The Fallen Greek Bride\At the Greek Boss's Bidding (14 page)

“Busy,” he answered flatly, expression hard.

“But it must be nice to be in a business that is booming,” she retorted.

“Not if there are people’s lives at stake,” Morgan said, unable to remain silent.

Bronwyn waved her hand in a careless gesture. “Most crews on hijacked ships aren’t hurt. Most are eventually released when the ransom’s paid.”

“Most,”
Morgan said, hanging on to her temper by a thread. “But that’s not all, and not a cause to celebrate.”

Bronwyn smiled, her long lashes dropping over her eyes, but not before Morgan caught the glittering animosity in the blue depths. “Was I celebrating? I hope not. That would be most insensitive of me, considering your father is being held hostage as we speak.”

For a moment Morgan couldn’t breathe. The air caught in her throat and she balled her hands into fists. “We’ll have him home soon, though,” she answered, struggling to sound calm. “Drakon’s brought in the best to secure his release.”

Bronwyn flashed Rowan an amused glance. “The best, yes, as well as the most expensive. What will the job cost Drakon this time, Rowan? Seven million? Ten? More?”

“That’s none of your business, Bronwyn,” Drakon said gruffly.

The Australian turned wide blue eyes on him. “You assigned me the task of improving the corporation’s bottom line, which includes cutting unnecessary spending—”

“And you know perfectly well that I will pay Dunamas Maritime Intelligence from my personal account, not the corporation, so enough.” Drakon’s tone was cool and firm, but not cold or firm enough for Morgan.

Why did he put up with Bronwyn? Why did he allow his vice president to speak to him the way he did? He wouldn’t tolerate it from anyone else, Morgan was sure of that.

“Yes, boss,” Bronwyn answered, rolling her eyes even as she glanced in Morgan’s direction, the exasperation in Bronwyn’s eyes replaced by bruising disdain.

Interesting,
Morgan thought, air catching in her throat.
Bronwyn doesn’t like me, either.

Morgan had sensed it five years ago, and had mentioned her concern to Drakon, but Drakon had brushed Morgan off, telling her not to be petty, that Bronwyn was far too professional to have any ill will toward his new wife. Morgan had felt ashamed for being petty—if that’s what how she was behaving—and properly chastised, tried not to object to Bronwyn’s frequent intrusions into their personal life, but it was almost impossible. Bronwyn called constantly, appeared on their doorstep at strange moments, felt perfectly comfortable drawing Drakon out of the living room and off into his study for long, private business conversations.

Morgan hated it, and had come to resent Bronwyn, all the while feeling guilty for resenting someone that Drakon viewed as so indispensible to his work.

But now Morgan knew she’d been right to object to Bronwyn’s intrusiveness. Because Bronwyn meant to be intrusive. Bronwyn wanted Drakon. She’d wanted him five years ago, and she still wanted him now.

Of course, Morgan had no proof, just her female intuition and that nagging gut instinct that told her something was wrong...the same gut instinct that was telling her now that Bronwyn was still a problem.

Abruptly Morgan stood, unable to remain one more moment in the same room with Bronwyn.

“It’s late and I’m still jet-lagged,” Morgan said, her voice sharper than usual. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head to bed.”

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
Morgan had coffee brought to her in her room and she sat on her balcony, sipping her coffee, trying to figure out how she could avoid going downstairs today. She’d slept like hell, dreaming of Bronwyn, as well as Bronwyn and Drakon frolicking in the pool, and the ballroom, and everywhere else, and the last person Morgan wanted to see was the real Bronwyn, who Morgan knew was up and about, as she could hear her voice wafting up from one of the terraces below.

Morgan glared down into her coffee as Bronwyn’s laugh spiraled up again. Why was Bronwyn here? What was Drakon thinking?

“More coffee? A pastry?” a deep, distinctive male voice coming from the bedroom behind her, asked.

Morgan glanced over her shoulder, to where Drakon lounged in the doorway, looking horribly handsome and very rested. “You should knock,” she said tartly, hating him for bringing Bronwyn here, to the villa, when Morgan was here feeling overwhelmed and out of control.

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have come in.”

“I needed to speak with you.”

“But it’s not polite to barge in on ladies in the morning.”

“Not even if I have an invitation for an outing?”

That did give her pause, and Morgan eyed him suspiciously, excited at the idea of escaping the villa for a few hours, before realizing that she needed to be here, available, in case the pirates tried to contact her. “How can we just leave right now in the middle of everything? What if the pirates want to talk to me? Or change their demands?”

“They’re not going to change their demands. They’re anticipating six million dollars being delivered any day now.”

He was probably right, and yet she found it hard to contemplate doing something pleasurable when her father was still in such trouble. “I wish I knew if he had his heart medicine. I wish I knew he was okay...healthy...strong. Then I’d feel better about things. But I don’t know, and the not knowing is really scary.”

“It’s always the scariest part.” His broad shoulders shifted. “But worrying doesn’t change his situation, it just makes you sick, and makes it more difficult for you to cope with stress. Which is why I’m taking you out for a couple hours. Fresh air and a change of scenery will give you some perspective.”

