Captured and Crowned. Janette Kenny

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