Captured and Crowned (12 page)

“You are also the woman who betrayed him with me,” he said, annoyed that she seemed eager to flaunt what they'd done before his dying brother.

“He's certain to have heard about this scandal by now. We could tell him the truth together,” she said, biting her lower lip, as if uncertain how to go on with this horrible idea. “We could explain how we—”

“No! We will not team up against my brother.”

“I wasn't suggesting we do that,” she said, her voice holding a quaver of frustration now. “But I'm the woman Gregor was betrothed to for ten years.”

“Which is why you will not be there,” he said. “You betrayed him, Demetria. There is no explanation for that.”

She reeled back against the headboard of the bed, eyes wide and stark, face far too pale. “I disagree. I want to see him.”

In three steps he was at the bedside and had pulled her up against him. Mistake!

He realized it as the sheet fell from her, as her lush breasts
molded against his chest and the flames of desire licked over them. That was not what he wished to be tormented with when he faced his dying brother!

He narrowed his gaze on her too luminous eyes, angry she had this power over him. “Why? What possible explanation can you give a dying man? That you fell into lust with me?”

“If you're honest with yourself, you'll admit there was a magnetic pull that we couldn't resist.”

“We will not flaunt our lust in front of my brothers. Don't press me on this again.”

“Dammit, Kristo! It was more than that!”

“What? Surely you won't claim that you fell in love?”

“Of course not! That would be the last thing I would feel for you,” she said, shoving her fists between them and breaking his hold.

He glared at her, chest heaving with annoyance while his heart ached with worry. Again he was handling this wrong with her, but he didn't have time to explain his feelings to her now.

“I'll keep you informed,” he said.

She gave a jerky nod, but didn't look at him.

That was the image of her that stayed with him as he raced to the airport.

 

Thirty minutes later Kristo stood at his brother's bedside and executed a deep bow of respect. “I came as quickly as I could.”

Yet the flight from Angyra to Athens had never seemed to long or so fraught with anxiety. He'd had no idea what he'd walk into, yet he was determined to meet his fate without complaint.

Gregor's lips pulled in a weak smile and his glazed eyes lifted to his. “Thank you, my King. Though I told Mikhael not to trouble you.”

“I wouldn't have forgiven him if he hadn't called me,” Kristo said, flicking his younger brother the barest smile of gratitude.

But the greeting wasn't returned. Mikhael simply stared at him with cool dark eyes.
He knew.
Kristo was certain Mikhael was aware of the brewing scandal. Gregor as well?

The answer came a heartbeat later. “I see we have made headlines in all the gossip rags,” Gregor said. “Is there any truth to it?”

He could lie. Save his brother hurt. But he'd hate anyone to do that to him.

And so he told his brother with an economy of words exactly what had happened that day on the beach, leaving out details of their intimacy.

“It is hard to tell who was more shocked that night at the palace when we realized each other's identity,” Kristo said. “I never intended to betray you, nor did she. It just happened.”

His brothers fell silent. A brooding silence for Mikhael. With Gregor he couldn't tell. Like their father, he was adept at cloaking his emotions.

“Did you sleep with her?” Gregor asked at last.

“Not while she was betrothed to you.”

Gregor gave a clipped nod. “It is good, then, that you are the one who will marry her.”

“Enough about my indiscretion. What of your condition?” he asked Gregor. “I can't accept that nothing more can be done to help you. That we gather around your bed and wait.”

“I've brought in the leading authorities on his condition,” Mikhael said, his expression grim. “It is out of our hands.”

He'd known it the moment he'd walked into the room, yet conceding defeat left a sour taste on his tongue. He had lost his father forty days ago. He didn't want to lose his brother too.

The brother he'd betrayed. That would always be his cross to bear.

The anger he heaped on Demetria for betraying Gregor was twofold on himself. In his heart, he knew he didn't deserve the crown.

Gregor gasped, teeth clearly clenched in pain for an agonizing moment. When it ended his complexion had turned a cooler gray.

“Forgive me. I didn't want to die before the wedding,” Gregor said, gasping for breath again. “I wanted to see my playboy brother claim his royal bride. To see Angyra celebrate its King and Queen.”

“I will endeavor to do my best for our country,” Kristo said. “But in light of your failing health I should postpone the wedding.”

