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

She shivered, chilled, even though the sun was shining warmly overhead. “I can’t forget how he taught me to swim and ride a bike and he went to every one of my volleyball games in high school. Dad was there for everything, big and small, and maybe he was a terrible investment advisor, but he was a wonderful father. I couldn’t have asked for better—” Morgan broke off, covering her mouth to stifle a sob. She couldn’t help it, but she missed him, and worried about him, and there was just no way she could turn her back on him now. No way at all.

“I think you have your answer,” Drakon said quietly. “You have to do this. Have to help him. Right or wrong.”

They both turned at the sound of a squeaky gate. Rowan was heading up toward them from the lower garden.

“And if anybody can get your father home, it’s Argyros,” Drakon said.

Morgan wrinkled her nose. “He looks like a drug smuggler.”

The corner of Drakon’s mouth lifted. “He isn’t what one expects. That’s what makes him so successful.”

“As long as you trust him.”

“I do.”

On reaching their side, Rowan announced that his office was now ready for Morgan to try to phone her pirate contact in Somalia. “We have a special line set up that will allow us to record the conversation,” he said. “And my team is standing by now, to listen in on the call.”

“But I can only use my phone,” she answered. “And my number. They know my number—”

“We know. And we can make it appear to look like your number. Today’s technology lets us do just about anything.”

In the villa’s dark-paneled library they attempted the call but no one answered on the other end. Morgan left a message, letting her contact know that she had six million in cash, in used bills, and was ready to make the drop but she wanted to speak to her father first. “I need to know he’s alive,” she said, “and then you’ll have the money.”

She hung up, glanced at Rowan and Drakon. “And now what?”

“We wait for a call back,” Rowan said.

They had a light lunch in the library while waiting, but there was no return call. Morgan wanted to phone again but Rowan said it wasn’t a good idea. “We’re playing a game,” he explained. “It’s their game, but we’re going to outplay them. They just don’t know it yet.”

The afternoon dragged. Morgan hated waiting as it made her restless and anxious. She wanted to hear her father’s voice, and she wanted to hear it sooner than later. After a couple hours, she couldn’t sit still any longer and began to walk in circles. She saw Morgan and Drakon exchange glances.

“What?” she demanded. “Am I not allowed to move out of my chair?”

Drakon smiled faintly. “Come, let’s go get some exercise and fresh air.”

Stretching her legs did sound nice, but Morgan didn’t want to miss the call. “What if the pirate calls back and I’m not here?”

“He’ll leave a message,” Drakon said.

“Won’t he be angry?” she asked.

Rowan shrugged. “They want your money. They’ll call back.”

It was close to four when Morgan and Drakon left the house to walk down to the water, and the afternoon was still bright, and warm, but already the sun was sitting lower in the sky. Morgan took a deep breath, glad to have escaped the dark cool library and be back outside.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said to Drakon as they crossed the lawn, heading for the stone and cement staircase that hugged the cliff and took them down to the little dock, where they used to anchor the speedboat they used to explore the coast.

“You were looking a little pale in there,” Drakon said, walking next to her. “But your father’s going to be all right.”

“If I was pale, it’s because I was thinking about what we did earlier.” Her fingers knotted into fists. “Or what we shouldn’t have done.” She glanced up at him as he opened the second wrought-iron gate, this one at the top of the stairs.

“Which was?” he asked innocently.

She shot him a disbelieving look and his golden brown eyes sparked, the corner of his sexy mouth tugging in a slow, wicked smile and just like that the air was suddenly charged, and Morgan shivered at the sudden snap and crackle of tension and the spike of awareness. God, it was electric between them. And dangerous.

“It can’t happen again,” she whispered, her gaze meeting his.

“No?” he murmured, reaching out to lift a soft tendril of hair back from her cheek, but then he couldn’t let it go and he let the strand slide between his fingers, before curling it loosely around his finger and thumb.

Her breath caught in her throat and she stared up at him, heart pounding, mouth drying. She loved the way he touched her and he was making her weak in the knees now. “It confuses me.”

“Confuses you, how?”

The heat between them was intense. Dizzying. So much awareness, so much desire, so impossible to satisfy. She swayed on her feet and he immediately stepped between her and the edge of the stairs, pressing her up against the wall. “I can’t think around you,” she whispered, feeling his dazzling energy before her, and the sun warmed rock at her back.

“Thinking is overrated,” he murmured, moving in closer to her, brushing his lips across her forehead.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his light clean fragrance and savoring the teasing caress. “Is it?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to think, either?”

She felt the corners of his mouth curve against her brow. He was smiling. And God, didn’t that turn her on?

She locked her knees, her inner thighs clenching, wanting him, needing. Damn him.

“One of us should probably keep our heads,” he answered, his hands cupping her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “Less frantic that way.”

“And I suppose you think that should be you?” she breathed, trying to resist the pleasure of his hands pushing deep into her hair, his fingers wrapping around the strands, his knuckles grazing her scalp. He was so good at turning her on, making her feel, and he was making her feel now with a little tug, a touch, and just like that, desire rushed through her … hot, consuming, intense.

“Of course,” he said, leaning in to her, his mouth lightly kissing down from her brow, over her cheekbone, to the soft swell of her lips.

“Why?”

“Because no one has ever loved you the way I loved you.”

Her eyes flew open and she stared into his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You know how I feel about you. You know I can not refuse you anything.”

“Not true. For five years you refused to grant me the divorce.”

“Because I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Five years is a long time to wait for someone.”

“I would have waited forever for you, Morgan.”

Her heart was pounding again, even harder. “That doesn’t make sense, Drakon. Nothing about this … us … makes sense.”

“Who said love was supposed to make sense?”

She exhaled hard, in a quick, desperate rush, and she had to blink hard to clear her vision. “Did you really love me?”

“How can you doubt it?”

She frowned, thinking, trying to remember. Why had she doubted it? Why had she not felt loved? How did she get from besotted bride to runaway wife?

He reached out, tipped her chin up, so he could look deeper into her eyes. “Morgan, tell me. How could you doubt me?”

“Because after our honeymoon … after we left here … I didn’t feel loved….” Her voice drifted off as she struggled to piece it together. How lost she’d felt in Athens, how confused waiting for him all day, needing him so much that when he walked through the door, she didn’t know if she should run to him, or hide, ashamed for feeling so empty. “But then, after a while, I didn’t feel anything anymore—” She broke off, bit down into her lip, piercing the skin. “No, that’s not true. I did feel something. I felt crazy, Drakon. I felt crazy living with you.”