“And we could be reached if something happens?”

“Absolutely.”

She hesitated. “So who would be going?”

“Just you and me, if that’s all right.”

Her gaze slowly swept over his face with the high cheekbones, straight nose, firm, sensual mouth, before dropping to his body. God, she loved his body...his narrow hips, his long lean, muscular torso and those sinfully broad shoulders. She glanced back up into his face, noting his arched eyebrow and his amused expression. She blushed. “Yes, that’s all right.”

His warm golden brown eyes, framed by those long, dense black lashes, glinted. “I’m glad.”

She looked at him for a long moment, wondering what Drakon had up his sleeve, and why he’d decided to be charming today. He was reminding her of the Drakon of their courtship, the Drakon of their honeymoon—mellow, amusing, easygoing, attentive. She liked this Drakon, very much, but why was he here now? And what did he want? “When do we leave?”

“When can you be ready?”

* * *

They took the helicopter towards Naples, flying above the stunning Italian coastline, where the blue sea butted against the green swell of land, before rising up into the hills and the slopes of Mount Vesuvius, the volcano that had erupted and wiped out Pompeii.

“So beautiful,” Morgan murmured, her fingers pressed against the slick helicopter window, her gaze fixed on the landscape below. “And so deceptively serene.”

“Because Vesuvius is still active?”

“Isn’t it considered one of the world’s deadliest volcanoes?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Its Plinian eruptions aren’t a good fit for the three million people living at the base, as well as up and down the slopes.”

“I’d be afraid to live there.”

“Scientists believe they can predict an eruption before it happens, and they do have an emergency evacuation plan.

She shivered. “I understand ancient Pompeii was beautiful.”

“The villas that were on the outskirts of town would rival the finest villas today.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“Good. Because we’re on our way there now.”

Morgan clasped his arm in delight. “Really?”

“Really.”

A bubble of warmth formed in her chest, rising. “I’m so glad!”

Drakon glanced down at her hand where it rested on his arm. He’d hardened the moment she touched him, it was how he always responded to her.

He drew a breath and exhaled, trying to ease some of the tightness in his gut. “I hope you’ll enjoy today,” he said, grateful he could sound controlled even when he didn’t feel that way. “I’m hoping you will find something in Pompeii to inspire you and your next jewelry collection.”

“I don’t think there will be another—”

“Yes, there will be.”

“I made terrible mistakes—”

“Everyone makes mistakes, but that doesn’t mean you should give up. You have a gift. You’re an artist. I believe in your vision.”

She looked up into his eyes, fear and hope in the blue depths. “Do you really mean that?”

“Absolutely. You will have more collections, and you will succeed.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I’ve seen what you can do, and I know you. You’re truly talented, Morgan. There’s no one else like you.”

* * *

Drakon’s car was parked at a helipad outside Pompeii, waiting for them, and the driver whisked them to the ancient city to meet a private guide who was going to take them on a behind-the-scenes tour of the ruined city.

Morgan was glad she’d worn flat leather sandals since they walked from one end of the city to another, and she listened closely to everything the guide said, captivated by his stories of first century Pompeii, a thriving city of approximately ten thousand people. She was fascinated by the buried city and its restaurants and hotels and brothels, as well as the artwork revealed...frescoes and mosaics and sculptures.

“Pompeii is the most incredible place,” she said as they made their way through the extraordinary villa, House of the Faun, and back into the sunlight. “But Pompeii also breaks my heart. It was such a beautiful city, and so full of life and people and passion—and then it was all wiped out. Gone in a matter of hours.”

“Are you sorry I brought you today?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s amazing. All of it. The houses, the streets, the restaurants, the statues and pots and artifacts. But it hurts, too. Life is so fragile, and unpredictable. There are no guarantees. Not for anyone.”

“Your life changed overnight, didn’t it?”

She looked at him, suddenly wary. “You mean, with the revelation of Michael’s Ponzi scheme?”

Drakon nodded and Morgan bit down into her lip. “It did,” she agreed softly. “I still find it hard to believe what’s happened at home. Who would have thought a year ago...even three months ago...that my father would become one of the most hated men in America? That we’d lose everything...that so many others would lose everything, too, through his, and Michael’s, actions?”

They’d come to a stop next to the cordoned-off fountain with its bronze statue of a dancing faun. This beautiful solitary faun was all that was left of this once glorious, elegant garden, and she held her breath a moment, pressing a fist to her chest, as if somehow she could control the pain, ease the tenderness.

“My father was horrified when he discovered that all his clients, all his investors, had lost their money. He found out on his way to a Valentine’s Day soiree—another one of those black-tie balls my mother loves—when he got the text from Michael to say that it was over. That agents from the federal government had just left his house and there would be arrests made, and that Dad should flee, rather than be indicted.” Her voice faded and she struggled to continue. “At first Dad didn’t believe it. None of us could believe it. And then when the shock wore off, there was anger, and shame.”

