Captured and Crowned (10 page)

His mouth went dry, for though the bedsheet covered her, the image of her womanly curves was branded on his memory. His goddess in the flesh.

Before he could stretch out beside her and fully explore that possibility his mobile rang. He muttered a curse as he grabbed the object of intrusion off the bedside table.

The call he'd been expecting was right to the point. The council and the lawyers would meet with him in one hour in the Royal Statehouse.

He rolled from the bed and threw on his clothes, painfully aware of how delicate this situation was. He wanted it taken care of now, for the sooner they quelled this vicious gossip the better Gregor would be able to cope with it when it reached him—if it hadn't already!

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“The council is convening in an hour.”

She rolled off the other side of the bed and gathered the sheet in her wake. The sight of her took his breath away, for she was the image of a Grecian goddess. Pure. Untouchable. The object of all men's desires.

He glanced at his Cartier watch and grimaced. “I must leave now.”

“Fine. I'll deal with my sister—”

“I have taken care of that problem.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What? How?”

“She is your father's responsibility,” he said, and she stiffened as if he'd slapped her. “Finish your gown,
glyka mou
. Stay in the palace—for the people could raise an uproar when the scandal breaks.”

“How touching that you are concerned about me,” she said.

He set his teeth. She continued to bait him on this. “It is my duty to safeguard you and the heir that you may be carrying.”

The color drained from her face. It was clear she hadn't considered that possibility.

But he certainly had after he'd made love with her spontaneously without protection. After he'd realized he was her first lover. When he'd made love to her again and again with the hope of planting his seed in her.

She was his—now and forever.

Hopefully the State Council and the lawyers would reach a swift decision today. He looked forward to returning to her. To making love with her.

He rounded the bed and strode toward her. To his surprise she held her ground. “When I return from this meeting we will face the people together,
agapi mou
.”

“Will you stop calling me that?” she said, her voice breaking on a quiver. “I'm not your darling.”

He stroked a finger along her jaw, smiling when a telltale moan escaped her softly parted lips. “Perhaps you are.”

She stared at him, her breath coming too fast. Once again he was reminded that she wasn't experienced, as he'd assumed.

In that he'd judged her wrongly, but then when they'd first met she'd behaved shamelessly. Her passion had been open. Free. Just as it had been this morning.

“As I told you before, we can make ourselves miserable in this marriage or comfortable. But, no matter what, in public we will always appear happy. Understood?”

She gave a stiff nod. “As you wish,
Your Majesty
.”

He dropped his hand from the smooth curve of her jaw, his own hardening. She held such resentment over the simplest rules and orders. Perhaps when she was with child she'd mellow. Perhaps then she'd realize the magnitude of her duty.

“Rest while you can, Demetria.”

For when they'd found a way to extinguish the heat of this scandal he intended to light a fire in her. They'd burn in the throes of passion together.

 

Demetria watched Kristo cross to the bedroom door, his stride assured and fluid. But through his thin shirt she saw the slabs of muscles in his back bunch and ripple with tension.

He wasn't as confident as he pretended to be.

Though he'd taken it upon himself to place demands on her father, this meeting with the council was an entirely different thing. She knew it, and she was worried about how it would turn out, how he would cope with whatever decision was agreed upon.

He was such a conflicted man!

When they'd made love, he had still been the same Kristo she'd met on the beach. Tall, strong and wildly protective of his domain.

Few people understood the significance of his work. Fewer still understood him.

She'd found his inner passion, and though she'd thought it would be trivial his quest touched her deeply.

Yet that didn't solve the greater issue that would always keep them apart. Her betrayal of his brother. His dying brother.

She wished that fate hadn't so cruelly brought them together
like this. That they could have begun as friends instead of adversaries. That they were just two people without duty or a sordid past to tie them together.

“Please let me know what is happening,” she said. “Don't keep me in the dark.”

He stopped, back straight, one hand gripping the door. “Very well.”

