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

“I didn’t know … hadn’t realized … that some of the ladies would be so catty, but I always came home to you every night.”

“No, I didn’t have you. That was the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

Morgan laughed coolly. “You came home to dinner, a bed and sex, but you didn’t come home to me, because if you had, you would have talked to me, and tried to speak Greek to me, and you would have helped me meet people, instead of getting annoyed with me for caring what Greek women thought of me.”

He swore violently and got up from the table, pacing the floor once before turning to look at her. “I can’t believe this is why you left me. I can’t believe you’d walk out on me, and our marriage, because I’m not one for conversation. I’ve never been a big talker, but coming home to you was my favorite part of the day. It’s what I looked forward to all day long, from the moment I left for my office.”

She swallowed around the lump filling her throat. “And yet when Bronwyn called you at home, you’d talk to her for hours.”

“Not for hours.”

“For thirty minutes at a time. Over and over every night.”

“We had business to discuss.”

“And could nothing wait until the morning? Was everything really a crisis? Or could she just not make a decision without you?”

“Is that why you left me? Because of Bronwyn?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, yes, yes. But in her heart she knew Bronwyn Harper was only part of the issue. Drakon’s close relationship with his Australian vice president only emphasized how lonely and empty Morgan felt with him. “Bronwyn’s constant presence in our lives didn’t help matters. Every time I turned around, she was there, and you did talk to her, whereas you didn’t talk to me.”

The fight abruptly left her, and once her anger deserted her, she was exhausted and flattened, depressed by a specter of what they had been, and the illusion of what she’d hoped they’d be. “But it’s a moot point now. It doesn’t matter—” She broke off. “My God! You’re doing it now. Rolling your eyes! Looking utterly bored and annoyed.”

“I’m frustrated, Morgan, and yes, I do find this entire conversation annoying because you’re putting words in my mouth, telling me how I felt, and I’m telling you I didn’t feel that way when we were married.”

“Don’t you remember telling me repeatedly that you had people—women—talking at you at work, and that you didn’t need me talking at you at home? Don’t you remember telling me, you preferred silence—”

“I remember telling you that once, because I did come home one day needing quiet, and I wanted you to know it wasn’t personal, and that I wasn’t upset with you, that it had simply been a long day with a lot of people talking at me.” He walked toward her, his gaze hard, his expression forbidding. “And instead of you being understanding, you went into hysterics, crying and raging—”

“I wasn’t hysterical.”

“You had no right to be upset, though.” He was standing before her now. “I’d just lost two members of my crew from a hijacked ship and I’d had to tell the families that their loved ones were gone and it was a bad, bad day. A truly awful day.”

“Then tell me next time that something horrific has happened, and I’ll understand, but don’t just disappear into your office and give me the silent treatment.”

“I shouldn’t have to talk if I don’t want to talk.”

“I was your wife. If something important happens in your world, I’d like to know.”

“It’s not as if you could do anything.”

“But I could care, Drakon, and I would at least know what’s happening in your life and I could grieve for the families of your crew, too, because I would have grieved, and I would have wanted to comfort you—”

“I don’t need comforting.”

“Clearly.” Hot, sharp emotions rushed through her, one after the other, and she gave her head a fierce, decisive shake. “Just as you clearly didn’t need me, either, because you don’t need anything, Drakon Xanthis. You’re perfect and complete just the way you are!”

She brushed past him and walked out, not quickly, or tearfully, but resolutely, reassured all over again that she had done the right thing in leaving him. He really didn’t want a wife, or a partner, someone that was equal and valuable. He only wanted a woman for physical release. In his mind, that was all a woman was good for, and thank God she’d left when she had or he would have destroyed her completely.

Drakon caught up with her in the narrow stairway at the back of the villa. It had once been the staircase for the servants and was quite simple with plain plaster walls and steep, small stairs, but it saved Morgan traversing the long hallway.

He clasped her elbow, stopping her midstep. “You are so very good at running away, Morgan.”

She shook him off and turned to face him. He was standing two steps down but that still put them on eye level and she stared into his eyes, so very full of anger and pain. “And you are so good at shutting people out!”

