Janette Kenny - Captured and Crowned

She was never to be trusted, and yet the thought of her in his brother’s arms had enraged him.

Except now she was in his arms. Now she was his.

There was no reason to keep her at arm’s length any longer. He wanted her. He’d have her.

He ripped out a rough growl and tightened his hold on her, and the throb of her own desire pulsed through him as well.

“No,” she breathed, eyes huge and shadowed with a clear understanding of just what erotically dangerous emotion she’d awakened by baiting him.

“Yes,” he rasped, on fire for her.

A heartbeat later his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was long and lusty and sizzling with all the emotions he’d held in check. Always he held back with women.

Except with her.

By

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For as long as JANETTE KENNYcan remember, plots and characters have taken up residence in her head. Her parents, both voracious readers, read her the classics when she was a child. That gave birth to a deep love for literature, and allowed her to travel to exotic locales—those found between the covers of books. Janette’s artist mother encouraged her yen to write. As an adolescent she began creating cartoons featuring her dad as the hero, with plots that focused on the misadventures on their family farm, and she stuffed them in the nightly newspaper for him to find. To her frustration, her sketches paled in comparison with her captions.

Her first real writing began with fan fiction, taking favourite TV shows and writing episodes and endings she loved—happily ever after, of course. In her junior year of high school she told her literature teacher she intended to write for a living one day. His advice? Pursue the dream, but don’t quit the day-job.

Though she dabbled with articles, she didn’t fully embrace her dream to write novels until years later, when she was a busy cosmetologist making a name for herself in her own salon. That was when she decided to write the type of stories she’d been reading—romances.

Once the writing bug bit, an incurable passion consumed her to create stories and people them. Still, it was seven more years and that many novels before she saw her first historical romance published. Now that she’s also writing contemporary romances for Mills & Boon, she finally knows that a full-time career in writing is closer to reality.

Janette shares her home and free time with a chow-shepherd mix pup she rescued from the pound, who aspires to be a lap dog. She invites you to visit her website at www.jankenny.com She loves to hear from readers—e-mail her at janette@jankenny.com

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“I DON’T want to marry the Crown Prince, Papa.”

It had taken Demetria Andreou two days to work up the courage to say that to her father. She’d waited until Sandros Andreou was relaxing by the pool by the palace guesthouse, with plates of meze and a bottle of ouzo before him. She’d waited until she was sure there was no hope that the relationship would miraculously change between her and her fiancé.

Now, as she watched the olive tinge of her father’s skin take on an ugly ruddy hue, she knew his anger was about to explode. And her insides seized up—for his rage was a terrible thing to witness.

“I care little about what you want,” her father said. “The King of Angyra selected you to be the Crown Prince’s wife when you were twelve years old. It’s an honor! A duty to your family and your country!”

It was also a boon to Sandros Andreou, for being the father of the Queen would elevate his status.

“But I don’t love him, and he certainly doesn’t hold me in any affection.”

“Love!” Her father spat the word out as if it were a curse. “Foolish girl! By the time you are twenty-three years old you’ll be the Queen of your own kingdom. Young, rich beyond measure, and never having to want for anything.”

Anything but love. Anything but the freedom to do what she wished to do with her life. Like her dream to design clothes. But her father wouldn’t understand that.

Neither had Crown Prince Gregor, when she’d broached the subject to him last night over their annual night on the town, which was meant to show him and his young fiancée having fun. A façade—a pretense of what a normal affianced couple in love would do.

He had merely shrugged and said she was free to pursue it now, but after they were married such a career would be frowned upon. However, he would consider her request to embark on it as a hobby when the time came for such decisions.

She’d known then that arguing the finer points would be useless. She knew that her life as Queen would be lonely. Cold. Miserable.

Surely she wasn’t the only woman who’d be suitable as the Queen of Angyra! Surely the Crown Prince could find favor with another woman.

“Perhaps if you spoke with the King this evening he’d reconsider…”

“No! That is out of the question,” her father said, the underlying threat in his voice chilling her to the bone. “You will marry Crown Prince Gregor Stanrakis one year from today, as your King demands. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

But moments later her heart ached for what would be her very brief career as she took the well-tended path from the palace guesthouse to the equally private beach.

The austere King and her domineering papa had planned her future for her. At least she had a year to make a name for herself in the design world, to follow her dream if only briefly.

For ten years Sandros Andreou had brought his family to the island kingdom of Angyra as guests of the Royal House of Stanrakis. It was an enchanted place, where the sea sparkled like blue topaz against white sand beaches.

Frangipani and bougainvillea bloomed in profusion, perfuming the air with their sweet spice. Lush stands of olive and cypress covered the rugged mountains that rose majestically against a cloudless sky.

This was old world. Life moved at a slower pace here. The people openly adored their King and Queen. Already they regarded Demetria with open affection.

Her future had loomed as a fairy tale to her when she was young, with the paparazzi snapping photos of her and the handsome Crown Prince on their yearly “date.” But now she knew better.

Crown Prince Gregor had only given her a sad smile when she’d brought her worries up to him. “Royalty must marry for duty, not love. That is the way it has always been. I’ll be kind to you. All I demand in return is your fidelity until you have given me heirs.”

The fact that he still treated her like a child hurt, but not nearly as badly as the cold fate that awaited her. She was to be the virgin bride to a man who didn’t even desire her.

Lost in that troubled thought, she left the pristine private beach for the wild lands bordering the royal palace. She walked until the sounds coming from the bustling seaport faded into obscurity. She walked until the palace was no more than a speck in the distance, until the only sound was the wild crash of waves against the rocky shore.