And then he was gone, his footsteps fading as he crossed the apartment. The door opened and closed with a decisive click.

She stood draped in a bedsheet and felt the ache of loneliness. Of rejection. Of confusion.

She'd thought the worst of him for so long. She'd believed that he was as shiftless and irresponsible as the tabloids painted him to be.

But that wasn't so. He was honorable. Proud.

He cared deeply for Angyra.

If only he cared for her as well.

M
ORNING
came and went, with Vasos delivering a tray of
bougatsa
and steaming
elliniko café
. But, though she savored every drop of the thick Greek coffee, she took no more than a few bites of the scrumptious pastry oozing with rich cream cheese.

Her thoughts had ping-ponged between the scandal that her sister had stirred and erotic images of Kristo taking her in his arms and making slow sweet love to her.

For the first time she understood how he felt toward her, for he was tormented over betraying his sibling while she was the one feeling the sting of that very same thing from her sister. It was a cruel blow to have family deceive you.

And it was equally torturous waiting for word.

She had no idea how the royal lawyers and the council would view this ordeal. Would they deem Kristo unfit? Because her sister could not be circumspect, would they rescind her betrothal contract?

She went still at that possibility. If the council blamed her for this indiscretion, Kristo could set her free.

She could return to Athens, humiliated yet free. She could take part in the upcoming show. She could follow her dream to be a designer and have her heart's desire yet.

Except her heart's desire no longer held the same allure.

But Kristo did.

And what did that say about her? That she was a slave to passion? It was an admission that came hard, but it was her only excuse.

She certainly shouldn't love him. He was far too complicated. Far too arrogant.

No, she would marry for duty, just as she'd promised long ago.

If the council decided the wedding should proceed, the dress would be her swan song in the fashion world. A creation of hers that would be copied. Envied. That would leave no doubt that she could have been a driving force in haute couture.

If the wedding went through.

She bit her lower lip and wandered aimlessly around her apartment. Her future was up to the council and the royal lawyers. Along with Kristo, they'd decide whether to go on with the wedding. With her.

She couldn't imagine them turning on Kristo. He was their King. Even though he'd erred as well, it was as he'd said.

She'd betrayed the Crown Prince. She'd turned a blind eye to her betrothal vows.

No, they'd not turn their backs on royal blood. But she was a different matter entirely. She was simply the chosen bride for a King. The woman who might be carrying the royal heir now—and wouldn't that be ironic if she was banned from the kingdom?

She crossed to the wedding gown. Ivory silk draped over the form in the beginnings of her creation.

This was her dream gown, the one that was uniquely her.

But this wasn't her dream wedding.

Before her betrothal she'd imagined meeting one special man. Falling in love. Of wearing this gown on her wedding day and seeing appreciation and desire flare in her groom's eyes.

But she wouldn't have had that with Gregor. And all she'd ever have with Kristo was red-hot passion.

The wedding gown that would be her signature creation would symbolize a loveless marriage for the rest of her days. Bound to the one man who made her thrill to his touch, who made her want him even when she was furious with him!

She moved to the window and stared out at the water glittering like diamonds. What was taking the council so long to decide?

Demetria pressed her hands to her head and let out a frustrated groan. If she didn't busy herself she'd surely lose her mind just waiting. She turned back to the dress form and the temptation of finishing this gorgeous gown.

Soon she lost herself in work, and didn't stop until Vasos returned midday with a tray bearing lunch. “Do you require anything else?”

“No. But have you heard from the King?”

Vasos shook his head. “He is still in session with the council and the royal lawyers.”

That didn't bode well for her or Kristo.

“If you don't need anything…?”

“I'm fine.” Which was a lie. She was a bundle of nerves.

With a slight bow, he left the room.

She threw herself back into work. Whether she was deemed worthy to be the Queen or not, she had to complete the gown.

She was creating a masterpiece with every tuck, every ruching of silk, every cut, that would make the royal bride stand out from all other nobility.

