by Jess Bentley
It’s a relief to break free of his touch and settle into the chair he pulls out for me before he does the same for Sophie. I’m reading too much into Jayson’s behavior. He’s mostly freed from the burden of work for the first time since we got married, and it’s only natural that he’s more open and friendly. It means nothing. I mean nothing to him. There’s no doubt about that, despite a little chivalry today.
Thank heaven, Sophie is chattering away as we dine on olives and eggplant marinated in olive oil, followed by fish in a yogurt-mint sauce, perfectly grilled vegetables, and a plate of cheese and figs that round out the meal. I contribute to the conversation on autopilot while my brain continuously scolds me.
Nothing more than remote politeness in regard to Jayson is allowed, I tell myself.
When we return to the salon for more conversation and thick Greek coffee served in demitasse cups, I ignore Jayson’s proximity, despite his sitting just a few feet away. Instead, I focus on Sophie, discussing the girl’s plans for her vacation.
When I catch Sophie smothering a yawn behind her hand, I stretch slightly. “Would anyone mind if we cut the evening short? I am completely exhausted.” My nap gave me a fresh burst of energy, but I don’t want to embarrass Sophie by suggesting it’s bedtime for the younger girl.
Sophie nods. “Yeah, you know what? I could use an early night.”
My stomach drops when Jayson answers, “So could I.” To my relief, he doesn’t place a hand on my back this time as we walk up the stairs close together. My stomach knots with apprehension as we bid goodnight to Sophie and continue on to the master suite. Despite my constant mental reassurances that Jayson’s actions don’t mean anything, I can’t help worrying that they might. Is he as sexually frustrated as I am?
Probably.
Do I seem like a convenient body for him to use over the summer?
I doubt it. Jayson’s never been blatant about having other women, but I know he must have during our marriage. Just instinctively I know he wouldn’t remain celibate for three years—just as I instinctively know his Greek pride would insist that I am.
I hold my breath as we enter the suite, pausing uncertainly near the door to the nursery. “Good night,” I offer with a hint of chill, prepared to turn down any advances he might make.
“Good night, Harper.” His voice betrays nothing as he walks past me to the bathroom.
I close the door with more force than truly necessary, not certain why I am annoyed. I should be overjoyed that he is so disinterested in me that he practically looked right through me on his way to the bathroom. I certainly shouldn’t be gnashing my teeth with anger that he’s suddenly become so distant again. The last thing I want is the complication of sex when we are so close to the end of our marriage.
Right?
…Right?
4
JAYSON
When I awaken, I’m briefly confused. It seems it’s just a short time after I finally dropped off. Something woke me, though I don’t know what. I hear a furtive scraping in the room, and my heart hammers in my chest as I speculate that Harper is possibly creeping through the darkened room, making her way to my bed to take me up on the invitation to share.
The appearance of a dim light in the closet dashes those hopes. I start to slide from the bed but hesitate. Harper is moving quietly, so she clearly doesn’t want me to wake up. Is she being polite, or is she trying to hide something?
I lie in the bed, eyes opened to slits, as I wait for her to leave the closet. A couple of minutes pass before the light goes out, and the door opens a second later. In the moonlight shining through the balcony’s French doors, Harper tiptoes across the room. A shaft of light illuminates her briefly, revealing her body clad in a white one-piece swimsuit. My groin tightens, and I clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching out for her as she creeps by me.
The well-oiled door opens soundlessly and closes with a nearly inaudible click as she leaves the bedroom. Her actions seem innocent, but I have to confirm her intentions. Is she really planning on a late-night swim, and will she be alone? I get out of bed and walk to the balcony. I’m not spying on her, and I’m certainly not spying on her without her knowledge, like some creepy stalker.
Peering out the glass door, it’s not the first time I’m glad that my room has a strategic overlook of the swimming pool. Within moments, she appears, diving into the pool with innate grace. It’s not too long before I have to force myself to step away from the window. It makes me feel strange to observe her when she doesn’t know I’m here. As much as I could drink in the sight of her swimsuit-clad body slicing through the water all night, I won’t.
