Captured and Crowned (9 page)

And now they would have to deal with a scandal that could rock Angyra. It wouldn't have been such an issue for Gregor for he was the favored son. Not so for Kristo.

“What does this mean for us?” she asked.

“It is difficult to tell at this point, but it will likely not be good.”

He pushed to his feet and crossed to the open French doors. The breeze washed over him but failed to cool his temper.

Below, the town was coming fully awake. The news of this would spread through every house like a summer storm. The question remained what damage it would leave in its wake.

“Your sister will regret causing this uproar,” he said.

“You can't mean to seek vengeance against her.” She stepped to the rail and stood just out of arm's reach, but he felt her gaze bore into him, felt her silently imploring him.

He refused to look at her. But the very ends of her long dark hair lifted and moved with the wind, as if alive and dancing down her slender back, as if trying to get his attention. Her exotic jasmine scent ribboned around him like ethereal scarves and beckoned him closer.

Not that he needed any urging.

It was his own personal challenge to resist her—holding himself back, not giving her the benefit of knowing he was
wildly attracted to her even though her sister's interference could cause him untold grief. Even though he was furious with her sibling.

“Kristo?” she said, laying a tentative hand on his arm. “
Please
. You can't mean to seek revenge on my sister.”

He jolted as if hit with lightning, when it was only that damned bolt of lust that he'd yet to overcome. But he would find a way to tamp it down. To control it instead of it controlling him.

“That is exactly what I intend to do,” he said, his voice as dark as his mood.

“I can't let you hurt my sister,” she said.

“I don't intend to hurt her,” he said. “It is your father's responsibility to see that she atones for this fiasco she's brought upon us. I assure you that when Sandros Andreou realizes that his benefits as the father of my Queen could be jeopardized he will seek retribution himself.”

Her hand slipped from his arm, and a cool distance yawned between them. Good! He couldn't think straight when she was hanging on him. Never mind that she'd barely pressed a hand to his. It had felt as if she was clinging.

“Please,” she implored again, stubbornly defending her sister. “Don't you see? She's young and troubled. She does these things just to gain attention.”

He whirled on her then, and grabbed her upper arms, dragging her so close he could see the flicker of uncertainty dance in her eyes. “I am not sure if you suffer from blind devotion to your family, or if you are so used to catering to her whims that you automatically rush to her defense even when it isn't warranted.”

“I was the only one she could turn to when she was little,” she said.

“But she's no longer a child. She has chosen a malicious way to strike back at you.”

She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please. Just wait a bit before you contact my father. Let me talk to her.”

He ground his teeth, furious with her. Demetria
was
blind to her sister's machinations. Her loyalty rested with someone who didn't deserve her concern. A woman she still saw as a child she needed to protect.

It was clear to him that her sister had exploited that nurturing trait in Demetria. That her sibling was as conniving as Andreou—a man who fed on greed.

But how the hell could he make Demetria see her sister for what she was? What did he have to do to make her open her eyes to the truth?

“Enough talk. I will handle this my way.”

He strode to the door. He would not tolerate this slur on Demetria, for any insult to her was to him as well. And to Angyra!

But he'd barely made it halfway across the room before she launched herself after him.

“No,” she said, slamming her back against the closed door. “Kristo, give this more thought.”

Was she mad? “There is nothing more to think about. Now, move,” he said, in no mood to haggle with her any longer.

“No! I am not letting you walk out of here when you are in this black mood.”

Did she actually think that she could stop him? “You have no idea just how dark my mood could become if we continue to stand here arguing about your sister's interference in our lives when the answer is perfectly clear to me.”

But instead of being sane and getting out of his way she raised her chin in defiance. “I can't let you do this.”

That was not the thing to say to him. “You can't stop me.”

He yanked her flush against his chest in a move that was
meant to intimidate. To put her in her place. To put an end to this ridiculous standoff.

Except the moment they touched, a different fury exploded within him, with all the raw force of a summer storm. He certainly wasn't a stranger to the pull of desire, but he hadn't experienced anything this powerful since that day with her on the beach.

And that was another sore spot, for since then he had yet to meet another woman who moved him so, who was gripped with the same passions as he. She popped into his thoughts at the oddest times, and haunted his dreams.

She was never to be trusted, yet the thought of her in his brother's arms had enraged him. Except now she was in his arms. Now she was his.

There was no reason to keep her at arm's length any longer. He wanted her. He'd have her.

He ripped out a rough growl and tightened his hold on her. The throb of her own desire pulsed through him.

“No,” she breathed, eyes huge, shadowed with a clear understanding of just what erotically dangerous emotion she'd awakened by baiting him.

