Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands: The Fallen Greek Bride (The Disgraced Copelands) / His Defiant Desert Queen (The Disgraced Copelands) / Her Sinful Secret (The Disgraced Copelands)

There was no reason a Greek shipping magnate needed a body like that. It was decadent for a man who already had so much. His body was beautiful. Sexual. Sinful. He knew how to use it, too, especially those lean hard hips. Never mind his skillful fingers, lips and tongue.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” he said.

Cheeks hot, insides flip-flopping, she reluctantly dragged her gaze from his button fly up to his face with its newly shaven jaw and square chin. “No,” she murmured, almost missing the dark thick beard and long hair. When she’d first arrived, he’d looked so primitive and primal. So undeniably male that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d pushed her up against the wall and taken her there.

Perhaps a little part of her wished he had.

Instead he’d vowed to stay away from her, and she knew Drakon took his vows seriously. Was it so wrong of her to wish he’d kissed her properly before he’d made that vow? Was it wrong to crave his skin even though he’d made the vow already?

Just thinking of his skin made her glance at his chest, at that broad expanse of hard muscle, and her body reacted, her inner thighs tightening, clenching, while her lower belly ached with emptiness. She hadn’t been honest with him. She had loved to make love with him, loved the way he felt inside of her, his body buried deeply between her thighs and how he’d draw back before thrusting back in, over and over until she raked her nails across his shoulders and gripped his arms and arched under him, crying his name.

And just remembering, she could almost feel the weight of him now, his arms stretching her arms above her head, his hands circling her wrists, his chest pressed to her breasts. He’d thrust his tongue into her mouth even as his hard, hot body thrust into hers, burying himself so deeply she couldn’t think, feel, want anything but Drakon.

Drakon.

And now she was here with him. Finally. After all these years.

Morgan, it’s not going to happen, she told herself. He’s letting you go. You’re moving on. There will be no sex against the wall, or sex on the floor, or sex on the small dining table painted gold and rose with the lush sunset.

But wouldn’t it feel good? another little voice whispered.

Of course it’d feel good. Everything with Drakon had felt good. Sex wasn’t the problem. It was the distance after the sex that was.

“Something to drink?” he asked, gesturing to the bar set up in the corner and filled with dozens of bottles with colorful labels. “I can make you a mixed drink, or pour you a glass of wine.”

“A glass of wine,” she said, as a breeze blew in from the sea, and caught at her hair, teasing a dark tendril.

“Red or white?”

“Doesn’t matter. You choose.”

He poured her a glass of red wine. “Were you able to sleep?” he asked, handing her the goblet, and their fingers brushed.

A frisson of pleasure rushed through her at the brief touch. Her pulse quickened and she had to exhale slowly, needing to calm herself, settle herself. She couldn’t lose focus, had to remember why she was here. Her father. Her father, who was in so much danger. “Yes,” she said, her voice pitched low, husky with a desire she could barely master, never mind hide.

Drakon stiffened at the sudden spike of awareness. Morgan practically hummed with tension, her slim figure taut, energy snapping and crackling around her. It was hot and electric, she was hot and electric, and he knew if he reached for her, touched her, she’d let him. She wanted him. Morgan had been right about the physical side of their relationship. There was plenty of heat … intense chemistry … but she’d been the one that brought the fire to their relationship. She’d brought it out in him. He’d enjoyed sex with other women, but with her, it wasn’t just sex. It was love. And he’d never loved a woman before her. He’d liked them, admired them, enjoyed them … but had never loved, not the way he loved her, and he was quite sure he would never love any woman this way again.

“For hours,” she added, blushing, her voice still husky. “It was lovely. But then, I always sleep well here.”

“It’s the air, I think,” he said. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he said.

Her cheeks turned pink and her blue eyes glowed with pleasure. She looked surprised, touched. His beautiful woman. Part of him wanted to shake her, kiss her, make her his again, and another part of him wanted to send her away forever.

“Thank you for sending for my clothes,” she said, fighting the same tendril of hair, the one the breeze loved to tease. “That was very kind of you.”

“Not kind, just practical,” he answered. “Since you’re not returning to Ekali, there’s no point keeping your things at the villa there anymore. Which reminds me, I have another trunk with your winter clothes and ski things ready to go home with you when you leave for New York. It’s in one of the storage rooms downstairs. Didn’t see any reason to drag it up three flights of stairs only to drag it down again in a few days.

