Innocent Surrender: The Virgin's Proposition / The Virgin and His Majesty / Untouched Until Marriage

It was as powerful and intoxicating a feeling as any he could recall.

So why not enjoy it?

Why not celebrate the simple pleasure of one night with this woman who tasted of apple tart and sunshine, of citrus and red wine, and of something heady and slightly spicy—something Demetrios had never tasted before.

What was it? He wanted to know.

So he deepened the kiss, trying to discover more, trying to capture whatever was tantalizing him. He touched his tongue to hers and a second later felt the swirl of hers touching his.

At its touch his whole body responded with an urgency that surprised him. He might have deliberately forgotten these things, but his body hadn’t.

It knew precisely what it wanted.

It wanted Anny. Now.

But as much as he was willing to take her to bed, he resisted his body’s urgent demands to simply have his way with her right then and there.

Granted, this was going to be a one-off. But it wasn’t a sleazy one-night stand, a quick mindless exercise in sexual gratification.

She wanted it for reasons of her own. And Demetrios, understanding them, decided she had a point. Yes, he was older and wiser now. But he could still appreciate the hopeful young man he’d once been. There was something satisfying about paying tribute to that man.

But it wasn’t just about the past. It was about the present—the woman in his arms and making it beautiful for her as well. If he was going to be her memory, by God, he wanted to be a good one.

So he drew a deep breath and told himself to take his time as he let his hands slide slowly up her arms and over her back as he molded her to him.

She was warm and soft and womanly—and wearing far too many clothes. Demetrios couldn’t ever remember seducing a woman who had been wearing so many clothes. Anny was still wearing her jacket, for heaven’s sake.

Of course, he wasn’t actually seducing her. He was enjoying what had been offered, and giving pleasure—and memories—in return.

In doing so, Demetrios discovered how much pleasure there was in removing all those clothes. First he eased her jacket off, slowly peeling it off her shoulders and down her arms, then tossed it aside. His fingers eased themselves beneath the hem of her silk top and brushed her even silkier skin.

He caressed it with his fingers as he kissed his way down to nuzzle her neck. He traced the line of her bra beneath, brushed his fingers over her nipples, and smiled at the quick intake of her breath and the way her fingers clutched at his back.

He drew back to share the smile with her. She stared up at him, her lips parted in a small O that made him bend his head and touch his lips to hers.

This time her tongue was there first, tasting, teasing. And he felt his body quicken in response. The last thing he wanted now was to go slow. He wanted to rip their clothes off and plunge into her as fast and furiously as he could.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. But he wanted to do more than kiss her. Soon.

“Have you got a bed somewhere, Anny Chamion?” he murmured against her lips.

She smiled as her tongue lingered against his lips for a second longer before she took his hand in hers. “Right this way.”

In all her years as a princess Anny had never identified with Cinderella.

That made sense, of course, because Cindy hadn’t been a princess in the beginning. She’d become one by taking a risk—daring to do what she wasn’t supposed to do—not for a happy ending, but for the joy of one single beautiful night.

And that Anny could identify with completely.

She, too, wanted a single beautiful night. A night that she could remember forever—a night that would get her through, not the endless drudgery of Cinderella’s pre-prince future or even the endless succession of royal duties and obligations that were hers, but a passionless, loveless marriage.

Oh, she supposed there was a tiny chance that Gerard might come to love her the way he had loved Ofelia. But the instant Anny allowed its theoretical possibility, she knew that in truth it was never going to happen.

If Gerard had been going to fall in love with her, he would have done so before now. He’d had years, literally, to do it. As had she. It wasn’t going to happen.

But Gerard had at least known love. Anny hadn’t.

And she wanted to. Once. Just once. She wasn’t asking for forever. Only for tonight—with Demetrios Savas.

Making love with him wouldn’t be the deep abiding love that Gerard had shared with Ofelia. Anny knew that. Besides good conversation and dinner, she and Demetrios had shared nothing at all.

But she had memories of him that their meeting today brought back to life. Ever since he’d swept her out of the hotel this afternoon, she’d felt the same sort of heady enchantment she had known from the years when everything had seemed possible.

When he’d asked what on earth she was thinking, she had told him the truth. She wanted to recapture the young woman she’d been—just for this night—and give her a taste of the joy she’d longed for. And the young Demetrios she hadn’t really known, but had only dreamed of, had been part of that young woman’s life.

All she could think was that today, when he’d walked into the Ritz, kissed her and swept her out again, it was as if God or serendipity or fate or—who knew what?—had dropped him into her life for a reason.

This reason, she thought as she lay back on her bed and took hold of his hands and drew him down beside her.

That Anny wasn’t a practiced lover was pretty much the understatement of the year. Her spine usually stiffened whenever Gerard slipped an arm around her or pressed a kiss to her cheek or lips. But now, when Demetrios kissed her, she felt as if she had no bones at all.

His lips were warm and firm and eager. And so were hers.

His had followed his fingers, kissing her shoulders, as he’d peeled off her jacket on the way to the bedroom. Now those same fingers slid beneath her silk top and his lips followed again, right up to the edge of her lacy bra.

He drew her top up and over her head with the skill of a man who knew exactly how to undress a woman. And for a brief moment Anny thought about all the beautiful women he must have known intimately—women far more practiced and appealing than she was.

And yet he didn’t seem distracted by those memories. He was focused only on her. He made Anny feel as if she were the only woman in the world.

Demetrios’s eyes, so green in the light, were dark now in the shadows. The skin seemed taut across his cheekbones. And Anny thought she felt a faint tremor in his fingers as they skimmed across her ribs, then pulled her up against him while he deftly unfastened her bra and drew it off.

He knelt on the bed beside her and pressed kisses along the line of her bare shoulders, then moved lower to her breasts, cupping them in his hands, and kissing them. The feel of his mouth on her heated flesh was more erotic than anything Anny had ever experienced. She clutched at his arms, hung on.

His hair tickled her nose as he nuzzled her. It smelled of the sea and of pine, and Anny drew a deep breath, as if she could capture the scent and save it forever. The memory would be more tangible that way.

And then he was kissing his way down the valley between her breasts all the way to her waistband. Only when his fingers sought the fastening, she caught her breath, then shook her head.

He pulled back, his brow furrowed, his hair tousled. “No?”

Anny wanted to smooth his brow. “Yes,” she assured him. “But…I don’t want to be the only one undressed.” She gave him a hopeful look, at the same time wondering if she was stepping out of bounds. She knew all the royal protocol in the world, and not a bit about whether she should be asking to take an active role in undressing the man she was in bed with. Maybe she should have been busy with his buttons already.

Demetrios’s mouth quirked briefly and she wondered if he would tell her so, but he didn’t. He just smiled and settled back on his heels, then dropped his hands to rest on his thighs. “Be my guest.”

Anny swallowed. Then she levered herself up to sit against the headboard of the bed. She felt awkward as she reached out to touch him, but her hands didn’t. They knew precisely what to do, taking hold of the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, exposing his bare chest to her gaze.

And as she parted his shirt, the tips of her fingers brushed against the wiry curling hair that arrowed down from his chest to the waistband of his jeans.

Demetrios’s jaw tightened as he watched her every move, breathing shallowly, his eyes hooded, his body totally still, as if he were steeling himself to endure some sort of pain.