“Yes,” he rasped, on fire for her.

A heartbeat later his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was long and lusty and sizzling with all the emotions he'd held in check.

Always he held back with women.

Except with her.

She drew the best and worst out in him. God help them, for they would surely drown together in a maelstrom of passion.

He pulled back once to drag air into his starving lungs. For a charged moment the haze of passion cleared and sanity flickered before him.

Her fists pressed against the wall of his chest but her
resistance had ebbed. The wide eyes that had pleaded with him were now clouded with a mixture of passion and confusion.

He should leave now, while he could. He shouldn't take her when his emotions were this wild and troubled.

And perhaps he would have left if that tiny sound of need hadn't escaped her parted lips. If her fingers hadn't uncurled from those tight fists and splayed on his chest.

One strap had slid down her arm, baring skin that was as smooth as cream. At that moment she looked like a Grecian goddess come to life. Diana, perhaps. Or Persephone.

Or Venus?

Reason went up in flames.

He hissed out a breath of raw need. He'd sooner stop breathing than leave her now, when all he could think about was running his fingers down the slender slope of her neck, down to the heaving rise of her bosom, across the nipples that had pebbled against the delicate cloth of her dress.

Dammit, he needed her. He'd have her now!

He wanted his mouth to adore her body again. To kiss every inch of her smooth skin. To savor her taste and texture until she screamed his name. Until she begged him to take her.

He dipped his head and captured her mouth, unleashing a side of him that he'd kept reined in. The moment his lips molded to hers the heat of her passion sent his last coherent thought up in flames.

A shiver ripped through her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging almost desperately.

Her lips moved against his with the same desperate hunger, on and on, until they were both lightheaded and gasping for breath.

They broke apart slightly to draw in air, foreheads pressed together and breaths sawing hard and fast. Her fingers wadded his shirt, the nails grazing his skin to stoke the fire deep in him, her breath hot on his neck.

If he'd set out to put her in her place, to show her who was the ruler in this, he'd surely failed—for it was clear to him at this moment that her place was right here in his arms. He didn't want to dominate her now. Just to make love with her.

“This would be the ideal time to stop, before this goes too far,” he said, surprised his voice remained steady, with his blood roaring in his ears and his skin so tight and hot he thought he'd split in two.

“It would,” she said, nipping his lower lip. “But why should we?”

H
E RAN
the pad of his thumb over her lips and a sensual energy uncurled within her, leaving her trembling and leaning into his touch. She stared into his dark eyes and felt as if she were drowning in passion so intense that it sapped the strength from her limbs.

Since the day they'd met on the beach he'd invaded her thoughts as surely as his ancestors had invaded this island and claimed it for themselves.

There was certainly nothing to gain by saving themselves for their wedding night. In fact it would be wiser to sate their passions now, for then she wouldn't have that expectation later. She wouldn't be tempted to think how that special night
should
be between newlyweds.

His scent, his kiss, was already branded on her memory—the yardstick by which she'd unconsciously judged other men. Men who should have counted, who should have captured her heart—instead of this dark prince she'd fallen madly, passionately in love with.

Not his brother, the man she'd been destined to marry. But Kristo. Always Kristo invaded her dreams.

It was time to face her future. Face the truth she'd ignored for a year.

Kristo Stanrakis was an addiction she couldn't shake. He
had captured her interest long ago. Now he held her fate in his oh-so-strong hands.

All she was to him was an arranged wife with the correct lineage. The means to an end.

Yet that still didn't stop the yearning that plagued her. It didn't lessen the desire that coursed through her—desire he set ablaze with one heated look.

“You are mine,” he said, sliding his palms down her sides and setting off a seismic tremor inside her.

His arrogance should disgust her. Instead she heard herself saying, “That goes both ways, Kristo!”

“Vixen,” he said, before his lips captured hers.

Her resistance popped like a soap bubble as the flames of desire licked over her. She clung to him, desperate to know what it felt like to dance this close to the sun again.

She wanted to see if the reality of finally making love with this man came close to the teasing memory of hot kisses and intimate caresses that had haunted her for a year. She wanted to fill this awful emptiness inside her.

Their lips met in a collision of scorching need. The flames of desire danced around her and her skin pebbled, burning for him.

His hands were all over her, pushing up her shirt. He was tearing himself from her while he whipped it over her head. He pulled her up against him a breath later, and the crush of bared breasts to hot muscular chest surely set off sparks in the room. Her nipples budded and burned, and heat arrowed straight to her heart to explode in a burst of color.

No, this was far more intense than that day on the beach. This was cataclysmic. Primitive. Greedy.

