Captured and Crowned

by Janette Kenny

  “Please,” she whispered, small hands clawing at his arms, his back, before digging into the firm globes of his buttocks.

  He needed no other urging.

  His hands bracketed her face as he surged into her quivering sheath once more. Her lips parted and her eyelids flickered with the power of her passion.

  Again and again their bodies strained in fiery rhythm. He stared into her rapturous eyes, thinking he’d never held anything more precious in his arms.

  At that moment he knew she was more priceless to him than all the gold on Angyra. He’d never made love like this before.

  And that scared the hell out of him.

  Right now he needed to be strong. To think with his head, not his manhood.

  With a savage curse, he set a ruthless pace. But even then she moved with him in primal harmony, until he blessedly couldn’t think of anything anymore except clutching her close to his heart and finding his own release.

  Her back bowed as she reached for nirvana again, his name bursting from her.

  He held her tight, his head pounding with the strain of holding back, of letting her savor every second of spent passion.

  She collapsed on the bed, the strong muscles of her inner thighs relaxing their hold on his flanks, her hands loosing their tight hold on him.

  Only then did he seek his release. His head reared, teeth clenched at the force exploding within him. His blood thundered in his ears, his last coherent thought one of awe at the pleasure flooding him.

  He collapsed on her, the valley between her bosom pillowing his head that was too heavy for him to lift. He’d never been this spent.

  Or this pleased.

  The beginning of a smile twitched at his lips. If only they could hold the world and all the troubles facing them at bay.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DEMETRIA didn’t know when Kristo had left her bed, but he returned to her apartment before nine. She had roused earlier, near starving, to find the air filled with the most enticing aromas from the kitchen. A huge dinner must be in order today.

  Perhaps this time she would be able to eat.

  Or perhaps not.

  She didn’t look forward to this display today. But she was ready, having chosen a simple silk blouse and a skirt that was classically elegant and not the least bit provocative.

  “You look stunning,” he said, and bent to kiss her.

  “And you are quite handsome.” Gorgeous, actually.

  He’d have made a sought-after model with his classic good looks and beautifully sculpted body.

  Only she noted the deeper lines fanning from his eyes. The tension that kept his shoulders racked tight.

  The tolling of bells brought a grim smile from him. “Come. It is time for the announcement.”

  She was a jumble of nerves by the time they reached the front balcony of the palace—more so because the servants they’d passed had avoided making eye contact with her. It was if they were shunning her. That fear only heaped more guilt on her.

  They hate me.

  A crowd had gathered below on the street, its silence needling her nerves even more. If Kristo hadn’t had such a tight grip on her hand she’d have been tempted to flee back to her room.

  He pulled her along with him to the railing. Cameras were raised in the near distance and she forced a smile, knowing she must appear calm when her insides were in knots.

  “At present, Demetria Andreou, Prince Gregor and I are the targets of malicious gossip,” he said as the paparazzi snapped pictures of them as a couple. “We come to you today to inform you that it is all lies and half-truths. We ask that you remember that my brother is ill, and that by allowing this gossip to flourish we hurt him.”

  Demi held her breath as murmurs rippled through the crowd, but nobody spouted the questions or curses she’d dreaded to hear. Nobody said anything that could be overheard.

  That silence was damning.

  Oh, God, the effect her sister’s meddling had had on Angyra must be far worse than they’d anticipated.

  “And I also ask that you join us as we walk to the cemetery to honor my father on the fortieth day after his death,” he said, shocking her with that suggestion.

  This time the murmurs became a low rumble. But Kristo didn’t tarry on the balcony to hear. “Náste Kalá!” And with that farewell he turned and led her back into the palace.

  “Are you crazy?” she asked as she kept pace beside him.

  “Probably, but the people need to see us holding to tradition,” he said. “We must show honor to my father now, and invite them as witnesses.”

  She could only imagine the headache this would cause Vasos and his team of bodyguards. “I wish you would have warned me.”

  He shrugged. “I told you that we’d be out among the people.”

  “Yes, but I never dreamed you’d suggest we all walk to the cemetery!”

  “It’s an old tradition, and it will allow the staff to prepare the area before the palace for the feast.”

  “Feast?” she said, nearly choking on the word.

  He flicked her a rare smile, looking very assured. Very much in control. “Once we have paid our respects at the cemetery I’ve invited the people to join us for a celebration on the front lawn.”

