CHAPTER SIX

THE EVER-PRESENT FRICTION that relentlessly marked their interactions shot up by a thousand degrees the moment their eyes met. Like a flame tossed onto gasoline, Imogen felt it light a path down their connected bodies, extinguishing what little brain power and oxygen there was left in the room.

‘Kalismera, Imogen,’ Zeph rasped.

A shudder as every cell sizzled at his deep, languid voice.

Move. Speak. Do something.

Anticipating her body’s reluctance to obey, she forcibly disentangled herself and pushed at his shoulders. He resisted for a nanosecond before his arms loosened.

Rolling away from him, she dragged her gaze from his naked, delicious torso, a jagged kind of relief slithering through her when she saw she was still in her bathrobe, although the belt had come seriously loose.

‘Wh-what am I doing here?’ she asked, cringing at the breathless quality of her voice as she tightened the belt.

Zeph’s shoulder hitched in a languid shrug. ‘The sofa is comfortable only for so long. I didn’t want you to wake up with a sore neck, so I moved you.’

‘But you could’ve woken me up.’

‘Why? You were struggling to sleep as much as I was. It was clear you needed it. No harm no foul.’ A moment ticked by. Then two. His jaw tightened. ‘Or do you think there was foul, glikia mou?’ he enquired silkily, in that way that sent different kinds of shivers down her spine.

She raised a hand to drag back her dishevelled hair, then bit back a moan when the act reminded her how very little she was wearing beneath the robe. Reminded how that very thin scrap of fabric had been the only thing between their bodies.

How that sparked new, eager flames in her.

She was scrambling to place more distance between herself and that thought when he jackknifed upright.

‘A lesser man would develop a complex from your reactions. Which is puzzling because you’re attracted to me.’ When she opened her mouth to issue a hot denial, he batted it away. ‘Your body gives you away, Imogen.’

She didn’t need to glance down to confirm his statement. The tips of her breasts were hard and aching, screaming and displaying their need to him.

‘Which makes me think the reluctance is...’ His jaw clenched tight for a moment before he shook his head. Narrow-eyed, his expression changed from lazy cynicism to fierce intent. ‘Was I cruel to you?’ The words were bitten out, as if he didn’t want to say them, but needed to know.

Her heart lurched, both at the fire in his eyes and the sensation of shifting sands beneath her feet. ‘You weren’t abusive, if that’s what you’re asking.’

His nostrils flared and he dragged a hand through his own hair. ‘You know what I’m asking, Imogen.’

She sucked in a breath. Then shook her head. ‘You weren’t cruel in the true sense of the word. But you were...indifferent. I was a means to an end for you.’

He stiffened. ‘Why? And why you?’

Please don’t make me answer that.

She breathed a short-lived sigh of relief when the plea didn’t tumble out. But she still needed to answer. ‘I asked you the same thing when you...when my father told me about the deal he was making with you.’

His gaze probed deeper. ‘Your father? He was involved in arranging our union somehow?’

She wanted to laugh. Both at the understatement and at the way Zeph oh-so-accurately referred to their marriage as a negotiation even though he had no memory of it. ‘Yes. From start to finish.’

‘And?’

‘And...you said you preferred to enter an agreement with a clear understanding that there would be zero emotional involvement between us.’

‘Why?’ he breathed.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re an intelligent woman, Imogen. You had an idea. Give me your best guess.’

Dear God, this was not the conversation she’d expected to have with Zeph first thing in the morning. But then, hadn’t the last twenty-four hours been the most intensely peculiar of her life?

‘From what the media speculated on from your private life before we married, you didn’t date the same woman for more than a few months. And more than one of those women gossiped that while you were...’ she paused, licked dry lips ‘...generous with your time and attention up to a point, you weren’t the romantic type. And in an interview when you were younger you stated that you would win a bet against anyone who claimed that any woman who dated a wealthy man didn’t have an ulterior, long-term motive.’

His expression didn’t change but she sensed a shift in the air, perhaps even a whisper of bewilderment. Or was she fooling herself? His hardening face moments later said perhaps she was.

‘I sense it’s the sort of conclusion someone with first-hand experience reaches,’ he drawled.

