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Into the fire.
Her life was turning into one big cliché.
Anny knew she should have said no. She should have turned and walked away and kept right on walking.
More to the point, she should never have come down to the harbor to find Demetrios in the first place.
She had because…because, she forced herself to admit, he was the only one she knew who would understand. He was, as she’d told him, the one who had given her the courage to do it.
He and Franck.
But she could hardly talk to Franck about this. She was supposed to be his support, not the other way around. She hadn’t been expecting support, per se, from Demetrios, either. Well, nothing beyond a “good for you,” which in fact he’d given her.
That was all she was hoping for. All! She had definitely not expected Demetrios to insist that she come with him.
She ventured a glance at him now as he prepared to leave the harbor. He was paying her no attention at all. He was stowing gear and checking charts and going over things that Anny knew were important and knew equally well she would be in the way of if she tried to help.
So she kept out of the way and waited until he gave her directions. She was by no means a solo sailor. But she’d been on boats since she was a child. And while Mont Chamion’s royal yacht had a very competent crew, she had taken orders from her father when he and she and her mother had gone sailing. She was sure she could help Demetrios here.
That wasn’t going to be the problem.
She wasn’t a fool, Anny had been at pains to assure him. But what else could you call a woman who went from a three-year engagement to a man she didn’t love to a two-week solo boat trip with a man who would never love her?
Not, Anny assured herself, that she was in love with him.
But she wasn’t indifferent to him.
She…liked him. Had once had a crush on him. He had, as she’d told him in somewhat vague terms, been the dream of her youth.
And even now she respected him for his career. She admired him for coming back from the devastating personal tragedy that had been his wife’s death. She certainly esteemed him for his kindness to Franck over the past couple of weeks, and—let’s be honest—for his generosity to her. In and out of bed.
But she didn’t love him. Not yet.
Not ever, Anny told herself sharply.
She was, despite what her dutiful engagement to Gerard might say about her, basically a sensible woman. She didn’t dare fate or walk in front of buses.
Now she considered herself warned. It was more than a little humbling to hear him spell out his indifference in such blunt terms. As if there were no way on earth he might ever fall in love with the likes of her.
Fine. So be it.
Right now she was looking for a respite—some peace and quiet and a chance to learn the desires of her own heart.
So she would take what he offered: two weeks of solitude during which her father would never be able to find her. Two weeks to formulate plans that would allow her to make her own way in her adult life.
Yes, marriage, she was sure, would be a part of it. But not marriage to Gerard. Despite his suggestion that she take some time and reconsider, Anny knew she’d made the right decision. She only regretted that it had taken her so long to come to her senses and realize she needed more than duty and responsibility to get her to the altar.
She’d suspected it, of course. But it had taken her night with Demetrios to show her that passion, too, had to play a part.
The passion, the desire, hadn’t dissipated since that night.
How she was going to handle that for the next two weeks, she wasn’t sure. Had he meant it when he said it was up to her?
Demetrios started the engine. The boat’s motor made the deck vibrate beneath Anny’s feet.
“Hey, princess, cast off.” Demetrios was at the wheel, but he jerked his head toward the line still wrapped around the cleat at the stern.
Anny clambered off, unwound the line, and jumped back aboard.
He throttled the engine ahead. The boat began to move slowly out of the slip. Anny felt the cool morning breeze in her face, smelled the sea, felt a heady excitement that was so much better than the dread with which she’d awakened every morning for too long.
She knew how Franck had felt when he’d gone sailing—alive.
But she knew, too, that it was a risk.
Spending two weeks alone on a sailboat with Demetrios Savas could be the closest thing to heaven, or—if she fell in love with him—to hell that Anny could imagine.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_8ef635fe-05f6-584d-81b6-bf44bb5edaf0)
MALENA SAVAS, Demetrios’s mother, was fond of crisp character assessments of her children. Theo, the eldest, was “the loner,” George, the physicist, was “the smart one.” Yiannis was “our little naturalist” because he was forever bringing home snakes and owls with broken wings. Tallie was, of course, “baby girl.”
And Demetrios, her gregarious, charming middle child?
“Impulsive,” his mother would say fondly. “Kindhearted, honorable. But, dear me, yes, Demetrios tends to leap before he looks.”
Apparently that hadn’t changed, the middle child in question thought irritably now as he edged the boat out of the slip and headed her toward the open sea. You’d have thought that by the age of thirty-two he’d have got over it. His marriage to Lissa should have cured him of impetuosity once and for all.
But no. He’d actually gone after Anny—Princess Adriana—and insisted she spend the next two weeks on a damn sailboat alone with him!
What the hell had he been thinking?
Exactly what he’d told her—that sweet and kind and innocent, she was far too trusting to be let out on her own. And that it was his fault.
Not the sweet and kind and trusting bit—that was Anny. But the “out on her own bit” he felt responsible for. Hell, she’d thanked him for making it possible!
So he’d opened his mouth—and now here she was, standing in the cockpit waiting for him to tell her what to do. She was smiling, looking absolutely glorious in the early morning light, the light breeze tangling her hair. He remembered its softness when his own fingers had tangled in it.
They’d happily tangle in it again. And more. But fool that he was, while he’d insisted she be on his boat for two weeks, he’d left the sleeping arrangements up to her!
Refusing to think about it, Demetrios concentrated on getting the boat out into open water. He tried not to look at her at all. But if he so much as turned his head, there she was.
“Maybe you should take your stuff below,” he said, “in case anyone does recognize you while we’re still in the harbor.” Barely a creature was stirring on the docks or on any of the boats. But all it took was one nosy person…“I’ll call you when I need your help with the sail.”
She smiled. “Thanks.” And picking up her suitcase, she started to carry it down the companionway steps. They were too steep. He started to offer to help, but Anny simply dropped it down the steps with a thud. Then she and her backpack disappeared after it.