And likely she’ll probably just jump out of the pool if I ask her if she wants my company.
Yeah, I have some work ahead of me before I can expect to seduce Harper. After the way I reacted on our wedding night, I can’t blame her for wanting to maintain her distance. But neither can I allow her to keep up the walls between us.
Besides, I like a challenge.
I was made for it.
5
Harper
Ugh. Headache. This stupid bed, this relentless heat. It’s all making me cranky. Even a nighttime swim, despite relaxing my body, refused to shut down my brain until the wee hours of the morning. I struggle to get up when Irina brings in a breakfast tray, clicking her tongue with disapproval at finding me in the nursery, rather than the “master’s” bed.
Just minutes after finishing breakfast, Sophie knocks and comes right in. Luckily I’m on my way out of the bathroom and don’t have to explain why I was sleeping in the nursery. Sophie’s ready to hit the beach and wade into the sparkling Aegean Sea.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I tell her. “Once I change.” I pull out the sides of the modest pink nightgown. “I don’t think this is suitable for the beach, do you?”
With a giggle, Sophie leaves the bedroom and I hurry into another one-piece. This one is a black suit with spaghetti straps and a hint of cleavage, cut in a style that shows most of my back. I tie a multicolored sarong around my waist, slip my feet into flip-flops, and grab a sunhat, sunglasses, and a novel before leaving the room for the beach.
Sophie’s already staked out a spot for us. This stretch of beach is accessible only by the Satyros villa, along with the two closest neighbors, so she has her choice of locations anyway. She’s lying on a blanket on the light golden sand, wearing a bikini I wouldn’t have the nerve to wear even at my current age, let alone when I was eighteen.
I sit beside Sophie, who stretches and sits up, a pouty look on her face. “Would you do my back?” She passes over a tube of suntan oil.
Squeezing out a handful of the slick oil, I coat Sophie’s back. Then pass her the oil to do her legs as I get settled, prepared to spend the next couple of hours reading my book before I even start to think about dipping my toes into the ocean. To have the time to read is a rare and beautiful thing, and I plan to take advantage of every second.
Soon, though, the sun is so bright that it prevents me from seeing the words. After a few pages, I give up and lie on my stomach, watching Sophie who is charging fearlessly into the lapping waves. Was I ever that young and lighthearted? It seems impossible to think so. My adolescence pretty much ended with the death of my mother, and the marriage of convenience to Jayson forced me to finish growing up in a hurry. His social circle is full of sharks, and I needed to learn how to navigate among them in a hurry, to avoid leaving blood in the water, so to speak. Maybe not the best analogy as I watch Sophie swimming, but it’s the one that comes to mind.
Still, several of Jayson’s associates and friends do seem like predatory sea creatures out to devour anything they can. The idea makes me grin at first, but my grin fades when I think about it. Amusement turns to deep melancholy. I lost so much during the last three years: the typical college experience, dating, sex, and maybe worst of all, independence.
When Sophie waves from the water, I lift a hand to wave in return. Trut
h be told, I also gained a lot. Sophie’s come through the worst time of her life with only a few emotional scars. I know she would have been very different if left to her own devices or heaven forbid, if she were banished to Greece after her father’s death. I know I’m a big part of that, and it’s important to me.
I also traveled more places than I could have ever afforded on a botanist’s salary and learned about art and culture firsthand. And charity work I’ve done has made a difference in at least a few lives.
So, I don’t know why I’m sad.
Not having sex is a small tradeoff for all the wonderfully positive things I’ve gained. So why can’t I stop thinking about it? Okay, yes, it’s probably because I am so close to being free...or maybe it’s Jayson’s sudden, and alarming, approachability? Regardless of why, I just need to stop thinking these kinds of thoughts. And I should avoid being alone with Jayson as much as possible.