Stung by the biting admission, she shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

Dark blue eyes pinned her in place. ‘Had we met before this...agreement between us was struck?’

She shook her head, her breath frozen in her lungs. ‘No. But you were acquainted with my father. And if you’re wondering so, no, I wasn’t your type.’

He rolled onto his knees with the agility and grace of a panther, the motion rendering her immobile as he reached out and wrapped his large hand around her jaw and nape.

‘And exactly what do you think is my type?’ he enquired in a low, deep bedroom voice that steeped the charged atmosphere.

‘Heiresses. Supermodels. Daughters of presidents. Some of the most beautiful women in the world have called themselves your lovers.’

His eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘You alluded to that yesterday. And I recall responding that this past you seem intrigued with didn’t stop me from putting a ring on your finger. From giving you my name.’

‘No...you...’

His grip tightened a fraction as if imprinting his words into her skin. ‘I am a powerful man. And I am not unintelligent. I believe I have several recourses to any situation I face. Think about that when you wonder why I chose you.’

No. The protest shrieked louder inside her. Because to take him at his word meant...

‘Why do you want this? Why do you want me?’ The words ripped from somewhere deep inside her, a peculiar, secret yearning rearing its head that wouldn’t be silenced.

The question seemed to momentarily startle him as much as it startled her. Then that formidable self-assuredness reasserted itself. ‘Because you’re the first woman to evoke such an...interesting reaction in me since I woke up in Efemia,’ he drawled.

‘And that’s it? I interest you? What’s to say you won’t find the next woman who walks onto this deck equally interesting?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I did not cheat on you.’

The certainty with which he stated that dropped like an anvil on them both. ‘No.’

‘Then do not insult me by suggesting that I would be so fickle.’

She cursed the flush that damned her in that moment. ‘You were about to marry another woman when I found you.’

It spoke volumes to the imperious nature of her husband that he accepted that tossed-out argument with a mere inclination of his head. ‘True. But if it reassures you she didn’t interest me as much as you do, and I’m confident she was only marrying me for her own motives.’

‘Did you...propose to her?’ Why was that so important to her? Why did it make her heart stutter to even think of Zeph going down on one knee to another?

‘Not in traditional terms. There was a general, informal discussion, which then seemed to take on a life of its own.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means out of the three people involved, Petros was the most keen on the marriage happening.’

As she recalled the older man’s hostility when she’d interrupted his daughter’s wedding, Imogen’s fists bunched on her thighs.

Zeph’s gaze dropped to them before rising. ‘Why, my dear, you look positively livid,’ he said with a musing smile.

She breathed out slowly, willed the discordant thoughts into composure. ‘I’m not...it’s just...’

In the last five minutes, he’d made statements on which he didn’t have sufficient information to make. And yet each time, her soul had leapt. The insane cravings in her heart had lapped them up like starved soil receiving rain.

And within those cravings, Imogen recognised her old self, the child who’d desperately wanted that lavish, healing rain. Wanted so much for her father to see her, acknowledge her. Love her. The same way this new, oblivious Zeph seemed intent on convincing her she could have the impossible.

Yes, he’d been thrust into an old world he didn’t remember, but not once had he struck her as helpless. And yet...last night he’d needed her. He’d listened to her. Was perhaps even reluctant to let her out of his sight. As much as she wanted to cite feminism and independence, she’d never felt anything like this before. Never craved this feeling with this much desperation. So, while terrifying, was it wrong to bask in it for just a little...?

Yes.

She accepted the shrieked internal warning and forced a laugh, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood thickening around them, threatening tsunami-sized waves of sensation she wasn’t sure she was ready for. ‘Put yourself in my shoes. Tell me how you would’ve reacted to that.’

‘If it makes you feel better, I would’ve been positively incandescent. I would’ve thrown you over my shoulder and carried you away like a caveman. Then I would’ve spent the next month locked in this bedroom with you beneath me, reminding you who you belonged to,’ he stated with a voice coated in pure, unadulterated erotic promise.

Her jaw sagged. Her pulse leaped. Her breath shortened.

He laughed, a rich, decadent sound that tunnelled deep, heating her core, dragging even more sensation to the surface until she feared she would drown in it.

