Читать книгу Modern Romance July 2019 Books 5-8 - Jane Porter - Страница 17

HE WAS RIGHT. She did like that position very, very much.

She was still trying to catch her breath after the most intense orgasm of her life, and Damen was stretched out next to her, his hand lightly running over her back, caressing from her back to her butt, and then up again.

Part of her was so relaxed but another part of her was already being stirred.

“Tell me something about your boyhood,” she murmured, trying to distract herself. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“None. I was an only child.”

“Why?”

“There were complications during my birth. My mother was lucky she and I both survived the pregnancy.”

“That’s scary.”

“I am sure if we lived someplace else, and had easier access to doctors, it might have been less dangerous.”

“You were poor.”

“Very.”

She curled closer to him, her arm wrapping around his waist. “And yet you have so much now.”

“I made a vow when I was fifteen that I would never be poor again, and it’s driven every decision I’ve made since then.”

“What did your father do?”

“He worked in an olive orchard. My mother did, too. They earned so little that they couldn’t afford child care for me, so from the very beginning I went to work with them, first strapped to my mother’s back as an infant, and then later I ran about, trying to help. I didn’t actually get paid until the year I turned ten. That was a big deal for me, and my family. It wasn’t much compared to what my father earned, but it helped.”

She pressed her hand to his chest, just above his heart. They’d had such different backgrounds, such different lives, and yet here they were together. “When did you find time to go to school?”

“I went seasonally. When I wasn’t needed in the groves or the olive press.”

“It doesn’t sound like you had a lot of formal education, then.”

“I attended off and on until I was fourteen—” He broke off, jaw hardening, brow darkening. “And that was the end of my boyhood. I never went back to school, and within eighteen months, I left our island, Adras, for good.”

“Where did you go?”

“Athens. I got a job in the dockyards and worked hard, and here I am.”

“How does a relatively uneducated boy become...you?”

“Relentless ambition.” He smiled grimly. “And the desire for revenge.”

She pushed up on her elbow to get a better look at his face. “Revenge? Why?”

“When you are poor, you are dependent on others.” His jaw flexed. “There is a terrible imbalance of power.”

She frowned. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing I discuss. It’s just...fuel. Anger and desperation are remarkable motivators.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he answered carelessly, his voice hardening. He sat up and kissed her forehead. “And now I just like working hard. Work gives me a reason to wake up every day. It gives satisfaction at the end of the day.” He glanced at the bedside clock. “I’m actually hungry. Are you?”

“Hasn’t your chef gone to bed?”

“No one sleeps if I want something,” he said so matter-of-factly that she smiled.

And then he smiled, too, as if amused by his own arrogance. “All I want is a snack,” he added, “and half the fun of a snack is going through the refrigerator and pantry to see what you can find.”

The kitchen was surprisingly large with an enormous center island dominating the middle of the room. The backsplash, refrigerators, stove, ovens, even the four portholes above the prep area, all gleamed silver, while the cabinets were a rich espresso and the counters a creamy ivory marble shot with veins of pale caramel.

It was a beautiful space, and welcoming. Kassiani ran her hand over one of the lovely marble work surfaces. “This is a gorgeous kitchen. I wouldn’t mind cooking in here. The kitchen on our family yacht isn’t half as nice. For one, there are no windows or portholes, and for another, it’s a rather hideous vanilla-and-stainless mix, and not pretty stainless like this, but restaurant grade and very commercial looking. This is like something you’d see in a stunning house.”

“My chef is picky. He wouldn’t come on board if he didn’t have the right appliances and utensils and work space.”

“You must like your chef quite a bit, then. My father fired staff right and left. He had no qualms replacing them.”

“Most of my staff have been with me for a while now. There are a few new faces on this sailing, but the majority have been on my payroll for years. I’m happier surrounded by familiar staff, people I know I can count on.”

Kassiani was surprised. She’d gotten the impression that Damen wasn’t attached to anyone, or anything. “Do you spend that much time on your yacht to keep everyone fully employed, then?”

“Half of the crew only work here on the yacht, while the other half work for me in another capacity. My chef here is also my chef in Athens. I just steal him from the house and bring him on board. Some of the housekeeping staff are also from Athens. Three of the hands work on my Adras estate, while others are from my Sounio villa.”