The hot sun beats down on my back, so bright I’m still squinting. Folding my arms, I lay down my head, letting my thoughts drift as I relax.
I jerk awake sometime later. Before I have time to process where I am, or that I fell asleep on the beach, warm oil trickles over my back. Still drowsy, my eyes are half-mast as Sophie rubs suntan oil on my skin. “Thanks,” I say sleepily.
“You’re welcome,” Jayson purrs. “It’s bright out here. I wouldn’t want you to burn.”
Stiffening, I’m not sure how to react. It seems rude to pull away and sit up, but his hands are making me feel things I shouldn’t. And making me wet where I shouldn’t be. “Jayson, what are you doing? You should stop.” Fuck. Is that throaty rasp really my voice?
He makes a noncommittal sound as he continues stroking my back. I probably should protest, but his touch feels so good. As he trails his fingers up my spine I want to moan.
“You’re so tight.” Jayson probes my shoulders and neck with his fingers. “Are you stressed about something, Harper?” he whispers in a husky voice.
“Slept wrong.” Somehow, I push the words through gritted teeth, determined not to betray a positive reaction as Jayson drizzles more of the sun-warmed oil on my upper back and shoulders. A breeze carries the coconut scent of the oil to my nose, where it mingles with the tangy salt air and the manly smell that is Jayson. I can’t help myself and I inhale deeply, savoring the combination.
“You know how to avoid that problem.”
Clenching my hands into fists to stifle any signs of pleasure from his massage, I ignore his words. Despite my best intentions, a whimper escapes when he works at the kinked spot in my neck.
“Does it hurt?” asks Jayson, sounding concerned. His hands stop moving.
I shift restlessly despite myself, eager for his hands to continue exploring my skin under the guise of a massage. “No. Not at all. It feels really good, actually.”
He works at the knot until my muscles are loose and my body languid. My eyes drift closed, but they pop open with surprise when his hands move to my front. During the process of rubbing my shoulders, he slipped the spaghetti straps down my arms, and now I realize his fingers are gradually moving lower. He’s inches away from breaching the neckline of my suit. My nipples tighten at the thought of his hands cupping my breasts, his slick oiled fingers gliding over the hard nubs out here in the summer sun.
Frozen with indecision, I hold my breath, not sure if I want his hands to go on, or if I want him to stop. If I don’t do something soon, he’s going to make the decision for me. Is that what I want?
To give away all responsibility? I squirm with the wetness between my legs, imagining him lying on me from behind, thrusting into me as he bites the back of my neck, hands on my breasts, owning me.
Conflicted, I stay silent as his touch becomes increasingly light and sensual, stroking across my slippery skin. It’s a relief, but also frustrating, when Sophie comes running back from where she was chatting with a boy on the beach, plopping down on the towel beside us.
Immediately, Jayson withdraws his hands. His casual posture reveals no trace of tension, and I wonder if he’s as frustrated as I am. If so, nobody would ever know, I think sourly.
I decide to sit up, and take off my hat to run my fingers through my tangled hair. From the corner of my eye, I observe Jayson, waiting for a reaction when I arch my back to better display my cleavage. His gaze doesn’t even flicker in my direction as he speaks with Sophie.
“Loukas invited me into town with some of the others, so I thought I’d do that?” Sophie words it confidently, but I can tell she’s still subtly seeking Jayson’s approval.
Jayson grins. “Are you sure you want to miss a stuffy party with us old people in favor of getting together with your friends?”
She rolls her eyes. “It sounds so fun, Theo Jayson, but I think I’ll force myself to go out with Loukas and his friends instead of attending your party.”
I frown. “What party?”
“Caesar Kakos has invited us to a dinner party this evening.”
Smothering a groan, I know there’s no good reason why we shouldn’t go. We’ve got no other plans, and if Sophie’s going to be gone, I better not be alone in the house with Jayson. As much as I don’t want to hang around with his friends—the sharks—it pales in comparison to resisting Jayson’s urges.