“No,” Gregor said, his tone authoritative and yet so weak. “Do not mourn me. Angyra has suffered enough through Father's death. They do not need another one so soon afterward.”

“You know that you are still much favored in Angyra.”

“That doesn't matter,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now. “You are the King. I believe you will be a far better one than I, for you know how to make Angyra stronger.”

He hoped his brother was right. Hoped he'd make a strong leader and a fair one.

“Rest, Gregor,” he ordered.

“I will soon. The doctors tell me that I have only hours, not days left to live.”

Kristo had known that before he came here, yet hearing it, seeing the proof of his brother's decline, tore at his heart. His family could buy anything they wished. Demand that a kingdom bow to their will. Yet they were helpless against this.

“Go home, my King,” Gregor said. “Marry as planned.
Nása kalá!
”

Those words hung in the brittle air as Gregor succumbed
to the inevitable. A nurse rushed forward to check his vitals, then quietly unplugged the monitors and left the room.

Left him and Mikhael flanking the bed where their dead brother lay. Kristo coughed to clear the emotion clogging his throat, knowing he'd lost the chance to gain forgiveness or damnation from Gregor.

Mikhael heaved a sigh. “So what do we do with our brother now?”

“The only thing we can do without regret. Return to Angyra with him and hold a state funeral.”

T
HE
loud steady thud of hammering brought Demetria out of a sound sleep. She sat up and gathered the bedclothes to her bare bosom, realizing that the sound was coming from outside.

Yesterday seemed like a lifetime away now. Had they really danced on the lawn with the people of Angyra, acting like children? Acting free? Had they made love the whole afternoon?

Had she irrevocably lost her heart to Kristo?

It was all true. The memories flooding back to her were very real, as was the tenderness in her breasts and between her legs.

Yet tempering her pleasure was the extreme sadness that came from Gregor's death. Kristo had rung her late last night, saying only that his brother's struggle was over and that they'd return home today.

She dragged herself into the shower. Moments later, as she donned capris and a T-shirt, she heard voices in the salon. She padded to the connecting door and yanked it open, thinking Kristo had returned.

Instead she found Vasos and the maid, surrounded by garment bags and boxes.

Demetria poked her head out her bedroom door, her curiosity too great to remain hidden. “What's going on?”

The maid whirled toward her, a smile wreathing her round face. “The remainder of the wedding finery has arrived.”

Demi's questioning gaze lifted to Vasos. Though she'd designed the royal wedding gown, there were a few accessories that needed to be provided. But this array of boxes and garment bags went far beyond the need for satin pumps and undergarments.

“The King has asked that you select your trousseau,” he said.

She caught the names emblazoned on the boxes and bags and knew there was a small fortune in clothing here. All top designers that she'd studied with envy. The
crème de la crème
of those she admired professionally and had hoped to emulate one day. Kristo couldn't have known that, though, for she'd never been able to afford anything made by them.

She forced a smile, even though this order felt like salt being rubbed into a wound. He hadn't done this because he cared for her and wanted to gift her with the best. No, this was part of her new role. The future Queen
must
present herself in only the best.

Still, he could have asked her opinion.

“Fine. Leave them and I'll look through them later,” she said, her toner sharper then she'd intended.

Vasos inclined his head. “As you wish. Is there anything you require?”

She shook her head. “What's all the commotion outside?”

“Preparations are under way for the royal wedding.”

The moment Vasos took his leave, she crossed to the French doors and watched the small army of workers below. Gardeners were planting a row of roses along the perimeter wall, and the breeze from the sea brought their spicy scent to her.

Other workers were setting up an altar at the edge of the garden wall, their hammering remaining steady. It was a perfect location for a wedding.

Beyond the wall the ground dropped off sharply, to leave a stunning view of the azure sea and the city below. This wedding would be photographed and talked about for eons.

She couldn't think of a more lovely place to hold the ceremony. She'd always wanted to have a garden wedding. Always known that the ivory gown of her heart would glow warmly under a full sun.

And now it would. The fairy-tale wedding, right down to a handsome King at her side.

Her heart ached. Except he didn't love her.

She glanced at the designer garments the maid was carefully removing from the boxes. They could wait. She had one small detail to complete on her wedding gown first.

