Irresistible Greeks: Unsuitable and Unforgettable. Jane Porter

He turned and saw Jessica, buttoned up into a yellow dress that covered her from knee to throat, a white belt spanning her tiny waist. She was clutching her little computer in her hands. Her tiny electronic shield.

      “Good morning,” he said, not bothering to be discreet in his appraisal of her. Her cheeks flushed as she sat down across from him.

      She took a sip of her coffee and frowned, not swallowing, not spitting it back out, either.

      “Cold?” he asked. She nodded, her frown intensifying. “Bitter?” She nodded again. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

      She swallowed slowly, her lip curling into a grimace. “I’ll need fresh coffee.”

      “Leda will be back soon,” he said.

      “So, things went well last night?”

      He said nothing, simply looked at her until the double meaning of her words hit her. He could tell when they did, because she blushed, her lips pulling into a pucker.

      “With Victoria,” she said sharply.

      “Very well.” He leaned back in his chair. His heart was beating faster than usual, and that surprised him. He was always in control of himself. Although, Jessica tested that, at every turn she did, and right in this moment, what he had to say to her made him feel … nervous. What her reaction might be made him nervous. “But there is a problem.”

      “What’s that?”

      “The same problem we discussed last night. I am currently … obsessed—” he hated the word, but it was the only one that fit “—with another woman, and I can’t possibly get engaged to Victoria, much less marry her, while I’m still wrestling with it.”

      Her face paled, her green eyes looking more vivid set against waxen skin. “Me? This is me you’re talking about? Good grief, Stavros, what does it take for a woman to scare you off?”

      “A blow job at midnight might not be the best way to go about scaring a man off.”

      “Granted,” she said tightly, some of her color returning.

      “I did some reading on endometriosis last night.”

      Her mouth dropped open, a perfect, crimson O. “You did what?”

      “I wanted to understand it more. To understand what you were telling me. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t know anything about it.”

      “I … Why should you?” The utter confusion on her face puzzled him.

      “Because it … it seems like it’s not uncommon and like I should. But now, I especially wanted to know about it because of you.”

      “I don’t really have it anymore, like I said. At least I’m not symptomatic.”

      “You mentioned that, but you still don’t want to have sex?”

      “It’s not that I don’t want to. I do, I just … don’t. I’m aware that that sounds stupid. But it’s … complicated. It’s wrapped up in a lot of little problems that you really don’t want me to get into.” Her green eyes chilled, hardened. “Like I said. I’m not fling material. Too many issues.”

      “It’s understandable. But you also said you had a procedure that fixed most everything for you. Maybe it won’t hurt now. Maybe …”

      “You know, if it was only physical pain it wouldn’t bother me. I’ve been through hell and back with physical pain. A little more would hardly wreck me. But the point is, I don’t know if I can deal with that kind of relationship again. I don’t know if I can deal with a man looking at me like I’m the living embodiment of his every crushed dream.”

      “Jessica, I am not your ex. I don’t want anything from you but …”

      “Sex. You want sex. And I suck at that, too. My own pain was offensive to him,” she said, her words coming out harsh, bitter. “I just had to bite my lip and deal with it because it hurt his feelings. Because crying when it hurt made him feel bad. I had to hide anything I bled on because it disgusted him. And then even when I took steps to fix the pain, when I couldn’t take it anymore, that was a failure in his eyes, too. I can’t do this right now …”

      Stavros felt sick. He pushed his coffee back into the middle of the table. “Tell me.”

      She looked away from him. “The bottom line is that he wanted kids, I can’t have them.”

      She’d said as much last night. “I saw that endometriosis can effect fertility,” he said.

      A smile curved her lips. “Yes. It can. But not for everyone. And it doesn’t mean it can’t happen. But I can’t. Because in order to try and fix my endometriosis, I opted to get a hysterectomy. He didn’t want me to. He wanted to keep trying to conceive first and I … I couldn’t take it anymore. In his mind, I gave up. Can’t very well get pregnant if you haven’t got an oven to put the bun in, right? To him, I gave up on kids. I gave up on us. I killed our dreams for my own comfort. I’m a selfish bitch. I told you that, remember?” She stood up. “Sorry. I have to go.”

      She turned and walked back into the house, her expression pale and set as marble. His stomach burned, acid, anger, eating away at him.

      Not at her. Never at her.

      He stood, and looked out at the ocean for a moment before walking back into the villa. He was more determined now than he’d been a few moments ago.

      He needed Jessica. And she needed him. Even if it was only for a while, he was determined to have her. Determined to heal some of the wounds her husband had left behind.

      Determined to have a stolen moment of time that belonged solely to him.

      He had not been born to be the king. He had taken hold of it when it became clear that Xander would not. He had let go of so many things. So many desires he wouldn’t let himself remember now. He had consigned himself to a marriage that was to be little more than a business arrangement.

      He had given it all. Would continue to give it all for the rest of his life. He would embrace the hollowness he had carved out inside of himself, let it fill with all the duty and honor he could possibly stand.

      Just now, he was filled with Jessica. With whatever it was she made him feel. Something foreign, all-consuming. Something he wanted to embrace with a desperation he couldn’t put into words.

      For now, for just a little while, he would. If only she would allow it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

      IF POUNDING her head against a wall and repeating the “you are an idiot” mantra would have made any difference to the outcome of her morning conversation with Stavros, she would have done it. Unfortunately, no amount of self-recrimination would fix the fact that she’d vomited her emotional guts up for him to dissect whether he wanted to or not.

      Yes, he’d asked. But he hadn’t known what he was asking.

      I did some research on endometriosis.

      Replaying those words in her mind made her eyes sting, made her skin feel tight. When had anyone in her life done that for her? Her mother, her husband, her friends? When had anyone cared enough? Or been brave enough? As far as everyone in her life was concerned her condition only mattered in terms of how it affected them.

      Only Stavros had asked. Only he had made that extra effort. Why? Why did he care for her at all? It didn’t make sense.

      The commanding knock on her door could only come from Stavros. She knew it by now.

      “Come in,” she said. There was no point in avoiding him. He wouldn’t go away. He was like that.

      The door opened and Stavros walked in, closing it behind him. “Why don’t you let me decide