  Surely it was unheard-of for a King to go to such lengths? Dangerous lengths. But then it was clear that Kristo was a risk-taker.

  That would explain all the enticing aromas she’d smelled this morning. “Did the council suggest all this?”

  “They stressed that we should become approachable to the people. The idea was mine.”

  His hand tightened on hers, their fingers entwining. It was a fine show of solidarity. Affection for the people to observe. Except they were still in the palace.

  Her gaze flew to his, questioning. The quick squeeze on her fingers was solely for her benefit. A silent encouragement from him to her.

  Trust me, the gesture hinted.

  She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to trust him. But it was still too soon.

  He paused at the door to accept a huge bouquet of fresh flowers. Then they left the palace by the open-air corridor, but the perfume from the bougainvillea and jasmine that she’d thought pleasant upon arriving seemed cloying to her now.

  Vasos and his men formed a cordon to keep the people at bay. Still they seemed so close she could read the doubt in their eyes, the speculation, the anger.

  Kristo gave no indication he’d noticed, but she was sure he had. Very little ever got by him.

  So they moved like an army toward the church and adjoining cemetery. The King with his head held high and his features carefully masked of emotion. She quite literally quaking, with a horrendous case of nerves and guilt.

  Talk was absent, which was a blessing—for she wouldn’t have been able to speak coherently. The people pressed around them, but the only sounds were the pounding of feet on the cobblestones and the drumming of her heart.

  More people crowded around a cemetery that couldn’t possibly hold a fourth of them. So they clustered by the walls and watched.

  Kristo stopped beside an ornate tombstone, and Demetria tried her best not to lean into his strength. But when he dropped to a knee before the grave of his father and laid the bouquet on the ground a hush of respect fell over those gathered.

  Again he looked invincible. A man in control of himself and his world. But she felt the tremor rocket from him to her. She sensed the grief he silently suffered.

  Her eyes filled with tears and she tried desperately to hold them back. But the actions of this proud man touched her as nothing else had. The tears fell in silent rivers and she swiped them away the best she could. She hadn’t even thought to grab a tissue.

  A scuffle at her right caught her attention. An older woman was doing her best to catch her attention around the burly guard.

  “It’s for Her Highness,” the woman said, loud enough for Demetria to hear this time. In her gnarled hand she held a handkerchief.

&nbs
p; “Let her through,” Demetria said.

  The guard remained unmoved, so Demi pulled her hand from Kristo’s and crossed to the woman. “Thank you,” she said to the lady, and took the offered handkerchief to dab the tears from her eyes.

  “The gods shined on us the day that the King in his wisdom chose you as future Queen,” the old woman said as she executed a bow.

  And the reporters who were always present captured the moment on film.

  The thought struck Demi that maybe now a new headline would grace the tabloids before nightfall. A picture that commanded respect, with an accompanying story that might make the earlier one stand for what it was—vicious gossip.

  Kristo had been right. Her sister had acted cruelly. She hoped that she’d learned her lesson now. That she and Kristo could move forward without more trouble. That in time they would find something more than duty to bind them together.

  She felt Kristo beside her long before he took her free hand in his again. She spared him a quick glance, only to find that his devastatingly handsome smile was being given to the older woman.

  “Efharisto,” he said to the lady, taking her gnarled hand and placing a kiss on the thin wrinkled skin. “You are most kind to come to my future Queen’s aid.”

  “O Theos mazi sou,” the older woman wailed, bowing so deeply Demi feared she’d topple over.

  That simple blessing from an old woman to the King seemed to break the ice that surrounded the people. Some sobbed. Many coughed to clear their throats.

  He turned to Demi and smiled then, and any misgiving she held in her heart instantly thawed. This wasn’t an act on his part, to garner sympathy from the people. This was real.

  Before her stood a man in control of his emotions. A man who didn’t toss praise or words of endearment out at whim. A man who wasn’t afraid to take chances.

  Yet winning his love wouldn’t be easy. Maybe impossible.

  “This has been a troubled few months for the Royal House of Stanrakis,” he said, his voice ringing loud and clear. “From the loss of our beloved King, o sinhoremenos, to my brother’s grave illness. To all of you, na tous cherese.”

  Echoes of good wishes came from those surrounding them, one by one. She felt some of the tension leave Kristo, felt her heart swell with pride at the manner in which he’d opened himself up to the people.