“I don’t need to report to you, Morgan. You are my wife, not my colleague.”

“And funny enough, I would rather have been your colleague than your wife. At least you would have talked to me!”

“But then there would have been no lovemaking.”

“Perhaps it will surprise you to know that I’m actually far more interested in what’s in your brain than what’s in your trousers.” She saw his incredulous expression and drew a ragged breath, horrified all over again that their entire relationship had been based on sex and chemistry. Horrified that she’d married a man who only wanted her for her body. “It’s true. Lovemaking is empty without friendship, and we had no friendship, Drakon. We just had sex—”

“Not this again!”

“Yes, this again.”

“You’re being absurd.”

“Thank God we’ll both soon be free so we can find someone that suits us both better. You can go get another pretty girl and give her an orgasm once or twice a day and feel like a real man, and I’ll find a man who has warmth and compassion, a man who cares about what I think and feel, a man who wants to know me, and not just my body!”

He came up one step, and then another until they were on the same narrow stair, crowding her so that her back was against the plaster of the stairwell, and his big body was almost touching hers.

A dangerous light shone in his eyes, making her blood hum in her veins and her nerves dance. “Is that all I’m interested in? Your body?” he growled, a small muscle popping in his jaw.

She stared at his jaw, fascinated by that telling display of temper. He was angry and this was all so new … his temper and emotion. She’d always thought of him as supremely controlled but his tension was palpable now. He practically seethed with frustration and it made her skin tingle, particularly her lips, which suddenly felt unbearably sensitive. “Apparently so.”

He stepped even closer, his eyes glittering down at her. “I wish I’d known that before I married you. It would have saved me half a billion dollars, never mind years of trouble.”

“We all make mistakes,” she taunted, deliberately provoking him, but unable to help herself. Drakon Xanthis’s famous icy control was cracking and she wondered what would happen when it shattered completely. “Best thing you can do now is forgive yourself for making such a dreadful mistake and move forward.”

Fire flashed in his eyes and he leaned in, closing the gap between them so that his broad chest just grazed the swell of her breasts and she could feel the tantalizing heat of his hips so close to hers.

“Such an interesting way to view things,” he said, his head dropping, his voice deepening. “With you as my mistake.”

His lips were so close now and her lower back tingled and her belly tightened, and desire coursed through her veins, making her ache everywhere.

She could feel his need, feel the desire and her mouth dried, her heart hammering harder. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted the kiss, craved his kiss, even as a little voice of reason inside her head sounded the alarm….

Stop. Wait. Think.

She had to remember … remember the past … remember what had happened last time … this wasn’t just a kiss, but an inferno. If she gave in to this kiss, it’d be all over. Drakon was so dangerous for her. He did something to her. He, like his name, Drakon, Greek for dragon, was powerful and potent and destructive.

But he was also beautiful and physical and sensual and he made her feel. My God, he made her feel and she wanted that intensity now. Wanted him now.

“My beautiful, expensive mistake,” he murmured, his lips brushing across the shell of her ear, making her breath catch in her throat and sending hot darts of delicious sensation throughout her body, making her aware of every sensitive spot.

“Next time, don’t marry the girl,” she said, trying to sound brazen and cavalier, but failing miserably as just then he pushed his thigh between her legs. The heat of his hard body scalded her, and the unexpected pressure and pleasure was so intense she gasped, making her head spin.

“Would you have been happier just being my mistress?” he asked, his tongue tracing the curve of her ear even as his muscular thigh pressed up, his knee against her core, teasing her senses, making her shiver with need.

She was wet and hot, too hot, and her skin felt too tight. She wanted relief, needed relief, and it didn’t help that she couldn’t catch her breath. She was breathing shallowly, her chest rising and falling while her mouth dried.

“Would you have been able to let go more? Enjoyed the sex without guilt?” he added, biting her tender earlobe, his teeth sharp, even as he wedged his thigh deeper between her knees, parting her thighs wider so that she felt like a butterfly pinned against the wall.

