Save Me, Daddy

I roll my eyes. “Don’t give me that. Men are just as bad, and you know it.”

After a moment, he nods. “I see. And I apologize if you were humiliated.”

“Thank you.” He seems so open tonight, with a gentleness I’ve never seen. Somehow the courage rises in me to ask, “Were you really going to marry Maia?”

His expression hardens, but he says, “Yes. I was much younger then.”

Pushing my luck, I say, “What happened?”

He frowns. “I realized our relationship couldn’t last a lifetime. It was too superficial. She must’ve reached the same conclusion, because she married someone else within weeks of ending our engagement.”

I mull over his words. “Wait, who ended it? You or her?”

With a sigh of impatience, he tugs at his tie. “What does it matter now, Harper? That was years ago.”

Eyes narrowing at his evasion, I murmur words of agreement and turn toward the nursery. “Goodnight.” Jayson reaches for me, and I don’t resist when he turns back to face me. “Is there something else?”

He curses under his breath in Greek. I don’t understand the words, but his frustration comes through loud and clear. “Yes, agape mou. This.”

Even before his head descends, I know Jayson is going to kiss me. Deep in my heart, I knew all night that every glance and touch was leading to this moment. Holding my breath, I know I should turn away, but I’m unable to do it. When his lips touch mine, I find myself melting against him.

My lips mold to his. He opens my lips with his and thrusts his tongue inside my mouth, exploring the depths. Eagerly, I stroke his tongue with mine. He tastes like the ouzo he had after the meal. Licorice and lust.

Jayson pulls me closer, until our bodies fit together as though made for each other. Deepening the kiss, I tangle my hands in his hair to drag his head lower. I’m desperate for the taste of him. I lose all self-control.

I moan when he puts one hand on my back while the other ventures lower, to squeeze my ass. A jolt shoots through me when he lifts me slightly, pushing his hardness against me. His nearness is intoxicating, or is it toxic? I can’t decide. My head swims as he guides my hand toward the massive bulge in his pants.

Pulling his mouth from mine, Jayson brushes tender kisses across my cheek as my hand touches him, curious and hungry. “Se thelo, Harper,” he says in a thick voice.

I shake my head. “I don’t know what that means, Jayson.”

He lifts his head so that our gazes lock. “I want you, Harper. I want to touch every inch of you, to learn all your secret places, to watch you come apart in my arms. Se thelo.”

Jayson’s words are like ice water tossed in my face for some reason. “Why?” I ask in a distant tone, pulling away.

He frowns, a line appearing between his dark eyebrows. His eyes are stormy, his breathing heavy. “You are a beautiful woman. My woman. I want to make love to you.”

I take another step back. “You told me once that you would never want me, Jayson. Don’t you remember? On our wedding night, you made it one hundred percent crystal clear that you didn’t desire me and would never want me in your bed. What changed your mind?”

He stares at me, mouth agape. I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from turning into a screeching banshee. Three years of hurt and anger I thought were gone are threatening to explode, but I refuse to let him see how deeply his past rejection affected me.

“Nothing’s changed, has it, Jayson? I’m just a warm body, conveniently available.” My shoulders sag when he doesn’t reply. “Good night, Jayson.” This time, he lets me go without trying to call me back, to my mingled relief and disappointment. My heart aches and all I want is to forget about this night and to rid the memory of his kisses from my mind and body.

Rushing into the nursery, I strip off the expensive evening gown and toss it away before slipping into my nightgown and crawling into bed. Shivers rack my body, though the night is warm. It’s my body’s way of processing what just happened, alongside what happened three years ago.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of our wedding night, but unable to do it. As I’ve done so many times in our marriage, once again, I relive that night’s events in my mind.

As planned, ours was a simple civil ceremony in front of a justice of the peace, with Sophie as the only guest. Jayson’s way of announcing the marriage was to host a reception following the ceremony, and the house was crowded with guests. By the time the evening wound to a close, I was exhausted.

I made my way upstairs to the suite the housekeeper had shown me before the ceremony, while asking how I wanted my clothes arranged. The austere room suited Jayson, with its massive antique furnishings, dark brown carpet, and beige walls. The room wasn’t romantic or passionate, but I assumed that was just decor, and once Jayson and I started making love I would see it that way.

I bathed, shaved, moisturized, and slipped into a nearly transparent white negligee. The color was appropriate for a virgin bride, although the style was anything but innocent. Lost in the sea of garments at the boutique where I’d selected it, along with many pieces of my new wardrobe, I’d deferred to the salesclerk’s suggestion. Examining myself in the mirror, I nodded my approval, deciding the lingerie gave me an air of virginal sophisticati

on I sorely lacked.

Will Jayson be pleased or disappointed to find out I’m still a virgin? I wondered. At the age of twenty, I was only one of a few young women in my circle who hadn’t yet gone to bed with a man. Not that I was some kind of prude, but I also didn’t want to jump into bed with just any man, and none of the boys I’d dated had come close to tempting me to go that far.

Not one had measured up to Jayson.