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Captured and Crowned
Janette Kenny
The arrogant King’s untouched brideDemetria Andreou has only a few hours of freedom left! Playboy Prince Kristo Stanrakis must take his brother’s place as King of Angyra – and he’s planning to take Demetria, his brother’s fiancée, for his queen. Only Kristo realises innocent Demetria was his for the taking a year ago – when, as strangers, they nearly made love on sun-baked white sands.The arrogant King’s contempt for his reluctant bride is only matched by his burning desire to finish what they started…
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 (http://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.