And my own.
Despite giving the opposite impression, the draping of the dress I put on for the party conceals more than it shows. It looks almost as if it might fall off if I turn the wrong way. The sheath curves around, baring to low-back, and falls to the middle of my calves in a whisper of silk. The blue-gray shade reminds me of the Hudson on a stormy day, making me feel a little homesick.
To avoid another half-dressed encounter with Jayson, I brought the clothes into the nursery. My legs have a nice tan from the time spent on the beach, so I skip pantyhose in favor of some oily moisturizer that gives them a subtle sheen. I slip on silver heels, and sort through the small jewelry box I brought on the trip, looking for a pair of earrings Jayson gave me on our first anniversary. I know Sophie was behind this present and she felt terrible when I let that slip, but they’re still my favorite pair, nonetheless. A light, translucent silver wrap and my evening bag and I’m ready to go.
No more excuses.
With a sigh, I leave the nursery, not surprised to find Jayson waiting for me in the bedroom. The dark linen evening suit caresses his body the way my fingers itch to, and I try to occupy them by clenching my hand around the purse I’m carrying.
Sure, I can’t deny his attractiveness.
Nobody can.
And I’ll never be able to get over that, despite successfully eliminating any other inappropriate feelings I might have for my husband.
6
Jayson
I arch a brow as I let my eye roam over her from head to toe. “Beautiful.”
She manages a small smile. “I’m ready if you are.”
I nod, but don’t move for another long second. “Our anniversary.”
Her eyes widen. “That was months ago.”
Shaking my head I go to her, taking her arm in what might have been a polite gesture, if I hadn’t pulled her so close against me. “I’m talking about the earrings. I gave them to you on our first anniversary.”
Harper blinks. “You remember that?”
I grin. “Of course. I also remember how embarrassed I was when Sophie accidentally told you she’d chosen the earrings.” Shrugging, I add, “But she has good taste. They look perfect on you.”
We leave the room, heading down the stairs to the car waiting outside. “It was no big deal. I’d already figured out the gift was her idea.”
Waiting for her to slide into the limousine before joining her, I wonder aloud,“Why?”
Her voice comes back in a careless, offhanded way. “Why would we celebrate milestones in a fake marriage?”
I grimace but don’t reply as the car drives away from the villa. The silence might have been welcome, but right now, it feels awkward and uncomfo
rtable. Often we’ve sat in companionable silence, each of us usually involved in our own activities, but nothing feels easygoing about this quiet. As much as she might have wanted to avoid the evening’s party, she breathes a sigh of what seems like relief to arrive at the Kakos villa a few moments later.
“This landscaping is gorgeous,” says Harper as we exit the car. “The sheer number of plants! The home is lovely, too, but it can’t compare to the beauty of our villa.” She draws up short. “Your villa, I mean. Nothing of the Satyros empire belongs to me, of course.”
“Of course it’s your home,” I say quietly. I don’t add anything about the future. That will remain up to her.
“For now.” She smiles and looks away.
Warm lights lend a welcoming glow to the house as we walk up the stairs to the entrance. Harper stiffens when I take her hand. She tries to tug it away, but I tighten my grip just enough to let her know I want to keep it. The strength I exert isn’t enough to hold her fast, but just enough that she’d cause a scene if she wanted to wrench her hand free. She glares at me, resentment clear on her face.
Well, I can’t argue with her. Our usual performance involves walking together, but we have had a tacit agreement to avoid touching as much as possible. So what? She’s my wife, and after her reaction to that massage today, I’ll touch her hand. I know part of her likes my touch.
People fill the home’s large salon, and I catch sight of the wait staff circulating among the guests. Their crisp white uniforms are a stark contrast to the glittering finery of the guests. Harper looks as good as any of them, or better. But I know she couldn’t name a designer to save her life. It was another oddity that set her apart from the women in my social circles. She probably doesn’t think I appreciate that about her, but I’d rather she name rare plants than designers any day.