Captured and Crowned. Janette Kenny
he stared at her bared legs that struck fire to the sensual tinder banked within her.
“Beautiful,” he said, his voice a rich rumble of sound as he helped her from the car.
Her body warmed to his. Swayed toward him. She felt the power of the man charge through her, tearing down her resistance just as he had before, on that beach.
And that memory was just what she needed to jerk her hand from his and break the spell. “Thank you,” she said, her tone too breathy.
He wanted her because she’d been groomed for this. Because her father had made this arrangement long ago. Because her bloodline was that of the old Greeks who had fought and died for their country.
The palace was as she remembered it from those stiff formal dinners she and her family had endured with the King and Gregor. Jasmine and bougainvillea covered the open-air corridor leading to the door, their mixed scent designed to soothe the senses.
But she was too stressed to appreciate the beauty that greeted her.
She walked down the vast hall paneled in exquisite white marble veined with purple. The cypress floors soon gave way to the thickest Kirman carpet. Chandeliers of glittering crystal hung suspended from twenty-foot-high domes.
Gold ornaments, embellishments and wall escutcheons gleamed a rich rosy hue. But for all its grandeur there was no warmth here.
She remembered that about the palace right away, and wondered if the young princes had ever played here. Had their laughter echoed through the vast chambers? Had they even laughed as children?
Looking at the tall, solemn man walking beside her, she couldn’t imagine it. The only time that she recalled any levity here was on the one occasion when she’d met the youngest son, Prince Mikhael.
There certainly hadn’t been any humor on her last journey here, when she’d met Kristo. No, only raging passion followed by towering anger when she came to dinner that night and realized the stranger’s identity.
At that pregnant moment she’d been sure that he would tell Gregor and her father what they’d done on that beach. She’d almost hoped that he would, for that would surely have broken the betrothal agreement.
She would have been free of this obligation she’d never wanted. But Kristo had never said a word. Neither had she, for she had feared what her father would do to her and her sister if she messed up the opportunity that would surely enrich his life.
Then too she didn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps and be the daughter of scandal. That had only made her last trip more fraught with anxiety.
She’d expected Kristo would tell his brother in private. So why hadn’t he? Why had he held their tryst in secret?
Those questions needled her now as he escorted her for what seemed like miles through the palace. Finally Kristo threw open double doors and motioned her inside a room. She stepped into a large suite that was thankfully modern—with the exception of its high ceilings and grand size.
The moment he closed the door and secured their privacy she was very much aware of him as a man. If only he’d smile. If only he’d show more than a glimpse of the man she’d met that day.
Her gaze flicked from his tense expression to the room. The sumptuous sofa and overstuffed chairs lost her interest as she focused on the wedding gown that had clearly been commissioned for her. It was glaringly white, and traditional in the extreme, laden with flounces and heavy beading.
She hated it on first sight. “You can’t expect me to wear that hideous gown.”
He said nothing for the longest time, but his brow furrowed the longer he stared at it. “It doesn’t look that bad to me.”
“Then perhaps you should wear it.”
His lips twitched in the barest of smiles. “I’ll stick with a tuxedo.”
“I’d prefer that over this,” she said.
“Don’t think you can sway me with this petulant display.”
She heaved a sigh, fists bunched at her sides. “Please, let me sketch the gown I have in mind. You can judge for yourself which one I should wear.”
He tipped his head back and stared at her. “You’re that sure of your ability to convince me?”
“I’m positive that what I design will be far superior to this stark white monstrosity.”
Kristo strode to the gown and fingered the stiff overskirt. “Very well. Make a list of what you need and I will see it is delivered today. But understand that the final decision on what you wear rests with me.”
Arrogantly put, and surely not a surprise. The Stanrakis men were noted for their draconian ways.
She walked straight away to the desk, and found paper and a pen. In moments she’d listed the equipment needed: sewing machine, serger, various dressmaker supplies and a dress form.
“I’ll need to choose the fabric myself,” she said, handing him the list and being careful not to touch him this time.
He eyed her as he might a rare bug on the wall. “You expect me to allow you to go on a shopping jaunt?”
“Yes.” She’d been hopeful that her name would have started to be well-known in the world of haute couture before she was forced to take up her duty and marry Gregor. “When I was at the draper’s in Istanbul yesterday, I happened on a wonderful silk.”
“If it was so wonderful, why didn’t you purchase it then?”
“Because I was busy getting ready for the show.” She stopped and shook her head, for since the King had died her life had been a whirlwind of change.
He stared at the gown for a long solemn moment, the beautifully chiseled lines of his face revealing no emotion. She fidgeted with her hands, uncertain what else she could say to convince that this froth of satin, lace and beads was all wrong for her.
“How long will it take you to make this design of yours?” he asked, neither agreeing with her request or denying it.
“A week at the most.”
“Do you always work that fast?”
“Most of the time.” And often late into the night, losing time as she became engrossed in a project. “One more thing. All of my clothes and personal belongings are at my flat in Athens. I need to have my partner send them here.”
He stroked the arrogant line of his jaw and stared at her so long she felt sweat dot her forehead and dampen the undersides of her breasts. “Very well. Phone your partner and have your things readied,” he said. “A courier will pick them up this afternoon and deliver them here by tonight.”
She smiled and retrieved her phone from her bag, too excited over being allowed to make her gown to feel annoyance that he listened to her every word.
With her call ended, she slid her phone on the table and jotted down the address to her flat. She handed that to him with a grateful smile. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
“Come now—you can do better than that,” he said.
She felt the sudden change in him as he strode toward her with predatory intent, as if she’d just issued a challenge he couldn’t refuse.
“What do you mean?” She backed up, suddenly desperate to keep him at arm’s reach when her body ached to do the opposite.
“I’ve just granted you your wish. This concession certainly deserves more than a mere thank-you.”
Her backside hit the wall and slammed a startled squeak from her. But he didn’t stop advancing until he was inches from her, so close her body burned from the heat radiating off his.
Any coherent thought she might have had vanished. All she could think of was how much she wanted him to kiss her. Hold her. Love her?