And that was both good and bad. Good, because he met her intensity and answered her fierce need for touch and sensation. Bad, because soon he’d be out of her life again and she couldn’t imagine ever feeling this way about any other man. Couldn’t imagine ever wanting any other man.

“Were you able to get a nap?” he asked, turning away to pour himself a drink.

He, too, chose the Campari cocktail and for some reason that made her happy. “I did lie down,” Morgan answered, her back now to the window so she could face Drakon, “but the moment I finally fell asleep, my phone rang. It was my mother.”

“Calling to get news about your father?”

“No. She just wanted to know if I’d be home to attend a fund-raiser in Greenwich with her this weekend.” Morgan shook her head incredulously. “A black-tie fund-raiser! Can you imagine?”

“You used to attend events like that all the time.”

“Yes, when we were socially desirable, but we’re not anymore. We’re hated, loathed, but Mom doesn’t get it. She’s trying to carry on as if everything is the same, but nothing’s the same. Only Mom refuses to face facts, refuses to accept that no one wants us at their balls or parties or fund-raisers anymore.” Morgan tried to laugh but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Dad’s being held hostage in Somalia and Mom’s trying to find a date for this Saturday’s symphony gala. What a horrible family you married into, Drakon!”

His amber gaze suddenly locked with hers. “I didn’t marry them. I married you.”

“And I’m the craziest of them all!”

He said nothing for a long moment and then he smiled, a slow, wicked smile that put an equally wicked gleam in his eye. “Is that why sex was always so much fun?”

She blushed but was saved from answering by the sudden appearance of Rowan. “Your contact from Somalia just phoned,” he said, entering the living room. “He left a message. They’re not going to let you speak with your father. But since you have the money ready, they want to arrange the drop, and give you instructions on where you’ll find your hostage.”

Morgan’s smile died on her lips and she glanced at Drakon, and then back at Rowan. “Did they really say it like that?”

Rowan nodded and Morgan paled and swallowed hard. “They make my father sound like a carcass,” she whispered, sickened.

“We’re not dealing with sensitive people,” Rowan answered.

“But don’t panic,” Drakon added. “I’m sure he’s still alive.”

She drew a quick breath and lifted her chin. “I want him out of there.”

“He will be,” Drakon said.

Rowan nodded. “Soon.

It took them a while to move from the living room to the dining room for dinner, but once they got there, the dining room glowed with candlelight. The dining room’s antique chandelier was filled with tapers, and the iron and glass sconces on the white walls reflected onto the ceiling making every surface gleam and dance with light. But the meal was definitely subdued. Morgan was both angry and heartsick and felt impossibly distracted. Rowan barely spoke and Drakon didn’t say much more than Rowan. But every now and then Morgan looked up to find Drakon watching her, his expression shuttered and impossible to read.