Buch lesen: «Captured and Crowned»

She was never to be trusted, and yet the thought of her in his brother’s arms had enraged him.

Except now she was in his arms. Now she was his.

There was no reason to keep her at arm’s length any longer. He wanted her. He’d have her.

He ripped out a rough growl and tightened his hold on her, and the throb of her own desire pulsed through him as well.

“No,” she breathed, eyes huge and shadowed with a clear understanding of just what erotically dangerous emotion she’d awakened by baiting him.

“Yes,” he rasped, on fire for her.

A heartbeat later his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was long and lusty and sizzling with all the emotions he’d held in check. Always he held back with women.

Except with her.

Captured and Crowned

By

Janette Kenny

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

For as long as JANETTE KENNY can remember, plots and characters have taken up residence in her head. Her parents, both voracious readers, read her the classics when she was a child. That gave birth to a deep love for literature, and allowed her to travel to exotic locales—those found between the covers of books. Janette’s artist mother encouraged her yen to write. As an adolescent she began creating cartoons featuring her dad as the hero, with plots that focused on the misadventures on their family farm, and she stuffed them in the nightly newspaper for him to find. To her frustration, her sketches paled in comparison with her captions.

Her first real writing began with fan fiction, taking favourite TV shows and writing episodes and endings she loved—happily ever after, of course. In her junior year of high school she told her literature teacher she intended to write for a living one day. His advice? Pursue the dream, but don’t quit the day-job.

Though she dabbled with articles, she didn’t fully embrace her dream to write novels until years later, when she was a busy cosmetologist making a name for herself in her own salon. That was when she decided to write the type of stories she’d been reading—romances.

Once the writing bug bit, an incurable passion consumed her to create stories and people them. Still, it was seven more years and that many novels before she saw her first historical romance published. Now that she’s also writing contemporary romances for Mills & Boon, she finally knows that a full-time career in writing is closer to reality.

Janette shares her home and free time with a chow-shepherd mix pup she rescued from the pound, who aspires to be a lap dog. She invites you to visit her website at www.jankenny.com She loves to hear from readers—e-mail her at janette@jankenny.com

Prologue

“I DON’T want to marry the Crown Prince, Papa.”

It had taken Demetria Andreou two days to work up the courage to say that to her father. She’d waited until Sandros Andreou was relaxing by the pool by the palace guesthouse, with plates of meze and a bottle of ouzo before him. She’d waited until she was sure there was no hope that the relationship would miraculously change between her and her fiancé.

Now, as she watched the olive tinge of her father’s skin take on an ugly ruddy hue, she knew his anger was about to explode. And her insides seized up—for his rage was a terrible thing to witness.

“I care little about what you want,” her father said. “The King of Angyra selected you to be the Crown Prince’s wife when you were twelve years old. It’s an honor! A duty to your family and your country!”

It was also a boon to Sandros Andreou, for being the father of the Queen would elevate his status.

“But I don’t love him, and he certainly doesn’t hold me in any affection.”

“Love!” Her father spat the word out as if it were a curse. “Foolish girl! By the time you are twenty-three years old you’ll be the Queen of your own kingdom. Young, rich beyond measure, and never having to want for anything.”

Anything but love. Anything but the freedom to do what she wished to do with her life. Like her dream to design clothes. But her father wouldn’t understand that.

Neither had Crown Prince Gregor, when she’d broached the subject to him last night over their annual night on the town, which was meant to show him and his young fiancée having fun. A façade—a pretense of what a normal affianced couple in love would do.

He had merely shrugged and said she was free to pursue it now, but after they were married such a career would be frowned upon. However, he would consider her request to embark on it as a hobby when the time came for such decisions.

She’d known then that arguing the finer points would be useless. She knew that her life as Queen would be lonely. Cold. Miserable.

Surely she wasn’t the only woman who’d be suitable as the Queen of Angyra! Surely the Crown Prince could find favor with another woman.

“Perhaps if you spoke with the King this evening he’d reconsider…”

“No! That is out of the question,” her father said, the underlying threat in his voice chilling her to the bone. “You will marry Crown Prince Gregor Stanrakis one year from today, as your King demands. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

But moments later her heart ached for what would be her very brief career as she took the well-tended path from the palace guesthouse to the equally private beach.

