Читать книгу Innocent Surrender - Шантель Шоу, Robyn Donald - Страница 9

SHE COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d said the words. Not out loud.

Thought them, yes. Wished they would come true, absolutely. But ask a man—this man!—to make love with her?

No! She couldn’t have.

But one look at his face told her that, in fact, she had. Oh, dear God. She desperately wanted to recall the request. Her face burned. Her brain—provided she had one, which seemed unlikely given what she’d just done—was likely going up in smoke.

What on earth had possessed her?

Some demon no doubt. Certainly it wasn’t the spirit of generations of Mont Chamion royalty. They were doubtless spinning in their graves.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She had always thought people who fanned themselves were silly and pretentious. Now she understood the impulse. She started to back away.

But Demetrios caught her hand. “You didn’t mean…?” Those green eyes bored into hers.

She tried to pull away. He let go, but his gaze still held her. “I…never should have said it.” She wanted to say she didn’t mean it, but that wasn’t true, so she didn’t say that.

“You’re getting married,” he said quietly.

She swallowed, then nodded once, a jerky nod. “Yes.”

“And you’d have meaningless sex with me before you do?”

That stung, but she shook her head. “It wouldn’t be meaningless. Not to me.”

“Why? Because you had my poster on your wall? Because I’m some damned movie star and you think I’d be a nice notch on your bedpost?” He really was furious.

“No! It—it isn’t about you,” she said, trying to find the words to express the feeling that had been growing inside her all evening long. “Not really.”

“No?” He looked sceptical, then challenged her. “Okay. So tell me then, what is it about?”

She took a breath. “It’s what you made me remember.”

His jaw set. “What’s that?” He leaned back against the wall, apparently prepared to hear her out right there.

She sighed. “It’s…complicated. And I—I can’t stand here in the hallway and explain. My neighbors don’t expect to be disturbed at this time of night.”

“Then invite me in.”

Which, she realized, was pretty much what she’d already done. She shrugged, then turned and led the way back down the hall and into Tante Isabelle’s apartment. She nodded toward the overstuffed sofa and waved a hand toward it. “Sit down. Can I get you some coffee?”

“I don’t think either of us wants coffee, Anny,” he said gruffly.

“No.” That was certainly true. She wanted him. Even now. Even more. Watching him prowling around Tante Isabelle’s flat like some sort of panther didn’t turn off her desire. In fact it only seemed to make him more appealing. She had plenty of experience dealing with heads of state, but none dealing with panthers or men who resembled them. It was a relief when he finally crossed the room and sat on the sofa.

She didn’t dare take a seat on the sofa near him. Instead she went to the leather armchair nearest to the balcony, sat down and bent her head for just a moment. She wasn’t sure she was praying for divine guidance, but some certainly wouldn’t go amiss right now. When she lifted her gaze and met his again, she knew that the only defense she had was the truth.

“I am not marrying for love,” she said baldly.

If she’d expected him to be shocked or to protest, she got her own shock at his reply.

He shrugged. “Love is highly overrated.” His tone was harsh, almost bitter.

Now it was her turn to stare. This from the man whose wedding had been touted as the love match of the year? “But you—”

He cut her off abruptly. “This is not about me, remember?”

“No. You’re right. I’m the one who—who suggested…asked,” she corrected herself, needing to face her foolishness as squarely as she could. “I was just…remembering the girl I used to be.” She studied her hands, then looked up again. “I was thinking about when I was in college and I had hopes and dreams and wonderful idealistic notions.” She paused and leaned forward, needing him at least to understand that much. “Today when I saw you, I remembered that girl. And tonight, well, it was as if she was here again. As if I were her. You brought it all back to me!”

She felt like an idiot saying it, and frankly she expected him to laugh in her face. But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all for a long moment. His expression was completely inscrutable. And then he said slowly, almost carefully, “You were trying to find your idealistic youth?”

He didn’t sound as if he thought she was foolish. He actually seemed intrigued.

