The Virgin's Proposition

by Anne McAllister

  She felt like an idiot saying it, and frankly she expected him to laugh in her face. But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all for a long moment. His expression was completely inscrutable. And then he said slowly, almost carefully, “You were trying to find your idealistic youth?”

  He didn’t sound as if he thought she was foolish. He actually seemed intrigued.

  Hesitantly, Anny nodded. “Yes. And then, when you said you’d do anything…” Her voice trailed off. It sounded unutterably foolish now, what she’d wanted. “I thought of those dreams and how they were gone. And I just…wanted to touch them one more time. Before—before…” She stopped, shrugging. “It sounds stupid now. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. But it was like some fairy tale—this night—and…” She felt her face warm again “I just wished—” She spread her hands helplessly.

  He was the one who leaned forward now, resting his elbows just above his knees, his fingers loosely laced as he looked at her. “So why are you marrying him?”

  “There are…reasons.” She could explain them, but that would mean explaining who she was, and she’d ruined enough of her fairy-tale evening without destroying it completely. She didn’t want Demetrios thinking of her as some spoiled princess who couldn’t have her own way. For just one night she wanted to be a woman in her own right. Not her father’s daughter. Not a princess. Just Anny.

  Even if she looked like an idiot, she’d be herself.

  “Good reasons?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “But not love?” His tone twisted the word so that it still didn’t sound as if he believed in it.

  But Anny did.

  “Maybe it will come,” she said hopefully. “Maybe I haven’t given him enough of a chance. He’s quite a bit older than I am. A widower. His first wife died. He—he loved her.”

  “Better and better,” Demetrios said grimly.

  “That’s another of the reasons I asked,” she admitted. “I just thought that if I had this one night…with you…then if he never did love me, if it was always just a ‘business arrangement’ at least I’d…have had this. It’s just one night. No strings. No obligations. I wasn’t expecting anything else,” she added, desperate to reassure him.

  He was silent and again she had no idea what he was thinking. And he didn’t tell her. There was nothing but silence between them.

  Seconds. Minutes. Probably not aeons, but it felt that way. Millions of years of mortification. What had been a magical night had become, through her own fault, the worst night of her life.

  Outside she heard the muffled sound of a car passing in the street below and, nearby, the ticking of Tante Isabelle’s ornate French Empire brass-and-ebony mantel clock. Finally she heard him draw in a slow careful breath.

  “All right, Anny Chamion,” he said, getting to his feet and crossing the room to hold out his hand to her. “Let’s do it.”

  She stared.

  At his outstretched hand. Then her gaze slid up his arm to his broad chest, to his whisker-shadowed jaw, to that gorgeous mouth, to the memorable groove in his cheek, to those amazing green eyes, dark and slumberous now, and more compelling than ever. She swallowed.

  “Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he said when she didn’t speak or even more. He looked at her, waiting patiently, and she knew he expected that she would have changed it.

  But she couldn’t.

  Faced with a lifetime of duty, of responsibility, of a likely loveless marriage, she desperately needed something more. Something that would sustain her, make her remember the passion, the intensity, the joy she’d believed in as a girl.

  She needed something to hang on to, her own secret.

  And his.

  She reached up and took Demetrios’s hand. Then she stood and walked straight into his arms. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  When she slid into his embrace, Demetrios felt a shock run through him.

  It was like the sudden bliss of diving into the water after a burning hot day.

  It was pure and right and beautiful.

  He could almost feel his body reawaken, as his eyes opened to Anny’s upturned face as she lifted her lips to his.

  He took what she offered. Gently at first. With a tentativeness that reminded him of his first fumbling teenage kisses. As if he’d forgotten how.

  He knew he hadn’t. He knew he’d been burned so badly by Lissa that he’d learned to equate kisses with betrayal.

  But this wasn’t Lissa. These lips weren’t practiced.

  These lips were as tentative as his own. Even more hesitant. Infinitely gentle. Sweet.

  And Demetrios drank of their sweetness. He took his time, settling in, soaking up the sensations, remembering what it was like to kiss with hope, with joy, with something almost akin to innocence.

  That was what they were giving each other tonight—a reminder of who they had been. Not to each other, but as a young man and a young woman with dreams, ideals, hopes.

  He didn’t have hopes like those anymore. Lissa had well and truly ground those into the dust. But right now, kissing Anny, he could remember what it had felt like to be young, hopeful, aware of possibilities.

  It was as powerful and intoxicating a feeling as any he could recall.

  So why not enjoy it?

  Why not celebrate the simple pleasure of one night with this woman who tasted of apple tart and sunshine, of citrus and red wine, and of something heady and slightly spicy—something Demetrios had never tasted before.

  What was it? He wanted to know.

  So he deepened the kiss, trying to discover more, trying to capture whatever was tantalizing him. He touched his tongue to hers and a second later felt the swirl of hers touching his.

  At its touch his whole body responded with an urgency that surprised him. He might have deliberately forgotten these things, but his body hadn’t.

  It knew precisely what it wanted.

  It wanted Anny. Now.