“So are those your main homes?” she asked as he opened the refrigerator and began pulling out cheese after cheese, as well as a plastic container filled with washed fruit. “Athens, Sounio and Adras?”

He moved to a cabinet and found plates and silverware. “I have an apartment in London, but I haven’t been in years. Too busy working to travel.” Damen deftly arranged place settings in front of them before going to the tall narrow pantry and retrieving a set of pottery jars she suspected were filled with olives.

The jars of olives joined the cheese and fruit. Damen lifted the lid on one jar and, using a tiny wooden fork, reached in to pluck out a tiny, dark green olive. He held the olive to her mouth in an offering, and she took it, licking her lower lip to capture the droplet of olive oil. “Delicious,” she said.

“Some people call these Cretan olives, but we also grow them on Adras.”

He reached into another jar, and stabbed a small light green olive. “These are nafplion. One of my favorites. The texture is firm and a little crunchy, and the flavor is even better. Slightly nutty, slightly smoky. These are a true table olive and perfect with a sprinkle of lemon juice and bit of dill.”

She plucked the offered olive from the wooden fork and popped it into her mouth. He was right. It was a little bit crunchy and deliciously salty and somewhat nutty. “That is amazing,” she said.

“There is nothing better than olives and bread. Now we just need bread.” He turned around, his gaze narrowing as it swept the kitchen. Everything was so tidy. There was no food out anywhere on the counters. “Chef used to have a bread box where he kept the loaves, and the leftovers, but I don’t see it.”

“I’ll have a look,” she offered.

And as she moved past him to search the pantry, he caught her by the neck, his hand wrapping around her nape, and drew her to him.

Kassiani felt a jolt of electricity as his head dropped and his lips covered hers. She felt another sharp surge of sensation as his mouth moved across hers. He was hungry and he parted her lips, claiming her mouth, making her weak in the knees.

She always responded to him, and desire washed through her, hot and needy, her body softening against him, her arms reaching up to wrap his neck and bring him even closer. Damen held her firmly and she relished the feel of his hard, warm, muscular body pressed to hers as well as the seductive promise of his shaft urgent against her belly.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for this heat and desire. This physical need matched her emotional need, creating a vast yearning for more. Being in Damen’s arms made her feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time, and she wanted to be completely herself, and completely real. Was this love? Or was this lust? She didn’t know. She wished she knew. She wished she’d had more experience because what she felt with Damen was incredible and consuming and she couldn’t imagine ever feeling this way with anyone else. It was as if he had been made for her. His body was extraordinary, and the way he used his body was extraordinary. She loved his scent, his skin and the very shape of him.

Kassiani hated it when she disappointed him. She hated it even more when he hurt her, but she’d come to crave time with him. Truthfully, her day only really began once she saw him. The only hours that were important were the hours with him, and the only hours she felt truly alive were the hours in his company. Was that normal?

What was this terrible need she felt for him?

Kassiani slid her hands under his shirt, relishing the texture of his hot skin. She wanted her mouth on him. All of him. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go. Damen leaned her back against the marble counter, exposing her neck and throat. His lips traveled the length of her jaw, lighting fire beneath her skin. She whimpered, and whimpered again as his teeth scraped a sensitive place on her neck that made her desperate for more. Her whimpers always stirred him, and he growled against her throat, his hips pressing against hers, and then his knee was between her thighs, his knee grinding against her, driving her wild.

She felt wild now.

“Security cameras,” he panted, peeling away from her to go punch buttons into a box on the wall. “Don’t need to give everyone a show.”

She smiled, answering breathlessly, “It would be a good show.”

“You are shocking.”

“But you like it,” she flashed, as he closed the kitchen door, locking it before returning to her side. “You like that I can’t get enough of you.”

They made love on the marble island counter. Damen took her in so many different ways. Kass prayed the kitchen was soundproof because tonight he took advantage of those jars of olives and the accompanying olive oil to feast off her, dribbling the oil across her breasts and down her tummy to her thighs. After he made her come with his mouth, the oil became a massage, and then a lubricant and used for an exploration of her most sensitive, private places. Each orgasm was more intense than the last, and the pleasure so overwhelming that there were moments where she thought she would break down and cry, and she did end up crying after the last orgasm, the intensity of the intimacy making tears fall. She didn’t even know why she was crying, only that she felt spent, and turned inside out. Her body didn’t hurt, but she felt him everywhere even now when he wasn’t in her. She felt his imprint and felt his possession and so the tears came and she tried to hide them from him, but he gathered her to him and held her, her body slippery and shuddering against his.