Hesitantly, Anny nodded. “Yes. And then, when you said you’d do anything…” Her voice trailed off. It sounded unutterably foolish now, what she’d wanted. “I thought of those dreams and how they were gone. And I just…wanted to touch them one more time. Before—before…” She stopped, shrugging. “It sounds stupid now. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. But it was like some fairy tale—this night—and…” She felt her face warm again “I just wished—” She spread her hands helplessly.

He was the one who leaned forward now, resting his elbows just above his knees, his fingers loosely laced as he looked at her. “So why are you marrying him?”

“There are…reasons.” She could explain them, but that would mean explaining who she was, and she’d ruined enough of her fairy-tale evening without destroying it completely. She didn’t want Demetrios thinking of her as some spoiled princess who couldn’t have her own way. For just one night she wanted to be a woman in her own right. Not her father’s daughter. Not a princess. Just Anny.

Even if she looked like an idiot, she’d be herself.

“Good reasons?”

She nodded slowly.

“But not love?” His tone twisted the word so that it still didn’t sound as if he believed in it.

But Anny did.

“Maybe it will come,” she said hopefully. “Maybe I haven’t given him enough of a chance. He’s quite a bit older than I am. A widower. His first wife died. He—he loved her.”

“Better and better,” Demetrios said grimly.

“That’s another of the reasons I asked,” she admitted. “I just thought that if I had this one night…with you…then if he never did love me, if it was always just a ‘business arrangement’ at least I’d…have had this. It’s just one night. No strings. No obligations. I wasn’t expecting anything else,” she added, desperate to reassure him.

He was silent and again she had no idea what he was thinking. And he didn’t tell her. There was nothing but silence between them.

Seconds. Minutes. Probably not aeons, but it felt that way. Millions of years of mortification. What had been a magical night had become, through her own fault, the worst night of her life.

Outside she heard the muffled sound of a car passing in the street below and, nearby, the ticking of Tante Isabelle’s ornate French Empire brass-and-ebony mantel clock. Finally she heard him draw in a slow careful breath.

“All right, Anny Chamion,” he said, getting to his feet and crossing the room to hold out his hand to her. “Let’s do it.”

She stared.

At his outstretched hand. Then her gaze slid up his arm to his broad chest, to his whisker-shadowed jaw, to that gorgeous mouth, to the memorable groove in his cheek, to those amazing green eyes, dark and slumberous now, and more compelling than ever. She swallowed.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he said when she didn’t speak or even more. He looked at her, waiting patiently, and she knew he expected that she would have changed it.

But she couldn’t.

Faced with a lifetime of duty, of responsibility, of a likely loveless marriage, she desperately needed something more. Something that would sustain her, make her remember the passion, the intensity, the joy she’d believed in as a girl.

She needed something to hang on to, her own secret.

And his.

She reached up and took Demetrios’s hand. Then she stood and walked straight into his arms. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

When she slid into his embrace, Demetrios felt a shock run through him.

It was like the sudden bliss of diving into the water after a burning hot day.

It was pure and right and beautiful.

He could almost feel his body reawaken, as his eyes opened to Anny’s upturned face as she lifted her lips to his.

He took what she offered. Gently at first. With a tentativeness that reminded him of his first fumbling teenage kisses. As if he’d forgotten how.

He knew he hadn’t. He knew he’d been burned so badly by Lissa that he’d learned to equate kisses with betrayal.

But this wasn’t Lissa. These lips weren’t practiced.

These lips were as tentative as his own. Even more hesitant. Infinitely gentle. Sweet.

And Demetrios drank of their sweetness. He took his time, settling in, soaking up the sensations, remembering what it was like to kiss with hope, with joy, with something almost akin to innocence.

That was what they were giving each other tonight—a reminder of who they had been. Not to each other, but as a young man and a young woman with dreams, ideals, hopes.

