Captured and Crowned (11 page)

This time he was determined to savor their joining. His hands swept down the graceful arch of her spine to cup the firm globes of her bottom. She strained against him on a moan, and stroked his already engorged shaft against her belly.

“No more waiting,” he said.

“No more,” she repeated, between kisses that enflamed him more, that matched the need exploding in him.

He couldn't imagine ever tiring of her kisses, her touch.

Her body quaked. And his did as well, for his control was about to explode.

“You're overdressed,” she said as she proceeded to undo the buttons on his shirt.

As hot as he was, it was amazing his clothes hadn't burst into flames. He suffered her ministrations for a minute. Then two.

“For a designer, you are ill-suited at removing clothes.”

He pulled back enough to grab his shirt and rip it off. Still it seemed to take an eternity for him to shrug off his trousers and shorts.

Chest heaving, he lifted his gaze to hers. Dawn speared through the bank of windows, gilding the room and the shapely curves of her naked body.

No statue in all of Greece could compare to her beauty. None could rival her allure.

She was a goddess to be worshipped. And she was his.

His palms memorized the delicate line of her jaw before he trailed his fingers down her neck, marveling at the silken texture of her skin, the telling rush of color that bloomed in his wake. Though she made no move, the rapid rise and fall of her chest confirmed his effect on her.

“I have dreamed of doing this again,” he said, then bent to suckle one pert breast deeply, before doing the same to the other, leaving the buds wet and pebble-hard.

She moaned and arched against him. “I have too.”

“And this?” he asked, dropping to his knees as he pressed openmouthed kisses over the flat planes of her midriff and belly, certain he'd never seen skin this firm and yet so soft.

“Yes,” she whispered, her nails digging into his back. “Yes.”

The womanly scent of her arousal fired his blood, and he fought for control that he'd always taken for granted. His thumbs parted the thatch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs to bare her sweet essence to him. She trembled, gripping his shoulders harder, thrusting her sex closer to him.

He needed no urging. His hands gripped her hips to steady her and he bent to kiss her intimately, deeply.

A sound burst from her, part startled gasp, part sensual moan. It filled him with male satisfaction and left him feeling triumphant.

His tongue showed no mercy, flicking over her womanly folds, thrusting deep into her core that was hot and slick with her own desire. The tight ache in his groin intensified to the point where he broke out in a sheen of sweat.

He'd never felt this way about a woman before. She made him feel young. Desired. Masterful. With her, the feelings swelling within him were all magnified. Larger than life. Much more than he could grasp right now.

Still he pleasured her ruthlessly, stroking the swollen bud until her body trembled. Her legs buckled, her fingers clawing at him now in either desperation or supplication.

But he didn't stop laving the tender flesh, suckling deeply, knowing she was about to shatter in his arms.

That he could give her this much pleasure intensified his own. This went far beyond being a generous lover.

The emotions building inside him were volcanic, unlike any he'd felt before. Being intimate with her felt right.

He didn't want to rush this joining. He wanted to savor every kiss, every caress.

The pain of his need was almost unbearable for him, yet he suffered the wait until she found sweet release. Until she dug her fingers into his shoulders and climaxed.

She came swift and hard, in a tremor that shook her from head to toe. Shaking him in the process.

Her cry echoed in the room in a song that he'd enjoy waking to every morning and falling asleep to every night. At least in this they were compatible. A man in his position couldn't ask for more.

But deep down a voice mocked him, for he'd vowed not to follow in his parents' footsteps.

No choice, he thought. No choice but to forestall a disaster to his country. No other choice that he wanted to consider.

He lifted his head, reality threatening to dim his pleasure.
But that too drifted away on the breeze as she crumbled into his arms, sweet mouth curved in a smile and eyes languorous.

“My God, I never knew it could be like this between a man and a woman.” She smiled on a sigh of pleasure that slid over his skin like a heated caress, leaving him trembling with renewed need.

“This is just the beginning,
agapi mou
,” he said as he stretched out beside her.

The honeyed taste of her passion lingered on his tongue, an aphrodisiac that sent his senses reeling. Thoughts of duty and revenge foamed like the surf before washing back out to sea.

She was the woman he wanted as his lover. Now and forever.

“You are such a sensuous creature.” He grazed a knuckle along her jaw and down the slope of her neck, smiling as her skin pebbled and flushed at this touch.

“You make me sensuous,” she said, on a purr that hummed through his veins.

Her words stroked his male ego, but the simple truth that she wasn't experienced thawed the cold that had been buried deep inside him.

He should have realized it that day on the beach. Her hesitation. How she'd followed his lead instead of taking the initiative. How her big innocent eyes had stared up at him in wonder.