“I’ll get oil all over you,” she choked.

“I already have oil all over me.”

“We’re a mess.”

“Chef is going to have to sanitize this center island tomorrow.”

She laughed unsteadily and Damen used the pads of his thumbs to wipe beneath her eyes.

“I think I push you too far,” he said, drawing her back against him so that her head rested against his chest. “I fear I am too much for you sometimes.”

“You haven’t broken me.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said hoarsely. “That’s the last thing I would ever want to do to you.”

She lifted her head to look up at him. “But you like the forbidden.”

“This is true.”

“So how far is too far?”

“That is up to you. I suppose I push you to see where you will draw the line.”

“I don’t want to draw lines between us. I don’t want walls and boundaries. I want to trust you,” she said softly, breathing in the scent of his skin, nearly always comforted by his nearness and the warmth of his skin. It was in these moments where she could hear his heart, and feel him relax, that she felt most comfortable, and safe.

Despite the unpredictable quality of the lovemaking, Damen felt like hers, and he still felt like home, and she couldn’t remember a time, or place, or person who had felt like home...until now.

She kissed the side of his neck, and then the upper plane of his chest. “My goal is to trust you,” she whispered, “so you can also trust me.”

She felt him stiffen and she loosened her arms, but didn’t let him go.

His hands smoothed over her arms, a caress to her upper arm, before carefully, deliberately peeling her hands away from his shoulders. “Do not take this the wrong way, but it will be years before I trust you. I find trust a very difficult thing. It’s why when I find the right staff, I keep them. I pay them well and reward their loyalty because it’s vital I retain them. Turnover makes me uneasy. I like to know who is true.”

“Then I hope you will discover that I can be trusted, and not because I am your wife but because I care about you.”

He let her hands fall and he pulled away, taking several steps back, putting distance between them. His features hardened, his expression had shuttered. “I don’t need those words. I don’t respond to those words. I would prefer not to say things like that in the future. If you don’t mind.”

Kassiani blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

His broad shoulders twisted carelessly. “I don’t trust strangers. I don’t trust people in general. And I most of all do not trust words. Your actions will matter to me more than anything you can say. So please do not use words of affection here. Don’t say I care for you. I don’t believe it. I will never believe it. Just show me with your actions that you are a loyal wife, and with time your actions will reveal the truth.”

A knot formed in her throat, matching the knot in her chest. His voice had become brittle and icy cold. His features looked as if they’d been carved from stone. This harsh, unfeeling man frightened her a hundred times more than their edgy sex games.

When he spoke so disparagingly about love and affection, it made the fine hair on her nape rise, and her stomach cramp, and her survival instinct scream at her to run. But run where? Go where? He wasn’t a date. He wasn’t a boyfriend. He was her husband. She had to make this work. She had to find a middle ground. “We have been spending a lot of time together,” she said quietly, calmly, trying to keep her voice even and reasonable. “It’s only natural that I will develop feelings—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. His jaw flexed, his body tensed. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “Feelings are not natural to me. I find ‘feelings’ suspect, particularly any that you might have for me. Why would you have feelings for me? I don’t give you affection. I am not tender in bed. I use you as I use my mistresses. I’m hard, and demanding, and when I take you I...”

She flinched at his words, but refused to look away.

“I warned you that first night. I said I was hard. I am hard. And it gives me pleasure to be ruthless. It turns me on—”

“Yes, I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear,” she said coolly, impatiently, masking her frustration and hurt. “But just because you like sex a certain way doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“But I am a bad person.”

“I’m sorry, but I see no evidence of that, anywhere.”

“Oh, no?” he retorted, in that deep, rough, unapologetic voice, before running his hand across the firm, carved plane of his chest, sweeping the sheen of oil lower, over his chiseled abdomen, and then down to his cock, which was thick and hard and fully erect. “Would a tender groom do this? Would he enjoy shocking his bride? Wouldn’t a good man try to be a gentleman in front of his bride?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really care. What I care about is you, and me, and you don’t intimidate me, and you don’t threaten me. You’re my husband.”