‘But since the shoe is on the other foot and my wife seems to be skittish about our reacquaintance, I’ll endeavour to take it slow.’

She moved a little too late, her limbs rebelling against denying her body what it craved. She’d only made it to the end of the bed when he huffed out a breath.

‘There you go, running away again.’ The words were tinged with frustration.

Imogen stilled, knowing she should absolutely not rise to the bait. And yet, God, he drove her beyond rational thought.

She crawled back onto the bed and glared him down. ‘Fine. Here I am, staying right here. Do your worst.’

The moment the impetuous words were out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. Because they were as blatant as dangling a juicy chunk of meat under a lion’s nose and expecting him not to bite her hand off with it.

And when that infernal, wickedly devastating smile started to unravel over his sinful face, she knew she was well and truly trapped. ‘My worst? No, glikia mou. What you’ll be receiving from me won’t be my worst but my very best.’

Before she could stop shivering long enough to ask what he meant, he was curling a firm arm around her waist, drawing her close until their bodies were plastered together.

He didn’t immediately dive in for the kiss she realised every cell in her body was anticipating. His gaze raked her face, the pulse leaping at her throat, the frantic rise and fall of her chest. Savouring the reaction he drew so effortlessly from her.

That was all the warning she received before he drew her even closer, and sealed his lips over hers.

It started off as a replay of that fizzle of electricity she’d felt when they’d kissed back in the apartment in Athens. Then almost immediately it escalated in sensation, growing wild and untamed when his tongue breached the seams of lips she’d parted willingly, her resistance crumbling almost as soon as she felt that erotic probe.

And... God...it was sublime.

A moan slipped free before she could stop it, her hands rising to trail up his bare, thick, hot arms to rest at his nape, a willing companion on this insane ride that had her straining onto her tiptoes, eager for more even before she’d taken her first, desperate breath.

He kissed like a man forged for lovemaking. And yes, her own experiences weren’t nearly adequate enough to know a good kisser from a mediocre one. All she knew was that Zeph, her husband, kissed like a maestro. And she was a willing, eager pupil.

That tongue swept in deeper and shamelessly caressed hers. A cracked moan ended in a whimper and when he tightened his hold, she trembled at the overwhelming pleasure that swept through her.

If it makes you feel better, I would’ve been positively incandescent.

Absurdly, it did make her feel better, which probably also made her a cavewoman. But she chose to keep that to herself. Choosing instead to glide her hands up and over his shoulders, caressing the skin and muscle she’d touched in a different capacity last night, scouring lightly with her nails and revelling in the shudder that went through him.

‘Ne, just like that.’

His throaty encouragement spurred her on to greater madness. She nipped at his bottom lip, revelling in the hiss that broke free before he grunted in approval and returned the favour in erotic bites that had her knees sagging as pleasure weakened her limbs.

In the next moment, he was turning her, urging her backwards. When the pillows met her back, she welcomed it, her thighs parting eagerly to accommodate the man who stared down at her with ferocious hunger and single-minded intent before bearing down on her, accepting the space she made for him.

The kiss that followed was even more decadent, wetter, hungrier, their tongues duelling for supremacy in pleasure granting and receiving.

‘Theós, you taste sublime,’ he muttered hoarsely, his lips freeing hers to explore her jaw and neck, inhaling deeply before catching one earlobe between his teeth. ‘I’m barely holding myself back from devouring you.’

Another helpless moan tore free, the sound triggering even more desperation in the need clamouring through her. She spiked her fingers in his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers, eager to experience more of the sensational magic they created together.

He acceded to her wish, after another rumble of male laughter that said he was pleased with her febrile reaction.

The first inkling she had that her robe was once again loose was when his hot lips trailed over one upper slope of her breast, flicked with teasing strokes over the tight nub before latching to suck her flesh into his mouth.

Her back bowed, pleasure searing her from head to toe before concentrating with sharp saturation between her thighs. ‘Oh, God!’

She clenched her fists in his hair, unable to decide whether she craved more or needed relief. Zeph was intent on more, of course, his fingers tormenting the other peak until only incoherent sounds spilled from her lips.

Her eyes rolled shut when he continued the tormenting journey down her belly to the edge of the tiny thong she wore.