He didn’t have hopes like those anymore. Lissa had well and truly ground those into the dust. But right now, kissing Anny, he could remember what it had felt like to be young, hopeful, aware of possibilities.

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.

“Are you all right?” she asked him worriedly.

He gave a hoarse laugh. “Oh, yeah. More than all right.” Then abruptly he shrugged his shirt off, tossed it aside, took her hands and pressed them against his chest.

His skin was hot and damp and she could feel his heart thundering beneath her palm. Instinctively Anny leaned forward and touched her lips to his chest. Kissed him there, loved the feel of his heated flesh beneath her lips. She moved higher, kissed his collarbone, then his shoulders. She kissed his neck, nuzzled against his stubbled jawline, nibbled his ear, then traced it with her tongue and felt him shudder.

His response made her smile with a heady sense of power and excitement as she understood that he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him.

And then he was bearing her back on the bed, where he made quick work of the zip on her linen trousers, hooked his thumbs in the waistband, skimmed them down her legs and dropped them onto the floor.

She should have felt self-conscious when he settled back to let his eyes roam over her. But all she felt was desire. And need.

Anny reached for his belt eagerly, but her hands weren’t expert now and she fumbled with it.

Demetrios stilled her fingers. “Let me.” He had it undone and was skinning out of his jeans in a matter of seconds. And then he was settling between her knees, running his hands up her thighs. Anny stroked his, too.

Demetrios tried to take it slow. He understood that she wasn’t in the habit of propositioning men. Her touch was tentative, but no less tantalizing for being so.

The truth was that her unpracticed touch was more erotic than anything he’d felt in years. Of course, Lissa had been a skilled lover. But knowing she’d got her skills from sleeping with dozens of men was something he’d done his best to blot out of his mind.

Anny’s touch was nothing like Lissa’s. As her fingers skimmed over his body, he felt as if she were learning him and reawakening him at the same time.

It was almost like being reborn.

After the drama and trauma of his life with Lissa, he’d deliberately and determinedly shut off that part of himself. He’d refused to touch. Refused to feel.

Until tonight. Now, tonight, with her warm smiles, her gentle demeanor and soft touch, not to mention a certain artless allure that he doubted she was even aware of, Anny had unwittingly opened that door.

She made him feel again. Need again. Ache with desire in a way he hadn’t since he was barely more than a boy. Both of them were connecting with their youthful selves tonight, Demetrios thought as he ran his hands over the line of her ribs, the slight swell of her hip, her long, lovely thigh to her knee, then slowly traced a line up the inside of that same thigh.

She quivered. So did he.

She lifted a hand and drew her fingers lightly down his chest. Lower. And as she did, the heel of her hand brushed against his erection, a simple unintentional touch nearly sending him over the edge.

His breath hissed between his teeth. “Careful,” he said, his voice shaky. “I’m a little overeager tonight. It’s been a long time.”

Her eyes widened. She looked stricken. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, putting the meaning he hadn’t said into the words he had. She started to sit up, to pull away. “I didn’t mean—I should never have—”

But he caught her and held her right where she was. “It’s fine,” he assured her. “More than fine,” he added truthfully. “I’m…looking forward to it.”

And there was an understatement for you.

But Anny didn’t look convinced. “I never thought—”

He shook his head. “Now’s not the time to think.”

He tugged her panties down her endless legs, then stripped his boxers off as well. Her gaze went at once to his erection. She swallowed, then reached out a hand to stroke him.

“Wait. Hang on.” He was gritting his teeth as he reached down to snag his jeans and pull a condom packet from his wallet. With clumsy fingers he sheathed himself quickly, then settled between her thighs.

He wanted to simply dive in, to lose himself in her heat and her softness. But he knew better, knew that as much as he wanted this, really it was for her. And so he forced himself to slow down, to draw a line from her navel south, dipping his fingers between her thighs, watching as her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat.

She was damp, ready. Her body moved restlessly as his fingers probed her. She bit her lip and her fingers knotted in the bed clothes. Her breaths were quick and shallow. His were, too. He was dying with need, but still he waited, touched. Stroked.

