Captured and Crowned

by Janette Kenny

  As if she had a choice, she thought, as the two large men flanked her. With her stomach now in knots, she moved toward the man she’d kissed to distraction one year ago.

  He clasped her elbow, and she jolted as if shocked, for the energy from that touch set her aflame inside. Set her to quivering with a need she’d tried to forget.

  She steeled herself against the magnetic pull of him and focused on the startling fact that Gregor was not King. It was too impossible to believe, for surely he’d just taken the crown.

  Yet if what Kristo said was true, then why had he said she was to marry the King in less than two weeks?

  Just what was going on here?

  Knowing she wouldn’t get any answers unless she complied, Demetria slid onto the rear seat and scooted to the far side. Kristo climbed in beside her, and despite the roomy interior he simply filled the space with his commanding presence.

  “What is this about Gregor stepping down?” she asked.

  “Shortly before the King died Gregor discovered that he had a brain tumor,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “As he didn’t wish for Angyra to suffer two Kings dying so close together, or leave a young widow behind, he decided to step down now.”

  She pressed a hand to her mouth, genuinely stunned to hear he’d fallen victim to such a fate. Her heart ached for Gregor, for though there was no affection between them it pained her to think that his life would be cut short.

  “That poor man. I’m deeply grieved to hear this.”

  “Spare me your false sympathy. We both know you care nothing for my brother. If you did, you never would have offered yourself so freely to a stranger.”

  She reeled back, as if slapped by the accusation. Denial was pointless, for she had succumbed to Kristo. Yet she wouldn’t sit here and take his verbal abuse either.

  “Yes, I committed a grave error of judgment, and I have regretted my lapse of morals every day since,” she said, refusing to cower when his dark brows snapped together over his patrician nose. “But I was powerless to stop the fierce attraction I felt for you.”

  There. She’d said it at last. But her confession only seemed to anger him more.

  Where was the carefree beach bum she’d met that day? Who was this hard, cold stranger who stared at her with open disgust?

  “Are you victim to these fierce attractions often, Demetria?”

  “Never before or since.”

  He snorted and stared out the window. “Of course you’d say that.”

  As the car smoothly drove on, she stilled the urge to scream in frustration, and asked as calmly as she could manage, “Since you clearly find it so disagreeable to be in my company, why did you come for me?”

  “I told you why. I’m escorting you to Angyra.”

  “This makes no sense,” she said. “If Gregor has abdicated, why would I still be required to marry him?”

  The beautifully sculpted mouth that had ravished her before pulled into a mockery of a smile. “You won’t. The moment my brother rescinded his duty, birth order demanded that I assume the crown and his contractual obligations. I am the King of Angyra. You will marry me.” Never! But she bit back that retort. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

  “Ah, but I can, Demetria. I can.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “THAT’S barbaric,” she said.

  “It’s business. Your betrothal contract states you will marry the Crown Prince of Angyra, or her King if he has already ascended the throne.”

  She frowned, her face leeching of color, her eyes mirroring her disbelief. Or perhaps it was shock. Perhaps she was as unaware of the exact terms as he’d been.

  Not that it mattered. Duty trapped them in this together.

  “It’s not more specific than that?” she asked, her voice strained now.

  He shook his head. “No name is mentioned. You are marrying the title, not the man.”

  “My God, how cold.”

  “As I said—it is business.”

  Though in truth his baser needs were just as demanding as any legality. Just as vexing right now.

  It had been a year since Kristo had seen Demetria, and his memory didn’t do the lady justice. She was beautiful in a classic sense that called to something deep inside him—something that he refused to acknowledge.

  But more troubling was the intense desire that gripped him. Even after a year he could clearly remember the weight of her breasts in his hands, the taste of her skin on his tongue, the sense of triumph that had flooded him when he’d brought her to climax.

  And if he allowed himself to admit it there had been a moment of shared tranquility when they’d watched the turtles nesting. He’d never revealed that side of himself to a woman before. He’d never experienced that sense of rightness that had come over him as he’d held her close.

  To think he’d done so with a woman who was betraying his brother!

  He hated her with the same intensity he desired her, and the combination was wreaking havoc on his senses. How could he marry this woman? How could he ever trust her?

  Kristo didn’t know, and his fierce attraction only complicated things. He was disgusted with himself for dreaming of the moment when he could claim those full lips again, when he could caress her skin that felt like silk.

  Just like the day he’d met her on the beach, her black hair fell loose to her waist in thick curls, free and wild as her soul. Her skin was the palest olive, and looked as if it had never been kissed by the sun.

  But it was her eyes that took his breath away. They were dark, yet held a patina that rivaled the finest nuggets of Rhoda gold. And they were wary and assessing him with cool regard.

  She hadn’t burst into tears when he’d told her of her fate. She hadn’t begged him to forgive her or let her go.

  No, she’d countered with a strong defiance of her own. And that only made him want her more, for he found her inner strength as attractive as her beauty.