His mouth fused on hers in a deep hot lick of desire that made her toes curl and her heart thrum with need. She dragged her nails down his sides to find the fastenings on his trousers.

She'd never been bold with a man, but he brought that out in her as well. Slowly she undid his trousers, her knuckles riding along the hot length of his sex.

A low growling sound came from him, the vibration singing along her nerves. She felt power flow into her limbs, felt the rightness of being with him pulse in her veins.

Still it wasn't enough. She glided her hands down his hot muscular body, her open mouth following the lazy path, tasting salt and spice and finding it a powerful aphrodisiac.

He muttered a torrent of Greek, his voice no more than a rumble of sound. The heat and length of his sex branded her belly when she longed to have him in her.

She heard the button at her waistband pop. Shivered as the pad of his thumb rode the zipper down her side. Then her skirt and her panties were gone.

It went wild after that. As primitive as that day on the beach. Only this time nothing was holding them back. Nothing stopped them from taking this to the limit and beyond.

Their hands were all over each other, tossing embers on a fire that was already burning out of control. They strained against each other in a fluid rhythm that was timeless, mouths feasting on each other in wild abandon, tongues dueling in hot promise of what was to come.

She was dimly aware of him sweeping her up in his arms, of feeling a tremor streak through him. Of feeling the evidence of his desire against her hip.

She gasped as the sharp thrum of carnal need throbbed through her, breathing in his spicy scent and feeling drugged by his power. Feeling free to love him.

Then he was pressing her down on the bed, covering her with his length, and her thoughts blurred. She hooked a hand behind his neck to bring his face down to hers, to hold on to him like a lifeline, for she was spiraling out of control and needed him to ground her.

He obliged with a soft curse, his mouth fixing on hers as he drove into her in one long shuddering thrust. Finally, she thought. And it was beyond what she'd imagined.

Her back bowed on one long trembling gasp as she felt him tremble over her. In her. The connection was electric. Perfect.

“No…” he breathed, going still as death as his glazed eyes bored into hers. “You can't be a virgin.”

His arrogantly handsome face looked so stricken, so stunned by that realization, that she slipped her arms around his broad shoulders in a gesture of comfort. He'd believed the worst of her, and in truth she had warranted a good deal of his anger.

She could only hope that he realized now that the incident on the beach with him had been her only indiscretion. That she'd been helpless to refuse him then. Or now.

“I'm not anymore,” she said, her fingernails grazing the strong column of his neck.

Some emotion she couldn't imagine flickered in his eyes. Something she didn't understand. That touched her heart as nothing else had.

“A virgin,” he said, sounding surprised it was so. That he was the only man she'd known this way. “Mine,” he repeated, before his mouth fused on hers in a deep languid kiss that simply drove all other thoughts from her mind.

Then he moved in her. Fast. Hard.

Their lovemaking wasn't refined, but that was the last thing she wanted.

Each hard deep thrust lifted her higher, toward the promise of an explosive climax. The world narrowed to just them. Just sex with the one man she'd never been able to deny.

Yet it was more than that too. It was as if she'd waited a lifetime for this moment. This man.

Don't think like that.
But the thought stuck. The fairy-tale
wish. A dream to hang on to when she knew—
knew!
—that this wasn't love.

Just when she thought she'd die with need, he pushed her into that blindingly sensual place she'd heard about. This was beyond compare, beyond words.

She dug her fingers into his hot sweaty shoulders and hung on, flying into the mists of an explosive climax and wondering if she would simply get lost in this ethereal wonder of sensations. If she'd ever come back to earth. To him.

As if he knew she was drifting from him, he banded his arms around her as he thrust into her once more, holding her tight, binding her to him. She felt his entire body jerk and quake a heartbeat before she was lost to passion yet again. She could no longer think, just surrender to the sensations tearing through her in hot rippling waves.

Afterward she lay in the cocoon of his embrace, his big body covering hers, his face pressed beside her own. She drank in the moment with short frantic breaths, her heart still beating too fast.

She'd never experienced anything remotely close to this before. Never dreamed anything this powerful could touch her.

“Why didn't you tell me you were an innocent?” he rasped, clutching her close to him, staring at her with an intensity that robbed her of breath.

“Would you have believed me if I had?”

The beautifully sculpted bow of his lips thinned. “No. Probably not at the time. Only when we did make love, when I realized how incredibly tight you were, would I have allowed such a thing was possible.”

He still wouldn't have believed her word for it. He'd needed proof.

Well, now he had it—though he didn't seem pleased at the discovery. What a contradictory man!

“It hardly matters now,” she said, hoping to put an end to this conversation.

