jayson reaches for me, and I don’t resist when he turns back to face me. “Is there something else?”

  He curses under his breath in Greek. I don’t understand the words, but his frustration comes through loud and clear. “Yes, agape mou. This.”

  Even before his head descends, I know Jayson is going to kiss me. Deep in my heart, I knew all night that every glance and touch was leading to this moment. Holding my breath, I know I should turn away, but I’m unable to do it. When his lips touch mine, I find myself melting against him.

  My lips mold to his. He opens my lips with his and thrusts his tongue inside my mouth, exploring the depths. Eagerly, I stroke his tongue with mine. He tastes like the ouzo he had after the meal. Licorice and lust.

  Jayson pulls me closer, until our bodies fit together as though made for each other. Deepening the kiss, I tangle my hands in his hair to drag his head lower. I’m desperate for the taste of him. I lose all self-control.

  I moan when he puts one hand on my back while the other ventures lower, to squeeze my ass. A jolt shoots through me when he lifts me slightly, pushing his hardness against me. His nearness is intoxicating, or is it toxic? I can’t decide. My head swims as he guides my hand toward the massive bulge in his pants.

  Pulling his mouth from mine, Jayson brushes tender kisses across my cheek as my hand touches him, curious and hungry. “Se thelo, Harper,” he says in a thick voice.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what that means, Jayson.”

  He lifts his head so that our gazes lock. “I want you, Harper. I want to touch every inch of you, to learn all your secret places, to watch you come apart in my arms. Se thelo.”

  Jayson’s words are like ice water tossed in my face for some reason. “Why?” I ask in a distant tone, pulling away.

  He frowns, a line appearing between his dark eyebrows. His eyes are stormy, his breathing heavy. “You are a beautiful woman. My woman. I want to make love to you.”

  I take another step back. “You told me once that you would never want me, Jayson. Don’t you remember? On our wedding night, you made it one hundred percent crystal clear that you didn’t desire me and would never want me in your bed. What changed your mind?”

  He stares at me, mouth agape. I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from turning into a screeching banshee. Three years of hurt and anger I thought were gone are threatening to explode, but I refuse to let him see how deeply his past rejection affected me.

  “Nothing’s changed, has it, Jayson? I’m just a warm body, conveniently available.” My shoulders sag when he doesn’t reply. “Good night, Jayson.” This time, he lets me go without trying to call me back, to my mingled relief and disappointment. My heart aches and all I want is to forget about this night and to rid the memory of his kisses from my mind and body.

  Rushing into the nursery, I strip off the expensive evening gown and toss it away before slipping into my nightgown and crawling into bed. Shivers rack my body, though the night is warm. It’s my body’s way of processing what just happened, alongside what happened three years ago.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of our wedding night, but unable to do it. As I’ve done so many times in our marriage, once again, I relive that night’s events in my mind.

  As planned, ours was a simple civil ceremony in front of a justice of the peace, with Sophie as the only guest. Jayson’s way of announcing the marriage was to host a reception following the ceremony, and the house was crowded with guests. By the time the evening wound to a close, I was exhausted.

  I made my way upstairs to the suite the housekeeper had shown me before the ceremony, while asking how I wanted my clothes arranged. The austere room suited Jayson, with its massive antique furnishings, dark brown carpet, and beige walls. The room wasn’t romantic or passionate, but I assumed that was just decor, and once Jayson and I started making love I would see it that way.

  I bathed, shaved, moisturized, and slipped into a nearly transparent white negligee. The color was appropriate for a virgin bride, although the style was anything but innocent. Lost in the sea of garments at the boutique where I’d selected it, along with many pieces of my new wardrobe, I’d deferred to the salesclerk’s suggestion. Examining myself in the mirror, I nodded my approval, deciding the lingerie gave me an air of virginal sophistication I sorely lacked.

  Will Jayson be pleased or disappointed to find out I’m still a virgin? I wondered. At the age of twenty, I was only one of a few young women in my circle who hadn’t yet gone to bed with a man. Not that I was some kind of prude, but I also didn’t want to jump into bed with just any man, and none of the boys I’d dated had come close to tempting me to go that far.