And then suddenly Anny ground her teeth and reached for him. “Yes! Now. I need—” The words caught in her throat. She tossed her head.

“What do you need?” Demetrios could barely get his own words past his lips. His voice was as strained an desperate as his body felt.

“Need…you!”

No more than he needed her. He’d reached the end of his endurance, and now he drove into her, felt her stiffen, heard her gasp.

His whole body froze. She couldn’t be! Surely she wasn’t a virgin! For God’s sake! Why on earth would she have thrown her virginity away on one night with him?

It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t think. He could only feel. And want. Still. Then she shifted her body, accommodated him, settled against the mattress and dug her heels into his buttocks, driving him deeper.

He groaned. He had to be wrong. Of course he was wrong. But he tried to move slowly, carefully, to control his desperation.

But Anny’s fingers gripped his shoulders. “It’s all right,” Anny said fiercely through her teeth. “It’s all right,” she said again when he still didn’t move.

“You’re sure? You’re not—I thought you were—” But then she moved beneath him, her body seducing him, driving him insane, shattering the last of his control.

His world splintered as he buried himself inside her. He knew he had left her behind. He had failed.

“Oh!” There was a sudden delighted breathlessness in her voice that made Demetrios lift his head to stare at her.

“Oh?” he echoed warily.

Her face seemed to light up. “It was…wonderful.” She was smiling at him. Even in the dim glow of the streetlamp beyond the window he could see her beaming. He didn’t understand it at all.

“It wasn’t wonderful,” he told her abruptly.

Her smile vanished. “I’m sorry. I thought you…”

“I did. Obviously. And it was amazing for me,” he assured her. “Absolutely.” Mind-blowing in fact. “But that doesn’t excuse my lack of control.”

She smiled and touched a hand to his arm. “I…liked your…lack of control.”

He stared at her. She liked it? He gave a quick disbelieving shake of his head. “I don’t see why,” he muttered.

“Because…because…” But she couldn’t explain it. It was simply enough to know that he’d wanted her, had lost himself in her. “You made me happy,” she told him.

“Yeah?” He still couldn’t quite fathom that. “I’ll make you happier,” he vowed.

And he set about doing just that.

If their first lovemaking had been short and, for him, desperate, this time Demetrios had considerably more finesse. More control. He kissed her thoroughly, taking his time, enjoying the soft sounds she made as he roused her desire. He let her slip the condom on him this time, and tried not to shudder with the desire her soft hands provoked.

She was perfect, fresh, beautiful, and responsive. And Demetrios was determined to give her the memories she’d asked him for.

As he made love to her he thought about the young woman she must have been then, and found himself wishing that he’d known her. At the same time he didn’t imagine she’d changed much. There was an innocent sweetness about her even now. He didn’t let himself think about the future she had predicted for herself. That was her choice—her life—not anything to do with him.

What he could do for her was what she’d asked—give her a night to remember.

He loved her completely, thoroughly, made her need his touch so that finally she clutched at his hips and drew him in.

“Yes.” The word hissed through her teeth as she shattered around him. And as he brought her to climax, he understood her satisfaction at his own earlier loss of control.

It meant as much—even more—to give pleasure as to receive it, he thought even as his own climax overtook him and he buried himself in her body and felt himself wrapped in her arms.

Making love with Demetrios was everything Anny had ever dreamed of. More. It was as perfect as Cinderella’s night at the ball.

She wanted to cry and at the same time she’d never felt happier—or more bereft—in her life because it was so wonderful and she knew it couldn’t last.

Had always known, she reminded herself. Had gone into it with her eyes wide open. It was what she’d wanted, after all.

Memories.

Well, now she had them. In spades. She would remember this night always. Would savor it a thousand times. A million. All her life and the eternity that stretched beyond it. She would never forget.