“Then you’re not as smart as I thought you were, because I’m dangerous, kitten, I am destructive. You should be careful around me. And you should be careful about what you feel, because if I were you, I wouldn’t trust me. I know who I am, and I know what I am, and I’m not safe.”

His words made her go hot, and then cold. She didn’t understand how he could go from sensual and passionate to volatile and destructive, but she knew this—she wouldn’t stand here and listen to this. For one, she didn’t believe it, and she wasn’t going to buy into the fact that he was some treacherous monster.

Kass turned, searching for her clothes, and then remembered she’d come to the kitchen with him just wearing her nightgown. She couldn’t imagine putting the silk gown on now, not over the oil covering her body. It would ruin it, stain it. She liked this pretty nightgown too much to ruin it. She wasn’t the type to be careless with her things.

Or her people.

She clamped her jaw tight, grinding her teeth together to keep her emotion in check, as she grabbed his shirt from the ground, and stuffed her arms into the long sleeves. He was tall and his shirt had plenty of fabric and it covered her better than most of her sundresses. Once dressed, she scooped up her nightgown, pushed her hair back from her face and faced him, her expression smiling but fierce.

“Thank you for your attention, and your helpful advice,” she said. “I’ve made a mental note of your wishes, but just as I can’t control you, you can’t control me, and I shall care for whomever I want—”

“I don’t want feelings in our relationship.”

“Desire noted. I shall do my best to refrain from expressing emotion so that our sexual encounters be more like the ones you enjoyed with your mistresses. Now please unlock the door and let me return to my room.”

* * *

Kass tossed and turned all night, too upset to sleep well. She was so angry with Damen. And if he thought he could bully her into submission, he was wrong.

He had no idea who she really was, or what she was made of, and she hadn’t survived life in the Dukas household to come to Greece and become a doormat. Maybe being a traditional Greek wife was off the table. Maybe she couldn’t be what he wanted, but my God, she’d be what he needed.

She turned her pillow and punched it and then snorted as she remembered how he’d thrown his mistresses in her face.

Did he think she’d be jealous? Did he think that would hurt her, or offend her?

Of course he had mistresses. He was one of the wealthiest men in the world. Men like Damen preferred mistresses to girlfriends because they liked the power, and control, and they liked having a relationship on their terms.

In fact, it was one of Damen’s past mistresses who had told her father to make sure Elexis was beautifully waxed because Damen wasn’t a fan of body hair. The former mistress had been happy to share a few helpful tips...since her father was happy to do something for her in exchange.

Kassiani was up so late that she ended up sleeping in the next morning, and the first thing she noticed when climbing from bed was that they weren’t moving, and then as she pulled open the heavy blackout curtains she discovered they’d anchored in another harbor, and she’d been to this one before. Mykonos.

She was surprised they were here, because Damen had said he didn’t want to take her to the same spots he was going to take Elexis, but at the same time, she’d really enjoyed playing tourist yesterday and she’d welcome the opportunity to explore Mykonos today...if that’s what Damen had in mind.

She dressed quickly and left her room, going in search of her husband, but it seemed he’d already gone ashore. The captain informed her they were to take her to him in Chora, Mykonos, if she wanted.

And since she wanted to go to Chora, they set off immediately.

Damen was waiting for her on shore, and he arched an eyebrow when she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, husband,” she said sunnily, determined to at least start the day off on the right foot. “So what is the plan for today?”

“Chora is a traditional Cycladic village, and I thought we should wander the streets, visit my favorite bakery, stop in at some of the beautiful churches and chapels and then we talk business.”

She felt a rush of excitement. “Business? As in Greek shipping business?”

“No, business, as in between you and me.”

The excitement faded, but she tried to hide her disappointment, struggling for a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Then I’m going to need some serious coffee for that.”

They made their way through the narrow streets, turning this way and that, until they reached the bakery, which wasn’t up, but down, below street level. The medieval bakery’s thick arched doorways, creamy white walls and flagstone floor attested to its age, and there were tables in the back for cozy seating and a delectable display of baked goods at the entrance.