Yet he'd turned a blind eye to the obvious. He'd relegated her to the role of a schemer. An unfaithful flirt who'd make his brother's life hell.

He'd been so wrong. He'd wronged her.

“There is so much more to be enjoyed,” he said.

A smile of pure pleasure teased her sensual mouth. She pressed a hand over his heart, the small fingers splayed over his skin to set him on fire.

“Show me,” she said.

“With pleasure.”

Her hands slid over the slope of her pert breasts and he marveled that he couldn't see the sparks that surely crackled in the air from the erotic contact. A nudge of his knees parted her legs without hesitation, yet there was a tenderness to her actions that he'd never experienced before.

It hinted he should take his time to dazzle her with his finesse. He longed to explore every inch of her body, to leave no doubt that she was his. To make love with her all night instead of for a few stolen hours.

His mouth claimed hers in a torrid melding of lips and the parry of tongues. The moist tip of his erection parted her slick swollen folds, the throb reverberating through him in hot urgent pulses that were nearly his undoing.

The needy sounds coming from her left no doubt she was tired of the wait too.

In one powerful surge he sank fully into her, only to pull out just as swiftly. She mewled a protest and arched against him, silken legs wrapped around his waist to pull him back inside her.

He tore his mouth from hers and obliged on a guttural groan. The strain of holding a rein on his raging desire was almost too great for him.

“Please,” she whispered, small hands clawing at his arms, his back, before digging into the firm globes of his buttocks.

He needed no other urging.

His hands bracketed her face as he surged into her quivering sheath once more. Her lips parted and her eyelids flickered with the power of her passion.

Again and again their bodies strained in fiery rhythm. He stared into her rapturous eyes, thinking he'd never held anything more precious in his arms.

At that moment he knew she was more priceless to him than all the gold on Angyra. He'd never made love like this before.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Right now he needed to be strong. To think with his head, not his manhood.

With a savage curse, he set a ruthless pace. But even then she moved with him in primal harmony, until he blessedly couldn't think of anything anymore except clutching her close to his heart and finding his own release.

Her back bowed as she reached for nirvana again, his name bursting from her.

He held her tight, his head pounding with the strain of holding back, of letting her savor every second of spent passion.

She collapsed on the bed, the strong muscles of her inner thighs relaxing their hold on his flanks, her hands loosing their tight hold on him.

Only then did he seek his release. His head reared, teeth clenched at the force exploding within him. His blood thundered in his ears, his last coherent thought one of awe at the pleasure flooding him.

He collapsed on her, the valley between her bosom pillowing his head that was too heavy for him to lift. He'd never been this spent.

Or this pleased.

The beginning of a smile twitched at his lips. If only they could hold the world and all the troubles facing them at bay.

D
EMETRIA
didn't know when Kristo had left her bed, but he returned to her apartment before nine. She had roused earlier, near starving, to find the air filled with the most enticing aromas from the kitchen. A huge dinner must be in order today.

Perhaps this time she would be able to eat.

Or perhaps not.

She didn't look forward to this display today. But she was ready, having chosen a simple silk blouse and a skirt that was classically elegant and not the least bit provocative.

“You look stunning,” he said, and bent to kiss her.

“And you are quite handsome.” Gorgeous, actually.

He'd have made a sought-after model with his classic good looks and beautifully sculpted body.

Only she noted the deeper lines fanning from his eyes. The tension that kept his shoulders racked tight.

The tolling of bells brought a grim smile from him. “Come. It is time for the announcement.”

She was a jumble of nerves by the time they reached the front balcony of the palace—more so because the servants they'd passed had avoided making eye contact with her. It was if they were shunning her. That fear only heaped more guilt on her.

They hate me.

A crowd had gathered below on the street, its silence needling her nerves even more. If Kristo hadn't had such a tight grip on her hand she'd have been tempted to flee back to her room.

He pulled her along with him to the railing. Cameras were raised in the near distance and she forced a smile, knowing she must appear calm when her insides were in knots.

“At present, Demetria Andreou, Prince Gregor and I are the targets of malicious gossip,” he said as the paparazzi snapped pictures of them as a couple. “We come to you today to inform you that it is all lies and half-truths. We ask that you remember that my brother is ill, and that by allowing this gossip to flourish we hurt him.”

Demi held her breath as murmurs rippled through the crowd, but nobody spouted the questions or curses she'd dreaded to hear. Nobody said anything that could be overheard.

That silence was damning.

Oh, God, the effect her sister's meddling had had on Angyra must be far worse than they'd anticipated.

“And I also ask that you join us as we walk to the cemetery to honor my father on the fortieth day after his death,” he said, shocking her with that suggestion.

