Her thoughts tumbled into a conflicting whirl of sensations. The incredible freedom she’d felt dancing with the people. Making love to Kristo deep into the night. And the simple pleasures like holding his hand.
She could easily delude herself into thinking he loved her. But he didn’t.
He’d been honest about that from the start. He wasn’t “victim” to that particular emotion.
She still didn’t know why he shied away from love. Why he couldn’t give her more than sex.
“Who soured you on love?” she asked, but her only answer was his breathing that had finally evened out in sleep.
But she was wide awake, her mind troubled. She’d tried hard to deny what she was feeling. But she couldn’t any longer.
The depth of emotions rocketing through her were far beyond anything she’d experienced. More powerful than anything she’d ever dreamed of having.
This was more than sex. Much, much more. And that made it more horrible to bear, for what she felt would not be returned.
Love. She hadn’t wanted this consuming need that left her fearing she’d die if she lost him. As if she only felt whole when she was with him. This feeling reduced her to a needy woman who tried to convince herself that she could be content with just his physical love.
It was a lie. She needed more than that from him. She needed his heart. His trust.
But she knew she’d get neither. Knew she was in for heartache because she loved him. Deeply. More deeply than any woman should love a man.
“Damn you, I didn’t want this to happen,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes as she glided her hands down the muscles in his back that had finally lost their steel. “But it did.”
CHAPTER TEN
KRISTO pushed inside Demetria’s suite promptly at a quarter till six, wondering if she’d be ready, as he’d asked. If all went as planned the church bells would begin ringing fifteen minutes from now. The last time they’d tolled was when Gregor had had to gather the people to announce that the King had died.
To his surprise, she stood by the open balcony door wearing a royal blue dress that hugged her curves and ended in a swirl just above her knees. It was fashionable, yet sophisticated.
Her glorious hair hung in loose curls, and he couldn’t think of a more fitting crown for such beauty. If only she wasn’t frowning.
He strode to her and wished that circumstances had been different. Being at crossed swords with his bride was not the way to start a marriage.
His hand grasped hers and she trembled as if shocked. He felt the electrical charge arc into him like a lightning bolt and set fire to the desire that never truly banked.
Touching her was dangerous, for it narrowed his thoughts to one thing—pleasuring her. But he couldn’t stop himself. He, who always remained cool, had discovered his weakness. Her!
He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on the silken skin. She couldn’t contain her whispered moan. He just managed to still his answering groan.
Amazing how a private moment with her could fast escalate out of control. How all he could think of was taking her back to bed.
He stared at the delicate hand resting in his and marveled at the nimble fingers that created such beauty with beads and lace and silk. Slender fingers that had played over his flesh in long lusty strokes to the point where he’d been nearly mad with wanting her.
With a muttered oath directed at himself, he shook off the carnal images that had his blood roaring in his veins and focused on the task at hand. Within the hour, the Royal House of Stanrakis would officially be in mourning again.
Their marriage would be postponed. His personal life put on hold. But before that happened there was one thing he’d neglected to do for her. And that was causing him more anxiety than he’d believed possible.
“You’re scaring me, Kristo,” she said, her hands tightening on his when he stood before her, staring.
He was scaring himself, for he’d never traveled this road before. God willing, he would never have to do so again.
He managed a smile and looked into eyes that were wide with concern. “I am honored and pleased that you will be my bride. My Queen,” he said, and slid a ring on her finger.
The fit was perfect. She was perfect.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
It was priceless, but it paled in comparison to her beauty. “It was commissioned for your wedding.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “This is the ring Gregor was to give me?”
“Technically, yes, though he never ordered it made or saw it once it was completed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Gregor asked me to handle this very personal task for him, claiming he had no talent for such things.” So, without knowing the likes and dislikes of their future Queen, just remembering the passion she’d exuded, he’d had the ring designed for her.
That had been a horrendous task, for at the time he’d thought the very worst of her. Still, guilt made a man do the impossible at times.
He’d chosen a three-carat blue diamond surrounded by smaller brilliants because it was spectacular. He’d commissioned the ring to be set in Rhoda gold and platinum as well, to symbolize two of the richest ores on earth. The combination was striking. Just as she was too beautiful for words.
But he’d not known until now that the fire in the blue diamond would match the glow of passion in her eyes before she climaxed. Or that the bands of gold and platinum would bring out the warmth in her light olive skin.
“Do you like it?” he asked, for if she hated it he’d have another one created.
Her lips trembled. Firmed. “It’s more than lovely.”
She blinked away the sudden moisture that seemed intent on filling her eyes, but it was a useless battle.
“Why tears over something so small?” he asked, uneasy around her when she was like this.
She sniffled, and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue he handed her, looking small and miserable. “Don’t you see? It’s not the ring. It’s all of it together that makes this so heartbreaking.”
“All of what? You’re making no sense.”