He stared at her, his classically smooth Greek brow furrowing deeply. “How can you say that?”

She wasn't at all surprised that he was agonizing over this. He didn't like to be wrong, and she'd just shattered his perception of her. “Because it's true. We are betrothed.”

“We weren't that day on the beach!”

Their arguments always came back to this. As usual, she couldn't say anything but the truth in her defense. She'd never given a man such liberties before. She simply hadn't been able to resist him.

Brittle silence crackled and sizzled between them.

He rolled to his feet, clearly not the least bit shy about prowling the room gloriously naked. And it certainly was much more enjoyable to admire his beautiful body than meet that handsome face when he was angry.

“Do you realize the disaster it would have caused if I'd taken your virginity then?” he asked.

“Yes! I couldn't have lived with myself,” she admitted, pulling the sheet over her body, for unlike him she was not comfortable flaunting her nudity, especially when they were in the throes of an argument. “As it was I agonized over how I could possibly attend any family function with you present. How I could be in the same room with you and not be tormented with memories of lying in your arms.”

The last seemed to have gotten through to him, for he stopped pacing and just stared at her. Finally he gave a crisp nod. “I was plagued with much the same thoughts in coping with my betrayal as well.”

And that, she realized with a sense of sadness, would never change. Neither of them had fought that initial attraction that had surged between them with the force of a tsunami. They'd surrendered to passion.

If the church bells hadn't tolled and broken through that drugging haze of desire she would have given him her virginity that day.

“So what now? Do we keep arguing the same point?” she asked. “Do we let it shroud what we've shared?”

She saw the struggle going on inside him—the deep pulling of his brow, the narrowing of his eyes, the tense bunching of incredibly beautiful male muscles. And her heart ached for this proud, loyal man.

“No,” he bit out at last. “But I can't forget the past either.”

“Of course not. Please… Let's go forward, because what we just shared was—” Near perfect? A moment she'd cherish all her life?

He returned to the bed and gathered her in his arms, the intensity of his expression shifting from anger to passion. “Go on. Say it. What was it to you, Demetria?”

She stroked the strong line of his jaw and smiled. “Wondrous. I didn't know such pleasure was possible.”

“That was just the beginning,
agapi mou
.”

His mouth captured hers in a long lingering kiss that had her blood humming with pleasure. In moments she was lost in his arms, his passion.

And for now it was enough.

 

It was inconceivable that she had been a virgin!

After making love again—this time slowly, tenderly—Demetria had curled against his side and surrendered to sleep. Her right hand rested on his chest, over his heart. Her breath was warm on the skin.

For the first time in his life he didn't wish to leave a woman's bed. He didn't want to be the one to break this connection that he simply had no words for.

Beyond the guilt that plagued him was the pleasure he'd
gained from knowing that Demetria was his and his alone. He was the first man she'd made love with. He'd be her last!

But, as much as he'd enjoyed this interlude with her, and as much as he dreaded to leave their bed, duty called him.

The Royal House of Stanrakis had been struck with scandal before, but never had brother been pitted against brother. Never had a woman come between them—a woman who'd be their Queen.

This latest slur on their names had to be dealt with swiftly. He grabbed his mobile off the bedside table and rang Sandros Andreou.

Kristo made his displeasure clear to the old Greek in a minimum of words. In turn Andreou assured him that he'd deal with his daughter.

With that matter settled, Kristo focused on the larger issues. The probable loss of loyalty among the people of Angyra was another matter entirely, and one that the State Council and the royal lawyers needed to review.

One mistake could cost him the support of those in powerful positions. His popularity among the people was already tenuous. But the high esteem the people held for Demetria would surely dim as well, so he couldn't rely on her to make him more favorable.

The only thing in their favor was that he was certain her sister had no proof of what had happened between him and Demetria on the beach. It was just speculation. Gossip.

He and Demetria simply had to convince the people that this was a vicious attack on the crown. That their day on the beach had been spent observing the sea turtles instead of almost making love.

That he hadn't been the irresponsible playboy prince who cared nothing for his country. That Demetria shared his passion of protecting Angyra's resources.

Passion. They certainly were well suited in that regard.

He toyed with a strand of her dark hair and allowed a grim smile. They'd set a pattern of anger melding into passion that knew no bounds. But this time when they came together it had been a firestorm of desire.

She possessed the ability to storm past his defenses as well as fuel his anger.

And he
was
angry.

At her. At himself for losing sight of his objective and taking her like a rutting young buck.

But it was an experience he'd cherish as well. He'd felt the burn clear to his soul and he wanted more. He knew if he kissed her, stroked her, she'd come alive in his arms again.