The Virgin's Proposition (12 page)

“Did you cook a lot?”

“No. But she made sure we all knew our way around a kitchen.”

Anny thought she’d like to meet Demetrios’s mother. She didn’t say so. But she did ask about his mother and father and what it had been like growing up in a family of seven.

“A madhouse,” he said. But the expression on his face told her the memories were good ones. “We were wild. Crazy. We rode bikes off roofs. We fell out of trees. We climbed up the sides of public buildings because we could. My mother said we’d all end up dead or in jail.”

“Surely not!” Anny couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice even as she envisioned a horde of obstreperous little boys.

Demetrios grinned. “She’s given to hyperbole, my mother.”

“Ah. Well, I think it must have been nice having all those builtin playmates.”

He took a swallow of the beer and smiled wryly. “Sometimes. When we weren’t trying to kill each other.”

“You were lucky,” she decided, even after he regaled her with half a dozen more stories that ended with either him or one of his brothers, usually George, in the emergency room.

“We pounded on each other quite a bit,” he said with considerable relish.

“Like I said, you’re lucky.”

Then, for contrast, she told him about growing up in Mont Chamion, about what it was like to be “royal.” There was no pounding. No emergency room visits—except once when she had an ingrown toenail. What there were were expectations.

“Duties,” she said. “Responsibilities. Selflessness. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added quickly. “But being a doctoral candidate is a lot easier. The hopes of a country don’t ride on my dissertation.”

“But they do when you’re a princess.” It wasn’t a question.

But she pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them and answered it anyway. “Sometimes it seems like that.”

“Like marrying Gerard.”

“Yes.” She nodded slowly, trying to find words to explain. “It’s
tricky, doing the right thing—for yourself and for your country. You have to learn to walk a very careful line. I’m still learning.”

Demetrios was silent then in the face of her confession, and Anny didn’t know what he was thinking. When she’d first tacked his poster up on her wall all those years ago, she’d imagined she knew him perfectly. She’d dared to believe, based on his acting roles and the few interviews she’d read, that she knew and understood him. She’d dreamed of a relationship with him.

Now she realized how little she had known him, how much better she knew him now. How much more she still wanted to know. “What about you?”

He flexed his shoulders. “What about me?” He sounded as if he didn’t want to talk any more about himself, but she persisted.

“You got to choose your work. Is being a director what you always wanted to do?”

“You mean besides being a fireman or a cowboy?” The answer was pat—every little boy’s dream—and so was the grin on his face. It was the grin from the poster boy.

Anny widened her eyes, considering him with mock seriousness. “I think you still could be,” she told him gravely, “if you really want to.”

He blinked, looking briefly nonplussed, then realized she was joking and laughed.

She laughed, too, but asked again, “No, really, Demetrios. What did you want?”

She thought he wasn’t going to answer her he was so quiet again, and for a very long time. But then he let out a breath and said slowly, “I don’t know. I guess I just sort of thought I’d do what they did—my grandfather and my dad. You know, grow up, get married, have kids.” His tone changed, grew harder, and his expression turned suddenly bleak. He shrugged. “Nothing major,” he ended gruffly.

Nothing major. Except everything he wanted had been ripped away with the death of his wife. Instinctively Anny reached out a hand to touch his.

But before she could, Demetrios stood up. “Good fish. If you’re finished, I’ll do the washing up.”

Anny scrambled to her feet as well. “It’s my turn,” she protested. “You cooked.”
We could do it together,
she wanted to say. Wanted to believe things had changed.

Their gazes met, locked.

Then Demetrios shrugged. “Fine. You do it.”

It had been easier when he felt dead—when nothing mattered, when he didn’t care.

Now as he sat on the deck and stared into the darkness, all the while aware of the sounds of dish washing going on below, Demetrios wished he could tap into that zombie-like indifference again.

He didn’t want to think about how much he enjoyed Anny’s company. Didn’t want to experience the gnawing need to learn more about her, to know about her life when she was growing up or, damn it, what her hopes and dreams were now.

And he didn’t want to want more. But he did.

When the sounds in the galley ceased and the light below flicked off, he breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that she’d decided an early night was a good idea.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t control his hormones when he was around her. He was attracted—no denying that—but could cope. It was that somehow she made him feel human again, made him care again.

He didn’t want that, either. Not at all.