When his fingers snagged in the fabric and dragged it down her legs, Imogen suspected what was coming. Mild dismay dulled the edges of her pleasure. She’d only experienced oral sex once, with disastrous results she never wanted to repeat. So when Zeph gripped her thighs and tried to nudge them apart, she resisted.

‘I don’t... I’m not...are you sure you want to do this?’

His gaze pinned hers. ‘You don’t want it?’

An anticipatory shudder wove through her even as misgivings lingered. ‘I do, but...’

‘You don’t believe I’ll make it good for you?’ The question was heavy with so much arrogance, she wondered why he was bothering to enquire. And since she couldn’t seem to adequately string words together, he conceitedly continued, ‘Be assured, wife. I will drive you out of your mind.’

With that, he pried her legs apart, dropped that sublime body low, and swept his tongue in one bold stroke over her femininity that had her biting her fist and moaning in delirium. Shamelessly, Zeph parted her thighs wider.

And feasted.

Thoroughly. Relentlessly. Ravenously.

Until her moans were one long fevered song, a melody in praise of his mastery he punctuated with thick Greek words as he drove her to the peak of desire. And when they grew sharp and desperate, he brought his fingers into play, stroking them deep into her heated channel as he doubled his efforts on the bundle of nerves crowning her core.

Imogen lost all sense of time and space as bliss enslaved her, held her tight in rhapsody before tossing her over the peak.

She tumbled with a piercing scream, her fingers scrambling for purchase in the long and mindless descent. From a fragment of awareness, she realised the thing she clung to was Zeph. His hands, then his shoulders as he kissed his way back up her body. As he sealed her lips with a kiss that was decadent, wicked and unabashed in its hunger.

And when she blinked her eyes open several minutes later and realised they’d, either mystically or by coincidence, returned to the clasp they’d been in when she’d woken, Imogen tried not to panic. Not to be overwhelmed by the ever-thickening layers of sensations and emotions buffeting her.

He kissed with ever-growing hunger, and, desperate not to be sucked under again, Imogen returned the caress for a minute, then firmly took charge, striking out on her own journey. She ignored his grunt of disapproval when she ended the kiss, then hid a smile when she nipped his jaw and dropped kisses on his strong throat.

Did she have any firm idea what she was doing? Maybe not. Her handful of sexual encounters had been little more than furtive fumbles in the dark, over too quickly for her to catalogue what true pleasure entailed.

But Zeph wasn’t displeased, so, heart in her throat, she licked her way down his chest and grazed her teeth over flat male nipples that had a full body shudder rippling through him. A quick glance up showed his hands gripping the pillow and his eyes rabidly fixed on her.

‘Ne,’ he breathed. ‘More.’

The hoarse encouragement empowered her, loosening her inhibitions as she explored his six-pack with her hands and mouth, then journeyed the short distance south to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

Seeing her hesitation, Zeph reared up and drew the garment down and off, tossing it away without taking his eyes off her, then lying back down.

Imogen felt a little faint at the first sight of his manhood. Dear God, no wonder he exuded such arrogance! No wonder he believed he was the king of the world.

‘Cease the torture, yineka mou,’ he implored.

She licked her lips, and closed her mouth over him, glorying in the shout that ripped from his lips. A moment later, the hands grasping the pillows knotted in her hair, directing her as she lavished attention on his hot, thick manhood.

Decadent sounds filled the room, awakening her own arousal. At her moan, Zeph cursed, his eyes mere slits of blazing arousal as he watched her ministrations.

‘I should marry you again,’ he mused thickly, his fingers knotting tighter in her hair, then groaning as her tongue lapped his rigid length. ‘Reinforce my claim on you so no other man has any ideas of taking what’s mine.’

A drop of ice slithered down her spine, followed immediately by a few more. Still she kept her grip on him, the craving churning inside fighting the thunderbolt he’d casually dropped at her feet.

‘Wh-what?’ she stammered.

The small puff of air produced by her demand washed over his member, making him groan again. ‘You heard me. And don’t stop,’ he growled.

Even as her brain grappled between elation at what he’d said and the reality that it could never happen, she was tempted to keep on caressing him.