“Best baklava anywhere,” Damen said, “but for breakfast, I highly recommend the ham and cheese croissants, or the feta spinach pie. I never come to Chora without stopping here.”

They squeezed past other customers to sit down with their coffee and feta and spinach pie at one of the little white-painted wooden tables in the back.

Kassiani concentrated first on her coffee, and then started on the warm, fragrant, savory pie. It was delicious, and the owner came out briefly from beyond the counter to welcome Damen back. The bakery was family owned and had been in business in this spot for two hundred years, with the bakery passing from one generation to the next. After George left them, Kassiani looked at Damen. “So are we here to sightsee, or talk business?”

* * *

Damen could hear that Kassiani was guarded, and her voice revealed wariness, too. He hated that he’d taken much of the joy out of her morning, but at the same time, he had to manage their relationship before it imploded.

Last night had turned into a proper mess, and he blamed himself for letting Kassiani get too close to him. She was wanting more from him, not less, and he didn’t have more to give her. He’d reached his limits, and she needed to accept the reality of their marriage. Both good and bad.

This marriage was good for her. This marriage gave her advantages she’d never have as a single woman, living in her father’s house.

But the marriage wasn’t without cost. She didn’t have a love marriage. This wasn’t a relationship where the husband and wife became close...became best friends.

He didn’t want or need a best friend. And he wasn’t going to ever be a doting husband.

She needed to accept that this was a businesslike arrangement, a relationship based on clearly delineated jobs and responsibilities.

In the past, he had a contract with his mistresses. The contract spelled out how the relationship would work, and what his mistress could expect of him, and what he expected of her, and how she’d be compensated, as well. It was very black-and-white, and had nothing to do with feelings and emotions. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that could be ended by either party at any time.

That was what he needed now—minus the clause about terminating the relationship. He and Kass were married. There was no divorce for them. But they could use a contract, something that would spell out needs and expectations. Kassiani might initially object to an agreement, but ultimately it would help her, giving her a better idea of Damen’s wants and needs.

In hindsight, he should have had an agreement, or contract, for her on day one. He should have been more organized and logical. If he had been better prepared, last night’s uncomfortable scene might not have taken place.

Although, he wasn’t entirely sure that a contract would have saved them from all drama because Kassiani didn’t play by the rules, but if it would help save them from a great deal of drama, that was a start. Because he didn’t like surprises. He hated being caught off guard, and he hated feeling whatever it was he was feeling right now.

What he was feeling made his head ache and his chest feel heavy and tight as if he couldn’t get enough air.

He wouldn’t say he was panicking, because he didn’t panic anymore, but the sensation was enough to make him remember who he had been as a young teenage boy, and how as a fourteen-year-old boy he’d been rendered helpless, and Damen despised the boy he’d been.

Damen despised weakness in himself.

Weakness was pathetic and memories of the past still managed to make him feel worthless and pathetic, which was why Damen didn’t just allow things to happen. It’s why he didn’t welcome emotion. It’s why he kept control of situations. And he needed that control back.

He needed Kassiani to follow his rules so Damen could close the door to the past, and keep it closed, and locked. Always.

Kassiani’s breath caught as she watched Damen draw a folded envelope from his pocket.

She frowned as he pulled papers from the envelope, unfolding them and laying them in the center of the bakery table.

She forced a smile as she nodded at the paperwork. “So what do you have there? Honeymoon itinerary? A postnuptial? Something else even more intriguing?”

“It’s just an agreement,” he said, tapping the paperwork lightly, carelessly. “I thought it’d be useful for us.”

She held her breath, containing her worry.

“I’ve always had one with previous relationships,” he added. “The agreement is designed to streamline communication and reduce, if not eliminate, misunderstandings.”

“How practical,” she said brightly, suppressing the urge to laugh, hysterically. What on earth was he talking about? And he couldn’t seriously be referencing his mistresses again, or had there been some significant relationship she hadn’t known about? “I’d love to have a look at this useful agreement.”

“It’s probably best if I go through it with you. I’m happy to read it aloud and then I can explain various points.”

“That’s not necessary,” she answered, reaching for the creased paperwork. “Reading is one of my underutilized strengths.” She wasn’t just a good reader, but a speed reader, and it didn’t take her more than a few seconds to understand what he’d given her.