“What do you know about stars?”

He jerked, turning to see Anny’s silhouette as she emerged from the companionway. She handed him a glass and poured each of them a glass of wine before asking again, “What do you know about stars?”

“Most of ’em are a pain in the butt.” His fingers were strangling the stem of the glass. What the hell was she doing here now?

She laughed. “Not those kinds of stars. The ones in the sky.”

His mind went briefly blank. And then he shrugged. “Nothing.
I don’t know anything. Just a few constellations, the North Star, a few basics I learned as a boy for navigating in the way of Greek fishermen, without instruments. Why?”

She sat down across from him. Her profile was backlit by the sprinkling of lights from the small seaside village behind her. As he watched, she took a sip of the wine, then tipped her head back and stared up into the darkness.

“When I was little,” she said, “I used to wish on them.”

“Lots of little kids do,” he said, aware that his voice sounded rusty. He set the glass down. He did not need wine to muddy his brain tonight.

“Did you?” she asked, her voice light. “Wish on stars?”

“No. I was a tough little kid. Tough little kids don’t do sissy stuff like that.”

She laughed. “Right. You were very fierce.”

“I was. Had to be.”

“I suppose.” She spoke the words quietly. She lowered her head so that she wasn’t staring at the stars anymore. It felt as if she was looking at him. Assessing him.

Demetrios shrugged his shoulders against the cockpit wall and stared back, though he couldn’t make out her features at all. “You have a problem with that?”

He saw her shake her head. “No. I’m just trying to know you better.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “Why?”

“I thought I knew you when all I had was your poster. I was wrong. Obviously. I’m trying to remedy my ignorance.” It sounded almost logical.

He grunted, which was marginally more polite than saying, “Don’t bother,” which would have been wiser.

“I thought if you wished on stars, maybe you’d tell me what you’d wished for. And then I could tell you what I wished for. Conversation starters, you know? It was a whole section of Swiss finishing school 101—getting to know you,” she said lightly.

Demetrios chewed on the inside of his cheek. He cracked his knuckles. He rolled his shoulders. He wasn’t about to talk about
what he’d wished for. But he didn’t mind if she did. “What did you wish for?” he asked gruffly at last.

“A brother. I hated being an only child.”

“You can have any of mine,” he said promptly.

He heard her laugh softly. “Thanks, but I’m not wishing for them anymore. I’ve got them.”

“And you’re okay with that?” he asked, because wanting a sibling when you were five or eight wasn’t the same as getting them when you were nearly twenty. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d resented these little interlopers who were now closer to the throne than she was.

But she just said, “It’s wonderful.”

“So you’re fond of them?”

“I love them,” she said with quiet ferocity. “I hope I have kids just like them someday.” She paused and glanced up to the heavens. “I
wish
for them.”

Demetrios felt an unwelcome twinge at the thought of Anny as the mother of someone’s children. Whose? he wondered, then deliberately shook the thought off.

“Yeah, well, I hope you get ’em then,” he said.

They sat silently after that, the boat rocking beneath them. A minute passed. Two. Then Anny said wryly, “So much for conversation starters. Your turn.”

“I didn’t go to Swiss finishing school,” he protested.

“You only need a bit of polite curiosity. Isn’t there anything you want to know?”

There were a thousand things he wanted to know—none of which he was going to ask. So he asked the one thing that had occurred to him more than once ever since they’d set sail.

“Every day it’s hotter than hell. Why do you keep wearing those damn jeans?”

“Because they’re all I’ve got.”

He straightened and stared at her through the black of the night. “
What
?”

She shrugged. “Everything else is city clothes—what I thought I’d be wearing. Blazers, linen trousers, silk blouses.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?”

“I didn’t want to go ashore. We were near Cannes. You’re too well-known everywhere. People would notice. Papa would find out.”

“You don’t think Papa will find out if you die of heatstroke?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I wouldn’t have let it come to that. I didn’t realize it was bothering you.”

“It wasn’t bothering—”

“I’ll cut the trousers into shorts tomorrow.”

“You can go shopping tomorrow. We’ll moor some place bigger and you can go ashore without me,” he said firmly.

“I don’t know—”

“Don’t be an idiot, princess.” He hauled himself up, stalked past her and clattered down the companionway steps. Moments later he came back and threw a T-shirt and a pair of his shorts at her. “In the meantime, wear those. You can use some rope to hold them up.”

