by Jess Bentley
He arches a brow, perhaps surprised by my bland tone. “I’m pleased you think so. I imagine you’ll enjoy it. We’re going to take a little cruise around the Aegean after dinner. You don’t get seasick, do you, Harper?”
I shake my head. “Not that I know of.” I haven’t been on many boats or yachts, but so far so good.
“Excellent.” He glances at the understated gold Rolex on his wrist. “We are due in three hours. Is that enough time to prepare?”
“Of course. I’m not exactly one of those women who take hours to get dressed,” I answer with exasperation.
He makes a sound low in his throat. “And how long does it take to get you undressed, agape mou?”
Teeth clenching, I stride into the bathroom, getting a small bit of satisfaction from slamming the door and blocking out his laugh. The man is insufferable. Stubborn, and selfish. He pursues what he’s convinced he wants with single-minded devotion. The thought makes me tremble, but I’m not sure if it’s fear or anticipation.
The wind blows through my hair, picking up strands and tossing them about into utter disarray as I lean against the railing of the Kakos’s yacht. The elaborate hairstyle I’d spent twenty minutes pinning up is completely ruined, but the night breeze is refreshing.
I turn my head as Jayson joins me. I don’t speak, and he doesn’t either, to my surprise. He puts his hand on the rail next to mine, our skin barely touching. I wait for him to try more, but he seems content with just reminding me that he’s within arm’s reach.
“Dance with me.”
For the first time, I realize the band that was setting up before dinner is now playing. Several couples dance close together on the deck, in Western style rather than in the Greek tradition. I shake my head, trying to dig in my heels when he takes my hand.
“Come on, Harper. It’s just a dance.”
I think about protesting, mainly because I very much want to dance with him, which is the scariest thought yet. A second thought dismisses the idea, and finally I decide one dance can’t hurt. Sure, it may test my resolve, but I’m in no danger of surrendering to him in a crowd of fellow dancers.
He stops at the edge of the makeshift dance area, drawing me into his strong arms. He maintains a respectable distance between us, and it pisses me off that that angers me.
At first, I hold myself stiffly, but soon it gets uncomfortable. As we sway to the soft music, with its occasional sharp metallic twang from the bouzouki, I find myself relaxing, letting my body move a little closer.
“That’s better,” says Jayson.
I try to move away, but he holds me closer. “Relax, Harper. Pretend my touch doesn’t annoy you.” He runs his hand down my back, making me shudder. Jayson chuckles. “Or perhaps I should say stop pretending that it does?”
“I’m done dancing,” I answer through gritted teeth.
“Too bad. I’m not.” His arms enfold me, molding our bodies together. He feels so good, fitted against my skin.
I glare at him. “Do you want me to make a scene?”
He quirks a brow, as though considering it. “Maybe. Anger would be an improvement from your cold disdain you’ve shown me the past few days.”
“I’m not disdainful toward you, Jayson, just apathetic,” I say, trying to appear calm, even though I’m burning up inside.
He makes a scoffing sound low in his throat. “You might hate me, or you might desire me—maybe both—but you are not indifferent, agape mou.”
I know. It’s dangerous to provoke him. Still I can’t seem to keep from replying. “Believe what you will, Jayson. I don’t care.”
His lips curl into a slight smile. “Of course you don’t. You do not care if I put my hand here”—he rests it just above my ass—“or if I put my lips here.” Jayson lowers his head to place a light kiss at the bend of her neck. “You certainly don’t care if I do this,” he whispers against my skin, as his other hand roams from my hip to just under my breast, his fingers grazing it.
I do my best to hide any hint of a reaction, but fail miserably when he sucks at the delicate flesh of my neck, drawing it into his mouth and biting gently. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and I shiver, though the night isn’t cold.
“Yes, I can see you’re totally unaffected,” he says before easing away.