It was a contract stipulating what he expected from her in terms of behavior.

Kassiani snorted as she turned the page, scanning the second sheet, and then the third, and finally the fourth. Finished reading, she dropped the paperwork on the table and leaned back in her chair to give Damen a long, level, concerned look. “I’d love to understand your rationale. What do you think this paperwork is going to accomplish?”

“It will simplify things between us.”

“How?”

“You won’t be confused about what I need from you, and you won’t be surprised by my expectations, either.”

She tipped her head, considering him. He was so ruggedly good-looking, and had the most amazing skills in bed, but goodness, he was also incredibly out of touch with reality. “My gut tells me this...document...was something you used to give your mistresses. And I am sure it was useful for them. But it’s not at all beneficial for us, and I’m not going to sign it because there is no way it would work—”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t tell me what to feel, or if I’m allowed to have feelings, including feelings of attachment. I’m not a hooker, I’m not a mistress, I’m your wife.”

“This was not a love marriage. I do not love you, I will not love you, and I will not discuss love every single day.”

Kassiani laughed, tucking a flyaway tendril behind her ear. “I only asked you once if you’d ever been in love. Once. And I never said I loved you. I never said I wanted to love you. I merely said I cared for you. Frankly, I don’t expect you to love me after everything you said. I’ve accepted you have rocks in your chest instead of a heart. But your determination to control who I am, and how I feel, makes me think you don’t just have rocks in your chest, but rocks in your head.”

She stood up, leaving the paperwork on the table between them. “I’m not one of your silly mistresses,” she said, voice dropping to little more than a whisper. “I don’t need your money, either, but thank you for offering me a very generous allowance in exchange for keeping my unnecessary and unwanted feelings to myself. Thank you for thinking of me, and trying to be a good provider. I can respect that you’re trying to give me something.”

And then she squeezed between the small tables, and climbed the stairs to reach the street, the white skirt of her sundress swirling around her legs, her temper seething, her vision blurred because all she could see was red.

She didn’t know how he did it, time and time again, but he had the ability to take a perfectly lovely morning and ruin it. Honestly, all he needed was sixty seconds and he smashed life’s gorgeous possibilities in no time flat.

* * *

Damen caught up with her before she’d walked too far. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Back to the ship. I don’t feel like dealing with tourists, or you, at the moment.”

He blocked her progress down the street. “You can’t just walk away from me every time you don’t like what I have to say.”

“You wanted a wife, and I wanted to be a good wife, but I realize I will never be a traditional Greek wife. I’m Greek American, and obviously more American than Greek because I wanted to laugh in your face when you presented your contract. It was ridiculous. Damen, you have a problem with control, and I’m not good with that. That was not part of the marriage deal. I never agreed to relinquish all control—”

“You said you’d make my comfort your chief goal.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then understand that your emotions are making me uncomfortable.”

“You make it sound as if I’m a hysterical female, crying and screaming and having tantrums from one end of your ship to the other. Have I cried on this trip? Yes. But I have only cried in the privacy of my bedroom—”

“It’s actually my bedroom.”

She threw up her hands in dismay. “Do you want your bedroom back? Would you like to move your wife to a guest bedroom? Is that where your mistresses usually sleep?”

His silence told her all she needed to know.

Kassiani laughed, because it was that, or scream, and she couldn’t allow herself to lose control now, not after everything he’d said. “What were these other women like, the ones you love throwing in my face? I’d love to know more about your mistresses, and how they were such paragons of virtue.”

“They weren’t paragons of virtue,” he said tightly. “But they understood the limitations of our relationship and didn’t make excessive demands.”

“Because they were grateful you paid their bills. I’m sure you spoiled them with jewelry and trips and clothes, and they probably loved every little trinket and special treat, but I don’t care about things, Damen. I don’t care about the yacht, or your villas, or your numerous expensive cars. I’ve grown up surrounded by nice things, expensive things. What I want from you isn’t trinkets and treats. I want honesty, kindness, happiness, respect. I want a marriage that is a partnership—”

“I don’t do partnerships.”

“My father thinks he and you are partners.”

Damen’s jaw tightened, and his expression hardened.