Morgan worked her lip between her teeth, tasting blood but thinking nothing of it, because everything hurt now, all the time. Pain was constant. Pain and that endless, overwhelming shame. “Dad wanted to kill himself. My brother talked him out of it, telling Dad that if he was innocent, then he owed it to his family, his friends and his clients to prove his innocence, and try to recoup as much of the lost investments as he could. But then Dad vanished, and Mom said Dad would have been better off killing himself. That by disappearing, Dad had left us in a worse situation. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe Dad should have died—”

“You don’t really feel that way,” Drakon said brusquely. “Or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to help him now.”

“I guess part of me keeps hoping that if he returns, he can fix this...salvage something. Branson, you know, is determined to see all the investors paid back—”

“That’s impossible.”

“I know, but Branson can’t escape his name. Women can marry and take a new surname. But Branson’s a man. He’ll be one of those hated Copelands forever.”

“Someday people will forget. There will be other news that will become more urgent and compelling. There will be disasters and tragedies that will eventually cover this scandal, burying it.”

Just as the volcano had buried Pompeii.

Morgan’s gaze drifted slowly across the columns and walls and the sunken garden, feeling the emptiness, hearing the silence. Everything was so still here, and yet once this villa had bustled with life, with the comings and goings of the family and its household servants and pets. And all that activity and laughter and anger, all the fears and needs and dreams, ended that August day, and for hundreds of years this city lay buried beneath layers of ash and soil, grass and the development of new towns. New construction. New lives. New dreams.

“Come,” Drakon said, putting his hand on her bare arm, his touch light, but steadying. “Let’s walk. This place is making you sad, and I didn’t bring you here to be sad. I brought you here to inspire you.”

“I am inspired, and moved. Gives one perspective...and certainly a great deal for me to be thankful for.” She flashed Drakon an unsteady smile, allowing him to steer her from the garden and back to the street. “Like life. And air. And sunlight.”

“Good girl. Count your blessings. Because you have many, you know. You have your health, and your creativity, and your brother and your sisters—”

“And you,” she said, catching his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “You’ve been here for me, and have hired Rowan to help rescue Dad. I am so grateful—”

“Please don’t thank me.”

“Then let me at least apologize, because I am sorry, Drakon, I am so, so sorry for what my father did, and deeply ashamed, too.”

“You didn’t do it, love. You aren’t responsible.”

“But he’s my father.”

“And maybe he didn’t know that Amery was just depositing all that money into his own account. Maybe he had no idea. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we wait to judge and try him, until he is back, and he can answer the charges, answer everyone’s questions?”

Her heart surged, a little rush of hope, and she turned quickly to face him. “Do you really think he could be innocent? Do you think—” And then she abruptly broke off when she saw Drakon’s face.

He didn’t think her father was innocent. He still despised her father. Drakon was merely trying to soften the blow for her. Make her disillusionment and pain more bearable.

Her eyes burned and she looked away. “You don’t have to do that,” she whispered. “There’s no need to say things you don’t mean just to make me feel better. I’d rather hear the truth from you.”

“And I’d rather protect you,
agapi mou.
”

Agapi mou. My love.
Her chest squeezed, aching. “I remember when I really was your love.”

“You will always be my love.”

“But not the same way. It will never be the same.”

“No, it won’t be the same. It can’t be.”

He’d spoken gently, kindly, and for some reason that made it all even worse. “I hate what I did to us,” she said. “Hate that I destroyed us.”

“What did happen, Morgan? You were there one morning, and then gone that night. I just want to understand.”

She hadn’t planned on talking about what really happened, not here, not like this. “I wasn’t prepared for life as a newlywed,” she said, stumbling a little over the words. “I...I had unrealistic expectations of our life in Greece.”

“What did you think it would be like?”

“Our honeymoon.”

“But you know I had to return to work.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know work for you meant twelve-hour days, every day.” Her hands twisted anxiously. “And I understand now, that’s just how you work, and I’m not criticizing you. But I didn’t understand then, how it would be, and it didn’t leave much time for me. I married you because I wanted to be with you, not because I wanted your money or a villa in Greece.”

“Looking back, I know now I wasn’t very flexible with my hours. I regret how much I worked.”

“You loved your work.”

“But I loved you more, Morgan.”

She’d looked into his eyes as he said it and for a moment she was lost, his amber gaze that intense, searing heat of old, and her heart felt wrenched and she fought to hold back the tears.

She couldn’t cry...couldn’t cry...wouldn’t cry....

“So where do we go now?” she murmured, holding back the tears by smiling hard, smiling to hide her pain and how much she’d missed Drakon, and how much she’d always love Drakon. “What’s next on our tour?”

“Lunch,” he said lightly, smiling back at her. “I’ve a restaurant in mind, it’s on our way home in Sorrento.”

* * *

They didn’t actually eat in Sorrento, but at a restaurant just outside the city, on the way to Positano. The simple one-story restaurant was tucked high into the mountain, off the beaten path, with a beamed ceiling and breathtaking views of the coast.

Normally the restaurant just served dinner, but today they’d opened for them for lunch, and Morgan and Drakon had the place to themselves.