Anny clutched the clothes against her, staring up at him and he was close enough now that in the sliver of rising moonlight he could see a smile on her face. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Kindness personified.”

“You are. You’re—”

“Tired and I want to go to sleep,” he cut her off brusquely. “So unless you have any more conversation starters that can’t wait, I’d appreciate it if you’d vacate my nightly resting place.”

There was a split second’s silence in which he expected her to take offense. But she just got up, saying, “Of course.”

She picked up the bottle and the glasses, wrapping them in his shirt and shorts. Then, just as he dared to breathe a sigh of relief as she headed for the companionway, she stepped directly in front of him, rose up on her toes and brushed a kiss across his lips.

“Good night, Demetrios. Sleep well.”

S
LEEP WELL
? Yeah, right.

Demetrios was lucky he slept at all.

He lay awake half the night, staring at the stars, his mind full of visions of Anny making her damned wishes. He had no trouble at all imagining a wistful eight-year-old leaning on the windowsill, looking up at the stars, whispering wishes as if someone would hear them—and make them come true.

How childish and unrealistic was that? He ground his teeth, flipped over onto his side and punched the pillow he’d stuck under his head. Life didn’t hand you your heart’s desires on a plate. No one knew that better than he did.

But you couldn’t tell Anny. She’d just look at you with her sweet gentle expression and then she would smile a commiserating smile, one that said she hurt for you, that she understood.

But she didn’t understand. Never would.

But that wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself. Anny was who she was, and nothing would change that.

Besides, for better or worse he’d done his bit—he’d listened to her talk about marrying Gerard and he’d opened his mouth about regrets. Now he had to give her space to figure things out for herself.

Even if he went quietly crazy in the process. His mother would tell him it was his penance for sticking his oar in where it didn’t belong in the first place. Undoubtedly she
was right. She would tell him to get over it. She would be right about that, too. When he was a boy, banging around the house about the injustice of it all, she would grab him by the shoulders, point him toward the door, and say, “Get out of here. Go out and burn off some of that craziness.”

Abruptly he sat up, yanked his T-shirt over his head, vaulted out of the cockpit, and dived into the sea.

Sometimes mothers really did know best.

It was sunny and bright when Anny awoke. For a moment she thought she was back in her room in the palace at Mont Chamion, the only place she lived where the sun streamed in across her bed.

But then the bed rocked and she sat up, blinking. Had she slept right through Demetrios starting the engine as they left the mooring?

The sound always prompted her to yank on her jeans, button up her shirt, and run a brush through her hair so she could get up on deck quickly to help when he was ready to raise the sail.

She looked around, bewildered. Then she threw back the sheet, put on the shorts and T-shirt he’d given her last night, and hurried up the steps, only to be confronted by the dead calm of the harbor where they’d moored last night—and the sight of Demetrios Savas sprawled sound asleep on one of the cockpit benches.

She stopped dead on the steps and stared, mesmerized by the sight.

He was lying on his back, wearing only a pair of shorts. One arm was out flung, the other clutched a T-shirt against his bare chest.

Cautiously she crept closer, barely breathing as she feasted her gaze on him. She’d been to bed with him, but she’d never slept with him. Had never seen him unguarded like this.

Awake his features were always animated. Perhaps it was the actor in him, but she’d never known a man who could say so much with a simple look or draw her eyes with the lift of a brow or the twist of his gorgeous mouth.

Even in repose, he was impossible to ignore. And given a chance she’d never expected, Anny simply stood there and took him in. Her eyes traced the line of his almost perfect nose,
slightly askew, she knew, because his brother George had broken it for him when he was twelve. She marveled at his dark brows and thick lashes, which should have been wasted on a man, but weren’t on him. They seemed ever so slightly to soften his sharp masculine cheekbones, rough stubbled jaw, and hard mouth.

He wasn’t only a pretty face, though. He also had a gorgeous body—with broad shoulders, lean hips, sinewy arms, a strong chest, and muscled hair-roughened legs. She studied him slowly, leisurely, remembering what it had been like to touch him. And what it had felt like when he’d touched her.

He had gorgeous hands with strong square-tipped fingers and callused palms. Working man’s hands, Anny thought. She loved watching them raise a sail or fillet a fish or tie knots. And lover’s hands. Oh, yes.

