Page 11 of Slightly Married (Irresistible #2)

I examined the contents of industrial refrigerator, searching for something specific yet unidentified. My body craved comfort after a week of international negotiations.

There it was—nestled between imported cheeses and fresh produce: a substantial earthenware dish of galaktoboureko.

The semolina custard encased in phyllo reminded me of childhood summers when problems could be solved by my mother’s cooking.

My mouth watered involuntarily at the scent of vanilla and citrus.

“The prodigal son returns.” My mother’s voice carried across the kitchen as she entered, setting down her leather-bound recipe journal.

Despite our staff of professional chefs, she insisted on preparing family meals herself whenever the mood struck, often spending evenings planning the next day’s menu.

I crossed over to her, placing a kiss on her cheek, which she returned before pulling me into a proper embrace. “How is your leg? Has the summer warmth improved your discomfort?”

“The pain is manageable,” I replied, straightening my posture. “Two hours of physical training daily and regular therapeutic massage have been effective.”

“I light a candle for your complete recovery every Sunday,” she said, efficiently retrieving the pastry dish from my hands.

She cut a generous portion and placed it before me. I selected a fork from the drawer and sampled the dessert, allowing myself a moment to appreciate it.

“What brings you by?” she asked, her casual tone belied by the directness of her gaze.

“I missed you.”

She made a dismissive sound. “Perhaps. But a man with a new wife should be spending his evenings with her, not his mother.” Her head tilted with the same expression preceding countless lectures throughout my youth.

“What exactly are you doing with your life, Konstantinos?” She gestured toward my suites where Kayla was probably sleeping. “You’ve installed your wife here like a piece of furniture while you reside with your mistress?”

“Stella remains my fiancée,” I stated firmly. “Our engagement predates my arrangement with Kayla. Once our contractual obligations are fulfilled, I will honor my commitment to Stella.”

“But at the moment you have a wife. And arranged or not, marriage is a holy union that demands respect.”

“I’ve ensured her financial security and personal comfort—”

“Pshhhh.” Her dismissive gesture cut through my explanation. “It would serve you right if she sought companionship elsewhere.”

I was formulating a response when my phone vibrated against the counter. I glanced at the screen and saw Kayla’s name above a simple sentence.

Got my period.

Something deflated within me, and I pushed the dessert away. “I’ll go to her,” I informed my mother, though what I would say when I arrived remained a mystery.

Words of comfort had never come easily to me. Business problems had solutions; financial setbacks had strategies.

How did one address a disappointment of this nature? What phrases could properly acknowledge her feelings without sounding dismissive?

“Good,” she replied with that knowing look. “You can’t make a baby if you never see her.”

Without responding to her pointed comment, I cut another portion of galaktoboureko, selected a clean fork, and carried both through the villa’s corridors. At Kayla’s door, I hesitated, then knocked and entered when she invited me in.

She was curled up in bed with her knees drawn to her chest. Her expression shifted to surprise when she saw me. “I thought you were Tia. What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood when I got your message,” I replied.

My gaze swept the room, and I was taken aback by the transformation. The dark-wood furnishings had completely vanished. In its place stood an entirely different space.

A plush shell-shaped headboard in dusty rose velvet now dominated the room, set against an illuminated arch, creating a soft halo effect.

Above, a modern chandelier with cascading white disks scattered light across the space.

The curved bench at the foot of the bed and minimalist white nightstands completed the contemporary esthetic.

“You’ve... made changes,” I observed, taking in the elegant gold accents and subtle blush tones.

Kayla nodded, running her hand along the textured throw blanket. “I had it redone to replicate my bedroom back in New York. I needed something familiar while I was here. The contractors were surprisingly efficient. Dimitrios helped me find them.”

“It’s very—” I searched for the right word, “you.”

“Is that a compliment or criticism?” Kayla asked.