But loosening the hold on her emotions was what had led to this in the first place. And every moment she spent in this false nirvana was another moment she’d have to account for later.

Imogen told herself she was glad common sense won out. That things had gone too far too quickly. ‘No.’

The air stilled around them. Neither of them breathed after that firm rejection.

His fingers disentangled from her hair. She realised she was still gripping him when he took hold of her wrist and decisively pushed her away.

And it shamed her that she mourned the loss of him as he withdrew from her, his face hardening as he stood and tugged his bottoms back on.

He took a single step from her and Imogen barely stopped herself from swaying towards him, a pliant flower straining towards the sun’s warmth.

‘No?’ The query was as icy and forbidding as his set jaw.

She swallowed, scrambled for some semblance of shattered control. ‘No, that’s not going to happen. You seem to think any objection I have is a challenge or an affront. Have you stopped to think I may not want the same thing as you?’

His mouth twitched with empty humour. ‘Here’s your chance, then. Tell me what’s so objectionable about remarrying your husband.’

Snatching her robe off the bed, she fought her way into it, cinching the belt tight. ‘Among other things? You’ve been back less than twenty-four hours!’

He jerked out a nod. ‘Granted. If time is what you need we can discuss it. What are the other objections?’

‘Are you serious? We shouldn’t even have done...what we just did,’ she said, waving a frantic hand at the rumpled bed.

‘For a woman with a healthy appetite such as yours, you seem hell-bent on self-flagellation at the earliest sign of displaying desire. Hide behind obstacles if you wish, but I still want an answer.’

Words crowded on her tongue. Words she couldn’t speak without bringing down this precarious house of cards they’d built to maintain the status quo.

‘I’m waiting, dear wife. Why did you bother to keep looking for me? From what I’ve seen since my return you were the only one actively doing so,’ he stated bitterly. ‘While you’ve given me glimpses of what this marriage of ours entailed, your attitude goes against everything rational. You could’ve left me to rot, forgotten on that sleepy island. Why didn’t you?’

‘Because I didn’t want to wait seven years!’

He stilled at the words that ripped free without her permission, his whole body a frozen column of marble, like one of those celebrated Greek gods. Eyes like the ocean’s depths pinned her where she knelt. ‘Explain,’ he demanded, his tone still gruff but cooling at a fast rate. ‘Now.’

Mildly nauseous at what she’d let slip, Imogen sagged onto the bed. But reminded of just who she was dealing with, she immediately straightened her spine. She wasn’t quite ready to look him in the eye though, so she focused her gaze on some middle point in the room. ‘The general consensus from the lawyers was that if you weren’t found I’d have to wait seven years to have you declared dead. I... I didn’t want that hanging over my head.’

‘Again. Why? You already have an exulted place on the board and my billions at your disposal—’

‘It wasn’t about money or my place on the board! It was about my life. My freedom.’

That marble effect encompassed his face. Abstractly, Imogen marvelled at how breathtaking he looked.

‘Your freedom? From me?’

Numbly, she nodded.

He inhaled sharply. ‘So let me see if I have this right. Your plan was to find me, and then divorce me?’ he breathed.

There was disbelief in the query. But also rumbling fury.

Which thankfully kicked up her own resistance.

She scrambled upright, ignoring the trembling in her body that was the residue of the lustful acts they’d committed on each other. Well, almost in his case. She grimaced inwardly and pulled in a long breath. But when she opened her mouth, she was reminded of the doctor’s admonition and hesitated.

He saw it. His nostrils flared. And even before he opened his mouth, she knew what was coming. ‘Do not even think about withholding from me. I won’t hesitate to summon every single employee, board member and acquaintance to interrogate one by one until I get to the truth. A truth I’m suspecting we both agreed to keep under wraps for whatever reason?’

‘Fine. You want to know why? Part of the agreement we made when we married was that either or both of us had the option to petition for divorce after three years.’

He looked momentarily poleaxed. Then he shook his head. ‘Impossible.’

‘Oh, no, it isn’t. And you were the one who put it in the agreement. In fact, the whole agreement was drawn up by your lawyers.’