He was thirty-two years old—a man in his prime, hard and tough and uncompromising. And when he was awake that was what you saw in him. But in his sleeping face, Anny could still see hints of the younger Demetrios—the idealistic young man whose poster she’d stared at for hours on end, dreaming, wishing…

It wasn’t only stars she had wished on, Anny thought wryly.

Or maybe it was that she’d wished on Hollywood stars, too. One of them, anyway. Fool that she was.

Well, she was all grown up now and trying not to wish. Trying hard. It was just very difficult.

Demetrios came awake with a start when the sun hit his eyes. He squinted, disoriented, and it only got worse when the first thing he saw was Anny watching him.

His head pounded from lack of sleep. His skin felt crusty from the dried salt on it. His shorts were still clammy and damp. And he didn’t know what the hell time it was, but clearly it was later than it should have been.

“What are you staring at?”

She smiled. No surprise there. Anny smiled more than anyone he’d ever met. Honestly smiled. Not like some Hollywood actress playing a part. “You.”

He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Why?”

“I like to?”

At least she made it sound like a question. “You’re not sure?”

“No, I’m sure,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m just wondering why I do. You’re such a grouch.”

Because it was easier being a grouch. Easier to keep her at a distance. Easier to remember that he didn’t want to get involved with Princess Adriana.

He shrugged. “So don’t.” He stood up, stretched cramped muscles, then scratched his chest and rubbed a hand through salt-stiffened hair. He should have taken a shower after his middle-of-the-night swim, but the whole point had been to wear himself out and then collapse and go to sleep. That part had worked. Finally. But now he felt like something stuck to the bottom of a fish tank. “What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

She shrugged. “We’re not on a schedule.” She stretched her long bare legs out in front of her and he noticed that her jeans were gone and she was wearing his shorts and NYU T-shirt. She should have looked scruffy, nondescript and unappealing in them. Good luck, he thought grimly. In fact she looked bright and fresh and far too enticing for a woman who wasn’t going to sleep with him.

Anny stood up, too, the morning sun graciously outlining her curves for him. “I made coffee. Do you want some?”

It was undoubtedly the best offer he was going to get. “Yeah. Let me grab a shower. Then we can get going.”

The morning sun gave way to clouds by midday, something might be blowing up and bringing a storm their way before nightfall. While he kept them on course, Anny got on the radio and checked the weather reports.

“Rain and squally winds,” she reported back. “This evening or tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll tie up midafternoon then. Give you a chance to do your shopping.”

“It’s not necessary now that you’ve lent me these.” She nodded down at the shirt and shorts.

He didn’t argue. But that afternoon he chose a mooring near a place big enough to have shops. It wasn’t a great harbor, though. He didn’t really want to ride out a storm here. As soon as they’d tied up, he readied the inflatable for her.

She didn’t argue, either. She clambered into the small inflatable. She was still wearing his shirt and shorts, as well as Theo’s sun visor and a pair of wraparound sunglasses. She had pulled her hair into a pony tail, which poked through the back of the visor. As a disguise, he thought it worked.

“I’ve got the grocery list,” she said, tucking it into the pocket of the shorts. He started the small engine for her and gave her instructions about how to start it for the return trip.

She listened, nodded, then said, “I’ll manage.” She settled in, and Demetrios stepped back onto the sailboat, then gave the inflatable a shove to send her on her way.

“Of course you will.” But as he watched the small inflatable boat chug slowly away, he cracked his knuckles, thinking that this must be what it felt like to watch your child leave home on the first day of school.

He scrubbed the deck and polished the bright work and mended a tear in the jib while she was gone. All things that needed to be done. And if they kept him up on deck so he could see the moment she got back to the inflatable, it was only to be sure she didn’t have any problems getting the engine started.

She didn’t. And she was beaming when he held out a hand and hauled her on board. “I brought pizza!”

“So much for
Cordon Bleu.
”

She laughed. “You’ll love it.” She also brought two bags with what he presumed were new clothes, and two more bags of groceries. “Come and see,” she invited. Her delight in both the pizza and her shopping expedition was obvious. She was like a kid with new toys, he thought, not a princess who had everything.

Bemused, Demetrios followed, and discovered it was olives
and tomatoes and fresh bread that she was thrilled about. She seemed in no hurry to change out of his shirt and shorts.