This time the murmurs became a low rumble. But Kristo didn't tarry on the balcony to hear.
“Náste Kalá!”
And with that farewell he turned and led her back into the palace.

“Are you crazy?” she asked as she kept pace beside him.

“Probably, but the people need to see us holding to tradition,” he said. “We must show honor to my father now, and invite them as witnesses.”

She could only imagine the headache this would cause Vasos and his team of bodyguards. “I wish you would have warned me.”

He shrugged. “I told you that we'd be out among the people.”

“Yes, but I never dreamed you'd suggest we all walk to the cemetery!”

“It's an old tradition, and it will allow the staff to prepare the area before the palace for the feast.”

“Feast?” she said, nearly choking on the word.

He flicked her a rare smile, looking very assured. Very much in control. “Once we have paid our respects at the cemetery I've invited the people to join us for a celebration on the front lawn.”

Surely it was unheard-of for a King to go to such lengths? Dangerous lengths. But then it was clear that Kristo was a risk-taker.

That would explain all the enticing aromas she'd smelled this morning. “Did the council suggest all this?”

“They stressed that we should become approachable to the people. The idea was mine.”

His hand tightened on hers, their fingers entwining. It was a fine show of solidarity. Affection for the people to observe. Except they were still in the palace.

Her gaze flew to his, questioning. The quick squeeze on her fingers was solely for her benefit. A silent encouragement from him to her.

Trust me
, the gesture hinted.

She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to trust him. But it was still too soon.

He paused at the door to accept a huge bouquet of fresh flowers. Then they left the palace by the open-air corridor, but the perfume from the bougainvillea and jasmine that she'd thought pleasant upon arriving seemed cloying to her now.

Vasos and his men formed a cordon to keep the people at bay. Still they seemed so close she could read the doubt in their eyes, the speculation, the anger.

Kristo gave no indication he'd noticed, but she was sure he had. Very little ever got by him.

So they moved like an army toward the church and adjoining cemetery. The King with his head held high and his features carefully masked of emotion. She quite literally quaking, with a horrendous case of nerves and guilt.

Talk was absent, which was a blessing—for she wouldn't have been able to speak coherently. The people pressed around them, but the only sounds were the pounding of feet on the cobblestones and the drumming of her heart.

More people crowded around a cemetery that couldn't possibly hold a fourth of them. So they clustered by the walls and watched.

Kristo stopped beside an ornate tombstone, and Demetria tried her best not to lean into his strength. But when he dropped to a knee before the grave of his father and laid the bouquet on the ground a hush of respect fell over those gathered.

Again he looked invincible. A man in control of himself and his world. But she felt the tremor rocket from him to her. She sensed the grief he silently suffered.

Her eyes filled with tears and she tried desperately to hold them back. But the actions of this proud man touched her as nothing else had. The tears fell in silent rivers and she swiped them away the best she could. She hadn't even thought to grab a tissue.

A scuffle at her right caught her attention. An older woman was doing her best to catch her attention around the burly guard.

“It's for Her Highness,” the woman said, loud enough for Demetria to hear this time. In her gnarled hand she held a handkerchief.

“Let her through,” Demetria said.

The guard remained unmoved, so Demi pulled her hand
from Kristo's and crossed to the woman. “Thank you,” she said to the lady, and took the offered handkerchief to dab the tears from her eyes.

“The gods shined on us the day that the King in his wisdom chose you as future Queen,” the old woman said as she executed a bow.

And the reporters who were always present captured the moment on film.

The thought struck Demi that maybe now a new headline would grace the tabloids before nightfall. A picture that commanded respect, with an accompanying story that might make the earlier one stand for what it was—vicious gossip.

Kristo had been right. Her sister had acted cruelly. She hoped that she'd learned her lesson now. That she and Kristo could move forward without more trouble. That in time they would find something more than duty to bind them together.

She felt Kristo beside her long before he took her free hand in his again. She spared him a quick glance, only to find that his devastatingly handsome smile was being given to the older woman.

“Efharisto,”
he said to the lady, taking her gnarled hand and placing a kiss on the thin wrinkled skin. “You are most kind to come to my future Queen's aid.”

“O Theos mazi sou,”
the older woman wailed, bowing so deeply Demi feared she'd topple over.

That simple blessing from an old woman to the King seemed to break the ice that surrounded the people. Some sobbed. Many coughed to clear their throats.

He turned to Demi and smiled then, and any misgiving she held in her heart instantly thawed. This wasn't an act on his part, to garner sympathy from the people. This was real.

Before her stood a man in control of his emotions. A man
who didn't toss praise or words of endearment out at whim. A man who wasn't afraid to take chances.

