Jane Porter - Irresistible Greeks - Unsuitable and Unforgettable - At His Majesty's Request / The Fallen Greek Bride / Forgiven but not Forgotten?

“Was your husband from North Dakota?”

A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Yes.”

“Is that why you aren’t with him anymore?”

Her mouth dropped open. “No. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said. But he had wondered, when she spoke of travel, of not spending time at her home, if her ambitions had grown bigger than the life of a housewife.

“Are you asking if I traded my husband in for—” she waved her fork over her plate “—for fresh seafood?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Well, I didn’t.” She released a heavy breath. “If only it were that simple.”

“It’s not simple?”

“It is now,” she said, stabbing at the white flesh of the fish on her plate. “Because we’re divorced, and he’s my ex- husband, not my husband. So whatever happened between us doesn’t really matter. That’s the beauty of divorce.”

An unfamiliar twinge of guilt stabbed at him. “You wouldn’t be the first person to run from an unhappy situation. To try and find peace somewhere else.” He thought of Xander when he spoke those words. Xander, who had been so miserable. Who had been blamed for the death of their mother. By their father, by their people. And sadly, in the end, by Stavros himself.

“I’m the one who left, if that’s what you want to know,” she said, her voice cold.

His stomach tightened. She’d walked away. He didn’t know the story, he didn’t know her pain. But still, it was so easy for him to judge her. It was his gut reaction. Because he knew what happened when people walked away just because it was too hard.

“Did he mistreat you?” Stavros asked.

She met his gaze, her green eyes glittering. “That’s a loaded question.”

“Seems simple to me.”

“All right, I think he was an ass, but then, I’m his ex-wife.” She looked down. “Really? He’s a moral paragon. You know, he could have taken a lot of money from me. I was the main breadwinner. And he didn’t. He didn’t want it. He just wanted to be free of me. He took the out I gave him and ran.” She pushed her plate back. “I’m not hungry.” She stood and put her napkin on the table. “Thanks, but I’m going to go to bed now.” She turned and walked away, her shoulders stiff.

Stavros wanted to go after her. To grab her arm like he’d done earlier. To soothe her. With a touch. A kiss.

He sucked in long breath, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. To kiss those ruby lips … they would be so soft.

He wanted to offer comfort. To hold her in his arms.

He couldn’t do any of those things.

So he let her go, while his body bitterly regretted every step she took away from him.

Jessica flopped onto the bed and growled fiercely into the empty room. “Way to spill your guts there, Jess,” she scolded herself.

Why had she told him that? Any of that. Yes, he’d pushed the subject of Gil. And yes, it had gotten her hackles up because she didn’t want any judgment from him about her marriage.

But it was hard to talk about it without talking about everything. About the reason things had crumbled. About the pain, the embarrassment. About the bitterness and disappointment laced into every word. About how going to bed at night had been something she’d dreaded. To have to share a bed with someone, maybe even make love with someone, when they were distant at best, disdainful at worst.

About how in the end she’d had to face the hardest, scariest thing she’d ever endured on her own. About how her husband had let her have major surgery without his support, without him there. She’d had to just lie by herself in a hospital bed. Her body had hurt so bad, and her heart had been crumbling into pieces, the victory over her chronic condition costing her her dearest dreams.

And that was when she’d called a lawyer. She hated that. That he’d made her do that. She honestly believed if she hadn’t he would have stayed. Would have punished her by making her live with a man who had grown to hate her.

She closed her eyes and blocked out the memory. As much as she could, she just tried to pretend those moments were a part of someone else’s life. Sometimes it worked. Just not right now.

She stood up and started pacing the length of the room. She was pathetic. And pitiful. And where was her armor when she needed it?

There was a knock on the door and she paused midstride. “Yes?” she asked.

“It’s me.”

The very masculine voice was unmistakable. As was the shiver of excitement that raced through her.

She turned and flung the door open, putting her hand on her hip and shifting her weight so that her hip stuck out, exaggerating the roundness of her curves. “What?”

He only looked at her, his dark eyes glittering. A muscle in his jaw ticked, his shoulders flexed.

They stood for a moment and simply looked at each other.

Then Stavros moved, quickly, decisively, and pulled her up against the hard wall of his chest. He dipped his head and his lips met hers. Hot. Hungry.

So good .

She clung to the door with one hand, her other hand extended next to her, balled into a fist as Stavros kissed her, his hands roaming over her back, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. And when it dipped inside, slid against her tongue, that was when she released her hold on the door and locked her arms around his neck, forking her fingers through his hair.

He turned her so that her back was against the door frame, his hands moving to her waist.

Oh, yes, she wanted this. All of it. More.

She moved her hands to his shoulders, let them roam over his back. He was hot and strong, his muscles shifting beneath her fingertips. His shirt felt too thick, scratchy on her skin. She wanted to pull it off of him. She arched against him, her breasts pressing against his chest, and she became aware of just how present her dress was. How much of an impediment it was.

They needed to get rid of their clothes.

She moved her hands around to his chest, toyed with the first button on his dress shirt. He growled, a masculine, feral sound that she’d never associated with sex, but that made her entire body tighten with need.

Being with Stavros wouldn’t be like any experience she’d had before. Not even close. Being with Stavros would be …

A really bad idea.

She froze, their lips still connected, her fingers curled into the fabric on his shirt. “Stop,” she said.

He did. Immediately. He moved away from her, his expression as dazed as she felt. “That’s not what I came up here for.”

“What did you come up here for?” she asked, her words shaky, her entire body shaky.

“I … don’t know.” He sounded shocked. Dumbfounded. She wasn’t sure if it was a comfort or an insult.

“But not for … that?”

He shook his head. “I’d ruled that out as a possibility.”

“But you’d … thought about it?”

“Not a good question.”

“You’re right about that.”

He took a step away from her. “It’s understandable that we’re attracted to each other.”

“Totally,” she said.

“But that doesn’t mean we can act on it.”

“No,” she said, while her body screamed at her to change her answer.

And what would happen if she did? Professional suicide. And for what?

Sex for her had become all about failure. About shortcomings. All of hers on display when she was literally naked and as vulnerable as she could possibly be. She couldn’t get pregnant. She couldn’t even orgasm properly. As her husband had told her during one particularly ugly argument, there was literally no point in having sex with her. He’d said at the time his right hand was better company.

“I’m sorry.”