Modern Romance November 2019 Books 1-4. Эбби Грин
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had been outside—he certainly wasn’t a secret exhibitionist craving to be observed in flagrante—and he’d meant what he said when he’d told Lucy that his beach was completely private.
No. It wasn’t that. It had more to do with the closeness he’d felt when their bodies had been locked together in that urgent, underwater coupling. Almost as if they’d been part of the same body. It had felt…unsettling. Disturbing. It had brought with it echoes of the past. Of things happening which were outside his control—and that was a feeling he’d vowed never to replicate. More than that—hadn’t he felt the twist of something unknown in his heart when she’d held her face up to his and he’d started to kiss her? There was something about her sweet enthusiasm which was difficult to resist and that wasn’t the only thing about her which was dangerous. Somehow she’d manged to peel away some of the defensive layers which were such an intrinsic part of his make-up. He’d talked about stuff he usually kept locked away and in the process she’d made him feel as if she’d burrowed inside his head.
He felt his skin icing as he started up the engine and the four-by-four ascended the cliff road, past the rocky outline of the man’s face. Well, it wasn’t going to happen again. She wasn’t going to get any closer than she already had and maybe he needed to show her that, once this honeymoon was over. Despite the thoughtfulness of her Christmas present, which had affected him in a way he hadn’t been expecting, it didn’t actually mean anything, did it? This was never intended to be anything more than a marriage of convenience and it was pretty inconvenient to have a wife who was always prying like that. He was silent on the drive back to the villa and glad when his phone started vibrating the moment they entered the complex and he could excuse himself to deal with a phone call from one of his brokers in New York.
‘I’m not sure how long this will take,’ he called to her, over his shoulder.
‘No worries. Honestly, I’m fine.’ The dreamy note in her voice hinted at inner satisfaction. ‘Take as long as you need,’ she called back.
Left alone while Drakon retreated to his glass office, Lucy wandered around, feeling deeply content. It felt almost as if she were floating. As if she were walking on air. She didn’t even mind her new husband shoehorning in a little work, despite his avowed intention to put business on the back burner during their honeymoon. Who cared if he’d succumbed to a call from his busy empire when this brief time together had exceeded all her expectations? When their interactions as a couple had filled her with the tentative hope that they shared a basic compatibility which could grow, if they nurtured it—and that maybe this marriage could become more than she’d ever dreamed it could be.
She texted Sofia, who informed her that Xander had discovered the use of his hands while they’d been away and had been trying to grab the soft toys attached to the sides of his cot.
Lucy texted back.
Sounds very advanced for a seven-weeker! Can’t wait to see you both tomorrow. X
And it was true. She couldn’t. Funny how you could bond with a tiny baby, even when you didn’t realise it was happening. Even when it wasn’t your baby. Couldn’t they become a real family, she wondered hungrily, even if it was a somewhat unconventional family?
She glanced up as Drakon returned, his expression slightly preoccupied as he walked into the room. ‘Is everything okay?’ she questioned.
‘Mmm?’ He glanced across the room at her as if he had only just noticed she was there. ‘I’m going to have to deal with a conference call a little later.’
‘Oh? Must you?’
‘Yes, I must,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’m afraid it can’t be helped.’
It was disappointing. Of course it was—and part of her wanted to ask him to put whatever or whoever it was on hold, so they could enjoy every last second on the island. But Lucy was made of stronger stuff than that. She might have sometimes resented the military life in which she’d grown up, but being an army brat had taught her how to be strong and resilient. She needed to remind herself why Drakon had married her. Mostly because he wanted a mother substitute, but hand in hand with that went his own need for a supportive wife. She had to look on anything else as a bonus, rather than with any sense of entitlement.
‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘I might do some packing so we aren’t rushing in the morning.’
And that was how Lucy spent the last evening of her honeymoon. She took a long bath and washed all the sea water out of her hair. Then she packed her case and started reading a previously unopened novel she’d brought with her.
And though it was difficult to empathise with a woman who found herself marooned in a snowy cottage on Christmas Eve with a brooding stranger—why on earth had she set out for the cottage when the weather forecast had been so atrocious?—Lucy gave it her best shot.
At least Drakon made it down in time for dinner but he ate more perfunctorily than with any obvious signs of enjoyment and refused Spiro’s home-made baklava, which made the chef go into a slight sulk. Only at bedtime did things settle into an agreeably familiar pattern, when her new husband took her to bed. He pulled the duvet over them like a private snowy tent and began to kiss her, and all the faint frustrations of the evening were forgotten. He made love to her very quickly, as if he were seeking some sort of release—but Lucy wasn’t going to analyse that either. She just revelled in the elation which pulsed through her veins afterwards. Because this was bliss. Being in Drakon’s arms was like finding her own tiny piece of heaven. Through heavy-lidded eyes she studied his profile, his skin silvered by the moonlight which flooded in from the windows, his indifferent expression giving nothing away.
‘Did you sort all your business out?’ she questioned.
He frowned. ‘Are you really interested in talking about that right now?’
Was that censure which underpinned the hint of mockery in his voice? ‘I thought you might want me to show some interest,’ she said, a little defensively.
‘Well, I don’t. At least, not in that. Only in this.’
Lucy’s head fell back against the pillow as he gave a featherlight flick of his tongue against her nipple and she squirmed when he licked some more and his hand crept down between her thighs. And although warm desire flooded through her, it was followed by a feeling of frustration which had nothing to do with the physical. Because this was a familiar pattern with Drakon, she recognised. He used his physicality to distract her from subjects he had no desire to pursue. And it worked. Every time. That was the magical yet ultimately infuriating thing about her husband. That he had the power to manipulate her. To use sex to quieten or console her—and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it.
They left the island at noon the following day and arrived in London just as dusk was falling and the Christmas lights in the city were starting to glow in the fading light. Inside the lobby of the luxury apartment block shone a glittering tree she’d barely noticed before the wedding—and this evening it seemed to symbolise a faded air of festivity which echoed her own increasingly flat mood. In the elevator she badly wanted Drakon to kiss her but he was busy looking at his phone and Lucy knew she needed to ruthlessly prune any romantic fantasies instead of allowing them to grow. They’d had a great honeymoon. So what? That didn’t change anything, did it? That didn’t mean he’d suddenly started to care for her, did it? Yet she had started to care for him even more than she’d done before. That was the truth of it.
Be careful, Lucy, she thought. Be very careful.
The elevator doors slid open and she walked straight into the apartment, where a smiling Sofia was waiting with Xander in her arms. The baby was dressed in a green sleepsuit covered with red-nosed reindeers and Lucy felt a welling up of something hard in her chest which took her breath away as she cradled the infant. He was so tiny and helpless and…she’d missed him, she realised with a wrench. Had Drakon missed him too? she wondered, turning her head to speak to her husband.
‘Drakon? Look. See how he’s…’ But Lucy realised