Captured and Crowned (5 page)

Her face flamed with anger and embarrassment. How could one man make her toss aside her convictions? How could he make her want him when she hated the very air he breathed?

“Damn you!” she screamed, venting the anger inside her.

But it wasn't enough.

So, because she could, because he'd left her no other recourse after treating her like a dockside trollop being passed
from one brother to the next, she crossed to the lavish gown that had been made for her.

Gregor had never sought her opinion. Neither had Kristo. Neither would ever have done so.

She suffered one moment of indecision, for the gown had certainly cost a fortune. That was her. Always thinking of the other person's feelings—in this case a designer she didn't even know.

She had always done what was required of her, from her papa to the King. And look where it had gotten her!

Locked in a room in a palace and forced to marry a man who despised her.

Quite simply, she looked at the stark white gown and saw red.

With anger pounding through her veins in thick molten waves, she ripped the heavy overskirt off the gown. The mile-long train came next, followed by the grossly puffed sleeves.

She yanked and ripped and reduced most of the gown to rags.

It was petulant. Wasteful. Destructive. But it proved one thing.

She, too, could only be pushed so far.

 

He shouldn't have touched her. Touched?

Ha!
Kristo paced the length of his private salon and battled the lust that throbbed through him, begging for release. He'd done far more than touch Demetria Andreou. His hands had molded over the lush swell of her breasts in a blatant caress, lingering until her nipples budded against his palm, until his sex grew to an unrelenting ache.

For that brief moment time had stood still. He'd been back on the beach with her. Both wet from the surf. Both hot with desire.

Just like then he'd easily gotten lost, stroking the gentle curves of her torso and waist, relearning her shape even though every delicious inch was branded on his memory. The shivers that had danced over her silken skin and into him in an erotic rhythm had pounded in his soul.

He'd pushed resentment and anger from his mind. He'd forgotten who she was. Forgotten they were bound by duty.

He had simply been a man caressing a very desirable woman. A woman who responded to him as no other ever had.

And that was the problem. All he had to do was touch her and he went up like dry kindling, the fires of desire roaring through him so hotly that they burned out all reason.

He could barely think beyond the driving need to sate the hunger that gnawed within him. And now that she was here in the palace—now that they were alone…

This time Kristo had to finish what he'd started with her a year ago. Maybe then he could be near her without being consumed by this primitive lust.

He wanted her. He'd have her. But he'd be a fool to trust her.

The door to his suite opened and Vasos slipped inside, deceptively quiet for such a giant of a man. That was why he was the best bodyguard a man could want.

He could move soundlessly. He could blend in. And Kristo trusted him with his life. Now he trusted him with Demetria's as well.

“Your Majesty,” Vasos said, and bowed. He rarely let emotion show on his rugged face. But right now that visage was drawn in deep lines of worry.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Demetria has destroyed the royal wedding gown.”

“How?”

His mouth turned down. “She ripped it apart with her bare hands.”

He'd have never thought her capable of such rage. Such volatile passion.

Anger curdled in Kristo, but he couldn't help but allow a grim smile as well. She would need a strong hand. A man who could match her in bed and out!

“The lady is removing the options,” he said.

Vasos lifted one thick black eyebrow, the action far more noticeable due to his cleanly shaven head. “I don't understand.”

“She is a clothing designer.” A very angry one, because she hadn't been consulted about her wedding gown.

She didn't trust him to abide by his promise either. So she had removed his choice. She played to win.

“I was not aware of her vocation,” Vasos said.

He likely never would have been either if Gregor hadn't fallen ill and passed the crown and the lady over into his care. Damn, what a coil!

“Alert the guards to pay close watch on the palace. Keeping her under lock and key will only breed more resentment.” She certainly resented him enough already! “I don't wish for Demetria to leave it as yet.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Vasos bowed and then left the room.

Kristo stared at the closed door for the longest time. In the span of a few days his life had turned into a complication. Duty. Business. Desire.

He'd gone from second son to Crown Prince to King in just one day's time. Now he'd soon add husband to that list.

Kristo crossed to the window that afforded a magnificent view of the mountains. But the peace he usually derived from admiring this vista was lost on him today.

Destiny had brought him and Demetria together again.
Only the gods knew if it would be a marriage made in heaven or hell.

His door opened and closed, and he cast a brief glance at his younger brother.

“She's gorgeous,” Mikhael said, shunning greetings to get to the heart of the matter, as always.

“She's the same woman who visited here one year ago,” he said, and realized that though that might be true he hadn't truly known her then. He wasn't certain he knew her now.

