The Virgin's Proposition. Anne McAllisterЧитать онлайн книгу.
his hormones as to say farewell to her. But he waited for her to go inside and shut the door. Only when she had did he turn and walk toward the stairs.
He had just reached them when the door jerked open behind him.
“Demetrios?” she called his name softly.
He stiffened, then turned. “What?”
He waited as she came toward him until she stood bare inches away, close enough that he could again catch the scent of the apple tart, of a faint hint of citrus shampoo.
Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him. “Anything?”
“What?” He blinked, confused.
“You said you’d do anything?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She wetted her lips. “Whatever I ask?”
“Yes,” he said firmly.
“Make love with me.”
CHAPTER THREE
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