The austere King and her domineering papa had planned her future for her. At least she had a year to make a name for herself in the design world, to follow her dream if only briefly.

For ten years Sandros Andreou had brought his family to the island kingdom of Angyra as guests of the Royal House of Stanrakis. It was an enchanted place, where the sea sparkled like blue topaz against white sand beaches.

Frangipani and bougainvillea bloomed in profusion, perfuming the air with their sweet spice. Lush stands of olive and cypress covered the rugged mountains that rose majestically against a cloudless sky.

This was old world. Life moved at a slower pace here. The people openly adored their King and Queen. Already they regarded Demetria with open affection.

Her future had loomed as a fairy tale to her when she was young, with the paparazzi snapping photos of her and the handsome Crown Prince on their yearly “date.” But now she knew better.

Crown Prince Gregor had only given her a sad smile when she’d brought her worries up to him. “Royalty must marry for duty, not love. That is the way it has always been. I’ll be kind to you. All I demand in return is your fidelity until you have given me heirs.”

The fact that he still treated her like a child hurt, but not nearly as badly as the cold fate that awaited her. She was to be the virgin bride to a man who didn’t even desire her.

Lost in that troubled thought, she left the pristine private beach for the wild lands bordering the royal palace. She walked until the sounds coming from the bustling seaport faded into obscurity. She walked until the palace was no more than a speck in the distance, until the only sound was the wild crash of waves against the rocky shore.

On a slim, deserted stretch of beach littered with driftwood and seaweed she crawled onto a jutting slab of rock and stared out to sea. Life was not fair!

She’d known the Crown Prince for a decade but he was still a stranger to her. After this last visit she held little hope that she’d ever become close with her future husband.

Gregor, ten years older than she, was stoic in the extreme. She’d yet to enjoy her time alone with him. They had nothing in common, which made for very stilted conversations. He’d never even given her more than a perfunctory kiss, and she was sure he’d done that just for show!

There was no romance between them. No passion.

No love.

“What are you doing here?” a man asked, startling her with his closeness.

She shielded her eyes and stared down at the stranger, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her. He in turn stared back at her as if he’d never seen her before.

Either a local or a tourist. She decided on the latter, since he was unaware of her identity.

She took a breath and gave the man a closer study. He wore low-slung shorts and sandals, and a knowing smile that took her breath away.

Without a doubt he was the most handsome man she’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. The wind had tousled his wealth of black hair and the sun had turned his tall, muscular body a rich bronze.

And his dark eyes…They glowed with a mesmerizing combination of amusement and desire. All directed at her!

“Well?” he asked when she continued to gape.

“I’m enjoying the view as well as the peace and quiet,” she said, and hoped that the turmoil of emotions churning within her weren’t written on her face, that he couldn’t tell her heart was racing and her insides were tied in knots. “What about you? Why are you here?”

He pointed at the beach, where his footprints remained in the sand. “I’ve been inspecting the nesting grounds of chelonia mydas. Green sea turtles.”

“You’re a conservationist?” she asked.

This time his devilish smile was brief. “This beach is closed to locals and tourists. You should leave.”

Yes, she should—but not for the reason he cited. This handsome man who embodied the sand and the surf and all things wild was a danger to her senses, for already he was making her feel things she’d only read about. Dreamt of one day having with her husband. And this dark-haired stranger hadn’t even touched her, yet alone kissed her!

Kissed her? Heat flooded her face at the wicked thought.

Yes, she should leave. Put as much distance as possible between her and this charismatic man.

Instead she heard herself say, “Tell me more about your work here.”

“It is—”

He broke off at the odd sound of thrashing in the water. His gaze jerked toward the sea and he muttered an oath.

Before she could register what had changed his mood, he’d vaulted onto the slab of rock beside her, sitting so close she felt the heat of his powerful length brand her, so close each breath she managed to drag in brought his unique scent of the wild sea deep into her lungs.

“No,” she said when he wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her against him. “Let me go!”

