Innocent Surrender. Robyn Donald

bit over forty feet, sleek and trim, with two small cabin spaces fore and aft, and a main cabin that could sleep an extra kid or two if required. It was fast and fun and yet it could still accommodate Theo’s new lifestyle as a married man with kids. He and Martha had two now—Edward, who was five, and Caroline, not quite three.

      Demetrios had always figured himself for the family man, while Theo would always be the family’s nautical equivalent of the Lone Ranger. That wasn’t the way it had turned out.

      “Lucky you,” Demetrios had said, feeling a small stab of envy at Theo’s life.

      “Yeah.” Theo hadn’t misunderstood. “I hate taking the time to sail to Santorini with Martha and the kids there already. From here by myself it’ll take me almost two weeks.”

      “Tell them to come here. Make a holiday of it.”

      Theo shook his head. “Caro’s getting over croup. Martha worries. She’s got commissions to work on. And Eddie gets seasick.”

      “Your son gets seasick?” Demetrios’s mind boggled.

      “He’ll grow out of it. But we hate seeing him miserable. It isn’t fun. And you know how it can blow this time of year.”

      They both had experienced their share of gale-force winds in the Mediterranean during frequent visits to Greece to see their mother’s parents when they were children. “It’s worse other times,” he said truthfully.

      Theo shrugged. “Fine. You do it.”

      Demetrios had thought he was joking.

      “Never been more serious in my life. You want to sail her to Santorini after the festival, she’s all yours.”

      Demetrios hadn’t hesitated. “You bet.”

      The last time he’d sailed any great distance, it had been not long after his wedding. He’d chartered a sailboat so he and Lissa could sail from Los Angeles to Cabo.

      “It’ll be fantastic,” he’d promised Lissa.

      It had been a disaster—one of many in their short marriage.

      But this trip wouldn’t be. It wouldn’t be a piece of cake to do it solo, but he had plenty of experience and, after Cannes, a real desire to be on his own. It was the carrot he’d held out for himself for the past two weeks, every time the festival threatened to drive him crazy.

      Now he reached the dock and could spot Theo’s boat tied up in a slip at the far end. A couple of men from the crew of one of the nearer yachts were already making ready to sail. They gave him a wave as he passed. He waved back, but kept moving, The red-orange rays of sunrise were turning the gleaming hulls bright pink against still cerulean water. It looked like a painting.

      Until someone stood up and moved away from where they had been sitting on the stern of the boat.

      Demetrios stopped dead, disbelieving his eyes. He frowned, gave his head a shake, then came closer to be sure.

      And she—he could tell it was a female, could even tell which female—came toward him, too. Even though she looked totally different.

      Gone was the midnight blue dress that glittered like starlight when she moved. Gone were the diamond necklace and dangling diamond earrings. Gone was the sophisticated upswept hairstyle with its few escaping tendrils. There wasn’t a hint of Princess Adriana in evidence anywhere.

      Nor was there a hint of the classy competent professional woman he’d met that day at the Carlton. No blazer, no linen skirt, no casual dress shoes.

      This Anny was wearing jeans and running shoes, a light-colored T-shirt with a sweatshirt knotted around her hips. And her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Tendrils still escaped, but they made her look about fifteen.

      Hell’s bells, he thought. All the roles she played, she could give Lissa a run for her money!

      “What are you doing here?” He was equal parts suspicion and annoyance. He was tempted to just brush right past.

      “I came to say thank you.”

      His gaze narrowed. “For what? Sleeping with you? My pleasure.” He made sure it didn’t sound like it. “But don’t come around thinking it’s going to happen again.”

      “I know that,” she said, with as much impatience in her voice as he had in his. “I didn’t come for that.”

      “What then?

      She hesitated a split second, then looked right up into his eyes. “For courage.”

      Demetrios didn’t like the sound of that. He gave her a short, hard look, grunted what he hoped was a sort of “that’s nice, now go away” sound. Then he did brush past her, tossing his duffel bag onto the deck and jumping on after it.

      He heard her feet land on the deck barely a second after his. He spun around and confronted her squarely, stopping her in her tracks. “What do you think you’re doing?”

      “Telling you what happened.”

      He scowled at her. He supposed it was useless telling her he didn’t want to know what happened. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the rail. “So tell me.”

      “I…talked to Gerard last night. After the party. I told him I couldn’t marry him.”

      Demetrios stared at her, aghast. Of course he’d seen her turmoil. But that didn’t mean she needed to burn her bridges!

      “Why?” he demanded harshly, suspiciously.

      At his tone, her eyes widened. “You know why! Because I don’t love him. Because he doesn’t love me.”

      “So? You knew that last week. Hell, you probably knew it last year! Didn’t stop you then.”

      “I know, but—”

      But Demetrios didn’t want to hear. He spun away, grabbing his duffel and tossing it into the cockpit. Then he straightened and kneaded tight muscles at the back of his neck, thinking furiously. Finally he turned to nail her with a glare.

      “This doesn’t have anything to do with me,” he told her as flatly and uncompromisingly as possible.

      “You gave me the courage.”

      Not what he wanted to hear. He said a rude word. “Don’t be stupid.”

      “You told me not to regret my life.”

      “I didn’t expect you to turn it upside down!”

      “Maybe I’m turning it right side up,” she suggested.

      He raked fingers through his hair. He supposed he had said some damn stupid thing like that. Giving her the benefit of his own regrettable experience, no doubt. And she, foolishly, interpreted it as him having some common sense.

      “So everyone left and you just walked up to him and said, ‘Oh, by the way, Gerry, I can’t marry you’?”

      She looked taken aback at his tone, not understanding what the problem was. Of course she didn’t understand—because the problem was his, not hers.

      “I wasn’t quite that blunt,” she said at last. “It just…happened.” She gave him a sort of sad reflective smile. “He’d said he wanted to discuss things between us—about the wedding. He wanted to set a date—a specific time. And—” she shook her head helplessly “—I couldn’t do it.”

      He stared at her for a long moment. Then he said again, “Not because of me.”

      A tiny line appeared between her brows for a moment. And then she seemed to realize what he was getting at. “You mean, did I suddenly realize I’d rather have you?” She laughed. “I’m not that presumptuous.”

      “Good,” he said gruffly, embarrassed at having made the leap at the same time he was relieved it had been in error.