Yet winning his love wouldn't be easy. Maybe impossible.

“This has been a troubled few months for the Royal House of Stanrakis,” he said, his voice ringing loud and clear. “From the loss of our beloved King,
o sinhoremenos
, to my brother's grave illness. To all of you,
na tous cherese
.”

Echoes of good wishes came from those surrounding them, one by one. She felt some of the tension leave Kristo, felt her heart swell with pride at the manner in which he'd opened himself up to the people.

And that was crucial—for they didn't know him, only his jaded reputation. “That was beautiful,” she told him.

He smiled, and she nearly forgot how to breathe. “No,
you
are beautiful.”

Before she could savor that compliment, Kristo addressed the crowd. “Please join us at the palace. A feast has been prepared in my father's honor. Enjoy!”

With that, he clasped her hand in his and strode from the cemetery. Back to the palace. Back to the place she would forever call home. And maybe there was a chance they could actually make it one—if Kristo opened up to her, if he gave her a chance to win his heart.

 

Kristo smiled when they returned to the palace and were greeted by music. Loud. Boisterous. And purely Greek.

Never in his life had he seen the palace lawn turned over to the populace. His father would surely turn over in his grave, but perhaps that was a good thing too.

His family had ruled with a strong hand, but that didn't mean they couldn't have the occasional throwback to earlier times. Especially now, when he needed to feel the pulse of
the people. To know if they were on his side or waiting to stab him in the back!

“This is beyond belief,” Demetria said as he guided her to a table set apart for them, the council and other dignitaries of Angyra. “Whose idea was this?”

“Mine. I remembered Father saying that death should be celebrated.” He glanced at the tables laden with food. Wine and ouzo flowed freely. “I believe he'd approve.”

But, whether he would or not, it was obvious that the people were enjoying this side of their royals. It was a bold step to take, and the council and the lawyers had warned him it could backfire, but it worked.

Though he hoped he'd gain the people's favor, or at the very least their interest, it was clear that they were entranced by Demetria. She'd regained their support. Their respect.

And though that came well before his own slow rise in popularity, he found himself smiling as well. She'd charmed them as she did him.

The morning turned to afternoon, and the crowd grew more boisterous. As he and Demetria were dancing the
hassapiko
with five other people, Kristo caught the guarded look on Vasos's face and knew their time at the celebration was over.

To stay would be dangerous—for him and Demetria.

“It is time for us to take our leave,” he told her when the dance ended. “Come.”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the crowd. He saw the longing in her eyes. Knew that she realized this would be the last time she was able to freely dance and celebrate with the people.

In a few days she'd be royalty.

“I hate to see it end,” she said.

“It won't for them.” He ran a knuckle along her cheek. “Or for us either, if you don't mind a very private party.”

A slow smile played over her kissable mouth, her face flushed from dancing, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “I'd love it.”

In moments they'd slipped back inside the palace. They paused in the hall to kiss—a long, hot kiss that fired their blood.

He'd intended to take her to his room, but hers was closer. As it was they barely made to the bedroom before they fell into each other's arms in a frenzy to make love.

Much later, as she lay curled against his side, Kristo tried to wrap his mind around the events of this day. For the first time since he'd gained the crown he felt in control.

With Demetria he simply felt relaxed. Whole. Happy?

A smile teased his mouth. He'd never believed it could be true, but he enjoyed being with her. And not just for sex!

Today among the people it had been nothing short of magical. And tonight…

Tonight he planned to enjoy a quiet dinner with her. After he woke her with a kiss. After he made love with her again.

The trill of his mobile echoed sharply in the velvet twilight. He swore as he rifled through his discarded clothes for it. The number in the display made his blood run cold. His brother.

He answered with a clipped,
“Éla.”

“Gregor is failing quickly,” Mikhael said. “There is nothing more that can be done.”

It was the worst possible timing, and yet he had no choice but to show a united front—especially in light of the scandal.

“I'll be there as soon as possible.”

No more needed to be said.

He ended the call and placed one to his pilot, aware that Demetria had stirred beside him. “Ready the plane. I must leave immediately.”

“What's wrong?” she asked, when he dropped the mobile on the table and heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Gregor is dying,” he said, the strained emotions making his voice sound rougher than usual. “I must go to him.”

“Of course.”

She sat up beside him, drawing the sheet around her, looking sad. Nervous.

He rolled from the bed and the temptation her nearness stirred, dressing quickly. It would be so easy to take her in his arms. Hold her. Take the comfort she was clearly ready to give him. But that was how a playboy would behave. Not a King.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

He cut her a frown, surprised she'd assume he was taking her with him. “We? You won't accompany me in this.”

“Why? I was betrothed to him since I was twelve.”