A shadow passed across her face. “Is that how long you think I need to be here?”

“We’ll know better once Rowan arrives. I expect him in late tonight or early tomorrow.”

“Rowan?”

“Rowan Argyros, from Dunamas Maritime Intelligence. He’s the one I work with when my ships have been seized. His headquarters are in London, but when I phoned him this afternoon I learned that he’s in Los Angeles and he’s promised to fly out this afternoon.”

“But if you are a maritime piracy expert, why do you need outside help?”

“Because while I know shipping, and I’ve becoming quite knowledgeable about counter-piracy, it takes more than money to free a seized ship, or crew being held hostage. It takes a team of experts, as well as information, strategy and decisive action, and in your father’s case, it will take extraordinary action. As you can imagine, it’s crucial to do everything exactly right. There is no room for error in something like this. Even a small mistake could cost his life.”

She paled. “Perhaps it’s too dangerous.”

“Rowan won’t act unless he’s sure of a positive outcome.”

He watched her bite nervously into her lower lip and his gaze focused on that soft bottom lip. For a few seconds, he could think of nothing but her mouth. He loved the shape, the color, the softness of it. Always had. Her lips were full and a tender pink that made him think of lush, ripe summer fruit—sweet strawberries and cherries and juicy watermelon.

“We don’t even know if my father is alive,” she said after a moment, looking up into his eyes.

He knew from her expression that she was looking for reassurance, but he couldn’t give it, not yet, not until Rowan had finished his intelligence work. And yet at the same time, there was no reason to alarm her. Information would be coming soon. Until then, they had to be positive. “We don’t know very much about his condition at the moment, but I think it’s important to focus on the best outcome, not the worst.”

“When do you think this … Rowan … will have news for us?”

“I expect he’ll have information when he arrives.”

Morgan’s eyes searched his again and her worry and fear were tangible and he fought the impulse to reach for her, comfort her, especially when she was so close he could feel her warmth and smell her light, delicate fragrance, a heady mix of perfume and her skin.

“It’s difficult waiting,” she said softly, the tip of her tongue touching her upper lip. “Difficult to be calm and patient in the face of so much unknown.”

The glimpse of her pink tongue made him instantly hard. He wanted her so much, couldn’t imagine not wanting her. It was torture being this close and yet not being able to kiss her, hold her, and he hardened all over again at the thought of kissing her, and tasting her and running his tongue across the seam of her lips.

He’d been with no one since Morgan left. For five years he’d gone without a woman, gone without closeness, intimacy, gone without even a kiss, and he suddenly felt starved. Ravenous. Like a man possessed. He needed her. She was his. His wife, his woman—

Drakon stopped himself. He couldn’t go there, couldn’t think of her like that. She might be his legally, but the relationship itself was over. “But that is life,” he said grimly. “It is nothing but the unknown.”

His staff appeared on the patio, lighting candles and sconces, including the heavy silver candelabra on the round white-linen covered table. “It appears dinner is ready,” he added, glad for the diversion. “Shall we sit?”

Morgan realized with a start that the sun had dropped significantly and now hung just above the sea, streaking the horizon red, rose and gold. It would be a stunning sunset and they’d be here on the patio to see it. “Yes, please,” she said, moving toward the table, but Drakon was already there, holding a chair for her.

She felt the electric shock as she sat down, her shoulder briefly touching his chest, and then his fingers brushing across the back of her bare arm. Her shawl had slipped into the crook of her elbow and the unexpected sensation of his skin on hers made her breath catch in her throat and she held the air bottled in her lungs as she pressed her knees tightly together, feeling the hot lick of desire and knowing she had to fight it.

“It will be a gorgeous sunset,” she said, determined to think of other things than the useless dampness between her thighs and the coiling in her belly that made her feel so empty and achy.

His amber gaze met hers, and the warm tawny depths were piercing, penetrating, and it crossed her mind that he knew.

He knew how she felt, he knew she wanted him, and it was suddenly too much … being here, alone with him.

“Must grab my camera,” she said, leaping to her feet. “Such an incredible sunset.”

She rushed off, up to her room, where she dug through her things and located her phone, which was also her camera, but didn’t return to the dining room immediately, needing the time to calm herself and pull her frayed nerves back together.