She lifted a shoulder. “You allowed Elexis to think she’d be your partner.”

“Because she would have been happy with trinkets and treats and trips to London and New York and Milan for Fashion Week.”

“Because she would have accepted your idea of a partnership.” Her chin jerked up. “And she would have been happy with the lies and deceit because she would have been just as deceitful. She wouldn’t have been faithful to you, and maybe you don’t care. You wouldn’t be absolutely sure, short of a DNA test, that your children were your children. And you probably would have been happier with a woman who pretends to care for you, but doesn’t. You would be able to sleep at night knowing you got what you wanted—money, power and the illusion of control—while she got what she wanted—money, prestige and tremendous freedom away from you.”

“You make me sound like a horrible human being.”

“You don’t have to be horrible,” she said softly. “It’s a choice you make.” And then she shrugged and stepped around him, her shoulder bumping his chest as she pushed by, before continuing down the street, grateful she’d been to Chora before because it meant she knew how to get back to the harbor and out of these narrow, twisting streets.

The speedboat was waiting for her, as if it had never left, and it ferried her back to the yacht anchored in the harbor.

She kept her jaw set during the short trip, and as she climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. Once there she rang for staff and asked them to pack her things and move her to a different room, one that Mr. Alexopoulos’s female guests usually enjoyed.

If he wanted his room, he could have his room.

And if he wanted a marriage, it was going to be a partnership.

She could appreciate the erotic sex, and she could handle his being dominant in the bedroom, but she wasn’t going to be a doormat out of the bedroom.

She might not be beautiful, and she might not ever command admiration and respect from the rest of the world, but she refused to feel less than worthy in her new home.

* * *

Damen wandered around the charming old town with the whitewashed buildings and brightly painted doors in a temper. He didn’t know which upset him more: the fact that Kassiani had moved out of the master bedroom, or the brazen announcement that she didn’t need his money because she had her own. He also knew why she’d left the master bedroom—his flippant remark about it being his room had annoyed her—but he didn’t understand why she felt it necessary to brag about having her own money. Of course she had money. She was an heiress. The Dukases owned large chunks of San Francisco’s waterfront, a historic mansion in the most coveted neighborhood of the city, plus more valuable real estate all over the West Coast. So what did she think she was accomplishing by mentioning her wealth?

What did she think she’d accomplish by throwing her weight around?

After an hour of walking, he returned to the yacht, going to the master bedroom, but she was no longer there. He was informed by one of his maids that she’d changed rooms, taking a smaller room on another floor.

Temper stirred all over again, he descended a flight of stairs, and knocked hard on the door of the guest room she’d claimed as her own.

It took Kassiani forever to open it.

She stood in the doorway in what looked like comfortable yoga pants and a soft T-shirt, her long thick hair loose and tumbling over her shoulder. She looked up at him, eyes wide, expression innocent. “Hello, Damen. How was your morning?”

He had to draw a careful breath to check his temper. He was not going to fight with her. There would be no scene. “How are your new accommodations?” he asked, because he could match her at her game. She wanted civilized. He could give her civilized. “I hope the guest room will be sufficiently comfortable. The bed is much smaller, and there is no private deck, or I believe a jetted tub, but I suppose if you are craving a really long soak, you could use the master bathroom.”

“Or I can visit your spa here on the yacht. It’s a very well-appointed spa.”

“I spared no expense,” he agreed.

“I’ve been able to take advantage of the spa on a daily basis, so thank you.”

He gazed down into her upturned face, thinking the softness of her mouth, the pale pink flush in her cheeks and her firm chin belied her inner strength. Kassiani was nobody’s fool. He felt grudging respect. “So are you going to invite me in, or do I carry you back to the master bedroom?”

Her nose wrinkled. She appeared to think, her head cocked, a finger tapping her chin. “Hmm. I wish I had remembered the details of that agreement better. Because there was something in that document about me being available for sex, on demand, and it was strange, because in the United States we have television like that. You can watch whatever you want when you want. Is that what you are thinking I would be? A wife on demand? With my very privates on demand?” Her brows pulled and she gave her head a faint, frustrated shake. “Maybe I should have paid better attention to that agreement.”

“I knew I should have read it to you.”