“An observation,” I replied, noting how the room’s warm tones reflected aspects of her personality. Bold yet inviting, distinctive without being ostentatious. “I appreciate that you’ve made yourself at home.”

“Well, if I’m going to be here for a while, I might as well have a space that feels like mine,” she said, adjusting one of the decorative pillows. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep another night in that medieval four-poster with the heavy curtains. It was like sleeping in a museum.”

Her braids were tucked beneath a bright pink head covering. “Are you cold?” I asked, gesturing toward her head while moving to secure the verandah door against the evening breeze.

Her laughter stopped me. “This is a silk bonnet,” she explained, patting the covering. “Black women use it to protect their hair while they sleep.” She pointed at the pillow. “I could sleep without a bonnet on these pillowcases since they’re silk, but the bonnet keeps my hair neat and smooth.”

“Ah,” I acknowledged, filing away this new information.

Her gaze dropped to the plate in my hands. “What’s that?”

I extended it toward her. “Galaktoboureko.” After a beat, I added, “I didn’t bake it, but I sliced it and brought it for you.”

I wanted to tell her that I understood her disappointment, that I shared it, that we would succeed eventually, but I wasn’t sure they were the right words.

She caught the joke, her smile reaching her eyes as she slipped out of bed. I focused on maintaining eye contact rather than letting my gaze linger on her thigh-length silk nightgown. She motioned toward the sitting area, and I followed.

She took a generous bite of the dessert, her appreciation evident in the soft sound that escaped her. The innocent reaction stirred my cock.

“Good?” I asked.

“Kill me now,” she groaned, “so I can die happy.” She took another bite, then surprised me by offering, “Wanna share?”

“It’s yours,” I said, though without conviction.

She held out a forkful, and I accepted, the intimacy of sharing a fork not lost on me. We continued this exchange in comfortable silence until the plate was nearly empty.

“What if I can’t get pregnant?” she asked quietly.

I straightened, unwilling to entertain the possibility. “It’s only our second attempt,” I reminded her. “We need to remain patient.”

“My ex-husband had had a vasectomy, and I never became pregnant, but his mistress did.”

“It would serve him right if the child wasn’t his,” I responded, unable to suppress my contempt for a man who betrayed her.

“He did a prenatal paternity test. He’s the father.” She set down the fork, shoulders dropping. “I don’t know if I can go through another procedure in two weeks. I need a break.”

The image of Thalassía flashed through my mind—my father’s prized possession, my family’s legacy. Yet, looking at Kayla’s expression, the decision was surprisingly simple. “We can skip this month and the next if you like.”

“What about your planned wedding to Stella?” she asked. “The island—”

“Will have to wait,” I said with finality. “What’s another few months for perfection?”

“Perfection, huh? That’s a lot of pressure to put on a wedding day. Though I suppose when you’ve been waiting for months already, what’s a few more months of planning the perfect Greek island celebration with your fiancée?”

“I wasn’t referring to the wedding. I meant our child.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said softly. She looked down, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her silk nightgown before meeting my gaze again.

“Our child,” she repeated, her voice carrying a mixture of surprise and awe. “I didn’t realize...” She paused, a hint of a smile touching her lips. “That’s... actually really sweet, Konstantin. I didn’t realize you thought of our baby that way.”

“Any child of mine deserves the best possible start. That includes allowing their mother to remain stress-free as it can affect fertility outcomes.”

She nodded, adjusting the edge of her silk bonnet where it framed her face. The simple gesture drew my attention to the elegant line of her jaw and the warm brown of her skin.

Our eyes met, and something shifted in the atmosphere between us.

“I should probably brush my teeth and get back to bed,” she said, but made no immediate move to rise.

I studied the contours of her face, the smooth skin I’d never touched, the full lips I never kissed. My body remained perfectly still, yet the invisible barrier between us had begun to dissolve.

“It’s getting late,” I agreed, yet remained seated.

She moistened her lips. “Thank you for the dessert and for understanding about... everything.”