Though I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, I’m dying with desire. Through sheer determination, I make it through the rest of the dance, tearing myself from his arms the moment the song ends. Hurrying away from the deck, I open the first door I come to and flick on the light. It’s not a restroom, as I hoped because I’d be able to lock it--but a small room with a table and chairs. I close the door, leaning against it. My breath is coming strong and fast.
My heart hammering in my ears, I take a deep breath, trying to force myself to calm down. It’s daunting to think about returning to the deck, and to Jayson, but I can’t hide in here all night. As it is, I’ve already embarrassed myself by fleeing from him. And I hadn’t planned on revealing any emotions to that stupid husband of mine.
With another deep breath, I straighten and turn, grasping the doorknob. As the door opens, I gasp to find Jayson standing on the other side. Resisting the strong but childish urge to slam the door in his face I say, “Excuse me,” with what I hope can pass for cool indifference. “I thought this was the restroom.”
He puts a palm against the door, pushing it toward me. He is stronger and soon slips inside. A wave of dread washes over me when he closes the door with a soft click. “Excuse me, Jayson. I need the powder room. Would you please move out of my way.”
The corner of his mouth curls upward. “I know what you need, Harper, and it isn’t escape to the powder room.”
I sniff. “You really don’t know anything about me, so how could you know what I need?” I reach past him for the doorknob, but end up much too close.
“You know what you need too.”
Looking up, I meet his gaze. “What I don’t need is a fling that will complicate things.”
He takes my hand, folding it in his to press against his chest. “It doesn’t have to be a fling, agape mou.”
Shaking my head, I deny his words and my own urges. “Let me go, Jayson. Please.”
He seems a little sad. “I can’t.” Jayson draws me into his arms.
I could step back, or try to resist, but it’s impossible to deny what we both want so much. With a small sigh of defeat, I melt into his arms, pressing my ear to his chest. His heart thumps as quickly as mine, and I move my hand on his chest to his waist, smiling slightly when a light stroke makes his heartbeat get even faster.
Jayson takes my face in his hand, tilting my head back as he descends. His lips, soft and coaxing, convince mine to open with light, feathery kisses. I can’t help but moan softly as he sweeps his tongue over mine. I strain to get closer, pushing my hands under his jacket to feel his flesh through the linen shirt.
His breath hisses through his teeth when I undo the first few buttons and plunge my hand inside. His skin is hot, with a light covering of hair that tickles my fingers. I stroke his hard muscles, moving my hand lower. He exhales sharply when I rake my nails lightly over his nipple.
“Harper.” My name is more a harsh exhalation than a true sound. He lifts me into his arms, making me cry out with surprise, and carries me to the table. It’s hard under my rear, but not as hard as the sleek muscles rippling under Jayson’s skin. Each time he twitches or shudders, I’m filled with joy. It’s exhilarating to have so much power over Jayson, when he usually leaves me feeling weak, no matter how well I might hide it.
“How did I wait so long?” Jayson asks against my lips, before claiming them in a hungry kiss that allows no reply to the question.
My thoughts grow fuzzier the more we kiss. I squirm against him when he cups my breast, thumbing the nipple through the thin layer of silk, sending shots of electricity through me. Threading one hand through his hair, I tangle my fingers in the glossy black strands, while his he
art continues to beat fast under my palm.
Jayson’s hands move over my body with blatant possessiveness, but for once it doesn’t bother me. His touch is intoxicating, and his kisses drug me. For the first time ever, I feel true desire. I want him to hold my naked body against his and to grasp his hipbones as I guide him inside me, to squeeze him as he thrusts in and out, to wrap my legs around him and clutch his back as he fucks me.
There are so many sensations swirling around me that it’s difficult to separate the sources until Jayson moves his hand up my thigh, under the hem of my dress. I freeze, eyes wide open, as he hesitates, fingers hovering over the scrap of silk and lace that is the only barrier to my wet opening. He lifts his mouth from mine, and our gazes lock. “Harper?”