“Here.” She handed him plates. “Take them up top. We can eat on deck. I’ll bring the wine.”

It was hardly a feast. But Anny’s simple joy made it seem like a party. She told him everything she had seen in town.

“I know it’s only been a week, but I’d forgotten what it was like to be in shops and on streets. I almost got run over by a motorcyclist!”

“You need to be careful,” he said, not smiling at the idea even though she was.

“I’m all right,” she said cheerfully. “It was fun. And no one even looked at me twice.”

He doubted that. Even deliberately cultivated anonymity would not make Anny disappear. She was too bright, too animated.

“I bought a bikini,” she told him with delight, making him choke on his wine. “Let’s go swimming after we finish.”

“No.”

She blinked. “No? But—”

“I want to sail on. We need a more sheltered harbor if it’s going to storm.” And he had no desire to see Anny in a bikini. His memory and his imagination were quite enough.

Anny didn’t argue. She said, “Aye, aye, sir,” and took the plates and dishes below to clean up.

He got them underway again and she appeared on deck to take the wheel while he raised the sail. The harbor he wanted to reach was another hour or two south, longer if they ended up sailing into the wind the whole way. He didn’t know how long they had until the rains began.

The winds shifted and picked up before they had traveled much more than an hour. They were getting close when he felt the first drops of rain.

Anny appeared in the companionway. “Can I help?”

“I’ll bring her in there,” he said, jerking his head toward a sheltered harbor not far away. With luck, he thought he could bring the boat in before the rain began in earnest.

Lady Luck, however, had other ideas. He did manage to get around the spit of land, gain some shelter, drop the sail, and cut the engine. But he didn’t make it to the mooring before the rain began pelting down.

Anny, who had gone below once he’d got the sail down and taken the helm again, appeared again, rain streaking down her face, plastering her hair to her head. The T-shirt was gone. So were the shorts. She was wearing two scraps of material and damn all else.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

She started to climb up toward the bow. “What I do every night.” She gestured toward where she always stood and tied the mooring line.

“Like that? In a bikini?”

“The clothes were wet and hard to move in. And it’s not cold, even though it’s raining. Besides a bikini is easier to dry. So this is better.”

The hell it was. “I don’t want you out there. Too dangerous.” The boat was tossing about on the waves. They were getting bigger every moment.

She turned and stared back at him. “So how are we going to anchor?”

“I’ll do it.”

“And it’s not dangerous for you?”

“It’s—”

But she didn’t wait for his reply. She was scrambling toward the bow and he found himself staring at a very shapely, barely covered royal posterior. He felt an almost overwhelming desire to smack it.

“Damn it, Anny, clip on your harness line!” he shouted at her. Though God knew what she’d clip it to.

“I’m not stupid.” Her words floated back to him on the rising wind. His heart caught in his throat as he watched her balancing as the boat tipped and jerked.

“
Anny
!”

Please, God. Ah, there. He breathed as he saw her fumble with the harness and clip on somehow. Then she started giving him hand signals.

His fingers strangling the wheel, Demetrios tried to bring the boat in as close as he could, as quickly as he could, as smoothly as he could, and get her back safe. The boat dipped and leaned. Anny slipped, dropped the line, and he felt his insides somersault as he watched her.

“Come on, Anny!” He wanted her back. Wanted her safe. She crouched, went down on her knees, reaching and—

“Got it!” Her words were thin on the wind.

But then she was up again, and slip-sliding back to him. Demetrios cut the engine and yanked her back into the cockpit. Into his arms.

His heart was slamming against the wall of his chest. “Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again.” He clutched her hard, his arms wrapping around her, his knees still shaking at the memory of her out there, teetering, in harm’s way. “Promise me.”

She twisted to stare up at him, her eyes wide with surprise, rain still streaming down her cheeks. “I’m f-fine.” But her voice sounded thready and insubstantial, though it could have been the wind causing it.

“I’m not,” he said. “You scared the hell out of me.” And he still didn’t want to let go of her, though it wasn’t only fear of disaster averted that had him holding her now. It was the feel of her in his arms, the rightness of it.

“I’m sorry. But I was fine. Really. Mission accomplished. And it wasn’t so hard.”

“No. The hard part would have been me telling your father his daughter had drowned.” And knowing it was all his fault.