‘And you’re in a hurry to reach that point of separation because...’ He paused, his gaze snapping volcanic fire. ‘Is there someone else?’ he demanded icily, his chest rising and falling with mesmerising pace. ‘Who is he? That Harvard puppy sniffing around you?’

‘No! But...that’s what we agreed.’

Her jaw dropped when he whirled around. She watched him stride to where he’d discarded his mobile phone in the living area.

‘What are you doing?’

He returned to the bedroom and held it out to her. ‘You say there’s an agreement. I’m finding out everything there is to it. Call my lawyer.’

Imogen knew there was no point arguing.

She had no one but herself to blame. She’d dropped a disconcerting fact into his life when she should’ve kept her mouth shut. Refusing his request now would only further exacerbate the problem.

Taking the phone, she brought up the website of the firm Zeph used for his private matters. She gave her name and was immediately connected. She handed the phone to Zeph and a second later he was delivering a torrent of Greek into the receiver. The conversation lasted less than three minutes before he hung up.

Without looking her way, he marched out of the room, then returned scant minutes later holding a sleek laptop.

‘Sit down, Imogen.’

Dear God, what had she done?

She sat. Waited while he pulled up the document she was certain his lawyers had sent to him in record time. Narrow-eyed, he read through the agreement then slammed the machine shut. ‘I have good news and bad news for you, my sweet,’ he declared, that voice still wrapped in ice. ‘From first glance at this agreement, I already see a few loopholes I can explore. If nothing else, it’ll keep you busy...and married for longer than three years.’

Her heart jumped before dropping to her toes. ‘Zeph...’

One corner of his lips quirked. ‘It’s a little too late to attempt to wrap me around your finger with that sexy voice.’

She gasped. ‘I wasn’t doing anything of the sort!’

His mouth quirked higher. ‘Which makes this all the more promising. It will be delightful to see how far you resist what you truly want.’

‘Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean—?’

‘It means I have a new proposal for you. You will give me six months I’ll never forget and I’ll consider letting you go, as per our original agreement,’ he interjected with titanium finality.

‘Six months you’ll never forget?’ she echoed with a dry mouth, absolutely refusing to entertain the possible fireworks wrapped in those words. ‘What does that entail, exactly?’ she forced herself to demand.

His casual shrug did nothing to ease her mind. Not when his eyes glinted with Machiavellian shrewdness that made her belly quake. ‘I am your long-lost husband returned from the dead. Who has felt a distinct...lack in his wife’s enthusiasm.’

She expelled a breath shrouded in mild panic and lots of irritation. ‘I’ve told you why.’

‘And I expect you to do better.’

‘You can’t be serious! And if I don’t?’

‘Then you might be left wishing you’d waited seven years and washed your hands of me once and for all. And I might just insist we wait out however long my memory returns to get the full picture of the state of affairs.’

He rose and stared down at her. ‘I suggest you think it through and have an answer ready for me by dinner tonight.’ He turned and started to walk away.

And since some part of her insisted on compounding an already precarious position, she opened her mouth and damned herself some more. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To take care of the blue balls you’ve cursed me with. I suggest you not be here when I come out.’

Her face was flaming red by the time he set the laptop down and stalked off in the direction of the bathroom.

But that embarrassment was nothing compared to the blaze alight in her brain for what she’d just unleashed.

Try as he might, it turned out his hand was no compensation for the thrill of Imogen’s mouth. Satisfaction was hard to come by—pun intended—when his head was reeling with what Imogen had finally disclosed to him.

Imogen.

The wife who was counting the minutes until she would be free of him.

With a thick curse, Zeph wrenched the shower tap from warm to cold, giving up on achieving any release. The voice that mocked him that he should’ve left things alone rose, gloating louder.

Six months.

To the possible end of a marriage he didn’t recall entering into.

To the prospect that if...when she walked away from him, he would be as alone as he had been the night he’d woken up in a strange house on a strange isle, surrounded by strangers.

Six months to get this insane chemical reaction he felt for his wife out of his system. Perhaps he was on his way to full recovery of his memories. Because, if his wife was to be believed and his previous liaisons were short-lived, then the six months he’d stipulated would be more than adequate. And if they were contracted to part then anyway...