“Of course you wouldn’t understand. You have seen that I have the gown of my dreams. A garden wedding that is picture-book perfect. I have a devastatingly handsome King as my groom, and now this—a magnificent engagement ring.” Though her crying had stopped, two tears slipped from her big sad eyes. “And it’s all show. I’ve gone from being the chosen fiancé of your brother to yours. There’s no love.”
He heaved a sigh. Love again.
“That’s it, then? You would be happy if I professed my undying affection?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t believe you, for you would only be telling me what I want to hear.”
He couldn’t deny it, though he was tempted to.
“I wanted you since the first day I met you on the beach,” he said, and managed a tight smile when she blinked in surprise.
“Wanted me? As in desired me as a sexual partner? Lusted after me? Is that it?”
“Yes, and if you are honest with yourself you will admit that you are just as desirous of me.”
She jerked her gaze from his—as if the truth stung, as if the sight of him sickened her. “How can you be so cold?”
“It is honesty, Demetria. In my position I can’t afford to be a victim of emotions.”
He didn’t understand the sense of loss that settled over him. He sure as hell didn’t want this weakness, so he shoved those troubling emotions to the back of his mind.
He was the King. He had to make tough decisions for the good of Angyra. He couldn’t let one small woman disrupt his life and his kingdom.
Their plans had been made and they would abide by them. Even if he hated what he was about to do.
His fingers closed around hers and he ground his teeth when she stiffened. “Come. It’s time to make the announcement.”
She nodded and fell into step beside him, looking regal and composed, ye
t far too aloof. Still, that electric thrill shot through him just at having her beside him.
But this time he sensed a wall going up between them. A barrier that might not be as easy to breach.
The moment they reached the main hallway leading to the balcony she abruptly stopped, forcing him to do the same. Much of the staff stood along the walls in a show of support.
“Your Majesty,” Vasos said, and bent in a courtly bow.
Both lines of servants followed suit.
He nodded, momentarily regretting that when he’d taken the crown the familiarity he’d shared with these people all his life had changed. This was not the life he wanted, yet he was surprised that accepting the burden no longer angered him.
He guided her toward the door that glowed in the late-afternoon sun.
“Your father will arrive late tomorrow for the funeral,” he said, and swore under his breath when she stiffened.
“I don’t look forward to that visit,” she said in an undertone.
“Nor do I, but protocol demands it.”
They’d reached the front balcony, and the cluster of guards and staff made further talk impossible. The doors were opened wide and a roar went up from the crowd that extended from the cobbled lane in front of the palace down to the harbor.
The bells were nearly deafening here, but he knew they’d stop soon. Knew that once he stepped out on that balcony and made the announcement his life would take another huge change.
Finally the tolling stopped, but its echo vibrated off the verdant hills for long minutes. Before the last reverberation died, he grasped Demetria’s hand in his and walked out on the balcony.
A large crowd had gathered to throw up a shout of welcome. The enormity of the moment wasn’t lost on Kristo.
He’d stood back all his life while his father had come out here to speak to the people first. Always after state and family deaths. Always for national celebrations.
Gregor had stood by their father’s side, and Kristo had been content to be in their shadow. He’d had the life he ached to pursue, and being the second son had afforded him that luxury.
Now he was King. Duty came first.
“Marry for love,” his mother had told him.
Yet here he stood with his chosen bride, poised to start their marriage with animosity instead of affection.
He glanced at her, and his heart lurched with an empathy that had never been strong in his gene pool. She stared unseeing at the sea of cheering people, their din so loud he could barely hear himself think.
This was just another burden his title carried. He hoped she realized now that they’d always be on display with the people. That the celebration the other day had been a fluke.
He bent close to her ear. “Smile, Demetria. You look like I have a gun in your back.”
“In a way you do,” she quipped, but the inviting bow of her lips curved into a smile, albeit a tense one.
He swore under his breath and knew there was no help for it. Even if he could find the words there was no time for them right now.
With a hand raised for silence, he stepped to the railing with Demetria by his side. “The Royal House of Stanrakis is grateful for your patience and respect these past few troubled weeks. I deeply appreciate that you joined us in celebrating my father’s death.”
And now Gregor was gone. His chest tightened at the thought of his brother slipping into obscurity, as he’d wished.
He stared at the gathering. Their silence was palpable. Then, like the tide rolling to the shore, the low rumble of rapid conversation came from those gathered. A few clapped their hands, the applause slow but building.
“Hail to the future King and Queen of Angyra,” a man in the crowd shouted, and soon others joined in with well wishes.
If there were any detractors—and he was sure there were those who found this turn of events unsatisfactory—they wisely kept their opinions to themselves.
“Wave and smile as if you are thrilled beyond words, for it’s clear they hold you in high regard,” said Kristo.
He felt a tremor go through Demetria as she lifted a hand and waved. Not the cursory movement he’d seen some royals make. But a genuine greeting. One that she’d give to a friend across the street.
