and despair …” Her voice faded, and she looked away, heart aching, because the collections had really been about him, them, their brief fierce love that became so very dangerous and destructive.
“I liked them all, but my favorite collection was your last one. The one you called a failure.”
Her head jerked up and she had to blink hard to keep tears from welling up. “You’re familiar with my three collections?”
“But of course.”
“And you liked my designs?”
“You have such a unique vision. I admired your work very much.”
She exhaled slowly, surprised, touched, grateful. “Thank you.”
“I was proud of you, my wife. I still am.”
The tears she’d been fighting filled her eyes and she didn’t know what affected her more—his words or his touch. “My short-lived career,” she said, struggling to speak, trying to sound light, mocking, but it had hurt, closing her business. She’d truly loved her work. Had found so much joy in her work and designs.
He caught one of her tears before it could fall. “I don’t think it’s over. I think you’re in the middle of a transition period, and it may feel like death, but it’s just change.”
“Well, death certainly is a change,” she answered, deadpan, flashing him a crooked smile, thinking she liked it when Drakon talked to her. She’d always liked his perspective on things. She found it—him—reassuring, and for her, this is how she connected to him. Through words. Language. Ideas.
If only they’d had more of this—time and conversation—perhaps she wouldn’t have felt so lost in Greece. Perhaps they’d still be together now.
He suddenly reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb, making her heart turn over once again.
“I liked it when you smiled a moment ago,” he said gruffly, his amber gaze warm as he looked at her. “I have a feeling you don’t smile much anymore.”
For a moment she didn’t speak, she couldn’t, her heart in her mouth and her chest filled with hot emotion.
She was still so drawn to him, still so in love with him. But there was no relationship anymore. They were mostly definitely done—finished. No turning back.
He was helping her because she needed help, but that was all. She had to remember what was important—her father and securing his release—and not let herself get caught up in the physical again because the physical was maddening, disorienting and so incredibly addictive. She hadn’t known she had such an addictive personality, not until she’d fell for Drakon.
“There hasn’t been a great deal to smile about in the past few months,” she said quietly. “Everything has been so grim and overwhelming, but just being here, having your support, gives me hope. If you hadn’t agreed to help me, I don’t know what I would have done. I’m so very grateful—”
“Your father’s not home yet.”
“But with your help, he soon will be.”
“Careful, my love. You can’t say that. You don’t know that.”
She averted her head and blinked hard, gazing out across the water that had darkened to purple beneath a lavender sky. The first stars were appearing and the moon was far away, just a little crescent of white.
“I’m not saying that it’s hopeless,” Drakon said. “Just that there is still a great deal we do not know yet.”
“I understand. I do.”
MORGAN PASSED ON coffee and returned to her room, finding it far too painful to sit across from Drakon and look at him, and be so close to him, and yet not be part of his life anymore. Better to return to her suite and pace the floor in privacy, where he couldn’t read her face or know how confused she felt.
How could she still want him so much even now? How could she want him when she knew how dangerous he was for her?
She needed to go home, back to New York, back to her family. There was no reason to remain here. Surely this man, Rowan whatever-his-name-was, from Dunamas Intelligence, didn’t need her here for his work. He could email her, or call, when he had news….
Morgan nearly returned downstairs to tell Drakon she wanted to leave tonight, that she insisted on leaving tonight, but as she opened her door she realized how ridiculous she’d sound, demanding to go just when Rowan was set to arrive. No, she needed to calm down. She was being foolish. As well as irrational. Drakon wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t going to destroy her. She just needed to keep her head, and not let him anywhere close to her body.
Morgan went to bed, thinking she’d be too wound up to sleep, but she did finally sleep and then woke up early, her room filled with dazzling morning sunlight. After showering, she dressed simply in slim white slacks and one of her favorite colorful tunics and headed downstairs to see if she could get a coffee.
One of the maids gestured to the breakfast room, which was already set for two. Morgan shook her head. “Just coffee,” she said, unable to stomach the idea of another meal with Drakon. “An Americano with milk. Latte,” she added. “But nothing to eat.”
The maid didn’t understand and gestured again to the pretty table with its cheerful yellow and blue linens and smiled winningly.
“No, no. Just coffee. Take away.” Morgan frowned, wondering why she couldn’t seem to remember a single word of Italian. She used to know a little bit, but her brain wasn’t working this morning. She was drawing a total blank.
The maid smiled. “Coffee. Americano, si. Prego.” And she gestured to the table once more.
Morgan gave up and sat down at the table, needing coffee more than argument. She ended up having breakfast alone and enjoyed her warm pastries and juice and strong hot coffee, which she laced with milk.
The sun poured in through the tall leaded windows, and light dappled the table, shining on the blue water glasses and casting prisms of delicate blue on the white plaster walls.
Morgan studied the patches of blue glazing the walls. She loved the color blue, particularly this cobalt-blue glass one found on the Amalfi coast, and could imagine beautiful jewelry made from the same blue glass, round beads and square knots mixed with gold and shells and bits of wood and other things that caught her fancy.
Her fingers suddenly itched to pick up a pencil and sketch some designs, not the extravagant gold cuffs and collars from her Amalfi collection, but something lighter, simpler. These pieces would be more affordable, perhaps a little bit of a splurge for younger girls, but within reach if they’d saved their pennies. Morgan could imagine the trendy jet-setters buying up strands of different colors and textures and pairing them with easy bracelets, perfect to wear to dinner, or out shopping on a weekend, or on a beach in Greece.
“What are you thinking about?” Drakon asked from the doorway.
Startled,
