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.

The pleasant days don’t get me through the awkward evenings, however. Jayson is much too attentive, and he still seems to be interested in trying to seduce me. And he won’t be deterred by anything I’ve come up with so far. If he tries for more than a few lingering touches, my willpower might fade away.

If that weren’t bad enough, all the nights are spent tossing and turning, my body aching for his, before I finally fall into a restless sleep where he haunts my dreams. But no matter how difficult he makes it, I’m determined to resist the impulse to sleep with… my husband.

Several days after beginning the new routine of gardening during the day and dodging Jayson in the evenings, I enter the master suite after a long day of gardening, dirt under my fingernails and on my nose. Jayson’s sitting at the desk, typing on his laptop. He seems engrossed and I manage to wipe the dirt off my nose before he looks up.

Stuffing my filthy hands into my shorts pockets, I try to look nonchalant. Jayson gazes at me with eyes narrowed. I smile and take a step toward the bathroom. I don’t get far before he speaks my name in the deep, husky way that sends shivers up my spine. Keeping my hands in my pockets, I turn toward him. “Yes?”

“We have plans tonight.”

I make a face, irked that he didn’t bother to consult me. Of course, that has been the pattern for years. I respond to his summonses and follow his orders for managing social affairs just as professionally as any of the staff he employs. Why should that change just because he’s suddenly decided to indulge in a holiday fling with me? “Where?”

“Caesar and Calista Kakos invited us to a small dinner party on their new yacht.”

Ooh, probably Calista hasn’t invited Maia. She didn’t seem to care for Jayson’s ex-fiancée. “Okay. That sounds all right.”

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 heart 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.