“There was no guilt,” she choked, eyes closing as he worked his thigh against her in a slow maddening circle. He was so warm and she was so wet and she knew it was wrong, but she wanted more, not less.

His teeth scraped across that hollow beneath her ear and she shuddered against him, thinking he remembered how sensitive she was, how her body responded to every little touch and bite and caress.

“Liar.” He leaned in closer, his knee grinding and his hips pressing down against her hips, making her pelvis feel hot and yet hollow, and the muscles inside her womb clench. “You liked it hot. You liked it when I made you fall apart.”

And it was true, she thought, her body so tight and hot and aching that she arched against him, absolutely wanton. There was no satisfaction like this, though, and she wanted satisfaction. Wanted him. Wanted him here and now. Wanted him to lift her tunic and expose her breasts and knead and roll the tight, aching nipples between his fingers. He’d made her come that way before, just by playing with her nipples, and he’d watched her face as she came, watched every flicker of emotion that crossed her face as he broke her control….

If only he’d peel her clothes off now, if only she could feel his skin on her skin, feel him in her, needing the heat and fullness of him inside her, craving the pleasure of being taken, owned, possessed—

Morgan’s eyes flew open.

Owned?

Owned? My God. She was insane.

Visions of her months at McLean Hospital filled her head and it dragged her abruptly back to reality. She had to be smart. Couldn’t destroy herself again. Never wanted to go back to McLean Hospital again.

The very memory of McLean was enough for her to put her hands on his chest and push him back, and she pushed hard, but he didn’t budge and all she felt was the warm dense plane of muscle that banded his ribs, and the softness of his cashmere sweater over the dense carved muscle.

“Get off,” she panted, pushing harder, putting all of her weight into the shove but Drakon was solid, immoveable. “I’m not a toy, Drakon, not here for your amusement.”

His hand snaked into her hair, twisting the dark length around his fist, holding her face up to his. “Good, because I’m not amused.”

“No, you’re just aroused,” she answered coldly, furious with herself for responding to him with such abandon. So typical. So pathetic. No wonder her family had locked her up.

He caught one of her hands and dragged it down his body and between their hips to cup his erection. “Yes,” he drawled, amber gaze burning, “so I am.”

She inhaled sharply, her fingers curving around him, clasping his thick shaft as if measuring the hard length, and it was a terrible seductive pleasure, touching him like this. She remembered how he felt inside her—hot, heavy—and how the satin heat of his body would stretch her, stroke her, hitting nerve endings she hadn’t even known she had.

Curiosity and desire warred with her sense of self-preservation, before overriding her common sense.

Morgan palmed the length of him, slowly, firmly running her hand down his shaft and then, as if unable to stop herself, back up again to cup the thick, rounded head. She’d never thought a man’s body was beautiful before she’d met Drakon, but she loved every muscle and shadow of his body, loved the lines and the planes and the way his cock hung heavy between his muscular legs. He was such a powerfully built man, and yet the skin on his shaft was so smooth and sensitive, like silk, and the contradiction between his great, hard body and that delicate skin fascinated her.

But then he fascinated her. No, it was more than that, more than fascination. It was an obsession. She needed him so much she found it virtually impossible to live without him.

“You want me,” he said. “You want me to peel your trousers and knickers off and take you here, on these steps, don’t you?”

Fire surged through her veins, fire and hunger and shame. Because yes, she did want him and her orgasms were the most intense when he pushed it to the edge, making every touch into something dangerous and erotic. “You do like to dominate,” she answered breathlessly.

He tugged on her hair, and it hurt a little, just as he’d intended, making her nipples harden into tight, aching buds even as she stiffened against him, her body rippling with need.

“And you do like to be dominated,” he rasped in her ear.

CHAPTER SIX

SHE SHOVED AWAY from him and this time he let her go and Morgan ran the rest of the way up the stairs, racing back to her room, his voice echoing in her head. And you like to be dominated….

Morgan barely made it to her bed before her legs gave out, the mocking words making her absolutely heartsick, because he wasn’t completely wrong. Part of her did like it. It was sexy … hot … exciting.