Was he really so alarmed at the prospect of being alone that he was pushing for an intimacy that wasn’t there? No. It was there. He’d felt it last night. She’d cared for him of her own free will. And he’d...enjoyed it. He was astute enough to know he had the power to dismantle, if not all, then some of her resistance. What was wrong with letting time and proximity work on the rest?

He had six months. Enough time to will his memories to return. Hell, that incident on the balcony had proved that it was only a matter of time. He’d bought himself time. Maybe even to seduce this reticent wife who believed she could resist the blinding chemistry between them. Either way, he would make progress while taking firmer control of his life.

Taking firmer control of his marriage.

And if he failed?

He gritted his teeth at the disagreeing churning in his gut and pushed the question away.

Turning off the tap, he stepped out of the shower, his mood nowhere near improved.

Rubbing the towel over his wet hair, he lowered his resistance against the probing argument that demanded attention. He might not know how he’d dealt with problems in his pre-amnesia life, but he’d discovered that allowing a problem to saturate his mind until he could dwell on very little else usually tossed up an answer. Like a full tide that had had no other option but to recede to sea once the moon called.

So...was something else at play here?

Was he using sex and forced companionship, this...attachment to cling to something that wasn’t there? The events of the past day should’ve brought a measure of satisfaction. Instead, he felt just as unmoored as he had when he’d opened his eyes in that stranger’s bed in Efemia ten months ago. Hell, in some ways he felt worse.

He’d returned home only to feel homeless.

He’d reunited with his wife only to feel more disconnected and alone than ever.

A billionaire stricken with a peculiar destitution he would’ve feared was soul-deep if he believed in spirituality.

And more than once yesterday, he’d experienced the sinking feeling that, even were his memories to return, he wouldn’t shed these unwanted sensations that easily. That beyond the impressive successes attached to his name, Zephyr Diamandis the man was far from...content.

Of course, he wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

He didn’t need further pointers to know the entirety of his achievements had come from being single-mindedly focused. Perhaps ruthless, too. And one didn’t hang onto such laudable feats by admitting ephemeral nonsense and weaknesses. No.

One did something about it.

And the most obvious place to start was with Imogen.

With gritty determination, he went into his dressing room.

Perhaps he was being presumptuous. But since he didn’t plan on losing...

He would take every second of that six months he’d bargained for himself. And, memory or no memory, perhaps it would be a good opportunity to get to the bottom of who he truly was.

He dressed, for the first time eschewing the shorts and T-shirts he’d grown fond of for a pair of white linen trousers and matching shirt. His bare feet he left alone. He liked feeling the movement of the sea beneath his soles. Liked the connection with his immediate past. Why change that if he didn’t need to?

He ignored the dart of disappointment to see that Imogen had heeded his words and made herself scarce. Because he would’ve liked another tussle with her?

Deciding there was nothing wrong with that way of thinking, he left the stateroom. A crew member waiting in the hallway immediately stepped forward.

‘Good morning, Mr Diamandis. Would you like some breakfast?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any preference as to where you want to take it, sir?’

‘Where does my wife take hers?’

‘The smaller dining room on Deck Four,’ he replied.

‘Then I’ll dine there with her.’

‘Very good, sir.’

When he continued to linger, Zeph exhaled. ‘It’s fine. You can go. I’ll find my way there.’

The young lad sent him a small searching look before nodding, then hurried off.

Alone, Zeph lingered, closing his eyes and attempting to see if the muscle memory from last night would kick in again. After a full minute of nothing happening, he gritted his teeth and opened his eyes.

But as he climbed the stairs to the deck, something rushed to the forefront of his mind, something that had struck him when he’d risen this morning and then been buried under the sensual deluge of tangling with his wife.

For the first time since he’d lost his memory, he hadn’t had that nightmare.

He hadn’t woken up covered in sweat and with a devastating sense of loss. Hadn’t felt a deeper question mark branded into his skin about that particular area of his past.

And it was because of Imogen.

Climbing onto the deck and striding to the small dining area where his wife sat, Zeph reaffirmed to himself that he’d made the right decision.

Ne, keeping Imogen around was the key to regaining his memories. And he wasn’t going to let that opportunity slip through his fingers.