Captured and Crowned. Janette Kenny
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 “You won’t. The moment my brother rescinded his duty, birth order demanded that I assume the crown and his contractual obligations.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 you 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