But the last words almost never left her, because he’d clamped his hand over her mouth. Her pulse raced like the wind, for she was no match for the steely strength she felt in him.

Helpless in a man’s hold again.

Before full-blown panic overtook her, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t make a sound or you’ll startle them.”

She tore her gaze from his intense one and looked to the sea. Emerging from the surf were lumbering sea turtles, all moving in a mass up the beach as if they were certain of their destination.

They were simply magnificent to watch. The tension gripping her eased and she relaxed against his warm, muscular chest, awed to see this slice of nature up close. Hands that had pushed against him slipped around his torso now, holding him tight as he held her.

And that was how they stayed for an hour or more, arms entwined and bodies pressed together. Two people lucky enough to witness an amazing tableau.

When the last turtle had laid her eggs and returned to the sea, she looked up at the man she clung to and smiled. “That was the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.”

He flashed his devilish smile and stroked his fingers along her cheek, the feather-like touch sending ripples of sensual awareness crashing through her. “I’ve never enjoyed it more than at this moment, agapi mou. You made this special.”

The endearment melted her heart, but the passion kindled from his nearness left her trembling for more. This was new. Powerful. Addictive.

A part of her brain registered that what she was feeling and wanting was wrong, that being here in this handsome stranger’s arms could only lead to heartache.

But she couldn’t find the strength to pull away.

Her body naturally bowed into his, her face lifting in silent entreaty. “I hate for it to end.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

If she’d had a protest it was silenced when his mouth swooped down onto hers, commanding, and brimming with all the desire her lonely heart ached for. She clung to him as he pushed her back onto the rock, soon lost in drinking from his kisses like one delirious with thirst.

The rock was hard and hot beneath her, but so was the earthy man stretched out beside her. Without breaking the kiss, she was barely aware of his hand sliding under her T-shirt, of the electrifying sensations of his bare skin brushing hers.

His big hand cupping her bared breast thrilled and shocked her. A sliver of sanity prevailed. “No—”

“Yes,” he said, thumbing one nipple into such a hard peak that she squirmed and moaned.

Resistance was laughable when all she wanted was more of his touch, his kiss. And he granted her that wish by shoving her shirt out of the way and capturing her breast in his mouth.

He suckled hard. New sensations exploded within her and her back arched off the rock. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close, as she reveled in her very first taste of passion.

She couldn’t imagine voicing a protest when his hand slipped inside her shorts to fondle that very private part of her. No man had ever touched her so, and though she’d read of it the reality was far more erotic.

And when he slipped his fingers inside her thoughts simply ceased as a new and powerful need consumed her. She closed her eyes and clutched at him as she was carried up toward the sun on a tight spiral.

A rainbow of lights exploded behind her eyes. Bells sang out, just as she’d always imagined it would be at this moment.

Bells?

No! Those weren’t the bells of passion she heard but the tolling of the village church bells. Five times. In one hour she had to present herself at the royal palace for dinner with the royal family.

She should be fussing over what to wear instead of frolicking on the beach with a stranger. Instead of granting him this intimacy that should be reserved for her husband. How could she have let this happen?

She shoved away from her pagan god from the sea, shaken by the desire still swirling within her like a whirlpool, threatening to drag her back into the languid depths of passion once more if she let it.

“Stop it,” she said, and frantically righted her clothes with fingers that felt awkward.

“As the lady wishes,” he said, the beautifully chiseled lips that had adorned her body now pulled into a wry smile.

She shook her head, ashamed at what she’d done. Shamed that her body still yearned for more of the same.

Without another word she scrambled off the rock and ran. But even when she was back in the guesthouse, in her room, she realized that she’d never forget this stolen moment with a stranger.

Prince Kristo Stanrakis strode into his father’s royal office, wishing he were anywhere but here. Though he loved his homeland, his passions rested elsewhere.

Then too he didn’t look forward to being present for this dinner tonight, with the Andreou family. After that first one ten years ago, where the King had announced that Gregor was to marry Andreou’s daughter, with the too-big eyes and rail-like form, he’d managed to miss every visit. Until now.

