Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife(47)

And, though she had expected it to take time for him to fully understand how much having her own life meant to her, he purposely arranged a trip to Delikaris headquarters on the same day that she needed to return to Athens to make some arrangements for the first tour she was due to lead there at the end of the month. He didn’t even bat an eyelid when she made a note on the calendar of the dates when she’d be away.

What was more, they made love—often.

Yet, to her distress, even though it seemed that he finally understood the importance of her having her own life, sharing his, the niggling uneasiness remained. In fact, though she’d tried to dismiss it as an old insecurity which would gradually work its way out, like a splinter coming to the body’s surface, which only seemed to be getting deeper, causing her to lose more and more sleep.

So much so that one morning, four weeks after the election, Libby sat on the swing seat in front of the fig tree staring back at the house before the sun had even finished rising, and it was Saturday. At least during the week she could pretend to herself that she’d got up early to e-mail Kate before she opened the office for business. But today she had no such excuse.

The truth was that even though the timing finally felt right for them, she still wasn’t happy. Because although they made love frequently it had never once been like it was that afternoon. Oh, he had pleasured her body in countless ways, but it always seemed to be about her enjoyment, never his. And when she tried to turn the tables—if she sidled down beside him, kissed the hollow by his hipbone and moved to take him in her mouth—he would encourage her away, only reaching what felt like nothing more than a perfunctory climax once she was satisfied.

Maybe it was a superficial reason to be discontent, especially as he’d never complained, but Libby had a horrible feeling that it masked something deeper. What if that day in the hallway, when their lovemaking had been so incredible, hadn’t been evidence that her defiance had aroused him, but the end of the challenge of seducing her into staying—the age-old thrill of the chase? Then there wouldn’t have been anything left to excite him the second she’d agreed to stay with him, would there? Just as there hadn’t been after their wedding.

And that kind of excitement was never going to last in any marriage unless desire was kept stoked by love.

Libby swallowed down the lump in her throat. Yes, she’d pinned her hopes on that after he’d opened up to her in the walled garden, been convinced it could blossom if only they shared what was in their hearts, but since then they hadn’t once talked properly about their relationship. To be perfectly frank, he was more closed off than ever.

Or at least that was how she saw it. But had she bothered to make him understand that and find out how he saw it? No. Libby flexed the soles of her flip-flops, annoyed that she still didn’t seem to have learned not to jump to conclusions without consulting him.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She knew she needed to talk to him, she was just afraid. Because what if he turned round and told her she had it spot-on? She couldn’t bear it—not now. But the thought of repeating the mistakes of the past was worse. She took a deep breath and stood up.



He was in the kitchen when she came in through the back door. The sight of him wearing nothing but some pale lightweight trousers made her stomach contract.

‘Up early again?’ he asked, studying her for signs of nausea. She did look pale. ‘Sit down.’ He pulled out one of the stools from beneath the breakfast bar. ‘Coffee?’

‘Umm…yes, thanks.’ She wasn’t in the least bit thirsty, but it occurred to her that having something to occupy her hands might be a good idea. As he turned to remove a mug from one of the cupboards on the opposite wall, she was grateful that it also gave her the chance to begin without his eyes boring into her. ‘Rion, there’s something I need to talk to you about.’

Rion stared into the open cupboard. It had happened, then. He’d guessed as much from all the early mornings. His heart began to swell with joy, but he forced himself to restrain it. Because, despite his best efforts to make her forget the pedigree he was lacking over the course of the last month, it was obvious from the look she’d worn as she’d walked in the back door that he hadn’t succeeded. It was the same look that she’d worn intermittently ever since that night, and he knew this was anything but a joy to her.

‘I can guess,’ he said grimly, turning back round to face her.

‘You can?’ Libby blinked up at him, her heart starting to pound.

‘It doesn’t exactly require a detective, Libby.’ He finished pouring the mug of coffee and slid it across the breakfast bar towards her.