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 ashe 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—daringto 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
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 ashe 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—daringto 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
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