Even now as she lay beneath Demetrios’s sweat-slicked body and ran her still trembling hands down his smooth hard back, she focused on every single sensation, storing up the sound of his breathing, the weight of his body pressing on hers. She memorized the feel of his hair-roughened calves beneath her toes, the scent of the sea that seemed inexplicably so much a part of him, the scrape of his jaw against her cheek.

She catalogued them all, wishing she could create some tangible reminders to take out whenever she wanted to relive these moments. She was in no hurry at all to have him roll off her, create a space between them, smile down at her and say he had to go.

And when at last his breathing slowed and he rolled off, she felt an instant sense of loss. She wanted to clutch him back, to cling, to beg for more.

She didn’t. He had given her what she asked for. He had given her the most memorable night of her life. Anny told herself not to be greedy, but to be grateful. And content.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He seemed surprised. He raised up on one elbow and regarded her from beneath hooded lids. His mouth quirked at one corner. “I think I’m the one who should be saying thank you.” For all that he smiled, his words were grave.

Still, they made her happy. She was glad he’d enjoyed their lovemaking. She didn’t expect he would hang on to the memories forever as she would, but she hoped he might have occasional fleeting fond thoughts of this night—of her.

“You gave me wonderful memories,” she assured him.

He opened his mouth, as if he might say something. But then he closed it again and simply nodded. “Good.”

He didn’t move. Neither did she. They stared at each other. Under Demetrios’s gaze, for the first time Anny felt self-conscious. None of the royal protocol she’d ever learned—not even her year in the Swiss finishing school—had prepared her for the proper way to end this encounter.

Perhaps because it hadn’t been proper in the least.

But she didn’t regret it. She would never regret it.

“I should go,” Demetrios said.

She didn’t hang on to him. She stayed where she was in the bed, but she watched his every move as he dressed. This night was all she was going to have—she didn’t want to so much as blink.

He didn’t look at her or speak until he had finished dressing and was slipping on his shoes. Then his gaze lifted and his eyes met hers.

“You…should maybe rethink this marriage you’re planning, ” he said.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t want to spoil the present by thinking about the future. Silently she got out of bed and wrapped herself in the dressing gown she’d left hanging over the chair. Then she crossed the room to him and took his hands in hers.

“Thank you,” she said again, refusing to even acknowledge his comment. He opened his mouth as if he would say something else, then shut it firmly and shook his head. His gaze was steely as he met hers.

“It’s your life,” he said at last.

Anny nodded, made herself smile. “Yes.”

She didn’t say anything else. She needed him to go while she still had the composure she’d promised herself she would hang on to. It was only one night, she told herself.

It wasn’t, she assured herself, as if she was in love with him.

That would teach him, Demetrios thought when he got back to his hotel. He flung himself over onto his back and stared at the hotel room ceiling. Though what he’d learned this evening he wasn’t exactly sure.

Probably that women were the most confusing difficult contrary people on earth.

He should have known that already, having been married to Lissa. But Anny had seemed totally different. Sane, for one thing.

And yet all the while they’d been sitting there and he’d been thinking she was simply enjoying dinner and his company and having a good time she’d been thinking about inviting him into her bed.

It boggled the mind.

Still, when she explained, he’d understood. God knew sometimes over the past three years he’d yearned for the days when he’d believed all things were possible.

He didn’t believe it anymore, of course. He wasn’t looking for a relationship again. He’d done that with Lissa. He’d been the poster boy for idealism in those days—and look where it had got him.

No more. Never again.

From here on out he wanted nothing more than casual encounters. No hopes. No dreams. No promises of happily ever after.

Exactly what he’d had tonight with Anny.

Who was getting married, for God’s sake! Talk about mind-boggling. But he supposed she was more of a realist than he had been. Though why the hell a beautiful, intelligent young woman was marrying some elderly widower was beyond him.

And why was the elderly widower marrying her?

Stupid question. Why wouldn’t any man—who still believed in marriage—want to marry a bright fresh beautiful woman like Anny?