The air between us seemed to thicken with unspoken possibilities. One of us would need to break this suspended moment. To either retreat to safer territory or advance into uncharted waters.

“Kayla...” Her name escaped before I could consider what might follow it.

What was I going to say? That despite our arrangement, I found myself increasingly drawn to her? That the nature of our marriage was becoming complicated by very unbusinesslike feelings?

The silence stretched between us, filled with tension that had been building since our first meeting. Just as she rose, a black blur streaked through the partially open verandah door.

She shrieked and leaped into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my shoulder. My hands instinctively found her waist to steady her, the warmth of her body immediately apparent through the thin silk.

“It’s only Zeus,” I told her, my voice low near her ear.

She lifted her head slowly, and I watched relief wash over her features. Santo’s Irish Wolfhound stood before us, tail wagging with complete innocence.

We both laughed at our overreaction, but the laughter faded as awareness bloomed between us. Her body was pressed against mine, our faces mere inches apart, her silk gown riding up her thighs. Each breath brought her vanilla rose scent deeper into my lungs, clouding my judgment with its sweetness.

She looked into my eyes before leaning forward and brushing her lips against mine. The tentative touch roused me.

I drew her closer, deepening the kiss with unwavering purpose. The kiss quickly intensified and then subsided, only to surge forward again with renewed force.

Guilt flared briefly as Stella’s face flashed in my mind, but was quickly consumed by the fire Kayla had kindled. For a man who prided himself on honor and commitment, this surrender to desire felt like betrayal.

And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to stop. I was caught between two competing obligations. My promise to Stella and my growing feelings for the woman who was, in the eyes of God and law, my wife.

Kayla’s body moved against me, the undulation of her hips creating an exquisite torture. I grew harder beneath her, my body responding with embarrassing eagerness to her every movement.

My hands explored the softness of skin I’d only admired from afar. I was drawn into a fire, and I had no intention of escaping it. The passion between us built into something impossible to retreat from.

I removed the bonnet from her head, releasing her braids to cascade around her shoulders. I wrapped my fingers through them, using the gentle pressure to bring her even closer.

Kayla let out a soft grunt but didn’t resist as I pushed down the straps of her gown, cupping her breast and teasing her nipple. Despite my desire to taste her skin, I couldn’t break away from the kiss. It was unlike anything I’d experienced before.

She shifted, straddling me, continuing to move against me. I was at her mercy, and I didn’t mind one bit.

Finally, she broke the kiss, pushing her lovely breasts towards me. I drew a nipple between my lips, savoring the salt of her skin, the way she shuddered when I used my teeth.

Her taste was intoxicating. She moaned, fingers tangled in my hair, keeping me anchored against her heart.

“Michaila.” My voice emerged unrecognizable, stripped raw with need, my control hanging by a thread.

“If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to.

” I gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks.

“Period or not, I’ll fuck you in this chair, then against the wall, and on your bed until neither of us remembers where you end and I begin. ”

Her body stiffened. She pulled away, avoiding my gaze as she fixed her gown. “I’ll go to bed now,” she murmured, gnawing on her lower lip.

With considerable effort, I stood as well, painfully conscious of my body’s state of arousal. I raked my hand through my hair and took several steps backward.

What kind of man was I becoming? I had given Stella my word, had promised to honor our engagement once this arrangement with Kayla concluded. My word had always been my bond, unbreakable.

But standing here, watching Kayla’s lips still flushed from my kiss, I faced an uncomfortable truth.

I wasn’t certain I could keep my promise. The foundation of my identity was fracturing under the weight of these unexpected feelings.

“I’ll be out of the country for a few days,” I said, fighting to regain my composure. “Call me if you need anything.”

Distance was necessary. I needed to remember my obligations to regain a steady footing.

Stella had saved my life and put up with my changing moods for months after. She deserved my loyalty.

And yet, each step away from Kayla required more self-control than the last.