Her lips parted in silent protest and yet he knew she was tempted, seriously tempted, because she wanted the same thing he did—excitement, pleasure, release.

“And what?” she whispered, her tongue darting to her lower lip, moistening it.

He was already hard. Now he wanted to explode. “And let me look at you. I want to see you, my beautiful wife.”

“I’m not your wife.”

“Oh, you are my wife. And have been my wife and will be my wife until the day the divorce is granted. Then … you’ll be someone else’s woman, but until then, you are mine. And you know you are. That is why you came here to me, wanting my help. You knew I’d refuse you nothing.”

He saw the flicker in her eyes, that recognition of truth. “Just as you know I’ve never refused you anything,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.

No, she hadn’t, he thought, his shaft growing even harder, making him hotter, remembering how she always responded to him.

He’d known plenty of women who liked hot sex, but he’d never been with anyone as passionate as Morgan. She wasn’t comfortable with her passionate nature, though, and during their six months together she’d struggled with the concept of physical pleasure, and resisted giving in to her sensual side, viewing it as a weakness, or something shameful, instead of an intimacy that brought them closer together … binding, bonding, making them one. “But I’ve never forced you, Morgan—”

“Not forced, no, but you have pushed me, pushed me beyond what I was comfortable doing.”

“Isn’t that exciting, though? To try new things … explore new things … to know and then go outside your comfort zone?”

Another flicker of emotion passed over her lovely face. She had such fine, elegant features, as well as that famous Copeland reserve, a trait shared by her equally glamorous sisters. The reserve came from the way they’d been raised … from birth they’d been privileged, and had enjoyed a luxurious lifestyle of private schools, private jets, private islands. Their money attracted attention, and men, lots and lots of men, and by the time the four Copeland girls had become women, they knew they were special. Unique. They believed they deserved better.

Drakon had been drawn to Morgan’s beauty, but also her reserve. He’d viewed it as a challenge to break through her cool, haughty exterior to discover the warm woman underneath.

And once he’d touched her, she’d been more than warm. She’d burned as if consumed by a fever and during their honeymoon, those four weeks here at Villa Angelica, he’d enjoyed discovering the depths of her passion and exploring her desires, her fears and her limits.

“But everything with you was outside my comfort zone,” she said, trying to hide the quiver of her lower lip. “Everything was overwhelming.”

She’d said this once before to him, during the last week of their honeymoon after an erotic afternoon on a private island, and he’d been startled that her memory of lovemaking on the pristine ivory beach had been so different from what he’d felt. Returning to his yacht, which had been anchored off the island while they picnicked on the beach, he had never felt closer to her, or more committed, and he’d been shocked when she accused him of taking advantage of her. Shocked and sickened.