  Not one had measured up to Jayson.

  A faint smile curved my lips. I was happy to admit that I loved Jayson and had done so for years, and now he was mine. He was the standard to which I held all other men, and none had been equal. Sure, the circumstances of the marriage were tragic, but I was determined to make the best of the opportunity. By the end of the marriage contract, I hoped Jayson would love me as much as I loved him, and that our arrangement would become permanent.

  A colony of butterflies danced in my stomach as I opened the bathroom door to enter the bedroom. Jayson was standing a few feet away, in the process of unknotting his tie. At first, he didn’t look at me, and I stood before him, feeling exposed in more ways than one. A chill in the air made me shiver, but I resisted the urge to wrap my arms around my body to warm myself, and also to hide my skin.

  When he did look at me, his eyes widened with surprise. For a moment, his gaze flicked lower, but quickly returned to mine. “Did the housekeeper show you your room?”

  I frowned. “No. She put my things in here.”

  Jayson nodded. “We’ll be sharing a dressing room.”

  “Oh.” Confusion swirled through me. “Do you prefer to sleep alone?”

  His abrupt answer should have told me all I needed to know. “Yes.”

  My naiveté made me push forward. Thinking he didn’t want to scare me, I thought maybe he was waiting for me to make the first move. A deep breath gave me courage, and I stepped close to him, putting a hand on his chest.

  My husband stiffened, his expression darkening. “What are you doing, Harper?”

  I licked dry lips. “I…I don’t know. I thought you wanted me to…”

  His motion was gentle, but the action was brutal as he took my hand from his chest and stepped away from me. “No, I don’t want you to do anything. I shouldn’t have assumed we were in agreement on this…aspect of marriage. I expect nothing from you.”

  My lips parted in a small gasp. “I didn’t realize.”

  He nodded. “I know. It’s an understandable mistake.” Jayson waved a hand downward to indicate my body. “I appreciate the effort, but sex will complicate everything and for no reason.”

  I nodded, trying not to betray my hurt and shock. “Yes,” I said, voice trembling.

  “Your room is through that door.” He gestured to it, and I turned, desperate to escape his presence. I was a few steps from the door when he called my name. I paused, turning back to look at him. “Just so we’re clear, Harper, I won’t be changing my mind in the future. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about any of this.”

  Figuratively gathering the tatters of my pride, I lifted my head high. “I understand now. It’s a relief, to be honest,” I tossed out, hoping I didn’t sound shrill or whiny. I wanted to be calm, or at least seem to be. “Now that we understand all the terms, it should be a relatively easy three years, everything considered.” Without waiting for a reply, I stepped into the other bedroom of the master suite, finding its Queen Anne furniture and light purple accents much more to my tastes than his room. The king-size bed was so comfortable as to be almost sinful, I discovered seconds later, after throwing myself on the plush surface and burying my face into the
pillow to sob out all of the humiliation and hurt.

  His words from that night imprinted on my brain and still haunt me from time to time. It’s true he never said he didn’t want me, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out what he was trying to say in his politely remote way. It took months, but I eventually recovered from my “love” for Jayson, and finally dismissed it as a stupid and lingering adolescent crush. The indifference which I displayed toward him after that night started out forced, but I mastered my reactions and eventually managed to feel true detachment from Jayson.

  In one moment of weakness, I’ve undone all my hard work. My body still aches for him, though my mind recoils at the thought of sleeping with him now. He hadn’t wanted me three years ago, and I refuse to be used because I’m convenient now. I have no doubt sex with my husband would be amazing, and my hands dream of touching him, but it’s not worth the cost to my pride or my emotional stability.

  I can’t risk falling in love with him again.

  Jayson

  The study is the place where men in my family found solace from the time my father first built the villa. And it is where I find myself now. A finger of whiskey remains untouched in the crystal glass, though I remember to swirl it from time to time.