But if he had been the marrying kind and engaged to her, Demetrios knew damned well he wouldn’t leave her feeling lukewarm and desperate enough to invite another man into her bed!

He was sure she didn’t do that very often. Or ever.

For a minute there, when he’d entered her, he’d thought she was a virgin. But that didn’t make sense.

He wished he knew what was going on.

Was her family destitute? Did they owe money to this man? Was Anny being bartered for their debts?

It certainly didn’t look as if they had money worries from the apartment she was living in. Of course she’d told him at dinner that she was staying in the flat of her late mother’s best friend, Anny’s own godmother, a woman she called Tante Isabelle. While Isabelle was in Hong Kong doing something for a bank, she’d lent Anny her apartment for the year.

So why wasn’t Tante Isabelle, who obviously cared enough for Anny to provide her a place to live, objecting to her goddaughter’s loveless marriage?

Did she even know it was a loveless marriage?

Where was Anny’s father? He was still living, Demetrios knew that. Anny had mentioned him in the present tense. He was married again. She’d mentioned a stepmother and three little stepbrothers.

Was she doing it for them?

Whatever the “good reasons” were, she didn’t seem to be doing it for herself. So who was she doing it for? And why?

Stop it! he commanded himself roughly. It wasn’t his problem. She wasn’t his problem.

He’d done his part. He’d taken her to bed. He’d made love with her and had, presumably, reminded her of the idealistic girl she’d been. He’d given her the memories she wanted.

He had a few himself. Not that he intended to bring them out and remember them. And yet, when he attempted to shut them away, they wouldn’t go. He could still see her in his mind’s eye—bright-eyed and laughing, gentle and serene, eager and responsive.

They were far better memories than those he had of Lissa.

They should have relaxed him, settled him. His body was sated. It was his mind that wouldn’t stop replaying the evening.

He tossed and turned until eventually the bed couldn’t confine his restlessness. He got up to prowl the room, to open the floor-to-ceiling window that opened overlooking La Croisette and the sea.

To the west he could see the shape of the Palais du Festival beyond the boulevard. Past that was the harbor where Theo was on his sailboat. Beyond that the hill and buildings of Le Soquet rose against the still dark sky.

Anny was there.

He could be, too, he thought. He was sure she would have let him stay the night.

But he didn’t want to stay the night, he reminded himself. He wanted brief encounters. No involvement. He shoved away from the window and shut it firmly.

He wasn’t going to care about any woman ever again. Not even sunny, smiling Anny Chamion with her upcoming loveless marriage, her hidden dreams and her memories of the lovemaking they’d shared.

It was going on five. He had a breakfast meeting at eight with Rollo Mikkelsen, who was in charge of distribution for Starlight Studios. He needed to be sharp. He needed to have his wits about him. He didn’t need to be thinking about Anny Chamion.

He yanked on a pair of running shorts and tugged a T-shirt over his head. Maybe running a few miles could do what nothing else had done.

He pocketed his room key and went downstairs into the cool Cannes morning. He crossed La Croisette and bounced on his toes a few times, then he set out at a light jog. The pavement was nearly deserted still. In a couple of hours it would start to get busy. The day would begin.

He would meet with Rollo. There would be more meetings after that. Lunch with a producer he hoped to work with down the road. And late this afternoon the screening.

Afterward he’d go see Franck. He was tempted to see if Franck wanted to come to the screening, but it wasn’t an action hero story. It was a dark piece—the only sort of thing he had been capable of writing in the aftermath of his marriage and circumstances of Lissa’s death. It was a cautionary tale.

Not exactly fodder for a teenager who still had his life ahead of him. No. Better that he go see Franck after.

Would Anny be there?

It didn’t matter if she was.

Demetrios picked up his pace, refusing to let himself think about that. He didn’t care. They’d had one evening. One night of loving. One night in which they’d each recaptured a part of the young idealistic people they’d once been.

They’d given that to each other. But now it was over.

Time to move on.