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“Of course,” I nod. I grab a pair of golden sandals from the small selection on the floor, sliding them onto my feet as fast as possible. I can practically feel the heat of his gaze caressing my ass as I kneel to adjust the straps.
I turn around, quickly. There’s no hint that he was ogling me, but I do find myself ogling him. He’s stripped off his shirt and is reaching for another. Sure, khaki slacks and being bare from the waist up for a moment before he slides on a polo shirt isn’t sexual—but tell that to my nether regions, which are getting that telltale tingling feeling. Soon my white panties are going to be wet. I want to slide my hands all over his soft skin, to trace the angles of his body..
I clear my throat and yank my gaze from the r
ippling muscles of his tanned torso, sidling past him. “Excuse me,” I say as my body touches his. My adrenaline kicks in and I run from the closet and the master suite, anxious to put space between us.
It’s almost over, and I’m already out of control.
By the time I fly past the marble staircase on the way to the salon, I’ve regained my cool, collected self. And if I haven’t, I’ll fake it till I make it.
Sophie’s on a white velvet couch, casually clad in capris and a modest halter top. That means there will be no guests tonight, to my great relief. I’m just not up to putting on the usual married act. When Jayson and I socialize, I’m required, of course, to act like the doting wife of the powerful man.
I just sit down on the couch when Jayson appears. He looks at ease in casual clothes, not like the CEO of an international corporation that has made him one of the richest men in the world. He seems nearly approachable, which makes my stomach knot with tension. It’s easier when Jayson is remote, distracted, and buried in his work. Seeing him so relaxed puts me off. At least it’ll be my last vacation with him. I won’t have to worry for much longer.
Irina appears in the doorway. “Dinner is served,” she says with a small smile.
I jump to my feet as though propelled by a spring, hurrying forward. I’m desperate to escape this room they call the salon, since Jayson seems to consume all the oxygen and take up all the space. If we’re outside, I won’t notice his larger-than-life presence. Or his beautiful body in those clothes. Or imagine him naked again.
Forcing myself to fall into step with Jayson and Sophie instead of racing ahead, my head swims for a moment when Jayson places his large, warm hand on my bare back. It’s nothing more than a courteous gesture, but his fingers scorch my skin, making me shift with discomfort, though I don’t break contact. It just wouldn’t be polite to act like I can’t stand him to touch me at all.
Choosing not to step away has nothing to do with liking his touch entirely too much.
It’s a relief to break free of his touch and settle into the chair he pulls out for me before he does the same for Sophie. I’m reading too much into Jayson’s behavior. He’s mostly freed from the burden of work for the first time since we got married, and it’s only natural that he’s more open and friendly. It means nothing. I mean nothing to him. There’s no doubt about that, despite a little chivalry today.
Thank heaven, Sophie is chattering away as we dine on olives and eggplant marinated in olive oil, followed by fish in a yogurt-mint sauce, perfectly grilled vegetables, and a plate of cheese and figs that round out the meal. I contribute to the conversation on autopilot while my brain continuously scolds me.
Nothing more than remote politeness in regard to Jayson is allowed, I tell myself.
When we return to the salon for more conversation and thick Greek coffee served in demitasse cups, I ignore Jayson’s proximity, despite his sitting just a few feet away. Instead, I focus on Sophie, discussing the girl’s plans for her vacation.
When I catch Sophie smothering a yawn behind her hand, I stretch slightly. “Would anyone mind if we cut the evening short? I am completely exhausted.” My nap gave me a fresh burst of energy, but I don’t want to embarrass Sophie by suggesting it’s bedtime for the younger girl.
Sophie nods. “Yeah, you know what? I could use an early night.”
My stomach drops when Jayson answers, “So could I.” To my relief, he doesn’t place a hand on my back this time as we walk up the stairs close together. My stomach knots with apprehension as we bid goodnight to Sophie and continue on to the master suite. Despite my constant mental reassurances that Jayson’s actions don’t mean anything, I can’t help worrying that they might. Is he as sexually frustrated as I am?
Probably.
Do I seem like a convenient body for him to use over the summer?
I doubt it. Jayson’s never been blatant about having other women, but I know he must have during our marriage. Just instinctively I know he wouldn’t remain celibate for three years—just as I instinctively know his Greek pride would insist that I am.
I hold my breath as we enter the suite, pausing uncertainly near the door to the nursery. “Good night,” I offer with a hint of chill, prepared to turn down any advances he might make.
“Good night, Harper.” His voice betrays nothing as he walks past me to the bathroom.
I close the door with more force than truly necessary, not certain why I am annoyed. I should be overjoyed that he is so disinterested in me that he practically looked right through me on his way to the bathroom. I certainly shouldn’t be gnashing my teeth with anger that he’s suddenly become so distant again. The last thing I want is the complication of sex when we are so close to the end of our marriage.
Right?
…Right?
4
JAYSON
When I awaken, I’m briefly confused. It seems it’s just a short time after I finally dropped off. Something woke me, though I don’t know what. I hear a furtive scraping in the room, and my heart hammers in my chest as I speculate that Harper is possibly creeping through the darkened room, making her way to my bed to take me up on the invitation to share.