  I fucked up everything.

  I set aside the glass to wipe a hand across my face, then through my hair. Three years ago, I was determined to make Harper understand I didn’t want anything physical to happen with her. She was beautiful, standing in front of me in a white negligee that made my fingers itch to pull off the scrap of fabric and explore the skin beneath. She was more than simply desirable; she was everything. And, less experienced than I was accustomed to in a lover. I exerted every ounce of willpower not to accept her shy invitation.

  At the time, I was thankful that my wits quickly conquered my… shall we say, baser urges, and I was able to resist. I tried to be gentle with the rejection, but still get the point across. After that night, she acted like nothing more than a roommate that I saw in passing a couple of times per day. She hadn’t shown any sign of distress that I refused her attempt to consummate the marriage, so I just assumed all was well, and that she had reached the same conclusion I had — that sex was strictly off-limits if we both wanted to avoid developing deeper emotions.

  With a wry tilt of my lips, I acknowledge those assumptions certainly made an ass of me. Harper obviously took the message to heart. Shaking my head at my own blindness, I mutter a few curse words. How could I have been near Harper for the past three years and not taken her to bed? The idea of losing her now is completely unacceptable. At thirty-eight, I don’t want to give up the comfort of having a wife, nor take on the task of finding another when I have the perfect wife already. Harper is an ideal partner and I’m used to her habits. It’s silly to end our marriage. I just have to convince her of that.

  As I relive holding her earlier, I can feel my cock spring to life. Her mouth devouring mine while our bodies strained to get closer. Harper was willing and responsive. With just a little perseverance, I could seduce her. I’m sure of it. But would that be enough to make her stay?

  A conversation from the party replays in my head, and the seed of an idea germinates. Harper said it herself. “Children need both parents, particularly when they are young. In that situation, I think you have to set aside what you want and think of your child, at least during the formative years.”

  If she were to get pregnant, she would have to stay. It isn’t the ideal way to convince her, but at least it gives me an option if she stubbornly wants to leave.

  Imagining my child in Harper’s arms, nursing at her breast, makes me happy. I catch myself in the mirror as I get up, and see a goofy smile on my face.

  But she’s maternal and kind, for certain. There isn’t a better woman to be the mother of my children.

  Harper

  Thank heaven Jayson’s gone from the bedroom when I emerge from the nursery late the next morning. Another restless night of tossing and turning, and the little sleep I finally managed has left me flat. Grimacing at the tender redness around my eyes, several minutes later I stand in front of the mirror after a hot shower. His sharp eyes won’t miss the proof of my distress, and I have no desire to show him any more of my innermost feelings. Setting my lips in a grim line, I reach for my rarely-used cosmetics bag to conceal the signs of last night’s insomnia.

  A little concealer, some highlighter, and no more redness. It’s not difficult, but I have lots of experience masking sadness from three years ago. To be back in the same spot years later almost makes me want to dissolve into tears again. But that would ruin my makeup so I try to concentrate on other things.

  I pad from the bathroom, wrapped from head to toe in a thick bathrobe. He’s nowhere in sight, so I risk dressing in the dressing room, pulling on shorts and a shirt.

  If Irina brought breakfast this morning, I must have slept right through her knocking. My stomach growls as I descend the stairs and go in the direction of the kitchen.

  Irina clicks her tongue when I come in and go straight to the fridge. “I will cook for you, Kyria Harper. Tell me what you’d like. Eggs? Oatmeal? Brioche?”

  With a smile, I hold up a bottle of water after closing the refrigerator door. “I’m fine.” I scoop up a juicy orange, likely grown in the Satyros’s orchard, from a bowl on the counter. Ignoring Irina’s admonishments about needing a substantial breakfast, I leave the villa through the servants’ entrance.

  Heading for the gardens and orchard, I’m eager to reacquaint myself with the foliage of the island. Soon enough, I find a stone bench in the center of a small arrangement of various plants. It’s one of the six garden areas set up on the Satyros land. Six years ago, I knew them all well by the end of my stay having retreated into them many times for their solace.