But she shouldn’t like it. It wasn’t politically correct. She couldn’t imagine her mother approving. Not that she wanted to think about her mother and sex at the same time … or even about sex in general since she wasn’t going to be having sex anytime soon and God help her, she wanted to.

She wanted to be ravished. Stripped. Tied up. Taken. Tasted. Devoured—

Oh, God, she was mad, she was. What sane woman wanted to be ravished? What kind of woman ached to be tied up and taken? Tasted?

What was wrong with her?

Before Drakon she’d never had these thoughts. She’d never imagined that sex could make one feel absolutely wild. She’d never dreamed that desire could be an uncontrollable fire that made one lose all perspective … as well as one’s reason….

But desire was an inferno, and she felt absolutely consumed by need now. Lying facedown on her bed, her body ached with need. Her skin burned, her senses swam. Every muscle in her body felt taut and every nerve ending far too tight. She wanted relief, craved release, and the fact that she couldn’t have it made the aching emptiness worse.

Morgan buried her face in a pillow and knotted her fists and screamed. And screamed some more.

She wanted him. She wanted him, wanted him, wanted him and he could give her what she wanted, too. He’d do it. He’d do anything she wanted and yet it was wrong. They weren’t together, they hadn’t been together in years, and she couldn’t use him to scratch an itch … no matter how powerful the itch.

And yet, oh, God, her body ached and throbbed and she felt wild … hot and tense and so very raw.

Dammit. Damn him. Damn that kiss in the stairwell. Damn this terrible incredible unforgettable chemistry.

It wasn’t right to want him this much still. Wasn’t fair to still feel so much, either, especially when she knew how bad he was for her, how very destructive. She couldn’t blame him entirely. The doctors said the problem was hers … that she didn’t have proper boundaries. She didn’t have a clear or strong sense of self and the only way she’d achieve a strong, mature sense of self was by leaving Drakon….

As if it were that easy.

Just leave him. Forget him. Forget he ever existed.

And now he was downstairs, so intense and real, so physical, so sensual, so fiercely beautiful.

Morgan beat the bed with her fist, maddened by the futility of her desire. Blood drummed in her veins, need coiled tightly, hotly in her belly, and her entire body ached with emptiness. How could emptiness throb and pulse? How could emptiness burn? But it did. And she felt wild and furious and frustrated beyond reason.

If only she could go to him, and beg for him to help her, beg him to give her release. Beg for pleasure.

She’d happily crawl for him, crawl to him, if it meant that he could tame the beast inside her … that voracious hunger that made her feel too wild, too frantic, too much.

Drakon stood just inside the doorway of Morgan’s suite and watched her beat her fist against the bed, her dark hair gleaming, her tunic riding high on her thighs, the soft fabric clinging to the firm, rounded curves of her hips and butt.

She had a gorgeous butt, and it made him want to spank her, restrain her, knowing it’d arouse her, make things hotter, make her wet and anxious and hungry for him.

And then he’d make love to her.

With his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his hands, his cock. He loved the softness of her skin and the scent of her, the way she blushed, the way her tongue traveled across the bow of her upper lip and the way she’d squirm beneath him, her slim body arching, her hips grinding up to meet his, her legs opening for him.

“Undress,” he said, his voice pitched so low it sounded like a growl.

Morgan swiftly sat up, eyes enormous in her face, cheeks flushed.

“Do it,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Her lips parted in silent protest and yet he knew she was tempted, seriously tempted, because she wanted the same thing he did—excitement, pleasure, release.

“And what?” she whispered, her tongue darting to her lower lip, moistening it.

He was already hard. Now he wanted to explode. “And let me look at you. I want to see you, my beautiful wife.”

“I’m not your wife.”

“Oh, you are my wife. And have been my wife and will be my wife until the day the divorce is granted. Then … you’ll be someone else’s woman, but until then, you are mine. And you know you are. That is why you came here to me, wanting my help. You knew I’d refuse you nothing.”

