She frowned. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing I discuss. It’s just...fuel. Anger and desperation are remarkable motivators.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he answered carelessly, his voice hardening. He sat up and kissed her forehead. “And now I just like working hard. Work gives me a reason to wake up every day. It gives satisfaction at the end of the day.” He glanced at the bedside clock. “I’m actually hungry. Are you?”
“Hasn’t your chef gone to bed?”
“No one sleeps if I want something,” he said so matter-of-factly that she smiled.
And then he smiled, too, as if amused by his own arrogance. “All I want is a snack,” he added, “and half the fun of a snack is going through the refrigerator and pantry to see what you can find.”
The kitchen was surprisingly large with an enormous center island dominating the middle of the room. The backsplash, refrigerators, stove, ovens, even the four portholes above the prep area, all gleamed silver, while the cabinets were a rich espresso and the counters a creamy ivory marble shot with veins of pale caramel.
It was a beautiful space, and welcoming. Kassiani ran her hand over one of the lovely marble work surfaces. “This is a gorgeous kitchen. I wouldn’t mind cooking in here. The kitchen on our family yacht isn’t half as nice. For one, there are no windows or portholes, and for another, it’s a rather hideous vanilla-and-stainless mix, and not pretty stainless like this, but restaurant grade and very commercial looking. This is like something you’d see in a stunning house.”
“My chef is picky. He wouldn’t come on board if he didn’t have the right appliances and utensils and work space.”
“You must like your chef quite a bit, then. My father fired staff right and left. He had no qualms replacing them.”
“Most of my staff have been with me for a while now. There are a few new faces on this sailing, but the majority have been on my payroll for years. I’m happier surrounded by familiar staff, people I know I can count on.”
Kassiani was surprised. She’d gotten the impression that Damen wasn’t attached to anyone, or anything. “Do you spend that much time on your yacht to keep everyone fully employed, then?”
“Half of the crew only work here on the yacht, while the other half work for me in another capacity. My chef here is also my chef in Athens. I just steal him from the house and bring him on board. Some of the housekeeping staff are also from Athens. Three of the hands work on my Adras estate, while others are from my Sounio villa.”
“So are those your main homes?” she asked as he opened the refrigerator and began pulling out cheese after cheese, as well as a plastic container filled with washed fruit. “Athens, Sounio and Adras?”
He moved to a cabinet and found plates and silverware. “I have an apartment in London, but I haven’t been in years. Too busy working to travel.” Damen deftly arranged place settings in front of them before going to the tall narrow pantry and retrieving a set of pottery jars she suspected were filled with olives.
The jars of olives joined the cheese and fruit. Damen lifted the lid on one jar and, using a tiny wooden fork, reached in to pluck out a tiny, dark green olive. He held the olive to her mouth in an offering, and she took it, licking her lower lip to capture the droplet of olive oil. “Delicious,” she said.
“Some people call these Cretan olives, but we also grow them on Adras.”
He reached into another jar, and stabbed a small light green olive. “These are nafplion. One of my favorites. The texture is firm and a little crunchy, and the flavor is even better. Slightly nutty, slightly smoky. These are a true table olive and perfect with a sprinkle of lemon juice and bit of dill.”
She plucked the offered olive from the wooden fork and popped it into her mouth. He was right. It was a little bit crunchy and deliciously salty and somewhat nutty. “That is amazing,” she said.
“There is nothing better than olives and bread. Now we just need bread.” He turned around, his gaze narrowing as it swept the kitchen. Everything was so tidy. There was no food out anywhere on the counters. “Chef used to have a bread box where he kept the loaves, and the leftovers, but I don’t see it.”
“I’ll have a look,” she offered.
And as she moved past him to search the pantry, he caught her by the neck, his hand wrapping around her nape, and drew her to him.
Kassiani felt a jolt of electricity as his head dropped and his lips covered hers. She felt another sharp surge of sensation as his mouth moved across hers. He was hungry and he parted her lips, claiming her mouth, making her weak in the knees.
She always responded to him, and desire washed through her, hot and needy, her body softening against him, her arms reaching up to wrap his neck and bring him even closer. Damen held her firmly and she relished the feel of his hard, warm, muscular body pressed to hers as well as the seductive promise of his shaft urgent against her belly.
Nothing in her life had prepared her for this heat and desire. This physical need matched her emotional need, creating a vast yearning for more. Being in Damen’s arms made her feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time, and she wanted to be completely herself, and completely real. Was this love? Or was this lust? She didn’t know. She wished she knew. She wished she’d had more experience because what she felt with Damen was incredible and consuming and she couldn’t imagine ever feeling this way with anyone else. It was as if he had been made for her. His body was extraordinary, and the way he used his body was extraordinary. She loved his scent, his skin and the very shape of him.
Kassiani hated it when she disappointed him. She hated it even more when he hurt her, but she’d come to crave time with him. Truthfully, her day only really began once she saw him. The only hours that were important were the hours with him, and the only hours she felt truly alive were the hours in his company. Was that normal?
What was this terrible need she felt for him?
Kassiani slid her hands under his shirt, relishing the texture of his hot skin. She wanted her mouth on him. All of him. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go. Damen leaned her back against the marble counter, exposing her neck and throat. His lips traveled the length of her jaw, lighting fire beneath her skin. She whimpered, and whimpered again as his teeth scraped a sensitive place on her neck that made her desperate for more. Her whimpers always stirred him, and he growled against her throat, his hips pressing against hers, and then his knee was between her thighs, his knee grinding against her, driving her wild.
She felt wild now.
“Security cameras,” he panted, peeling away from her to go punch buttons into a box on the wall. “Don’t need to give everyone a show.”
She smiled, answering breathlessly, “It would be a good show.”
“You are shocking.”
“But you like it,” she flashed, as he closed the kitchen door, locking it before returning to her side. “You like that I can’t get enough of you.”
They made love on the marble island counter. Damen took her in so many different ways. Kass
