Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands. Jane Porter

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—”

      “Disgusting.”

      “And I’d open you and lick you and taste you and make you come.” His head cocked and he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “When is the last time you came? How long has it been since you had an orgasm? A day? A week? A month?”

      “It’s none of your business.”

      “I did it in the shower yesterday, before you arrived. Stroked myself as I thought about you, picturing your breasts and your pale thighs and how much I enjoy being between them.”

      “Is there any point to this, Drakon? Or do you just wish to humiliate me?”

      “Humiliate you, how? By telling you how much I want you, even now, even after you walked out on me?”

      “But you don’t want me, you just want to have sex with me.”

      “That’s right. You don’t believe you’re attached to your body, or that your body is part of you. Instead it’s a separate entity, which makes me think of a headless chicken—”

      “Don’t be rude.”

      “Then stop jumping to conclusions. Just because I like your body, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the rest of you.”

      “Humph!”

      His eyebrows shot up, his expression mocking. “Is that the best you can do?”

      She crossed her arms over her chest, her chin jerking up. “I get nowhere arguing with you.”

      “Very wise. Much better to just dispense with the clothing and let me have what I want.” He paused, and his gaze moved slowly, suggestively over her. “And what I know you want, too. Not that you’ll admit it.”

      Her chin lifted another notch. “And what do I want?”

      “Satisfying sex without pushing the limits too far.”

      Dark pink color stormed her cheeks. “Without pushing the limits at all.”

      The corners of his mouth curled. So she did want sex. Just nice-girl sex … sweet, safe missionary-position sex. His cock throbbed at the thought. He’d like some sweet, safe-missionary sex as well. “I’ll see what I can do. But first, I’d like to see you. But I’m getting bored by all the discussion. Either we’re going to do this, or we’re not—”

      “Your shirt first.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “You want to do this? Then we’ll do this. But you’re not the boss and I’m not taking orders.” Her tone was defiant and her eyes flashed and she’d never been angry before when they’d played these games. She’d been shy and nervous, but also eager to please. She wasn’t eager to please now. “You don’t get to have all the power anymore.”

      “No?”

      “No. I’m not your servant or slave—”

      “Which is good, since I don’t make love with my servants, and I don’t have slaves.”

      “The point is, you might be able to bark orders at Bronwyn, but not at me.”

      “I had no idea you were so hung up on Bronwyn,” he drawled, liking this new feisty Morgan. She was a very different woman from the one he’d married and that intrigued him.

      “I wasn’t hung up on her. You were.”

      “Is that how it was?”

      “Yes.”

      “So are we going to talk about Bronwyn, or are we going to have sweet, safe missionary-position sex?”

      Her lips compressed primly. “You’re horrible. You know that, don’t you?”

      “Horribly good, and horribly hard, and horribly impatient. Now, are we, or aren’t we?” he asked, sauntering toward her, relaxed, easy, his arms loose at his sides. But it was a deceptive ease, and they both knew it as the temperature in the luxurious bedroom seemed to soar and the air sparked with heat and need, the tension between them thick and hot and electric.

      Closing the gap between them, Drakon could feel Morgan tense, her hands squeezing in convulsive fists, even as her eyes widened and her lips parted with each quick shallow breath.

      “You’re trembling,” he said, “but there’s no need for that. I won’t eat you. Not unless you want me to.”

      “Drakon.” Her voice sounded strangled and her cheeks were crimson, making her blue eyes darken and shimmer like the sapphire sea beyond the window.

      “I hope you’ll want me to. I love how you taste, and how soft you are in my mouth … so sweet. But is that too risky for you? Pushing the limits too much?”

      “You love to torment me.”

      “Yes, I do,” he agreed, circling her slowly, enjoying just looking at her, and watching the color come and go in her exquisite porcelain complexion, and listening to her soft desperate gasps