This was a royal decree and nobody, not even a grown prince, could ignore it. Not without incurring the King’s wrath.

He strode straight to the King and went down on a knee. “You look well, Your Majesty.”

His father snorted. “How good of you to tear yourself away from the gaming tables.”

“My duties as ambassador can be taxing,” he said—a joke, for if that was all he did with his time he’d be bored out of his mind.

As usual, his father scowled at the offhand remark. For years the King had found disfavor with Kristo for his errant ways, expecting him to spend more time on Angyra. Anything that took time away from official duties was inconsequential to the King, so Kristo had ceased bringing the subject up anymore.

“Rest assured I will be present when the State Council convenes next week,” Kristo said, and earned a wave of dismissal from the King.

They both knew he’d leave Angyra as soon as that duty was satisfied. Or perhaps not this time, he thought as he crossed to his brothers.

After the interesting diversion he’d had this afternoon on the beach, staying could prove interesting. He’d never met a woman who was as entranced by the wilds of nature as he. He’d never shared that kind of moment with anyone before.

That fact had made the explosive passion all the more sweet. Even now his body stirred at the memory of holding such perfection in his arms.

If the church bells hadn’t tolled, there was no telling how far she would have let him go.

“About time you showed up,” Gregor said.

Kristo took the glass of tsipouro the server handed him and took a sip before answering the Crown Prince. “The sea turtles were nesting, so I couldn’t leave until they did. Where is your fiancée?”

“She just arrived,” Gregor said, and yet no sign of elation or pleasure showed on his features. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Kristo smiled at his other brother. “He is just like Father—far too intense.”

“He’ll be a good king,” his younger brother Mikhael said. “The question is will he be a good husband to his young Queen?”

Kristo imagined that Gregor would follow in their father’s footsteps there as well. His marriage hadn’t been a love match, and he doubted the Crown Prince’s was either.

“Your Majesty,” Gregor said, his voice ringing with authority. “I present my betrothed—Demetria, the future Queen of Angyra.”

Kristo turned, and the welcoming smile on his face froze. No! It couldn’t be her!

But it was.

The beautiful woman his brother was escorting toward them was the same one he’d kissed to distraction an hour ago!

No, not just kissed.

The delicate stem of his wineglass popped in his tight grip, and his blood roared angrily through his veins.

Just an hour ago he’d tasted Demetria’s full, sensual lips. He’d held the weight of her lush breasts in his hands, known the silken texture of the skin, the tight budding of her nipples.

Gregor, unaware of the fury building within Kristo, escorted his fiancée toward him. Her polite smile vanished the moment their gazes locked. Her soft lips parted. Her face drained of color.

“Demetria, this is my brother, Prince Kristo,” Gregor said. “I doubt you remember him, since it’s been some time since you’ve seen him.”

An hour ago, Kristo thought morosely. One damned hour ago, when he’d brought her to a shuddering climax.

Yet how could he tell his brother that the woman he was to marry was unfaithful? He was just as much to blame for not recognizing her.

“Your Highness,” she said, and dipped into a deep curtsy that felt like a mockery in the face of what had transpired between them.

“My pleasure, Demetria,” he said, hating the coil he was caught in with her.

She forced a smile and mumbled an appropriate greeting.

In that moment he knew she’d not confess her sin either. And why should she?

Wealth and position awaited her.

Damn her for her perfidy! He hated her more than he did anyone on earth.

After today, he vowed to avoid the royal palace and his brother’s unfaithful fiancée.

Chapter One

PRINCE KRISTO STANRAKIS had never thrown a royal fit of anger in his life, but he was moments away from doing so just now. He flung his tuxedo jacket on a red brocade Louis XV chaise and ripped open his stark white shirt, sending a row of diamond studs flying. One pinged off an inlaid table before falling to the gold Kirman carpet, while another chinked as it hit a window.

This urgent meeting with the future King, his lawyers and the highest officials was over. Angyra would face change yet again.

His life had just been turned on its heel and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to evade his fate.

No! His duty!

He paced the impressive length of his apartment. Duty! How he hated that word. How he hated her!

