Modern Romance July 2019 Books 5-8. Jane Porter

Kassiani couldn’t be bought off so easily. She was young, smart and fierce, honest and real.

      “You know, kitten,” he said quietly, “if you want to be part of the game, you have to play the game.”

      “Is there a game, then?”

      Damen flashed back to Adras, and the horrors of being a young male trapped in a situation beyond his control, forced to do and say things that still made him physically ill. He knew then, at fourteen and fifteen, he’d never forgive himself, and he hadn’t, even though twenty-two years had passed. “If you feel like you’re always on the losing side, I’d say there is a game in play.”

      “And if I’m tired of losing?”

      “Then figure out the game.”

      * * *

      Dinner was strained that evening and Kassiani knew she was to blame—not because she was wrong, but because she couldn’t remain silent on issues. Growing up, she’d never been able to accept the status quo, and she realized early on that what was acceptable in one family wasn’t going to be acceptable in hers. Her family was old-world. Traditional. And if her feminist opinions weren’t welcome at home in San Francisco, she should know they’d be a problem here in Greece.

      Back in her bedroom, she kicked herself for not being able to hold her tongue. It had changed their evening. Damen had been in a good mood when he had joined her on the deck and had champagne delivered, and then she had to ruin the lovely champagne toast by being too pointed, and too direct, creating conflict, which was so typical of her.

      Kass didn’t know why she couldn’t stop when she was ahead. If only she could harness the frustration she felt at not being given more opportunity.

      The narrowness of her life wore on her.

      The lack of challenges made her feel somewhat desperate and crazy.

      She read half a dozen international newspapers a day, and tried to stay busy by digging in deeper into current events, researching current topics in world economics, international politics and international law. She subscribed to various university magazines, wanting to know what was happening in the academic world, as well as the corporate world. But all the research in the world did little to alleviate her sense of isolation.

      But Kass didn’t feel isolated when Damen claimed her, and made love to her. Kass didn’t feel like a failure when he responded to her in bed. She wasn’t a radical feminist. She didn’t think of herself as a rabble-rouser. But Kass had always struggled with remaining silent when confronted by injustices. Women really were capable of so much.

      And she, personally, was capable of so much more.

      Maybe her need to be heard and seen...to contribute...was based on the fact that she didn’t feel valuable as a decorative object. How could she? She wasn’t very decorative. She added little value in terms of physical beauty. The only time she truly felt attractive was when she was using her brain.

      Or using her body to seduce Damen.

      She smiled weakly, ruefully. At least she still had her sense of humor. It wasn’t appreciated in her family but Kassiani had always been grateful she could laugh at herself. Far better than always crying over one’s faults and failings.

      The door to the master bedroom opened. Kass jerked her head up, and her heart fluttered as Damen stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

      Suddenly the tears she’d been holding back fell and she reached up to swipe them away, one after the other before he could see.

      “Why the tears?” he asked, standing at the foot of the bed.

      So she hadn’t successfully hid them. She sat taller and swiftly swiped away another, scrubbing at her cheeks to make sure they were now dry. “I didn’t think you were going to come tonight. I thought I’d chased you away.”

      “So you don’t believe what you were saying?”

      “No, I do.”

      “Then don’t apologize. Your problem is that you’re smarter than everyone else.”

      She sniffed and swiped away a last tear. “Not smarter than you.”

      “I wouldn’t say that. You are certainly book smarter. To be fair, I probably have you beat when it comes to street smarts.”

      She settled her nightgown over her knees, and exhaled slowly, trying very hard to bridge whom she was with what a wife was supposed to be. It was a tricky balancing act. “All right, so I don’t apologize for having opinions, but I am sorry if I upset you at dinner. Trying to be a good wife is more complicated than I imagined.”

      “Why shouldn’t you speak freely? I do.”

      She exhaled in a painful rush, her cheeks heating. “We both know the answer to that.”

      “Because men can, and women can’t?”

      “You’ve told me that my value lies in me being a supportive wife, not a critical, oppositional one.”

      “I actually don’t think I ever told you that,” he said mildly.

      “A traditional Greek wife—”

      “Isn’t what I asked for. It’s what you said I needed, because apparently I need a meek, submissive wife.” He arched a black brow. “Now, there are things I would enjoy from a submissive wife, but it would probably not be what you’re thinking.”

      Or would it? She silently countered, as unbidden images came to mind, images of her kneeling before him, worshipping his body, drawing his thick shaft into her mouth, sucking, licking, making him groan and slide a hand into her hair, his fingers wrapping around the strands, holding her head so that he could take his pleasure.

      Kassiani exhaled again, her body hot, her senses stirred. Flustered, she pushed back a heavy wave of hair from her face, feeling overly warm, and more than a little claustrophobic, because suddenly the atmosphere felt charged, the air heavy, crackling with awareness, and desire.

      She could tell that Damen felt the tension, too, as the look he gave her was blatantly sexual, as was his slow, possessive perusal, his gaze resting on the jut of her breasts and then lower to the swell of her hips and then finally to the hem of her nightgown where it clung to her thigh.

      “Let me see you,” he said slowly, arms folding over his chest.

      “What do you want to see?”

      “Everything.”

      “Then let me see you.”

      “What do you want to see?”

      “Everything.”

      He laughed softly and gave his dark head a shake. “You are a fearless negotiator. I admire that.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Now let’s see how good you are at asking for something. What do you want, Petra Kassiani? What would be your pleasure?”

      She hesitated, thinking. “Something new. Something we haven’t done. But something I would like,” she added quickly, fighting her blush.

      “Oh, that’s easy, then. I haven’t even taken you from behind yet. I think you’ll like that position very much.”

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      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