“Perhaps.” Mikhael strode to the wet bar and splashed whiskey in a glass. “Did she balk at the prospect of marrying you?”

He heard the underlying humor in his brother's voice and smiled. “She had no choice.”

“A leech then, eager to latch on to to the next in line so she can have a plush life?”

Exactly what he'd thought. But then he pictured what Vasos had told him and burst into laughter. “More like a barracuda caught in our nets. She reduced her wedding gown to ribbons because she hated it.”

“A feisty one, then,” Mikhael said. “At least your marriage should be somewhat entertaining.”

“It will surely be the most talked about wedding in decades.” Kristo's thoughts turned to his ill brother. “Have you heard from Gregor?”

“He's checked into a hospital in Athens. I dislike him being alone, so I intend to go there after I conclude my business in London.”

“A business or pleasure trip?”

“A bit of both.” Mikhael finished his drink and set the heavy glass on the marble counter. “Call if you need me.”

“That goes both ways.” For if Gregor's health took a sudden turn for the worse he wanted to know. He wanted to be by his brother's side.

He waited until Mikhael had left the room before crossing to the bar. He poured a generous portion of ouzo in a glass and took a sip, savoring the taste of anise on his tongue.

Demetria was not at all what he'd expected. He'd thought her to be a shameless flirt, yet she dreamed of pursuing a career as a designer. She had goals and wants beyond duty.

In that they were the same. But as the King his days would be crowded with state functions and problems, as well as the mundane duties that came with so heavy an obligation.

His life would no longer be his own. What little peace he found would be here in this house with his family.

“A man should love his wife,”
his mother had told him. And he allowed that was true.

He'd never wanted a union like his parents had had, which was why he was still very much single. Why he'd thought to remain that way until he was at least forty. Until he'd found the one woman who would share his dreams and desires.

But he'd already bored of the nightlife that Mikhael still favored. Having a different beauty on his arm and in his bed had grown as tiresome as the dearth of conversation he'd had with those socialites.

He wanted a woman who was real, who cared about this country and him. Dammit, he wanted Demetria Andreou.

W
ITH
her rare display of temper ended, and the reality of her situation resting heavily on her, Demi dug into her bag for her sketchpad and pencil.

In less than two weeks she'd be Queen of Angyra. She'd come to accept that fate, which put an end to her career before it had truly even begun. But her entire being was tossed into turmoil when she realized that she'd be Kristo's wife.

A chill ribboned through her, more troubling than ever before. For while she'd seen herself as a convenient wife to Gregor, she knew there would be nothing well suited about an alliance between her and Kristo.

Unless she counted passion.

And that was the last thing she wished to dwell on now!

Angry with herself for her lapse of good judgment where Kristo was concerned, she grabbed her sketchpad and pencil and moved to the chaise positioned by the bank of tall windows. With any luck she'd lose herself in her work.

She certainly needed a mental escape now! But while she'd done hundreds of sketches, perhaps more if she counted the doodles made without forethought, she hadn't designed a wedding gown since her days at university.

Those fanciful sketches born from a girl on the cusp of womanhood had eventually been transformed into a woman's fondest dream. Quick sketches of how she'd wanted her own
royal wedding to be, right down to the handsome prince by her side.

Except when that time had drawn near her prince had selected her gown for her.

Everything had been planned without consulting her.

She'd known there would have been no love in her marriage to Gregor. No happily ever after looming in her future. But she'd expected respect.

Now she knew that wouldn't have happened either.

Kristo was little better.

Yes, he desired her. But for how long? When would he tire of his Queen and seek comfort elsewhere?

That thought unsettled her more than she wished to admit. She'd never seen a picture of him in a tabloid without an accompanying beauty on his arm.

The playboy prince had frequented every hot resort in the world. His contemporaries were the filthy rich—those who made a living playing.

Yet she'd met him on a deserted beach, where he'd been working to protect sea turtles.

The two images of the man were at odds. A contradiction that defied explanation.

He'd shown a different side of himself then that she hadn't seen since. It was almost as if she'd dreamed him up. A mysterious Titan from the sea who passionately guarded his world and the creatures in it. Her as well?

She shook off that disturbing thought and put pencil to paper, letting desire guide her strokes as she sketched the design she'd envisioned all of her life. If she had any hope of convincing him of her talent then her gown had to be unique. Totally her.