She would be a vision to behold, the envy of all women. Nobody would know the angst roiling within her. How each stitch she'd made was bittersweet, for this gown should have symbolized her love for her husband.

By the time dusk fell her back ached and her fingertips
were sore. But, except for adding embellishments, the royal wedding gown was finished.

She stretched her arms overhead and moaned, her body protesting at the long hours of work on the heels of the passionate interlude she'd shared with Kristo.
Kristo.
Eight hours had passed and still no word from him.

She walked to the chaise and curled up, her mind plagued with worry while her body simply craved a moment's rest. This was by far the most tedious day of her life. How much longer would she have to wait before she knew her fate?

 

Kristo slipped into Demetria's suite just as night fully settled over Angyra. She'd been in his thoughts all day, but the need to see her had intensified the second the gruelling meeting with the council ended.

Now the fire of anger from that confrontation was doused as he stared down at Demetria's sleeping form. Her feet were bare, the toenails painted a shocking pink.

A gold chain encircled one slender ankle, and a small gold heart rested against skin that would be warm and smooth to his questing hands and mouth.

The delicate ankle bracelet wasn't an expensive piece of jewelry, yet on her it looked elegant. Classy.

His gaze lifted to the gown artfully arranged on the dress form. The design was simple, and as yet lacked the beading she'd depicted in her sketch. But the classic shape and clean lines screamed sophistication.

He could only imagine the breathtaking image she'd present, with the priceless crown jewels set in rare Rhoda gold lying against her light olive skin. How the large pearl pendant would rest between her full breasts, complementing the luminescent quality of the ivory silk.

She would be absolutely stunning in her wedding attire.
And positively breathtaking wearing nothing but the jewels on her wedding night.

A rueful smile tugged at his mouth. He readily admitted the desire she stoked in him, but he was loath to own up to those other sensations that were too new to examine closely. That he simply couldn't trust yet.

He stared down at the woman who would soon be his Queen. His wife. The mother of his children.

She looked small and vulnerable, yet sexy in a very earthy way. And exhausted.

He tipped his head back and heaved a sigh. He'd come straight here to break the news to her, but he hated to disturb her sleep now. When her father made good his threat she'd have enough sleepless nights ahead of her.

He turned to leave, though he ached to gather her close, to kiss her, thrust into her and narrow their world to just them. Just now.

“Kristo?”

Her voice reached out to him on a velvet echo, stroking his senses like a caress, pulling him back to her and the longings he couldn't deny.

He wanted to strip her bare and take her right here and now, on the narrow chaise that was ill-suited for all the desire pent up inside him. He was desperate to ease this longing that throbbed hot and heavy within him.

“I'm sorry I woke you,” he said, still thinking to be noble, to walk out and leave her to her dreams if just for a few more hours.

“Don't be. How was the meeting with the council?”

“Hellish.” He turned to face her, seeing no reason to delay telling her now.

She sat up, and one strap of her fuchsia tank top slid down her arm. The neckline drooped to reveal the smooth upper globes of breasts that were full and firm.

He ached to reach out and tug her top down a bit more to expose her bosom. To glide his fingers over every inch of her silken skin, then let his mouth follow the same path.

“Kristo, you're scaring me,” she said. “What was decided?”

That he'd acted irresponsibly. That he was as much to blame as her, for if he'd been in attendance the preceding years when she'd visited, as had been expected of him, then he and Demetria would have known each other.

This dishonor would have been avoided.

“As we feared, every tabloid and gossip magazine has made us front-page news.” He grimaced, for he'd had the displeasure of reading every one, all of which basically recounted the same story with a collage of snapshots of Gregor, Demetria and Kristo.

Most were superimposed. But the average person wouldn't know that.

“Gregor will have heard, then,” she said. “This is awful!”

He nodded, certain that his elder brother
had
seen and felt the slap of betrayal by now. That both brothers had lost respect for him when news had reached them.

