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 daught
er.
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.
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.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MORNING 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.
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