  As I peel the orange, I scuff my foot along the cobblestone bricks. The small heart I found long ago is still there, with the initials K.A. + J.A. — the initials of Jayson’s parents.

  I remember Kostas vaguely — he was a remote, serious man, so it’s nice to see proof that he had a softer side. At some point on one of our vacations, he took time to make this little monument to the love he had for Jacinth. I can see Jayson doing the same someday, though my heart misses a beat when my mind’s eye sees M.P. with the N.A. — Maia Papadas. It had almost been a reality once, and it could be again, once he’s free from our marriage. And me.

  The orange is perfectly ripe and delicious, but I’ve lost my appetite. With a sigh, I throw it into the discreet garbage can under the bench and rinse my hands with the bottle of water. Truth be told, I’m stalling. I’m trying to avoid returning to the villa just yet. It’s the last place I want to be, since I don’t know when Jayson might turn up. If he keeps trying to seduce me, I’m honestly not sure I can continue to resist.

  And then where will I be when it all ends?

  I realize I’m staring into space, but when I focus, I’m enchanted all over again by the bushes, flowers, and trees that grow together in such beautiful harmony under the hot Grecian sun. By midafternoon, I’ve gone through four of the six gardens. Following the hedge border around the fifth patch, I amble into the garden.

  Stopping suddenly, I try not to gape. A young man stands there, tending to a tree. His shirt is stripped off, and the sun-bronzed skin is perfect. He could have been a god in another time. He catches sight of me and grins. Too young for me, even if I weren’t still married. He’s probably closer to Sophie’s age than my own.

  With no way out without being rude, I go deeper into the garden, toward him. He greets me in Greek, and I shake my head. “I apologize, but I don’t really speak your language. Do you speak English?”

  “A little, Kyria Satyros.”

  “What are you working on?”

  He waved to a row of lotus trees. “I am to prune so they will blooming in the fall. The fruit is delicious.”

  I cock my head, examining the slender green leaves. “I think I know this as a
date plum tree.”

  He nods and continues with his work. I watch him for a couple of minutes, feeling awkward. “What is your name?” I ask finally, more to break the silence than anything else.

  “Angelo, Kyria Satyros.”

  Wandering around his work area, I examine the plants’ blooms. Tenacious violets and narcissus flowers still flower in the wilting heat. “What else do you do here, Angelo?”

  “I am the gardener. Irina is a distant cousin.”

  I take a sip of water before saying, “You’re rather young for such a job. Did you design all this?” There are new additions and changes to the gardens from the last time I explored the grounds six years ago.

  Angelo shakes his head. “No, Kyria. Kyrios Satyros hired a company from Athens to design the layouts. I maintain what they have done.” He grins, displaying even white teeth against his deeply tanned skin. “It is big, big work, but I keep doing it busy.”

  “It keeps you busy?” At his nod, I ask, “Do you have staff?”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “When needed, I will give my little brothers help to me.”

  Licking my lips, I’m torn between the desire to dig into the deep, rich soil and the definite class distinctions between us. Of course, I was once the servant’s child too, though Dmitri had seen Mitch as a friend, rather than a servant.

  It’s been years since I really gardened, and the longing clenches my heart and threatens to take me over. I know to my core that Jayson would disapprove of what I’m going to do, which makes it a little more fun — and more dangerous. I’ll have to keep it secret from him.

  With a deep breath, I say, “I’d be happy to help.” At his shocked expression, I prepare myself to convince the young man to let the wife of Jayson Satyros dig in the dirt and follow his commands. I hold back a giggle, feeling lighter than ever since arriving on Trini Island.

  Eventually, I wear down Angelo’s resistance and persuade him I can be useful, and spend the next several days immersed in landscaping. Sometimes, I work alongside Angelo in companionable silence, and other times he gives me a task to perform solo. He seems as enchanted with the dirt and plants as I am. He works quietly, though he chats gregariously during breaks, even attempting to teach me some Greek.