  Yet what good did their desire do them? He despised her for betraying his brother, and she hated him for forcing her to honor her betrothal contract. As if he had a choice!

  “If the wedding is over a week away, then why must I return to Angyra now?” she asked.

  Because he wanted her close by. He wanted to watch her. Touch her. Capture her lips with his and silence her protests for once and for all.

  He just caught himself from tossing out that paternal wave that was coming far too naturally. “There is much unrest with the people over the King’s death and now Gregor’s abdication. They need to see that we are a united front. That they will soon have a King and Queen leading their country again. That Angyra will be stable.”

  And, as his advisors had suggested, his own status among the people was tarnished from his loose lifestyle. They saw him as the wastrel son. The playboy who chose to party over duty.

  As for Demetria—they loved her. She was the fairy princess they’d watched grow up. They’d waited for the day she would become their beautiful young Queen.

  They didn’t know the truth about her—that she was a beguiling tease. A flirt. Thank God it had been him she’d met on the beach that day!

  Just thinking of her doing the same with another man filled him with rage. Had she made a practice of this?

  “I assume you’ve discussed this with my father?” she said at last, sounding resigned. Defeated.

  “Yes. He is aware I am bringing you to Angyra,” he said.

  “He’ll join me there, then?”

  “No. Your father is invited to the palace the day before the wedding,” he said.

  Her eyes rounded. “I’ll be there alone with you?”

  “Come, now. We’ve already shared an intimacy.”

  “To my shame,” she whispered.

  “Was it, Demetria?”

  Her lips parted the slightest bit, just as full and inviting as they’d been that day. He wanted her still. In truth his desire for her had not ebbed in the least.

  “Now, tell me why I found yo
u in a draper’s shop when your father told me you were off shopping for your trousseau.”

  Her cheeks turned a charming pink—proof he’d caught her in a lie. “If you must know, I was buying cloth for my design partner. The Athens fashion show is in two weeks, and it was to be my debut in the design world.”

  He stared at her, unsure what to say to that surprising news. “Your father allowed you to hold a job?”

  “It’s a career. And, yes, my partner and I have designed clothes for the past year and a half.”

  “Was Gregor aware of this?”

  “He was, and he advised me a year ago that it must end when I became Queen.”

  “But of course. The very idea is ludicrous. The Queen of Angyra would never hold a job.”

  “Career,” she countered, in the breath of a whisper. And yet he heard the defiance in that singular word.

  That explained why she was in Istanbul shopping for fabric. She was bent on living her life as a designer up until the eleventh hour, when she’d be forced to marry.

  “If there is any way we can put the wedding off until after the Athens show—” she said.

  “Absolutely not. The marriage must proceed as planned.”

  The pleasure he’d thought to gain from besting her eluded him. Not that feelings had any place in duty. He was honor-bound to take up the reins his brother had relinquished.

  “Your role is to be my faithful wife and mother to my heirs,” he said, putting emphasis on the importance of fidelity while fighting the overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and remind her that they had been very good together one stolen afternoon.

  The contradictions she dredged up in him made no sense. He hated this off-balance feeling that gripped him when he was with her, for he didn’t know what to do that would make him feel steady again.

  At least he wasn’t the only one afflicted with uncertainty. He saw her throat work. Saw worry and fear flicker in her eyes.

  “You don’t love me,” she said, shocking the hell out of him with that statement. “You don’t even like me.”

  No, but he desired her more than he’d ever desired a woman. “Our bond is about duty, Demetria. Duty to your family and my country.”

  “I know that,” she said, in a voice heavy with resignation.

  She fidgeted with the package she’d bought and bit her lower lip, and he was reminded again of doing the same to her on that sun-kissed slab of rock.

  “Would you at least allow me to design my wedding gown? I intended to broach the subject to Gregor at our next visit, but the King’s death has set things in motion far too quickly.”

  “Your gown has already been commissioned,” he said. “Gregor obviously saw to it right after the King’s demise.

  Though Kristo wouldn’t have known it if the lavish gown hadn’t arrived just before he’d left the palace to fetch her. He’d had it placed in the suite he’d reserved for her. The suite adjoining his own.

  It made sense that she get accustomed to her apartments now. To his as well?

  The thought had crossed his mind more often than he cared to admit since he’d made the decision to bring her to the palace nearly two weeks before the wedding.

  “But I wasn’t consulted at all,” she said, her voice rising in clear annoyance at his brother’s actions.

  He was not surprised, for he knew that while women adored lavish gifts of jewels, they could be extremely prickly about choosing their own clothes for special occasions. And nothing could possibly be more special than a royal wedding!

  In this regard Gregor was exactly like their father—both experts at orchestrating their lives as well as those around them. Hadn’t his brother done much the same with Kristo? Waiting until he’d deemed the time was right to step down from the throne without consulting him? Without alerting him of his duty to claim the crown and the woman?

  “Please,” she said, and the imploring quaver in her voice drew his gaze back to her. The longing in her beguiling eyes moved him more than he would ever admit, for to do so was weakness on his part. “Allow me this one concession.”