  And that was crucial—for they didn’t know him, only his jaded reputation. “That was beautiful,” she told him.

  He smiled, and she nearly forgot how to breathe. “No, you are beautiful.”

  Before she could savor that compliment, Kristo addressed the crowd. “Please join us at the palace. A feast has been prepared in my father’s honor. Enjoy!”

  With that, he clasped her hand in his and strode from the cemetery. Back to the palace. Back to the place she would forever call home. And maybe there was a chance they could actually make it one—if Kristo opened up to her, if he gave her a chance to win his heart.

  Kristo smiled when they returned to the palace and were greeted by music. Loud. Boisterous. And purely Greek.

  Never in his life had he seen the palace lawn turned over to the populace. His father would surely turn over in his grave, but perhaps that was a good thing too.

  His family had ruled with a strong hand, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have the occasional throwback to earlier times. Especially now, when he needed to feel the pulse of the people. To know if they were on his side or waiting to stab him in the back!

  “This is beyond belief,” Demetria said as he guided her to a table set apart for them, the council and other dignitaries of Angyra. “Whose idea was this?”

  “Mine. I remembered Father saying that death should be celebrated.” He glanced at the tables laden with food. Wine and ouzo flowed freely. “I believe he’d approve.”

  But, whether he would or not, it was obvious that the people were enjoying this side of their royals. It was a bold step to take, and the council and the lawyers had warned him it could backfire, but it worked.

  Though he hoped he’d gain the people’s favor, or at the very least their interest, it was clear that they were entranced by Demetria. She’d regained their support. Their respect.

  And though that came well before his own slow rise in popularity, he found himself smiling as well. She’d charmed them as she did him.

  The morning turned to afternoon, and the crowd grew more boisterous. As he and Demetria were dancing the hassapiko with five other people, Kristo caught the guarded look on Vasos’s face and knew their time at the celebration was over.

  To stay would be dangerous—for him and Demetria.

  “It is time for us to take our leave,” he told her when the dance ended. “Come.”

  She hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the crowd. He saw the longing in her eyes. Knew that she realized this would be the last time she was able to freely dance and celebrate with the people.

  In a few days she’d be royalty.

  “I hate to see it end,” she said.

  “It won’t for them.” He ran a knuckle along her cheek. “Or for us either, if you don’t mind a very private party.”

  A slow smile played over her kissable mouth, her face flushed from dancing, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “I’d love it.”

  In moments they’d slipped back inside the palace. They paused in the hall to kiss—a long, hot kiss that fired their blood.

  He’d intended to take her to his room, but hers was closer. As it was they barely made to the bedroom before they fell into each other’s arms in a frenzy to make love.

  Much later, as she lay curled against his side, Kristo tried to wrap his mind around the events of this day. For the first time since he’d gained the crown he felt in control.

  With Demetria he simply felt relaxed. Whole. Happy?

  A smile teased his mouth. He’d never believed it could be true, but he enjoyed being with her. And not just for sex!

  Today among the people it had been nothing short of magical. And tonight…

  Tonight he planned to enjoy a quiet dinner with her. After he woke her with a kiss. After he made love with her again.

  The trill of his mobile echoed sharply in the velvet twilight. He swore as he rifled through his discarded clothes for it. The number in the display made his blood run cold. His brother.

  He answered with a clipped, “Éla.”

  “Gregor is failing quickly,” Mikhael said. “There is nothing more that can be done.”

  It was the worst possible timing, and yet he had no choice but to show a united front—especially in light of the scandal.

  “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  No more needed to be said.

  He ended the call and placed one to his pilot, aware that Demetria had stirred beside him. “Ready the plane. I must leave immediately.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, when he dropped the mobile on the table and heaved a frustrated sigh.

  “Gregor is dying,” he said, the strained emotions making his voice sound rougher than usual. “I must go to him.”

  “Of course.”

  She sat up beside him, drawing the sheet around her, looking sad. Nervous.

  He rolled from the bed and the temptation her nearness stirred, dressing quickly. It would be so easy to take her in his arms. Hold her. Take the comfort she was clearly ready to give him. But that was how a playboy would behave. Not a King.

  “When do we leave?” she asked.

  He cut her a frown, surprised she’d assume he was taking her with him. “We? You won’t accompany me in this.”

  “Why? I was betrothed to him since I was twelve.”

  “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 ide
a. “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.