The rational part of me screams at me to push his hand away and leave the room before our interlude leads us to a decision that can’t be undone. The other, more primitive part of me yearns to feel his fingers against me, in me. I bow my head, pressing my forehead against his shoulder, letting him decide.
I bite my lower lip when he strokes me through the panties, simultaneously wanting him to stop and wanting to push the material aside. As though he’s reading my thoughts, Jayson slips a finger under the fabric, touching my soft, wet heat. I cry out, lying back as he guides me, his fingers moving restlessly between my swollen, tender folds.
Closing my eyes, I clench my hands into fists to keep from crying out more, afraid I won’t be able to control the volume of my voice and we’ll be discovered. His touch makes me wild, clutching him, pushing against his hand. I’ve never imagined such feelings. With tender expertise, Jayson brings me to the edge. Arching against his hand, I’m unable to keep back a groan as he sends me over. He leans into me, sealing my mouth with his to muffle my cries.
My body convulsing, I whimper as the pleasure ebbs. I have no words to express myself, so I stroke my fingers through his hair as he kisses me, hungrily.
We freeze at the sound of voices passing by the corridor. I blink and then pull away from him so quickly I almost roll off the table. Jayson catches me, easing us both into an upright position. “The voices of reason,” he says with a grin. I nod, still incapable of speech. “It’s for the best,” he says as he straightens my shirt and then refastens his buttons.
“Yes,” I manage to rasp. It’s definitely for the best that things stopped there.
“I don’t want to make love to you for the first time on a hard table, anyway.”
I drag in a deep breath as he opens the door.
“We should be back at the harbor soon,” says Jayson after a glance at his watch. “I better return you or risk attacking you right here.”
I give him a shaky smile. “Yes.” When he puts his arm around my waist, drawing me close, I don’t fight. Sanity may be returning, and I know I can’t go to bed with Jayson, but I can’t talk about it yet. As we rejoin the party, I almost turn to him, but can’t. It makes sense to tell him I haven’t changed my mind about sex, despite what had just occurred, but it just feels too soothing to have his arm around me to say anything right now. Feeling cowardly, I snuggle against him, allowing myself the delight and release of a few more minutes in his arms.
10
Jayson
The cruise ends within the hour, and we return to the harbor. The limousine awaits, and Harper slips inside, then I do. She licks her lips, looking like she wants to say something. I don’t want to hear it.
Pushing the windblown hair off her neck to nibble on her skin, she succumbs at first, then pulls away. I follow.
“Jayson, stop,” she says.
I lift my head. “I’m sorry to paw at you like a horny teenager,” I say with a grin. “I suppose I can wait a few more minutes until we’re home.”
Harper scoots over slightly, putting some distance between us. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I ask, frowning.
“I’ve given you the wrong idea.” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have let things go so far.”
I knew I didn’t want to hear what she has to say. “Do you regret what happened?”
She looks to the side, finally shaking her head. “No. I should, but I don’t.” With a deep breath, she adds, “But that doesn’t matter. It can’t happen again.”
A few Greek curses escape under my breath. “Why not, Harper? Who would it hurt? You’re my wife. It is perfectly normal to make love to you.”
She swallows. “There is no normal for us, Jayson. Everything we have, everything we are, is an illusion.”
“No.” What is she talking about?
“Yes,” she insists. “We’re married, but only for a few more months. We both know getting physical will only complicate things.”
I grasp her hand, pressing it high against my thigh. “How much I want you isn’t an illusion.”
She tugs free of my hold. Harper meets my eyes, admitting to both of us what she’s been denying for so long. “I want you too, Jayson, but I’m not going to give in to that urge. I have to think of the long-term consequences. As much as I want you, I can’t let it happen.”
With a long sigh, I rake a hand through my hair. “I know I could change your mind. And you know it too.”
Harper nods. “You probably could, but it wouldn’t change anything. You know I’m right.”
I sigh again. She is infuriating. “Right now, agape mou, all I know is I will not sleep well tonight from frustration.”