  But as much as he was willing to take her to bed, he resisted his body’s urgent demands to simply have his way with her right then and there.

  Granted, this was going to be a one-off. But it wasn’t a sleazy one-night stand, a quick mindless exercise in sexual gratification.

  She wanted it for reasons of her own. And Demetrios, understanding them, decided she had a point. Yes, he was older and wiser now. But he could still appreciate the hopeful young man he’d once been. There was something satisfying about paying tribute to that man.

  But it wasn’t just about the past. It was about the present—the woman in his arms and making it beautiful for her as well. If he was going to be her memory, by God, he wanted to be a good one.

  So he drew a deep breath and told himself to take his time as he let his hands slide slowly up her arms and over her back as he molded her to him.

  She was warm and soft and womanly—and wearing far too many clothes. Demetrios couldn’t ever remember seducing a woman who had been wearing so many clothes. Anny was still wearing her jacket, for heaven’s sake.

  Of course, he wasn’t actually seducing her. He was enjoying what had been offered, and giving pleasure—and memories—in return.

  In doing so, Demetrios discovered how much pleasure there was in removing all those clothes. First he eased her jacket off, slowly peeling it off her shoulders and down her arms, then tossed it aside. His fingers eased themselves beneath the hem of her silk top and brushed her even silkier skin.

  He caressed it with his fingers as he kissed his way down to nuzzle her neck. He traced the line of her bra beneath, brushed his fingers over her nipples, and smiled at the quick intake of her breath and the way her fingers clutched at his back.

  He drew back to share the smile with her. She stared up at him, her lips parted in a small O that made him bend his head and touch his lips to hers.

  This time her tongue was there first, tasting, teasing. And he felt his body quicken in response. The last thing he wanted now was to go slow. He wanted to
rip their clothes off and plunge into her as fast and furiously as he could.

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. But he wanted to do more than kiss her. Soon.

  “Have you got a bed somewhere, Anny Chamion?” he murmured against her lips.

  She smiled as her tongue lingered against his lips for a second longer before she took his hand in hers. “Right this way.”

  In all her years as a princess Anny had never identified with Cinderella.

  That made sense, of course, because Cindy hadn’t been a princess in the beginning. She’d become one by taking a risk—daring to do what she wasn’t supposed to do—not for a happy ending, but for the joy of one single beautiful night.

  And that Anny could identify with completely.

  She, too, wanted a single beautiful night. A night that she could remember forever—a night that would get her through, not the endless drudgery of Cinderella’s pre-prince future or even the endless succession of royal duties and obligations that were hers, but a passionless, loveless marriage.

  Oh, she supposed there was a tiny chance that Gerard might come to love her the way he had loved Ofelia. But the instant Anny allowed its theoretical possibility, she knew that in truth it was never going to happen.

  If Gerard had been going to fall in love with her, he would have done so before now. He’d had years, literally, to do it. As had she. It wasn’t going to happen.

  But Gerard had at least known love. Anny hadn’t.

  And she wanted to. Once. Just once. She wasn’t asking for forever. Only for tonight—with Demetrios Savas.

  Making love with him wouldn’t be the deep abiding love that Gerard had shared with Ofelia. Anny knew that. Besides good conversation and dinner, she and Demetrios had shared nothing at all.

  But she had memories of him that their meeting today brought back to life. Ever since he’d swept her out of the hotel this afternoon, she’d felt the same sort of heady enchantment she had known from the years when everything had seemed possible.

  When he’d asked what on earth she was thinking, she had told him the truth. She wanted to recapture the young woman she’d been—just for this night—and give her a taste of the joy she’d longed for. And the young Demetrios she hadn’t really known, but had only dreamed of, had been part of that young woman’s life.

  All she could think was that today, when he’d walked into the Ritz, kissed her and swept her out again, it was as if God or serendipity or fate or—who knew what?—had dropped him into her life for a reason.

  This reason, she thought as she lay back on her bed and took hold of his hands and drew him down beside her.

  That Anny wasn’t a practiced lover was pretty much the understatement of the year. Her spine usually stiffened whenever Gerard slipped an arm around her or pressed a kiss to her cheek or lips. But now, when Demetrios kissed her, she felt as if she had no bones at all.

  His lips were warm and firm and eager. And so were hers.

  His had followed his fingers, kissing her shoulders, as he’d peeled off her jacket on the way to the bedroom. Now those same fingers slid beneath her silk top and his lips followed again, right up to the edge of her lacy bra.

  He drew her top up and over her head with the skill of a man who knew exactly how to undress a woman. And for a brief moment Anny thought about all the beautiful women he must have known intimately—women far more practiced and appealing than she was.

  And yet he didn’t seem distracted by those memories. He was focused only on her. He made Anny feel as if she were the only woman in the world.

  Demetrios’s eyes, so green in the light, were dark now in the shadows. The skin seemed taut across his cheekbones. And Anny thought she felt a faint tremor in his fingers as they skimmed across her ribs, then pulled her up against him while he deftly unfastened her bra and drew it off.

