She grabbed Drakon’s shirt, and slipped it over her arms into the sleeves and buttoned up the front. “Well, it was. We didn’t use birth control, Drakon, and we shouldn’t have even thought about sex without using a condom.”

“But we never used a condom.”

“Because we were newlyweds. We were hoping to have children, we both wanted a big family, but it’s different now. We’re separated. Divorcing. A baby would be disastrous, absolutely the worst thing possible—”

“Actually, I can think of a few things worse than a baby,” he interrupted, getting off the bed and reaching for his trousers. He stepped into one leg and then the other before zipping them closed. “Like famine. Disease. Pestilence. Or someone swindling billions of dollars—”

“Obviously I didn’t mean that a baby was a tragedy,” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest to hide the fact that she was trembling. Just moments ago she’d been so relaxed, so happy, and now she felt absolutely shell-shocked. How was it possible to swing from bliss to hell in thirty seconds flat? But then, wasn’t that how it had always been with them?

“No, I think you did,” he countered. “It’s always about you, and what’s good for you—”

“That’s not true.”

“Absolutely true. You’re so caught up in what you want and need that there is no room in this relationship for two people. There certainly was never room for me.”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious, Drakon. You’re the most controlling person I’ve ever met. You controlled everything in our marriage, including me—”

“Do I look like I’m in control?” he demanded tautly, dark color washing the strong, hard planes of his face.

He was breathing unsteadily, and her gaze swept over him, from his piercing gaze to the high color in his cheekbones to his firm full mouth, and she thought he looked incredible. Beautiful. Powerful. Her very own mythic Greek god. But that was the problem. He was too beautiful, too powerful. She had no perspective around him. Would throw herself in the path of danger just to be close to him.

Good God. How self-destructive was that?

Before she could speak, she heard the distinctive hum of a helicopter.

“Rowan,” Drakon said, crossing to the balcony and stepping outside to watch the helicopter move across the sky. “He’ll have news about your father.”

“Then I’d better shower and dress.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

MORGAN REFUSED TO think about what had just happened in her bed, unable to go there at all, and instead focused on taking a very fast shower before drying off and changing into a simple A-line dress in white linen with blue piping that Drakon had shipped over from the Athens house with the rest of the wardrobe.

In the steamy marble bathroom, she ran a brush through her long hair before drawing it back into a sleek ponytail and headed for her door, careful to keep her gaze averted from the bed’s tousled sheets and duvet.