Just one month ago they’d buried their father, the beloved King of Angyra. She’d come to the funeral and sat with her father and sister, looking solemn and royal and aloof. Looking sexy as hell in a black sheath that had hugged her luscious curves.

He hadn’t seen her in almost a year, yet the moment their eyes had met he’d been slammed him back to that day on the beach. A roiling mix of guilt, rage and desire had boiled in him.

He wanted nothing to do with her. Yet he still wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman.

Being near her needled him with guilt for betraying his brother and he did not like that feeling one bit. But he’d been prepared to suffer through her return in less than two weeks to marry King Gregor. Except that would not happen now!

The rap at his door was preceded by its opening. He whirled to find Mikhael striding into his suite, with a bottle of ouzo under his arm and two glasses clutched in one hand.

“I thought you could use this,” Mikhael said, and promptly poured two drinks.

He took the offered liquor and tossed it back, relishing the bite to his senses. “Did you have any idea that Gregor was ill?”

Mikhael shook his head. “He’s seemed tired of late, and complained of headaches, but I attributed it to the stress of assuming Father’s duties.”

The same thought had crossed Kristo’s mind. He’d never dreamed that Gregor had secretly seen a doctor just before the King’s death, only to discover two days ago that he had inoperable cancer.

The prognosis was grim. With death imminent, Crown Prince Gregor had chosen to abdicate before the State Council proclaimed him King of Angyra tomorrow.

That official announcement had been made just one hour ago.

By order of birth, the crown now passed to Kristo. He was now Crown Prince, which had thrown the council into emergency session. Unless they deemed him truly unfit to rule—which was possible, considering his reputation—the accession ceremony would take place tomorrow promptly at eleven in the morning.

As if that weren’t jarring enough, he was now forced to assume his brother’s betrothal agreement as well! He had to marry Demetria Andreou—in less than two weeks, if he kept to the schedule that had been set in place.

Damn the fates!

Desirable, unfaithful Demetria would be his wife. His Queen.

“I don’t look forward to tomorrow.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a good King,” Mikhael said.

Kristo wasn’t so sure. Though he’d done his duty to the State Council, and sat in on required meetings, he’d paid little heed for he’d been in reality no more than a figurehead.

However, he’d taken his role as ambassador much more seriously, as that had allowed him to wine and dine dignitaries around the world. Gambling and carousing, as his father had called it.

At times that had been true. But the setting had allowed him to do what came naturally. In turn, being away from Angyra had allowed him the freedom to do what he really wanted.

But that would soon be in the past.

“Has he contacted Andreou yet?” Kristo asked.

“He was speaking with him by phone when I left.”

How would Demetria take the change of plans?

Kristo stopped before the palatial window and looked out on the terraced garden that stepped down to the cerulean sea. He splayed his hands on the casing so hard that he felt the heavy moldings imprint on his flesh.

Dammit, he didn’t want to be King! And by hell’s thunder he certainly didn’t want to marry Demetria!

But the only way to surmount his fate was by death or abandonment of his country. Though he’d joked that he could walk away from Angyra and never miss it, the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t shirk his duty.

“Gregor felt certain that Andreou wouldn’t balk at the change of plans,” Mikhael said. “He suspects that the lady might feel differently.”

“How she feels doesn’t matter. She has a duty to uphold.”

“True, but you are a stranger to her.”

In some ways, but in others they were intimately acquainted. But that was his guilty secret to bear.

“As Gregor pointed out today, the betrothal contract simply states that Demetria is to marry the Crown Prince,” Kristo said, chafing over the fact that he was now that man. “Surely she is aware of that fact.”

“You are being callous about this, brother.”

“I’m simply being pragmatic,” Kristo said. “Demetria and I are bound by the same laws. There is nothing left to discuss.”

The Royal House of Stanrakis had one ancient and non-breakable rule. All future rulers must be of noble Greek blood. As the Stanrakis family continued to produce males, their Crown Princes had only to find a noble bride of Greek blood.

Easier said than done. But then, they weren’t marrying for love. Even if such a thing existed, it wasn’t ordained for a Stanrakis prince.

It certainly wouldn’t be for him!