He enjoyed the flash of outrage in her dark eyes. Her eyes glowed hot, the little sparks of gold unusually bright right now. If he had an issue with her, it wasn’t with her desirability. He found Kassiani incredibly seductive. There wasn’t anything about her body he didn’t like. But she was never more beautiful and appealing than when she was unhappy with him. He usually didn’t like angry women, but Kassiani in a temper was absolutely arousing.

He was getting hard just looking at her now, and seeing the defiant shine in her eyes and the set of her full lips.

Maybe he shouldn’t be turned on right now, but he was, and he wondered if it was because she was the first woman who had ever truly stood up to him. He couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had stood up to him. It was interesting. Maybe a little refreshing.

“I feel as if I need to prepare a statement or tutorial for you, my husband, because I am happy to be in your bed, when you treat me as an equal. I am happy to be in your bed when you respect me. But I won’t be happy if you treat me as if I am something you own. I am not real estate. I am not your property. I am not a possession.”

“You are making too much of the agreement. And there were benefits to you signing the agreement.”

“Yes, I would receive extra bonuses with my allowance when we have smooth, drama-free weeks. To receive those bonuses, all I have to do is be compliant, serene and undemanding.” She smiled up at him and yet her smile was fierce. “You don’t like women very much, do you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t like anyone very much.”

“What happened to you to make you so...you? There are selfish men in the world, and there are arrogant men, and there are detached men, but you are without a doubt—”

“I really am not interested in discussing my personality,” he interrupted, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. “Or whatever you perceive to be my personality—”

“Disorder,” she now interjected.

“Or disorder you want to assign me.” He smiled, and he could see that his smile infuriated her and his shaft just grew harder. What was it about her that made him want—even be willing—to engage her in these conversations? Because he didn’t allow criticism from others. He didn’t tolerate dissension, either. But with Kassiani, he gave her so much freedom. He was shockingly patient, and tolerant.

And lenient.

He smiled again, aware that his smile would provoke her. “I really don’t care about labels. I am who I am. I am comfortable with who I am.” He stopped talking and waited, curious to see what she’d do now. And Damen was never curious about anything. He wasn’t curious about anyone. What kind of power did Kassiani have over him?

The silence was thick and crackling with energy. Kass lifted her chin, and looked him in the eye, her gaze locking with his. She was so mad at him, he could see it in the quiver of her lip, a lip she punished by biting into it.

“Invite me in,” he said lazily, even though nothing in his body felt lazy. His erection ached in his trousers. His body tensed. He wanted to bury himself in her soft wet heat and make her arch and whimper and shatter.

“Or what?” she flashed. “You’ll reduce my allowance? Take away my privileges?”

When he didn’t answer quickly enough, she added, “And just what are those privileges, my dear husband? What do I get from this marriage besides money? Because there has to be something else I get from this relationship, otherwise what is my incentive to remain? I have money. I don’t need your money. What I need is something I can’t give myself. Have you ever asked yourself that?”

Suddenly the heat in his groin faded, and the warmth he’d been feeling cooled. He no longer felt like smiling. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I married you for companionship and friendship. I married you so I’d have someone to share my life with. I didn’t marry you so you could constantly control me and lecture me and make me feel worthless. My father did that quite nicely and I’ve had enough of being marginalized. I expect better of you. In fact I demand better.”

Ice water seemed to wash through his veins. Damen stiffened. “This is not the way to entice me into your bed, kitten. I do not respond well to demands. Not from anyone.”

“I want you to take me seriously. I want you to respect me the way I respect you.”

“But you don’t sound respectful. You sound like a spoiled, rich woman who thinks she is entitled to whatever she wants.”

Kassiani flinched. “You are calling me entitled?”

He shrugged. “If the shoe fits?”

“It doesn’t!”

“If you say so,” he added with another careless shrug before turning around and walking away from her.

* * *

Kassiani refused to give in to tears. She wasn’t going to cry, not again today or tonight. But her guest room, even though luxurious, felt like a cage and she couldn’t bear feeling trapped so she went down a floor to the living room and dining room and its expansive deck so that she could walk outside on the deck and try to calm down.

Damen had called her entitled. Clearly he—captain of his universe—didn’t know what the word entitled meant.