“I’m the same person I was yesterday, when I was dancing with them,” she said.
But that wasn’t true. Up here she was the future Queen.
“As you all are aware, the royal wedding was to take place in the formal garden next Saturday,” he said, pausing to let a ripple of agreement go through those gathered. “Unfortunately tragedy has struck the Royal House of Stanrakis again and the wedding must be postponed. Prince Gregor, my beloved brother, is dead.”
Behind him, Mikhael’s low voice reached him as he comforted an elderly aunt. Women wept. Men moaned.
Demetria stood quietly at his side. His comfort.
Kristo stood tall and firm, his heart clenched with grief. He had done what duty decreed, even though it went against Gregor’s wishes.
This was the right thing to do for Angyra. For him and Demetria as well? Only time would tell.
He wanted the people to accept her. To forget that she’d been Gregor’s betrothed. To love her as much as he did.
That admission gave him pause. Was that why he thought of her every second? Why he had to touch her if he was near her? Why she haunted his sleep with her beguiling smile?
Had he fallen in love with her?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE dinner was more elegant than she could have imagined, and far more somber than any meal should be. Demetria sat at the opposite end of a lacquered dining table from Kristo, wishing she knew the workings of his mind. But he’d said nothing to her, leaving her to feel like one of the pieces of art on display.
She wished she knew what was troubling him. Wished she could have had a moment alone to speak with Kristo. But since the announcement his family, friends and royal dignitaries had demanded his attention. She had been pushed aside, forgotten or ignored—she wasn’t sure which.
Even now, at the long dining table, a dozen of his cousins and close family members carried on hushed conversations that she failed to grasp. His brother Mikhael sat at her left, far more reserved than she remembered him being.
An elegant young woman who was the daughter of a council member had taken the chair on Kristo’s left and captured his attention with soulful looks, softly spoken words that forced him to bend close to her, and repeatedly touched his hand in a gesture of sympathy that lingered far too long.
The last troubled her, for it was blatantly clear that the woman had eyes only for Kristo. Thankfully none of the other guests had seemed to notice but her.
“I was convinced that you were a gold digger, but I have been proved wrong,” Mikhael said, his voice a rich purr that was pleasing but lacked the sensual quality of Kristo’s. “I was also certain you hated my brother, but I can see that isn’t the case.”
Demetria glared at him, which gained her his rogue’s smile, and chose to ignore the first remark. “I do hate him at times.”
Mikhael arched a dark brow, clearly not believing her.
He leaned so close she could smell the brandy on his breath. “I know a jealous woman when I see one, and you, Demetria, are jealous.”
“Rubbish,” she said, and took a sip of her wine in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner.
He gave a careless shrug. “Deny it all you wish, but it is the truth.”
He was right. She loved Kristo. She was jealous. Furiously jealous of him, and simply furious with the woman seated beside him for her blatant flirtation.
“Of course he is the same,” Mikhael said.
She glanced at him over her wineglass. “He’s possessive. That is not the same thing.”
“I shall prove you wrong.” Mikhael pushed to his feet and instantly garnered everyone’s attention. “It is too beautiful an evening to spend inside cloaked in grief. So I have invited my future sister-in-law to
join me for a walk in the garden.”
He extended a hand to her, his smile utter charm. The guests were so quiet she was sure they could hear her heart race like the wind.
She was caught between insulting him by refusing his offer in front of his family, or leaving the woman and Kristo alone. Neither option appealed to her.
Truthfully, she wanted to get away, because the past two hours had been a dreadful strain to endure. She had never been so besieged by such a torrent of opposing emotions.
“What a splendid idea,” the woman at Kristo’s right said, breaking the silence.
Demi’s gaze fixed on the woman’s smug smile. Like a volcano, anger boiled inside her again and threatened to spew.
Getting out of here was her only option. If she stayed, she’d surely make a scene.
She laid her linen aside and rose, hoping a walk in the fresh air would clear her head and cool her temper. “I agree.”
“As do I,” Kristo said, on his feet and striding toward Demi before she could place her hand on Mikhael’s arm. “Come, agapi mou.”
Upon hearing him voice that endearment in public one of his elderly aunts bobbed her head and let out a pleased sigh.
If only the words held meaning for him. The fierce gleam in his dark eyes was deep and troubled. Yes, he was possessive, but there was some other emotion there that she’d not seen before—something primal and fathomless.
“Shall we?” Kristo asked.
She inclined her head, for truly she didn’t trust herself to speak right now. Kristo pressed his hand to the small of her back and she burned with need.
Being alone with him would lead to the bedroom. It always did. For the life of her she couldn’t think of a reason to refuse him. It was a shameful admission to make in the wake of Gregor’s death, but she couldn’t deny it.
“Thank you all for coming, and for your support,” he told the guests. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?”
All of the guests smiled and demurred to their King and future Queen. All but the woman next to Kristo, whose eyes snapped with anger.
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