Robyn Donald - Innocent Surrender

“I could. But, you’re right,” he added. If that convinced her, who was he to argue?

“Still, you said you wanted solitude,” she reminded him.

“Maybe you won’t talk all the time,” he retorted in exasperation.

She smirked. “And maybe I will.”

“Then I’ll put you off on Elba.”

“Like Napoleon?” Her lips twitched.

“Exactly.” Their gazes met. Locked. Dueled.

“Napoleon escaped,” Anny said loftily.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“When I leave you, I’ll tell your father where you are.”

They were joking. But they weren’t joking at the same time. He meant it—and he could tell from the look on her face that Anny knew it. Stalemate.

At long last she let out a sigh. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re going to stand here and argue with me for as long as it takes.”

“Not that long. I might just throw you over my shoulder and dump you in the boat.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Want to try me?” He gave her his best Luke St. Angier hardass hero look.

She narrowed her gaze at him, then she said finally, “If I come, you won’t think it’s because I want to go to bed with you again?”

“What?” He stared at her.

“Because I don’t want you thinking I’m stalking you.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did,” he told her flatly. “I’m immune.”

“Yes, I could tell,” she said drily.

He scowled. “I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy sex with a beautiful woman. I said, I don’t want anything more than that.”

That made her blink. “Ever?”

“Never.” No compromise there.

Anny cocked her head and studied him carefully, as if her scrutiny might detect cracks in his armor. He could have told her there were no cracks. Not after Lissa.

He didn’t. But he stood firm and unyielding under her gaze.

“You shouldn’t say ‘never’ like that,” she told him, her tone gentle, as if she intended to comfort him. “Never is a long time and you might meet someone you love as much. Differently,” she added quickly. “But as much.”

Demetrios stared, jolted. But he didn’t correct her misunderstanding. She only knew what the press had printed, after all. She’d got the story of their marriage that Lissa had wanted read. And after Lissa’s death, he’d had nothing to gain from airing their private problems.

Saying something wouldn’t change things now, either. So he just waited, let her think what she liked.

“What about sex?” she said abruptly

His mouth fell open. He couldn’t help it. “What?”

“I’m not asking you for sex,” she assured him quickly. “I just want to know what’s expected.”

So do I, Demetrios felt like saying because God’s own truth was, if he lived to be a hundred, he doubted he would be able to predict the next words out of Princess Adriana’s mouth.

“It’s up to you, princess,” he told her gruffly. “I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I can’t say I’m not willing. But I’m not falling in love with you. So don’t get your hopes up.”

Color flared in her cheeks. “As if!”

He grinned, then shrugged. “Just saying. You brought it up. Fine. If this is going to work, we need some plain speaking. I’m telling you right now I’m not getting involved. I’m bringing you along to keep you safe. Period.”

“Whether I like it or not,” she said in a mocking tone of her own.

“Whether you like it or not,” he agreed. “As for sex—” he shrugged “—I have no expectations. Whatever happens on board, princess, is entirely up to you.”

She blinked. Then she seemed to consider that. Her brow actually furrowed and she thought about it for long enough that Demetrios had time to wonder what the hell she could possibly be thinking.

But then she smiled, nodded and stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

Out of the frying pan.

Into the fire.

Her life was turning into one big cliché.

Anny knew she should have said no. She should have turned and walked away and kept right on walking.

More to the point, she should never have come down to the harbor to find Demetrios in the first place.

She had because…because, she forced herself to admit, he was the only one she knew who would understand. He was, as she’d told him, the one who had given her the courage to do it.

He and Franck.

But she could hardly talk to Franck about this. She was supposed to be his support, not the other way around. She hadn’t been expecting support, per se, from Demetrios, either. Well, nothing beyond a “good for you,” which in fact he’d given her.

That was all she was hoping for. All! She had definitely not expected Demetrios to insist that she come with him.

She ventured a glance at him now as he prepared to leave the harbor. He was paying her no attention at all. He was stowing gear and checking charts and going over things that Anny knew were important and knew equally well she would be in the way of if she tried to help.

So she kept out of the way and waited until he gave her directions. She was by no means a solo sailor. But she’d been on boats since she was a child. And while Mont Chamion’s royal yacht had a very competent crew, she had taken orders from her father when he and she and her mother had gone sailing. She was sure she could help Demetrios here.

That wasn’t going to be the problem.

She wasn’t a fool, Anny had been at pains to assure him. But what else could you call a woman who went from a three-year engagement to a man she didn’t love to a two-week solo boat trip with a man who would never love her?

Not, Anny assured herself, that she was in love with him.

But she wasn’t indifferent to him.

She…liked him. Had once had a crush on him. He had, as she’d told him in somewhat vague terms, been the dream of her youth.

And even now she respected him for his career. She admired him for coming back from the devastating personal tragedy that had been his wife’s death. She certainly esteemed him for his kindness to Franck over the past couple of weeks, and—let’s be honest—for his generosity to her. In and out of bed.

But she didn’t love him. Not yet.

Not ever, Anny told herself sharply.

She was, despite what her dutiful engagement to Gerard might say about her, basically a sensible woman. She didn’t dare fate or walk in front of buses.

Now she considered herself warned. It was more than a little humbling to hear him spell out his indifference in such blunt terms. As if there were no way on earth he might ever fall in love with the likes of her.

Fine. So be it.

Right now she was looking for a respite—some peace and quiet and a chance to learn the desires of her own heart.

So she would take what he offered: two weeks of solitude during which her father would never be able to find her. Two weeks to formulate plans that would allow her to make her own way in her adult life.

Yes, marriage, she was sure, would be a part of it. But not marriage to Gerard. Despite his suggestion that she take some time and reconsider, Anny knew she’d made the right decision. She only regretted that it had taken her so long to come to her senses and realize she needed more than duty and responsibility to get her to the altar.

She’d suspected it, of course. But it had taken her night with Demetrios to show her that passion, too, had to play a part.

The passion, the desire, hadn’t dissipated since that night.

How she was going to handle that for the next two weeks, she wasn’t sure. Had he meant it when he said it was up to her?

Demetrios started the engine. The boat’s motor made the deck vibrate beneath Anny’s feet.