Well, she was resourceful. He would give her that. And he breathed easier when she was below. It was almost possible—for a few seconds at a time—to pretend that he was still alone on the voyage.
But then as he moved beyond the harbor, he spotted the royal yacht of Val de Comesque on its mooring. And as he motored slowly past it, Demetrios could see the crew were already up and stirring.
Was Gerard up, too? Was he prowling the decks worrying about Anny?
Or did he simply think she’d gone home, gone to bed and would come to her senses in short order?
According to Anny, he’d said for her to think about it. Obviously he was confident she’d change her mind. She had sounded confident she would not.
But was that true or mere momentary bravado?
Demetrios wasn’t surprised she’d balked. But he didn’t share her confidence when it came to being sure she wouldn’t change her mind.
It was one thing to say you weren’t going to marry a powerful wealthy, admittedly kind man like Prince Gerard and another thing to hold fast to the notion.
Maybe she really did just need time to think, to be sure.
Sure, yes? Or sure, no?
Not his problem, Demetrios told himself firmly. He believed she was right to take the time and consider her options. God knew he should have taken a couple of weeks to think about what he was doing when he’d married Lissa!
He might have come to his senses. Something else he wasn’t going to think about. Too late now.
He drew a deep breath of fresh sea air and shut Lissa out of his mind. She was the past. He had a future ahead of him.
He had a new screenplay to work on. And two weeks of sea time to ponder it.
And, heaven help him, Anny.
“Anny!” He shouted her name now that they were well past the royal yacht.
Instantly she appeared in the companionway, looking at him expectantly.
“Still want to help?”
“Of course.” She scrambled up into the cockpit.
He nodded at the wheel. “Steer this course while I hoist the sail.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Steer?” She looked surprised, then delighted, stepping up to put her hands on the wheel. Her face was wreathed with a smile.
“You do know what you’re doing?” he said a little warily.
“I think so,” she said. “But usually no one wants me to do it. ‘Can’t let the princess get her hands dirty.’ That sort of thing.”
“For the next couple of weeks, you’ll have dirty hands,” he told her.
“Fine with me. I’m happy to help. Delighted,” she said with emphasis. “I was just…surprised.” She shot him a grin. “But thrilled.”
Her grin was heart-stopping. Eager. Apparently genuine. It spoke of the sort of enthusiasm that he’d once dreamed Lissa would show toward their sailing trip to Mexico.
“Show me,” she demanded.
So he showed her the course he was sailing and how to read it on the GPS. She asked questions, didn’t yawn in his face and file her fingernails, and nodded when he was finished. “I can do that,” she said confidently.
He hoped so. “Just keep an eye on the GPS,” he told her, “and do what you need to do with the wheel. I can straighten it out if you have a problem.”
“I won’t,” she swore.
He went forward to hoist the sail, pausing to shoot her a few quick apprehensive glances, hoping she really did know what she was doing.
She seemed to have no qualms about the task, keeping her eye on the GPS and her hand on the wheel. She had pulled on a visor of Theo’s that hid most of her face from him, but as he watched, she tipped her head back and lifted her face so that the sun touched it. His breath caught at the sight.
Demetrios was accustomed to beautiful women. He’d worked with them, he’d directed them. He’d been married to one.
Flawless skin, good bones, perfect teeth all mattered. But facial features were only a part of real beauty. The superficial part. And Anny had them.
But more than that, she had a look of pure honest joy that lit her face from within. It was an uncommon beauty. She was an uncommon beauty.
She was also a princess who had just made a serious, life-changing decision if she decided it was the right one to make. She didn’t know her own mind.
Demetrios knew his. However beautiful, sexy and appealing she was, he wasn’t getting involved with her.
But he was already beginning to realize that unless Anny decided to share his bed it was going to be a very long two weeks.
Anny was exultant, loving every minute, beaming as the sun touched her face and the breeze whipped through her hair.
She felt free—blessedly unburdened by duty and responsibility for the moment at least. She had also forgotten how much she loved to get out on the water and really sail.
Her most recent experiences on boats had all been parties like the one on Gerard’s yacht last night. They were so elegant and controlled that they might as well have been in hotel dining rooms. If she hadn’t had to take the launch to get to the yacht and back, she would have forgotten she was even on a boat.
It certainly hadn’t been going anywhere.
Now she was moving. The boat, once Demetrios had the mainsail and jib raised, was cutting through the water at a rate of knots, and Anny gripped the wheel, exhilarated. It was glorious.
When he dropped into the cockpit beside her she relinquished the wheel, but couldn’t act as if it was no big deal.
“I feel alive!” she said over the wind in her ears. “Reborn!” And she arched her back, opened her arms wide and spun around and around, drinking in the experience. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
He gave her a sceptical, wary look—one that reminded her of the way he’d looked at her the night she’d asked him to make love to her, that said he was seriously concerned that she’d lost her mind.
“Don’t worry about me!” she said, beaming. “Truly!”
Demetrios still looked sceptical, but he didn’t reply, just moved his gaze from the GPS to the horizon, then made adjustments as required.
Anny stood watching, drinking in the sight of him as eagerly as she did the whole experience. She’d seen him in a number of roles in films over the years. He’d done slick and sophisticated, hard-edged and dangerous, sexy and imbued with deadly charm. She’d seen him in a lot of places—big cities, high deserts, dense jungles, and bedrooms galore—but she’d never seen him at sea before.
It was a perfect fit. He looked competent in whatever role he played. But he wasn’t playing a role now, and he seemed perfectly suited to the task.
“I didn’t realize you were such a sailor,” she said.
He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the horizon “Grew up sailing. We always have. It’s bred in the bone, I guess.” There was a slight defensive edge to his tone that surprised her.
