it to me.”
Sex was a basket of hang-ups for her. Offering herself had been really hard. Now she felt cheap and useless.
She pushed her gaze into the horizon, trying to hide how his denigration carved into her hard-won confidence.
“Go below,” he commanded. “I want to make some calls.”
She went because she needed to be away from him, needed to lick her wounds and reassess.
A purser showed her into a spacious cabin with a sitting room, a full en suite and a queen bed with plenty of tasseled pillows in green and gold. The cabinetry was polished to showcase the artistic grains in the amber-colored wood and the room was well-appointed with cosmetics, fresh fruit, champagne and flowers.
Her stomach churned too much to even think of eating, but she briefly considered drinking herself into oblivion. Once she noticed the laptop dock, however, she began looking for a device to contact...whom? Aunt Hildy wasn’t an option. Her workmates might pick up a coffee or cover for her if she had to run home, but that was the extent of favors she could ask of them.
It didn’t matter anyway. There was nothing here. The telephone connected to the galley or the bridge. The television was part of an onboard network that could be controlled by a tablet, but there was no tablet to be found.
At least she came across clothes. Women’s, she noted with a cynical snort. Mikolas must have been planning to keep his own paramour on the side after his marriage.
Everything was in Viveka’s size, however, and it struck her that this was Trina’s trousseau. This was her sister’s suite.
Mikolas hadn’t expected her sister to share his room? Did that make him more hard-hearted than she judged him? Or less?
Men never dominated her thoughts this way. She never let them make her feel self-conscious and second-guess every word that passed between them. This obsession with Mikolas was a horribly susceptible feeling, like he was important to her when he wasn’t.
Except for the fact he held her life in his iron fist.
Thank God she had saved Trina from marrying him. She’d done the right thing taking her sister’s place and didn’t hesitate to make herself at home among her things, weirdly comforted by a sense of closeness to her as she did.
Pulling on a floral wrap skirt and a peasant blouse—both deliberately light and easily removed if she happened to find herself treading water—Viveka had to admit she was relieved Mikolas had stopped her from jumping. She would rather take her chances with sharks than with Grigor, but she didn’t have a death wish. She was trying not to think of her near drowning earlier, but it had scared the hell out of her.
So did the idea of being sent back to Grigor.
Somehow she had to keep a rational head, but after leaving Grigor’s oppression and withstanding Aunt Hildy’s virulence, Viveka couldn’t take being subjugated anymore. That’s why she’d come back to help Trina make her own choices. The idea of her sister living in sufferance as part of a ridiculous business deal had made her furious!
Opening the curtains that hid two short, wide portholes stacked upon each other, she searched the horizon for a plan. At least this wasn’t like that bouncy little craft she’d dreaded. This monstrosity moved more smoothly and quietly than the ferry. It might even take her to Athens.
That would work, she decided. She would ask Mikolas to drop her on the mainland. She would meet up with Trina, Stephanos could arrange for her things to be delivered, and she would find her way home.
This pair of windows was some sort of extension, she realized, noting the cleverly disguised seam between the upper and lower windows. The top would lift into an awning while the bottom pushed out to become the railing on a short balcony. Before she thought it through, her finger was on the button next to the diagram.
The wall began to crack apart while an alarm went off with a horrible honking blare, scaring her into leaping back and swearing aloud.
Atop that shock came the interior door slamming open.
Mikolas had dressed in suit pants and a crisp white shirt and wore a terrible expression.
* * *
“I just wanted to see what it did!” Viveka cried, holding up a staying hand.
What a liability she was turning into.
Mikolas moved to stop and reverse the extension of the balcony while he sensed the engines being cut and the yacht slowing. As the wall restored itself, he picked up the phone and instructed his crew to stay the course.
Hanging up, he folded his arms and told himself this rush of pure, sexual excitement each time he looked at Viveka was transitory. It was the product of a busy few weeks when he hadn’t made time for women combined with his frustration over today’s events. Of course he wanted to let off steam in a very base way.
She delivered a punch simply by standing before him, however. He had to work at keeping his thoughts from conjuring a fantasy of removing that village girl outfit of hers. The wide, drawstring collar where her bra strap peeked was an invitation, the bare calves beneath the hem of her pretty skirt a promise of more silken skin higher up.
Those unpainted toes seemed ridiculously unguarded. So did the rest of her, with her hair tied up like a teenager and her face clean.
Some women used makeup as war paint, others as an invitation. Viveka hadn’t used any. She hadn’t tried to cover the bruise, and lifted that discolored, belligerent chin of hers in a brave stare that was utterly foolish. She had no idea whom she was dealing with.
Yet something twisted in his chest. He found her nerve entirely too compelling. He wanted to feed that spark of energy and watch it detonate in his hands. He bet she scratched in bed and was dismayingly eager to find out.
Women were never a weakness for him. No one was. Nothing. Weakness was abhorrent to him. Helplessness was a place he refused to revisit.
“We’ll eat.” He swept a hand to where the door was still open and one of the porters hovered.
He sent the man to notify the chef and steered her to the upper aft deck. The curved bench seat allowed them to slide in from either side, shifting cushions until they met in the middle, where they looked out over the water. Here the wind was gentled by the bulk of the vessel. It was early spring so the sun was already setting behind the clouds on the horizon.
She cast a vexed look toward the view. He took it as annoyance that the island was long gone behind them and privately smirked, then realized she was doing it again: pulling all his focus and provoking a reaction in him.
He forced his attention to the porter as he arrived with place settings and water.
“You’ll eat seafood?” he said to Viveka as the porter left.
“If you tell me to, of course I will.”
A rush of anticipation for the fight went through him. “Save your breath,” he told her. “I don’t shame.”
“How does someone influence you, then? Money?” She affected a lofty tone, but quit fiddling with her silverware and tucked her hands in her lap, turning