Demetria had been handpicked by the King. She had been groomed to be the next Queen of Angyra.

She possessed the right lineage. Her maternal grandfather was Greek—one of the old noblemen like Kristo’s father. And her mother had married a Greek, even though Sandros Andreou’s blood wasn’t as pure.

That man had pricked his temper more times than naught over business dealings. As for Demetria—she fired his lust as well as his anger.

“I still think it would be wise for the sake of your marriage if you would take Demetria aside tomorrow and talk to her,” Mikhael said. “It would go a long way in allaying her fears.”

Kristo stared into his glass, his smile slow to come. “Yes, you’re right.”

He’d talk to her, all right. He’d let her know that he’d not tolerate her flirtations. That he’d have her watched carefully since he knew she was not to be trusted.

But the following day at the accession ceremony Demetria was embarrassingly absent.

“Please forgive her, Your Majesty,” Sandros Andreou implored as he bent in as deep a bow as a man with such a considerable girth could manage. “Demetria went on a shopping jaunt for her wedding trousseau hours before Crown Prince Gregor abdicated. I haven’t been able to reach her on her mobile phone to tell her of the news.”

“She is alone?”

The old Greek shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you know where she went?” Kristo asked, furious that the man hadn’t kept a closer eye on his daughter. “Couldn’t you send a messenger to find her?”

Sandros Andreou’s face turned an ugly purple. “I wasn’t sure where to send him, Your Majesty. Her sister thought she went to Istanbul, but the maid thought she went to Italy.”

“This is intolerable,” Kristo growled. She could be anywhere, with anyone. She could even be entertaining some man!

“Rest assured that when she returns I will have her contact—”

Kristo silenced the man with one wave of his hand that looked surprisingly like the dismissing gesture his father had employed. The wave he’d hated.

“I will see to it myself. Considering the turn of events, it would be wise if your daughter stayed here at the palace until the wedding.”

“For twelve days?” Then, as if remembering who he was addressing, Sandros quickly demurred. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You and your family are welcome to avail yourselves of the guesthouse the day before the wedding.”

“The day before?” Andreou repeated.

“Yes. That is all.”

The old Greek attempted another bow before taking his leave.

Kristo pushed from his chair and stalked to the window, more restless than he recalled being in years. His gaze fixed on the ridge of mountains in the distance.

Graceful cypresses and thickets of olives blanketed the rugged terrain and helped to conceal Angyra’s most treasured commodity. Rhoda gold—a pure metal kissed with a rosy blush and prized all over the world.

The ore taken from the Chrysos Mine had made the Stanrakis family rich beyond measure. It had turned this island kingdom into a mecca that now brought tourists here in droves to buy a trinket made of Rhoda gold.

But an equally rare treasure was the sea turtles. Protecting their nesting ground was his personal challenge, and that had evolved into his secretly backing similar programs worldwide. But who would pick up that challenge now?

“What are you going to do?” Mikhael asked.

The answer was simple. At least to him. “Find Demetria and bring her here.”

“But the wedding is less than two weeks away. Women have much to do before such an event.”

“She can attend to anything that needs be done here.” And he could keep a close watch on her that way.

She would not take a stroll along the beach and entertain a stranger the day before their wedding!

“What if the lady refuses?”

He cut his brother a knowing look. “I am not giving her a choice.”

Mikhael’s eyes went wide. “You can’t mean to kidnap her?”

“I most certainly do.”

In a small shop in Istanbul, Demetria Andreou unwrapped a yard of Egyptian cotton from the bolt, blissfully unaware of the drama taking place on Angyra. She tested the way the soft fabric shot with silver, copper and gold flowed over her arm like a molten waterfall. Her heart raced with excitement, for when cloth seemed this much alive she knew a garment made of it would positively explode with motion.

“How many bolts of this do you have?” she asked.

“Just this one,” the Turkish supplier said. “You like?”

She loved the fabric. It fell naturally into folds when bunched, and it felt gloriously sensuous gliding against bare skin.

It was a wonderful find. To know he only had one bolt almost ensured that no other designer would come out with a garment using the exact same cloth.