The lines and details must showcase her figure and what she believed would fire the desires of an arrogantly handsome King. If she could achieve both, her gown would be talked
about for years. She would forever be listed as an innovative designer who'd given up her career for royal life.

A sad smile played over her mouth when she realized how she'd just romanticized her fate. If only she had been given choices. If only the Crown Prince had courted her, tried to win her heart.

Minutes slipped into hours.

She'd just put the finishing touches to the sketch of her dream gown when a key jingling in the lock broke her concentration. She looked up just as a young woman slipped inside the room, with garments draped over her arm. Vasos was right behind her, carrying a wicker basket teeming with bottles and delicate vials, his rugged face drawn in stoic lines.

The maid scampered off into a room that Demetria had yet to explore. She'd assumed it was likely a bedroom or a dressing chamber. As she had no desire to sleep and no clothes to change into, she had remained in this room.

A room that was twice the size of her flat! But of all the seating areas in this room she preferred staying in what had been provided as a work area.

“The King requests your presence for dinner at eight.” Vasos set the basket of sundries down. “He has selected these fragrances and potions for your pleasure.”

“How good of him to release me from my prison,” she said, but curiosity goaded her to sort through the array of bottles to see what Kristo thought would suit her. “Is this to be a private dinner or will there be guests?”

“Private,” he said. “You will be dining on the terrace.”

“An informal meal, then?”

The guard inclined his bald head in agreement.

Good. Her nerves were too jangled to be presented to guests as yet. And yet the thought of dining alone with Kristo did nothing to ease her mind either.

“Either a servant or I will come for you at a quarter of eight,” Vasos said. “Thank you.”

Vasos left. The click of the lock in the door signaled she'd be left in peace again.

Peace? She wondered if she'd ever be at peace again.

She'd been willing to do her duty, but she'd also thought she'd have time to live the life she'd dreamed off as well. Now she was reduced to haggling for the opportunity to create her own wedding gown!

Demi bit her lower lip, admitting only to herself that her anxiety went beyond her duty to marry. She'd never set out to betray Gregor. Her attraction to Kristo was simply too powerful for her to resist.

Afterward she'd walked on pins and needles, certain that at any moment the King would demand an audience with her. That Kristo would tell all of his encounter with her on the beach. That she'd be deemed unfaithful. Unworthy of the title of Queen.

That she'd be banned from the kingdom.

That she'd be free to embark on her career as a designer.

But it hadn't happened that way then, or after she'd returned to the university to finish her studies.

Kristo had held their secret. Why?

She knew the reason for her own secrecy. Though she'd wanted nothing more than to be free of her obligation to the crown, she'd known that jilting the Crown Prince would carry severe repercussions.

She'd have been fodder for the gossip mills. That alone had stopped her, for she refused to follow in her mother's footsteps. She wouldn't mirror her shame.

Demi wouldn't live up to the name whispered behind her back when she was only six—
scandal's daughter
.

She'd rather live silently with the guilt of her actions.

Ah, easier said than done.

Demi retrieved her sketchpad and returned to the chaise, desperate to push her troubles from her mind if only for an hour. She couldn't change what had been done.

But perhaps she could have a hand in shaping her own future.

The design she'd just sketched was beautiful, the lines clean and crisp. Yet this design had been done through the eyes of the naïve woman she'd once been. A romantic gown that would showcase her love.

Except there was no love in her upcoming marriage.

But then she wasn't that naïve girl anymore either.

She'd ceased being her the day she'd met Kristo Stanrakis.

It was time she was completely true to the crown. To her future husband. And finally to herself.

With that in mind, she quickly set to work on a new design. There wasn't time to complete it, but she could at least make a few rough drawings. Surely one of them would suit the bride of duty?

 

Kristo jammed both hands in his trouser pockets and paced the length of the terrace. He was not used to waiting for a woman and he disliked doing so now.

In fact this was the first time he'd been made to wait, for the ladies of his acquaintance were eager to please him—to gain his favor. Not so Demetria.

Duty bound them together. But would it and this sizzling desire be enough to keep them together?

It must. He refused to fail in his marriage. Refused to fail his family and his kingdom.

His body tensed, sensing her near even before he caught a whiff of her perfume. Before he heard the rapid click of high heels on the cypress wood floors.

He turned just as she stepped onto the terrace. Seeing her backlit in a wash of light simply took his breath away.

She wore a slinky strapless dress the color of pomegranates that hugged her luscious curves. No jewelry other than a slim gold wristwatch.

