She wanted Drakon. She missed him. Didn’t want to be at the villa with him and yet not with him. The last time she was here, on that delicious, luxurious honeymoon, they spent almost every moment together and it didn’t seem right being at the villa and not seeing him.

But then, life didn’t seem right without him in it.

But finally, thankfully, she’d managed to get through the afternoon and now it was almost dinner, and time for the nightly aperitivo.

Morgan was the first to the living room for the Italian aperitivo. The pre-dinner drink was a tradition at Villa Angelica, one she and Drakon had come to enjoy during their honeymoon.

In the living room, Morgan went to the antique table that had been set up as the bar with a selection of alcohol and juices, sodas, sparkling water and tonic water and other cocktail mixes. Morgan bypassed the mixes for the pitcher of Campari. Tonight it was Campari with pomegranate. Tomorrow night it might be Campari orange. The cocktail changed every night and Morgan enjoyed sampling the different variations.

She wandered now with her cocktail to the window to watch the sunset. It would be another stunning sunset and the sky was a fiery red orange at the moment and she sipped the cocktail, basking in the warm rays of the sun reaching through the glass.

This was like a dream, she thought, one of those dreams she had when she was at McLean Hospital, when she’d dream of Drakon every night, and in her dreams they were together still, and happy … so very, very happy….

Suddenly footsteps sounded in the stairwell and Morgan turned to watch Drakon descend the final flight of stairs and step into the grand entry. Her heart turned over in her chest as she watched him. He moved with such ease, and so much grace, that he made other men look clumsy. But then, he’d always had confidence, and a physicality that other men didn’t have. She’d wondered if growing up on boats, working on cargo ships as if he were a deckhand instead of the owner’s son, had given him that awareness and balance.

As he crossed the hall and joined her in the living room, the enormous Venetian chandelier bathed him in light and she sucked in a breath, struck all over again by his intensity and that strong, hard face with those intensely observant eyes.

He was looking at her now. She grew warm under his inspection, remembering how much she’d wanted to go to him earlier, how much she’d craved him all afternoon.

“Hello,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see her blush.

“Hello,” he answered, the corner of his mouth quirking as if amused.

His smile did something to her and she felt a frisson of pleasure race through her. Flustered, Morgan lifted her drink to her lips, sipped her cocktail and studied Drakon covertly over the rim of her glass. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt open at the collar and fine trousers and he looked like the Drakon she’d married—polished, elegant, handsome—but she’d learned something new about him during the last twenty-four hours. He wasn’t as controlled as she’d imagined. If anything he was a man of passion.