Modern Romance July 2019 Books 5-8. Jane Porter

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СКАЧАТЬ town flanking a gorgeous little bay. The shimmering buildings rose up on the hill and lined the small bay. “Tell me where we’re going,” she said as the boat slowed, approaching the wharf.

      “We’re going to spend the morning on Paros, one of my favorite Greek islands. Most tourists don’t know about it, and yet it’s only several hours by ferry from Athens. First we’ll have breakfast in Naousa, the fishing village in front of us, and then we’ll go explore for a bit before having a glass of ouzo and returning to the yacht.”

      She listened to this without comment, butterflies flitting madly in her middle as her gaze settled on his strong, muscular legs, his skin a warm burnished bronze. She’d thought he looked powerful and handsome in his wedding tuxedo, but this casual dress made her think wicked, carnal thoughts, thoughts where he had her naked on the bed, and he was doing the most wonderful things to her.

      He took her hand again as they docked, his fingers interlacing with hers, and kept it as they entered town, traveling through narrow whitewashed alleyways with shutter-framed windows. Flowers spilled from huge glazed terra-cotta pots, and purple bougainvillea bloomed over doorways.

      She didn’t know where they were going, but he did, and they traveled through town, up a narrow cobblestone road to a building partway up the hill. It was a café, she discovered as they crossed the threshold, and a waiter came forward to greet them, escorting them to a table on the terrace with a view of the port.

      “That was a hike,” she said with a small laugh as they were seated. “Now I know why I needed appropriate shoes.”

      “Are your feet sore?”

      “No. I’m good.”

      “It’s a bit of a climb, but the view, and the food, is worth it.”

      Coffee and slender glasses of bright orange juice arrived, and then the waiter rattled off the menu options to them in Greek. Kassiani understood most of what the waiter said, and so when Damen turned to her to translate, she said she’d have the option of omelets.

      After ordering, she glanced around, soaking in the scenery. The terrace wall was stone, and more pots of flowers and small trees dotted the patio. A half-dozen small wooden tables and chairs were scattered across the terrace, the chairs a lovely blue, and a perfect reflection of the turquoise water below.

      Inside the café she could hear voices, but for the most part, it seemed as if they were the only customers.

      “Why is no one else here?”

      “I called ahead and reserved the terrace.”

      She laughed. “Why?”

      He shrugged. “The tables are too close. I didn’t want to risk others listening to us.”

      “Are you afraid we’re going to fight?”

      He gave her a puzzled look. “Why would we fight?”

      She took a sip of her juice. “I suspected from your distance yesterday that you were upset with me.”

      He looked at her a long moment, and then glanced away. “Not upset, but I’m accustomed to space. I thought we could both use some space.”

      She returned her glass to the table. “This is off topic, but this is some of the best orange juice I’ve ever had.”

      “It’s probably from Laconia or Argos.”

      “Well, it’s delicious.” She dabbed her mouth with her linen napkin and set it back on the table beside her plate before rising. “And with regards to space and independence, I’m very independent, but to be honest, I was concerned yesterday that I’d done something wrong on our wedding night, and that my inexperience left you disappointed.”

      “It didn’t. You didn’t.”

      That wasn’t a good enough answer in her book. He’d been rude yesterday. He’d hurt her. And she didn’t expect him to slather over her, but this was their honeymoon and a chance for them to get to know each other. “Because when I didn’t see you yesterday, or hear from you in any way, it was logical to assume that I’d failed in my wifely duties.”

      He shrugged carelessly. “I don’t know how else to reassure you that you did not disappoint me. I enjoyed our wedding night, and I hope you did, too.”

      Any pleasure she might have felt in his words was diminished by his cold, measured delivery. There was no warmth in him, and none of the passion of their wedding night.

      Damen lifted a finger, signaling the waiter, indicating she wanted more juice since her glass was now half-empty.

      She found it interesting that he couldn’t give her any emotional warmth, but he’d make sure she had plenty to eat and drink. Did he imagine this was how good husbands behaved?

      Apparently he did, because as soon as the waiter retreated, Damen said bluntly, “I’ve been a bachelor for thirty-six years. I’m accustomed to my routine and doing things my way.”

      “Of course.”

      “Which means, we’re not always going to see each other every day, and we won’t be sleeping with each other every night.”

      “When you say sleeping, is that your euphemism for sex?”

      “Yes.”

      “Interesting.”

      “I warned you I wouldn’t be a tender husband. I tried to protect you from who I am. You didn’t listen. You insisted you wanted this marriage. This is who I am.”

      “And who are you?”

      “Hard. Cold. Indifferent to the needs of others.”

      She swallowed with difficulty, refusing to let herself be intimidated. “You weren’t indifferent in bed.”

      Silence followed, so thick and heavy that Kassiani could barely breathe, and then he leaned forward, leaning so close that she could see the silver flecks in his gray eyes. “Sex is the only time I feel anything, and I prefer sex rough. I like to dominate. I enjoy the power. It turns me on.”

      No wonder he didn’t want anyone around them.

      Kass swallowed again, her face flushing, her body tingling, wondering why she wasn’t scared as much as...aroused. “Fascinating. This is a new world to me. Do you like toys? Whips? Nipple clamps? Handcuffs?”

      * * *

      Damen pushed his coffee cup back, incredulous.

      Kassiani might gaze innocently at him, all big brown eyes and sweet smiling lips, but he was beginning to discover that her placid cheerfulness hid a very sharp mind and an extraordinarily steely spine.

      “No nipple clamps or whips yet,” he answered, checking his testy tone, not wanting her to know just how much she tried his temper. “But there’s a place for handcuffs, and the right toy.”

      Her cheeks turned an even darker pink but she held his gaze. “So since we’re on our honeymoon, why wouldn’t you want to have sex every night, with or without toys? СКАЧАТЬ