  He knelt on the bed beside her and pressed kisses along the line of her bare shoulders, then moved lower to her breasts, cupping them in his hands, and kissing them. The feel of his mouth on her heated flesh was more erotic than anything Anny had ever experienced. She clutched at his arms, hung on.

  His hair tickled her nose as he nuzzled her. It smelled of the sea and of pine, and Anny drew a deep breath, as if she could capture the scent and save it forever. The memory would be more tangible that way.

  And then he was kissing his way down the valley between her breasts all the way to her waistband. Only when his fingers sought the fastening, she caught her breath, then shook her head.

  He pulled back, his brow furrowed, his hair tousled. “No?”

  Anny wanted to smooth his brow. “Yes,” she assured him. “But…I don’t want to be the only one undressed.” She gave him a hopeful look, at the same time wondering if she was stepping out of bounds. She knew all the royal protocol in the world, and not a bit about whether she should be asking to take an active role in undressing the man she was in bed with. Maybe she should have been busy with his buttons already.

  Demetrios’s mouth quirked briefly and she wondered if he would tell her so, but he didn’t. He just smiled and settled back on his heels, then dropped his hands to rest on his thighs. “Be my guest.”

  Anny swallowed. Then she levered herself up to sit against the headboard of the bed. She felt awkward as she reached out to touch him, but her hands didn’t. They knew precisely what to do, taking hold of the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, exposing his bare chest to her gaze.

  And as she parted his shirt, the tips of her fingers brushed against the wiry curling hair that arrowed down from his chest to the waistband of his jeans.

  Demetrios’s jaw tightened as he watched her every move, breathing shallowly, his eyes hooded, his body totally still, as if he were steeling himself to endure some sort of pain.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him worriedly.

  He gave a hoarse laugh. “Oh, yeah. More than all right.” Then abruptly he shrugged his shirt off, tossed it aside, took her hands and pressed them against his chest.

  His skin was hot and damp and she could feel his heart thundering beneath her palm. Instinctively Anny leaned forward and touched her lips to his chest. Kissed him there, loved the feel of his heated flesh beneath her lips. She moved higher, kissed his collarbone, then his shoulders. She kissed his neck, nuzzled against his stubbled jawline, nibbled his ear, then traced it with her tongue and felt him shudder.

  His response made her smile with a heady sense of power and excitement as she understood that he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him.

  And then he was bearing her back on the bed, where he made quick work of the zip on her linen trousers, hooked his thumbs in the waistband, skimmed them down her legs and dropped them onto the floor.

  She should have felt self-conscious when he settled back to let his eyes roam over her. But all she felt was desire. And need.

  Anny reached for his belt eagerly, but her hands weren’t expert now and she fumbled with it.

  Demetrios stilled her fingers. “Let me.” He had it undone and was skinning out of his jeans in a matter of seconds. And then he was settling between her knees, running his hands up her thighs. Anny stroked his, too.

  Demetrios tried to take it slow. He understood that she wasn’t in the habit of propositioning men. Her touch was tentative, but no less tantalizing for being so.

  The truth was that her unpracticed touch was more erotic than anything he’d felt in years. Of course, Lissa had been a skilled lover. But knowing she’d got her skills from sleeping with dozens of men was something he’d done his best to blot out of his mind.

  Anny’s touch was nothing like Lissa’s. As her fingers skimmed over his body, he felt as if she were learning him and reawakening him at the same time.

  It was almost like being reborn.

  After the drama and trauma of his life with Lissa, he’d deliberately and determinedly shut off that part of himself. He’d refused to touch. Refused to feel.

  Until tonight. Now, tonight, wit
h her warm smiles, her gentle demeanor and soft touch, not to mention a certain artless allure that he doubted she was even aware of, Anny had unwittingly opened that door.

  She made him feel again. Need again. Ache with desire in a way he hadn’t since he was barely more than a boy. Both of them were connecting with their youthful selves tonight, Demetrios thought as he ran his hands over the line of her ribs, the slight swell of her hip, her long, lovely thigh to her knee, then slowly traced a line up the inside of that same thigh.

  She quivered. So did he.

  She lifted a hand and drew her fingers lightly down his chest. Lower. And as she did, the heel of her hand brushed against his erection, a simple unintentional touch nearly sending him over the edge.

  His breath hissed between his teeth. “Careful,” he said, his voice shaky. “I’m a little overeager tonight. It’s been a long time.”

  Her eyes widened. She looked stricken. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, putting the meaning he hadn’t said into the words he had. She started to sit up, to pull away. “I didn’t mean—I should never have—”

  But he caught her and held her right where she was. “It’s fine,” he assured her. “More than fine,” he added truthfully. “I’m…looking forward to it.”

  And there was an understatement for you.

  But Anny didn’t look convinced. “I never thought—”

  He shook his head. “Now’s not the time to think.”

  He tugged her panties down her endless legs, then stripped his boxers off as well. Her gaze went at once to his erection. She swallowed, then reached out a hand to stroke him.

  “Wait. Hang on.” He was gritting his teeth as he reached down to snag his jeans and pull a condom packet from his wallet. With clumsy fingers he sheathed himself quickly, then settled between her thighs.