  Of course one request would lead to another, and another…

  He shook his head, thinking it was incomprehensible for the future Queen to make her own clothes, let alone design them. What manner of woman was Demetria? What other secrets was she hiding from him?

  “I’ll think about it,” he said as they reached the airport.

  In moments they’d climbed into the tram that would deliver them to his private plane. Again she hesitated before choosing a seat, but his guards decided it for her by placing her between them.

  A logical choice to hem her in—so why did he resent being denied her company? He should be glad he was being spared further requests that might pop into her head.

  He slammed onto the forward seat beside his chief bodyguard Vasos, vexed with himself for softening toward her. When he was in her company it was far too easy to forget that she’d been unfaithful to Gregor. That given the chance she’d likely betray him as well.

  That was what he must bear in mind all the time. She was not to be trusted. Not to be pampered one bit.

  He certainly needed to know more about this partner of hers. Needed to know what she’d been doing the past year.

  As for bringing Demetria to Angyra? He was asserting his power over her because he could. Because he’d thought of her too much in the past year. Because he wanted her where he could watch her, touch her, kiss her if he so desired.

  She was his now. Nothing could stop him from taking her.

  Despite her reluctance to return here, Demi thought the island was still breathtaking. A true emerald set amid an azure sea.

  But the arrogant man sitting too close beside her was a torment she could live without—especially now, when she struggled to control her emotions around him.

  Drawing a decent breath had become a battle, for she pulled his scent deep into her lungs, into her senses. Her skin tingled and an unwanted ache pulsed low in her belly.

  As the limo whipped along the serpentine road up the mountain to the palace, she hoped that this time alone together would give them the opportunity to get to know one another on more than an intimate level. Perhaps they’d somehow find a common ground on which to build their future.

  Thus far her future revolved around duty to the crown. Marriage. Producing the royal heir as well as other children.

  If there was any affection to be had, her life wouldn’t loom so grimly. But Kristo didn’t even like her. In fact he resented her for surrendering to him one year ago.

  There was nothing she could do to change that fact. Nothing.

  The drive to the palace was thankfully short. In a frantic effort to put him from her thoughts, she took in the pastoral beauty of the grounds as the car sped up the curved drive. But instead of stopping at the guesthouse, where her family had always stayed during their annual visits, the car continued on toward the house.

  “Won’t I be given my usual room?” she asked, heart racing more the closer they drew to the massive palace perched on the bluff.

  “I’ve had a suite prepared for you in the palace.”

  “Why?”

  “There is no reason for you to move twice. Besides, it is a matter of security.”

  Security? No, it was a matter of keeping her under lock and key. Of bending her to his will even before they married.

  In the guesthouse she’d have been able to sit by the pool. Enjoy the sauna. Or lounge on the terrace and watch the ships ride the azure sea. She could have taken a walk to the beach and lost herself in thought.

  But protesting would get her nowhere. In fact, if she was biddable on this count he might relent on what she really wanted to do. Make her own gown.

  So she planted a serene smile on her face as the car stopped on the private terrace at the side of the palace.

  Kristo untangled his long legs and got out first, and Demi drew her first decent breath of air. But her reprieve was short-lived. />
  Though the chauffeur opened the door with a smile, it was Kristo who extended his hand to her. He wasn’t smiling!

  In fact he looked as if he could eat her whole and spit her bones into the sea. Well, in this they agreed. But there was nothing they could do about it.

  She swung her legs out the door and laid her hand in his. His fingers closed over hers, sending a rush of nervous energy charging through her. But it was the naked hunger in his eyes as he stared at her bared legs that struck fire to the sensual tinder banked within her.

  “Beautiful,” he said, his voice a rich rumble of sound as he helped her from the car.

  Her body warmed to his. Swayed toward him. She felt the power of the man charge through her, tearing down her resistance just as he had before, on that beach.

  And that memory was just what she needed to jerk her hand from his and break the spell. “Thank you,” she said, her tone too breathy.

  He wanted her because she’d been groomed for this. Because her father had made this arrangement long ago. Because her bloodline was that of the old Greeks who had fought and died for their country.

  The palace was as she remembered it from those stiff formal dinners she and her family had endured with the King and Gregor. Jasmine and bougainvillea covered the open-air corridor leading to the door, their mixed scent designed to soothe the senses.

  But she was too stressed to appreciate the beauty that greeted her.

  She walked down the vast hall paneled in exquisite white marble veined with purple. The cypress floors soon gave way to the thickest Kirman carpet. Chandeliers of glittering crystal hung suspended from twenty-foot-high domes.

  Gold ornaments, embellishments and wall escutcheons gleamed a rich rosy hue. But for all its grandeur there was no warmth here.

  She remembered that about the palace right away, and wondered if the young princes had ever played here. Had their laughter echoed through the vast chambers? Had they even laughed as children?

  Looking at the tall, solemn man walking beside her, she couldn’t imagine it. The only time that she recalled any levity here was on the one occasion when she’d met the youngest son, Prince Mikhael.