 

Kristo stepped inside Demetria's suite to find the maid returning a stack of garments to boxes. He guessed these were the ones Demetria didn't want—which seemed to be most of them.

“Your Majesty,” the maid said, and bowed, flicking nervous glances to the bedroom and then back at him.

He gave her an impatient smile and canted his head to the door. “I need a moment of privacy with the lady.”

Without a word, the maid scurried from the room.

“What was that?” Demetria said as she strode from the bedroom.

She froze in a pool of sunlight that transformed the gown into a glistening ivory cloud. She looked more luminous than a pearl, a vision that no man would ever forget.

He certainly wouldn't.

“Oh!”

She grabbed a multicolored shawl off the divan and held
it in front of her. But the image of her in her wedding gown was already branded on his mind.

He'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life, even with the bright drape concealing her. Her tanned skin glowed warmly and her eyes were huge and filled with the same desire that pounded in his veins.

In this they were well matched. He'd never tire of her. Never cease to be awed by her beauty.

Without a doubt nobody would be able to tear their gazes from her at the wedding. She'd simply be the most raved about bride in all of the Mediterranean.

And she'd be his.

He never took his eyes off her radiant face, wondering again why his brother had never been enamored of her. Had it been because of his ill health? Or was it chemistry?

“It's bad luck for you to see the bride in her gown,” she said as she backed toward the bedroom.

“Perhaps we've already reached our quota of ill fate.”

A flush skimmed across her high cheekbones and strands of her glorious hair escaped the band at her nape to dance around her bare shoulders. The vivid memory of that hair teasing his bare heated flesh tormented him, and he wanted nothing more than to strip them both naked again and lose himself in her willowy arms.

“I don't care to take that chance,” she said. “Did you just return?”

“About thirty minutes ago. I've not told the people about Gregor yet.” He snorted. “Gregor didn't want me to tell them at all!”

“They should know.”

His gaze fixed on hers, and he caught the sheen of moisture and knew its cause. Sorrow. “You realize this means a change in the wedding plans?”

“I suspected as much,” she said, her voice solemn. Resigned. “We've no choice.”

Choice. He'd given her damned little. And seeing her now in her finery, knowing she'd created something so magnificent, boggled his mind.

“I've arranged to make the announcement of Gregor's death at six,” he said. “I'll come for you thirty minutes before.”

“I'll be ready.”

Again that unnerving spate of silence.

“Would you send the maid in?” she said at last.

“She's gone,” he said. “I sent her away.”

“What? I need her to help me get out of the gown.”

He smiled, thinking that was a task he'd take great pleasure in doing. “I can do that.”

“The buttons are tiny.”

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Do you doubt my agility?”

“No, but that means you'll have to see me in the gown again.” Her frustrated sigh echoed around him. “Please, will you call the maid in?”

He shook his head and crossed to her bedroom, surprised that she clung to such superstition. He stopped at the door. “No. I'll close my eyes. All you have to do is present your back to me.”

“You promise not to look?” she asked.

“Yes.” He closed his eyes, agreeing to open them only when she was out of that gown and feeling like a child playing a game.

“All right.”

He felt the swish of her skirt against his legs and sucked in a breath at the heightened charge of desire not seeing her created. All his senses were suddenly more attuned, and thoughts of a child's game vanished in a heartbeat.

Her jasmine scent was more provocative. The silken wisps of her hair were softer than the expensive cloth.

Just brushing his fingertips against the smooth curve of her spine as he worked the tiny buttons free awakened his desire. In his mind's eye he saw that wedge of creamy skin that was slowly revealed with each slip of a button.

“Lovely,” he said, when he'd slipped the last button free.

“Thank you.”

Before she could move away, he skimmed both palms up her spine, parting the gown in his wake. She gasped and he opened his eyes then, looking not at the silk that barely clung to her but at the tanned flesh arrowing to her waist.

Desire roared through his veins, hot and needy. Without a word he pushed the garment off her.

She caught it and stepped free of the skirt, facing him with the silk clutched in her hands, giving him more than a teasing peek of her full bare breasts. “I'll be a moment getting dressed.”

“Don't.” He followed her into the bedroom.

He lowered his face to hers and grazed her lips once, twice. The third time she strained upward to meet him, losing her grip on the gown to slip her arms around his neck.