He saw the flicker in her eyes, that recognition of truth. “Just as you know I’ve never refused you anything,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.

No, she hadn’t, he thought, his shaft growing even harder, making him hotter, remembering how she always responded to him.

He’d known plenty of women who liked hot sex, but he’d never been with anyone as passionate as Morgan. She wasn’t comfortable with her passionate nature, though, and during their six months together she’d struggled with the concept of physical pleasure, and resisted giving in to her sensual side, viewing it as a weakness, or something shameful, instead of an intimacy that brought them closer together … binding, bonding, making them one. “But I’ve never forced you, Morgan—”

“Not forced, no, but you have pushed me, pushed me beyond what I was comfortable doing.”

“Isn’t that exciting, though? To try new things … explore new things … to know and then go outside your comfort zone?”

Another flicker of emotion passed over her lovely face. She had such fine, elegant features, as well as that famous Copeland reserve, a trait shared by her equally glamorous sisters. The reserve came from the way they’d been raised … from birth they’d been privileged, and had enjoyed a luxurious lifestyle of private schools, private jets, private islands. Their money attracted attention, and men, lots and lots of men, and by the time the four Copeland girls had become women, they knew they were special. Unique. They believed they deserved better.

Drakon had been drawn to Morgan’s beauty, but also her reserve. He’d viewed it as a challenge to break through her cool, haughty exterior to discover the warm woman underneath.

And once he’d touched her, she’d been more than warm. She’d burned as if consumed by a fever and during their honeymoon, those four weeks here at Villa Angelica, he’d enjoyed discovering the depths of her passion and exploring her desires, her fears and her limits.

“But everything with you was outside my comfort zone,” she said, trying to hide the quiver of her lower lip. “Everything was overwhelming.”

She’d said this once before to him, during the last week of their honeymoon after an erotic afternoon on a private island, and he’d been startled that her memory of lovemaking on the pristine ivory beach had been so different from what he’d felt. Returning to his yacht, which had been anchored off the island while they picnicked on the beach, he had never felt closer to her, or more committed, and he’d been shocked when she accused him of taking advantage of her. Shocked and sickened.

He was Greek—a man of surprisingly simple tastes. He valued his family, his friends and his culture, which included good food, good drink and great sex. He wouldn’t apologize for enjoying sex, either, or enjoying his wife’s beautiful body. What did she expect him to do? Pretend he didn’t like sex? Act as though he didn’t find pleasure in her warmth and softness?

Back in Athens after the honeymoon, Drakon had tried to be the husband she wanted. He stopped reaching for her quite as often, and then when he did reach for her, he changed the way he touched her, holding back to keep from overwhelming her. He knew she didn’t like it when he expressed hunger, or focused too much on her pleasure, and so instead of just being with her, and enjoying her, he practiced control and distance, hoping that a less passionate husband would be more to her liking.

Instead she’d left.

And just remembering how he’d turned himself inside out trying to please her, trying to give her what she wanted, made him angry all over again now.

He’d hated second-guessing himself back then, hated not being able to please her, hated failing as a husband.

His gaze swept over her, slowly, critically, examining her as if he owned her, and he did … at least for a few more weeks.

“Undress,” he said roughly, feeling raw and so very carnal, and liking it. Enjoying it. “I want to see my wife. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask for, not after giving you seven million dollars.”

One of her eyebrows lifted. “At least you didn’t mention the four hundred million.”

“That was to your father, not to you.”

“I wonder what he had to do for four hundred million.”

“You think I should have asked for some sexual favors, do you?”

“You like sex a lot.”

“I liked it with you a lot.” He suddenly reached down, palmed his erection through his trousers, and he saw her gaze settle on his shaft, measuring the length and size.

Dark pink color stormed her cheeks and she licked her lower lip, once and again, before finding her voice. “That’s obscene,” she whispered.

“You did it a moment ago.”

“You made me.”

“You liked it. But you’ll tell me you didn’t. You’ll tell me sex is disgusting. You’ll tell me I’m disgusting, but if I touched you now, my woman, you’d be dripping wet—”