She smiles tentatively. “I know the feeling.”
Watching the door to the nursery close behind Harper, it takes every ounce of willpower not to follow her and finish what we started. My body aches for her, and I know she feels the same. Harper admitted I could change her mind.
It’s tempting.
I curse myself, hating the fact I respect her decision, though it’s the right thing to do. I don’t believe sex, fucking, lovemaking, whatever you want to call it, would complicate things. After all I do want to keep her as my wife. But it’s right to honor her choice.
And I’ll do so.
For now, and reluctantly.
Maybe I’ll give her a few more days to sort out her confusion and realize she’s denying both of us for no real reason.
Harper will find it pretty difficult to deny herself, and me, when I make this my top priority.
Walking through the garden I hear someone, probably the landscaper, midway through telling a story involving his youngest brother and the family goat. I wonder who he’s talking to—I thought he was working alone?
When I come upon him, I see he’s talking to Harper.
Angelo falls silent for a moment before saying, “Kalimera, Kyrios Satyros.”
“Good afternoon,” I say coldly, and Angelo flinches.
Harper flinches as well when I turn my gaze on her. What the hell is she doing in the garden, filthy dirty, with the gardener? She swallows audibly. “Did you need something, Jayson?” She’s clearly trying to sound casual, but the tremble in her voice lets me know she’s anything but calm.
“I need my wife. I’ve been looking for you for the past two hours.” I curl my lip with contempt. “I should have known I would find you playing in the dirt.”
Her voice comes back with its usual disinterested tone. “Yes. Perhaps you should have. What do you want, Jayson?”
My eyes narrow. “You know the answer to that, agape mou.” Just a few days ago, the phrase was sweet nothings, as I fingered her. Now it sounds more like a threat than an endearment. “For starters, I would like my wife to behave with dignity. We have servants for these tasks.”
She glares at me when Angelo bows his head. “Of course, Kyrios.” Harper sets down the spade and gets to her feet, grimacing at the dirt covering her shirt and shorts. I’m livid to see her looking like one of the staff. Holding her head up, she meets my gaze.
I grasp her upper arm, pulling her with me. “Harper!” I hiss. “This is inexcusable.”
“Save the tirade for when we’re in private,” she say
s, jerking away from my hold. Harper holds her head high and marches back to the villa. I’m sure she’s conscious of my presence directly behind her, but she doesn’t look back at me. We enter the house, and I direct her up the stairs toward the master suite.
She holds herself stiffly when we enter the room. The slam of the door makes her jump. “Why are you behaving this way?” she asks. Demands.
“Strip.”
Harper’s eyes widen. “What?”
I rake her with a contemptuous look. “You look like a street person. Wash off the dirt and make yourself presentable.”
Harper shakes her head. “No. I’m tired of taking orders from you, Jayson.” She holds up her hands. “I like dirt under my fingernails. I feel normal when I’m digging in the soil. You have no idea how much I’ve missed it. I was this person when you married me, and I still am. A person who loves plants. Gardening. Living things!”
“You defy me?” I never thought she would do such a thing. “You are my wife. Make yourself look like it before we talk.”
With a toss of her head, Harper turns away. “We’ll discuss this when you’ve calmed down.” She starts toward her room, but gasps when I put a hand on her arm. “Let go.”
Ignoring her protest and attempts to free herself, I lift Harper and carry her into the bathroom. “Put me down.”
“As you wish.” I set her down in the shower before turning on the faucet.
Harper shrieks when cold water cascades over her before it turns warm. “You’re crazy.”
I catch myself in the bathroom mirror, seeing that a vein in my temple is throbbing visibly. “Wash yourself.” My voice drops an octave as my eyes settle on her breasts under the soaked T-shirt. “Unless you want help?”
“Get out.” Harper slams the shower door, watching me through the opaque glass until I finally give up and stalk out of the bathroom, unable to rid myself of the sight of her wet chest and hard nipples in the translucent cotton tee.