Their lips melded in a frisson of fiery need that roared through his blood in a flood of need. His tongue stroked hers with bold intent. He was desperate to keep a hold on his control but it was a losing effort, for he was weary of this constant standoff. Of being her adversary when all he wanted to be was her lover. Her only lover.

She gripped his shirtfront and treated him to the same erotic kisses, the sweet sensuous assault dragging a groan from the depths of his soul.

“You are a vixen,” he said against her lips.

She splayed her fingers on his face in a possessive caress. “Only with you, Kristo.”

It didn't matter if that was the truth, or if she was just telling him that to appease him. She was his now. The perfect match
for him in bed, for she challenged him there as well. And he was ready to prove that point right now.

She smiled against his lips. “How interesting that you had no trouble getting me out of the gown.”

“That's because I prefer you naked.”

His hands cupped her shoulders to push her from him, just enough so he could appreciate her beauty. The blush tips of her bared breasts thrust upward, begging him to sample. A very sexy red satin thong just barely hid the secrets he longed to explore again at leisure.

“That is a pleasant surprise any groom would appreciate,” he said.

She blushed, and again he was struck with the anomaly of her coyness. “It wasn't intentional.”

He couldn't care less if she'd planned it or not. Another need roared through him now, demanding satisfaction. Demanding release.

He tore off his shirt and swept her into his arms. Long determined strides carried her to the bed.

She gave him a teasing smile.

He made quick work of stripping off his clothes, trying to find the words that she'd long to hear. All the while her wide luminous eyes caressed him, causing his blood to boil and his lungs to burn with want of her.

Seeing her lying there with her ripe body begging for his mouth and questing hands fogged his reasoning. When his gaze lowered to that tiny scrap of red satin between her legs logic evaporated like sea mist.

His fingers grasped her slender ankles and spread her legs wide. “I have dreamed of this all day,” he said as he stretched out between her creamy thighs.

He skimmed his hands up her long legs to the red thong, gliding his thumbs under the edge to stroke her moist swollen
flesh. An arrogantly pleased smile touched his mouth. She was ready for him. She was always ready for him.

“So sexy,” he said as he pressed a kiss on the transparent satin.

Her fingers dove through his hair and held fast. “Please…”

“Whatever the lady wants,” he said.

He tugged the scrap of satin aside and kissed her, lightly at first. Then his tongue plundered. Using the lacy thong as a sensual torment. Taking all she had to give. Forcing her to give more. Testing his own limits as he'd never done before.

She bucked and let out a needy moan, rocking against him in a fast rhythm that made the pain of waiting almost unbearable. Such sweet torture!

Sweat beaded his brow from his effort to hold his desire in check. Still he kept up his ruthless seduction, for he'd never received such joy from watching a woman climax.

Never felt this warmth that expanded in his heart.

She arched her back and cried out her release and he smiled, pleased that he'd given her such pleasure.

Heart pounding a savage beat, he slid his thumbs under the satin triangle to hook the lace band. He dragged it down her legs and tossed it aside, his breathing labored as if he'd run uphill.

“Beautiful,” he said as he stroked the creamy skin of her inner thighs.

She reached for him, her fingers closing around his length in sweet torment. “So are you.”

He smiled at that, for while lovers had touted his prowess none had ever dared to call a prince beautiful. But Demetria dared that and more.

Her boldness in that regard drew him as surely as the passionate promise glowing in her eyes.

He sprawled atop her quivering body. Their lips met in a crush of raw desire.

“My God,” she whispered against his mouth as she scraped her fingernails along his jaw.

The sensual jolt shot through him like a lightning strike. “How do you do it?” he asked, his voice raw as his emotions.

Passion-dazed eyes lifted to his. “Do what?”

“Drive me wild with wanting you.”

He didn't wait for her answer. He couldn't wait another second to make her his, to bind them together once more.

She clawed at his back, as if trying to crawl under his skin. And wasn't she there already?

The thought came and went as need consumed him like a firestorm. They moved as one, this time as special as the first time, as exciting as the one that would follow.

But he made love with her as if it would be the last time. And deep in his heart he acknowledged that it very well might be.

 

Demetria clung to his sweat-slicked body, knowing he'd dozed off, knowing she only had to shove him to get him off her. But the weight of his powerful body was a welcome blanket after the intensity of their mating.