“Your hair is like dark rich coffee, and holds highlights of the deepest sea and midnight sun, yet against the white it simply looks black.”
She froze in place, the gentle pull on her scalp tugging at emotions she kept carefully hidden. Yet she couldn’t deny the thread of energy that passed from him to her, tightening to draw her closer.
She tried to push him away, both palms on his chest, refusing to allow that to happen. But touching him was the wrong thing to do too.
For now she felt the beat of his heart, strong and sure, beneath her hand. The solid wall of his chest was as unyielding as the man, yet so hot that her own skin began to heat.
Sensual fire blazed in his dark eyes and her lungs felt scorched, too tight to draw breath. She burned in other places too, and a silent gathering of moisture between her thighs and the tightening of her core muscles proved her body responded on its own to his potent virility.
She hated him for waking her needs with just a look, for making her want him. Crave his touch.
Before she could think of a pithy retort to end this madness, he smiled at her. Any hint of cruelty was gone, replaced by something that took her breath away, something that reminded her of the carefree man she’d first met.
It was really nothing more than a slight curling of his sensuous lips, a knowing smirk like the gods had bestowed upon women. A telling look that told her he was well aware of just how much he affected her, that let her know he was in control, that he could tempt her to do more if he wished.
The puppeteer pulling the strings on the marionette.
Yet she couldn’t find the energy or the anger to do more than drop her hands from his chest.
It was enough for her to make a stand, to lift her chin in silent defiance. But her body defied her again, for her breasts felt heavier, straining toward him, the nipples unbearably tight and aching.
“So soft,” he said, grazing her lower lip with his thumb until it was full and tingling. His fingers skimmed down the curve of her jaw, stirring the fire of desire in her. “The sun has kissed your skin just enough to make it glow.”
Was that a compliment? Even if it was praising her in a good way, she didn’t care.
He splayed one hand on the wall by her head, while his thumb continued its meandering path down her neck to rest on the upper swells of her breasts. A pulse pounded in her throat and between her thighs, leaving her tingling with want. With a need so great she could barely draw a breath.
“You are lovely beyond words,” he said, his voice dropping to a crushed-velvet baritone that strummed her taut nerves in an erotic melody.
Demi managed a smile, and knew anything more would be a struggle. It had been a year since he’d held her prisoner by a smoldering look. She hadn’t been able to break free then. She didn’t think she could now. She didn’t know if she even wanted to try.
But she couldn’t stand here either, and let him stroke her neck and her arm and the heaving upper swells of her bosom. She couldn’t let him make love to her with his eyes when he held her in such contempt in his heart.
She grasped his thick wrists and tried to tug his hands from her. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“Why, when it is something we both take pleasure in?” His palms cupped her breasts with a familiarity that shocked her, that brought to aching life all the feelings she’d held deep in the night.
Her hands slid up his muscular arms to find purchase in the hard muscles as he weighed each one, before his hands bracketed her torso, flinging her back to that day on the beach when she’d granted a stranger far too much liberty because she’d been powerless to stop herself. Because she’d been so hungry for love.
But where she’d lacked the strength of will then, pride gave her a modicum of strength now.
“Stop it,” she said, trying to push his hands from her and failing, humiliated he could make her want him so badly that she’d let him have his way with her.
Kristo ignored her protests and continued his exploration. “You have lost weight.”
It angered her that he could tell the differences in her from before. Infuriated her that her body ached to sway into his.
His hands slid to her waist and her fingers closed over his, trying to stop him, trying not to feel anything but hatred and anger that he was putting her through this torment.
“I’ve worked long hard hours of late, in preparation for the Athens show.” Time and energy wasted now, for she wouldn’t be allowed to participate in it. “Something a royal would know nothing of.”
His palms cupped her bottom and pulled her flush against his length. “Are you insinuating that I live a life of leisure? Because I can assure you that I too put in long hard hours working.”
Her breath caught, for the hard length of his desire was pressed against her belly. His arousal should disgust her, but her body melted and bowed into him, wanting him.
“Yes, I’ve seen pictures of you in the tabloids, hard at work for Angyra,” she said, her chin lifted in defiance.
Each time she’d seen him linked with a new woman she’d been bitten with unwanted jealousy. On its heels had always come anger for allowing herself to be seduced by him in the first place.
The sensual mouth that had curled into a mesmerizing smile now pulled into a hard line. She knew she’d struck a nerve, and clearly one that was raw.
He pushed away from her so quickly that she stumbled to catch her balance, but he didn’t notice. He was already halfway to the door.
“As I said, the wedding takes place in twelve days,” he said.
“I’ll have the gown finished in one week.”
He paused at the door and glanced back at her. “I will approve the design before you begin, understand?”
She bobbed her head. “Of course.”
He gave her another exacting perusal that had her skin tingling with awareness again. “I will send a servant up to assist you.”
“I’d prefer my own assistants.”
Again that slash of white teeth against dark skin, the cocky smile of a shark who had his quarry cornered. Or so he thought.
“I am sure that you would,” he said. “But you will have to make do with what I provide for you.”
Without waiting to see if she’d argue or concede, he swept from the room and closed the door in his wake. Such arrogance!
How would she ever cope with this man? Being with him rattled her senses so much she’d forgotten to tell Yannis everything that she’d need.
She reached for her phone—but it wasn’t there. How odd. She’d finished talking to Yannis and laid it there. She hadn’t touched it again the entire time Kristo had been in her room.
Kristo! He must have taken it.
She ran to the door he’d just left by, intending to go after him. The unmistakable click of the lock froze her in place. He’d locked her in. And that drove home the fact that she wasn’t simply the bride-to-be. She was a prisoner—not just in the palace but in this room.
Kristo was firmly in control of her. He was smug in his belief that she could do nothing but blindly follow his orders, that she’d melt at his touch.
And to her shame she had—every time. She’d never lost control around any man but him. Though she’d believed it had been a fluke, that she’d resist him if ever they met again, she now knew that wasn’t true.
Her face flamed with anger and embarrassment. How could one man make her toss aside her convictions?