Her hair hung straight and long, a silken waterfall of dark strands that caught and reflected the light. His fingers itched to run through it. If she wore make-up at all, it was just the barest hint of eyeshadow and a kiss of tanned glimmer on the sensuous bow of her lips.

There was no artifice about her. Nothing intently provocative. Yet she oozed sex appeal. His body answered with the throb of awakening desire that pounded through him.

“You look lovely,” he said.

A smile briefly trembled on her lips, proof that a case of nerves gripped her as well. But where he could hide his behind a stern mask, the emotions on her face were as exposed as the creamy slope of her neck and shoulders that pebbled under his scrutiny.

“Thank you,” she said, managing to compose herself quickly and assume a regal mien.

She clearly had the advantage, for she'd been groomed to be Queen. She was aware of her role, even if she was uncertain of the man she was to marry.

But this life he'd been thrust into was all uncharted waters to him. He'd been as reluctant to accept his fate as the people were to trust him.

On Angyra gossip moved as hot and quickly as a Sirocco, and left tempers just as strained. He was well aware of the whispers that his past exploits would hinder the crown.

There was much speculation among the people as to whether he was capable of leading. He had his own doubts and fears, for he was ill-prepared for this role. He was the second son. The spare who'd grown up in the Crown Prince's shadow.
The man who'd served his country with reckless fervor, gaining allies abroad and censure within Angyra.

Now the weight of the kingdom rested heavily on his shoulders. He'd replaced the favored son. Now he'd claim Gregor's bride as well!

As far as his libido went, that couldn't come soon enough. And why should he wait?

He took a step toward her without conscious thought. “I trust you approve of the garments provided?”

“It was really too much,” she said, taking a step back.

“Feel free to send back anything you dislike.”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted ever so slightly, as if she hadn't expected him to be that generous. “I'm used to wearing my own designs.”

“That isn't necessary any longer.”

“But I prefer to. Surely there is no harm in that?”

He was tempted to applaud the manner in which she smoothly kept the conversation on the subject most dear to her heart—the career she was giving up for the crown. She would likely gain much sympathy if that tidbit was released to the press.

It would certainly elevate the people's love for her even more. Though he wanted her to hold favor with them, he didn't wish to do so at the expense of his own shaky reputation.

That was badly tainted already, for the majority still saw him as the playboy prince. He was the spoilt son who'd whiled his time and fortune away at gaming tables across the world.

He'd lived in the fast lane, enjoying a decadent life, while his brother had remained at the palace seeing to the needs of the people. Or at least that was how it appeared.

Only a handful of people were aware that he'd been responsible for the elevated working conditions at the Chrysos Mine. That he'd worked secretly for the good of his country. And
that was how he wished it to remain. He didn't want praise for what had needed to be done.

With his own funds he'd bought deserted beaches. He'd ensured that they'd remain a national preserve for the benefit of the endangered sea turtles as well as other wildlife.

On one of those beaches he and Demetria had surrendered to passion. It was hard to believe the poised woman now garbed in the latest fashion was the same woman he'd held in his arms.

He longed to rip away the pretense. To strip them of lies and duty and just revel in the desire that raged between them.

“Why do you insist on working when your duties will command the majority of your time?”

“Surely being the Queen will not take up every waking minute.”

“Have you forgotten your role as my wife?”

Without waiting for her to answer, he lifted her hand and placed a kiss on the satin skin. The jolt that tore through her mirrored his own reaction to being near her.

“How could I?” She pulled her hand back as if she'd been burned.

“I'm glad you finally understand that designers will clamor for
your
attention.”

She hiked her chin up, cheeks flushed and lips thinned. “Then I'll make certain I'm seen wearing my partner's creations.”

He bit back a grim smile. No doubt her own ideas would find their way into those garments as well. Fine! If that appeased her, then so be it.

But it was clear her choice went beyond simple likes and dislikes. Her favoritism would certainly boost her partner's career.

Again, there was nothing wrong in that.

Her loyalty to her partner was admirable. Pity she hadn't held been that faithful to the Crown Prince!

He strode to the liquor cart. “Would you like a drink?”

“Chablis would be nice,” she said. “Where are your servants and bodyguards?”

“The servants will deliver the food in due time. As for guards—there is no need for them to dog my steps inside the palace.”

He poured a glass of wine for her, and chose
tsipouro
over ice for himself. This was the first time he'd been totally alone with her since that day on the beach.

Unlike then, there was nothing welcoming in the cool gaze she fixed on him. There was no wonder at watching nature unfold reflected in her eyes that were the color of mocha, at finding pleasure in each other's arms.