But neither Mikhael nor Gregor had rung him, and he'd been too busy haggling over the best course of action to surmount this scandal to ring them. Once they'd decided what to do, the royal lawyers had thought it prudent that they contact Gregor and advise him how to handle the reporters that were sure to haunt him.

The confrontation with his brothers would come later, and he didn't look forward to their censure at all. Because of his past exploits, it was the council's worry that the people would see this as a battle of siblings over the title and a woman.

A Greek tragedy come to life.

But while the people might view this as a love triangle, he
refused to feed that lie to save face. His pride would not let him pretend something that wasn't, no matter that it would be the easier road to take.

“The council, the royal lawyers and I have agreed that the best way to handle this situation is to issue a public statement. Once you and I publicly deem this matter as petty lies, we will personally tour Angyra and speak with the people directly. That is the swiftest way to regain their support.”

“When do we make this announcement?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “I trust you will wear something demure.”

Her cheeks turned crimson. “Of course.”

This time brittle silence stretched between them. He sighed, aware he was handling this badly.

He should leave. Seek his room. But all he longed for was the comfort of her embrace.

Since he'd left her bed yesterday her exotic scent had tormented him to the point where he'd caught himself thinking of her during the meeting.

She'd been a virgin.

She certainly wasn't the harlot the tabloids painted her to be. But these weren't feudal times. He couldn't wave a sheet from the palace window to prove her innocence.

Yet he wanted to stand up for her, even though he was angry that she'd let him seduce her. His anger failed to hold its sting for long, for the thought of her lying in his arms, of him sinking into her, of knowing no man had ever touched her, kept replaying in his mind.

No woman had ever commanded so much of his thoughts. No woman had ever left him feeling so conflicted. No woman had ever sated his needs like she had.

He held no illusions that would ever change. He was only sure of one thing.

“I want you, Demetria. I need you now.”

Her soft lips parted, and undeniable passion blazed in her eyes. “I want you as well.”

“Come.”

He extended his hand to her, his eyes on hers, his heart beating so frantically he was sure she could hear it. Her throat worked as she laid her hand in his much larger one.

That contact of skin on skin sent an electric current through him that staggered him. He tugged her to him and groaned his pleasure as she molded against him.

“I have waited all day for this moment,” he said.

“Me too.”

That admission tugged a smile from him.

He led her into her bedroom, noting the covers were smooth. The thought of her dark luscious hair spread over rumpled sheets doubled the heavy ache in his groin.

His mouth swooped down on hers, demanding and possessive, silencing any protest she might make. She hesitated, frozen for a guarded second like a statue captured for all time. Then, with a sweet moan that sang through his veins, she scraped her fingers through his hair and held his head tight, kissing him with the same demanding need.

He'd known Demetria was capable of deep passion, but he'd not expected she'd exhibit such primal lust. This was the earthy sex he'd expect of a mistress, not the woman he was to marry.

With a savage growl, he slid his thumbs under the thin straps of her top and shrugged them off her shoulders. Still it wasn't enough, for he wanted her naked. Wanted her under him now, begging for his possession.

He pulled from her on an oath, and tugged the cotton from her. For the longest moment he just stared at her, awed by the perfectly shaped breasts and rose-tipped nipples that were hard and begging for his touch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his palms sliding over her firm
pert breasts, and he had the satisfaction of feeling her arch into his hands on a purr that shot a bolt of longing to his sex.

His thumbs scraped over the hardened tips again and again.

The hands clutching his head dropped to his shoulders, the nails digging into his flesh. Her eyes went black.

“It is always this intense for you?” she asked.

He shook his head for, like her, he was tumbling fast into the morass of passion.

“Only with you,” he said.

She swayed into him, head lifted and mouth seeking his.

He met her halfway in a kiss that robbed them both of breath, that left no doubt that in this they were well matched, that here there was no arguing, no battle of wills.

He'd never been one to mutter love words with a woman, but with Demetria he felt compelled to openly adore her. It was those little gasps and moans that she made that proved she held back nothing either.