The Virgin's Proposition by Anne McAllister Page A

didn’t mean she needed to burn her bridges!
    “Why?” he demanded harshly, suspiciously.
    At his tone, her eyes widened. “You know why! Because I don’t love him. Because he doesn’t love me.”
    “So? You knew that last week. Hell, you probably knew it last year! Didn’t stop you then.”
    “I know, but—”
    But Demetrios didn’t want to hear. He spun away, grabbing his duffel and tossing it into the cockpit. Then he straightenedand kneaded tight muscles at the back of his neck, thinking furiously. Finally he turned to nail her with a glare.
    “This doesn’t have anything to do with me,” he told her as flatly and uncompromisingly as possible.
    “You gave me the courage.”
    Not what he wanted to hear. He said a rude word. “Don’t be stupid.”
    “You told me not to regret my life.”
    “I didn’t expect you to turn it upside down!”
    “Maybe I’m turning it right side up,” she suggested.
    He raked fingers through his hair. He supposed he had said some damn stupid thing like that. Giving her the benefit of his own regrettable experience, no doubt. And she, foolishly, interpreted it as him having some common sense.
    “So everyone left and you just walked up to him and said, ‘Oh, by the way, Gerry, I can’t marry you’?”
    She looked taken aback at his tone, not understanding what the problem was. Of course she didn’t understand—because the problem was his, not hers.
    “I wasn’t quite that blunt,” she said at last. “It just…happened.” She gave him a sort of sad reflective smile. “He’d said he wanted to discuss things between us—about the wedding. He wanted to set a date—a specific time. And—” she shook her head helplessly “—I couldn’t do it.”
    He stared at her for a long moment. Then he said again, “Not because of me.”
    A tiny line appeared between her brows for a moment. And then she seemed to realize what he was getting at. “You mean, did I suddenly realize I’d rather have you?” She laughed. “I’m not that presumptuous.”
    “Good,” he said gruffly, embarrassed at having made the leap at the same time he was relieved it had been in error.
    “Well, good for you,” he said finally, at length. What was he supposed to say? He gave her a quick approving nod, then climbed down into the cockpit, unlocked the door to the companionway and kicked his duffel down into the cabin.
    “It is good,” she said, her voice brighter now. “It was the right thing to do.” Behind him Demetrios heard her take an expansive breath. “In fact, it feels wonderful.”
    He grunted. He supposed it must. Like dodging a bullet. The way he’d feel if he’d never married Lissa. He glanced up at her. “Congratulations.”
    She grinned. “Thank you.”
    He cocked his head, considering how simple it had been. Maybe too simple? “And Gerard was okay with your breaking it off?”
    “Well, not exactly,” she admitted. She shoved a tendril of hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her ear. “He said all brides have jitters. That I should think things over. Take some time. Get to know my own mind.” She snorted—a ladylike snort. “I do know my own mind.”
    Did she? Demetrios doubted it. She’d agreed to marry Gerard, hadn’t she? She must have thought it was a good idea at one point. And Gerard obviously expected her to come to her senses.
    “And your father?” Demetrios demanded. “What did he say?” When she didn’t answer at once, he narrowed his gaze. “You did tell him?”
    Anny tossed her ponytail. “I sent him an e-mail.”
    Demetrios gaped. “You sent your father— the king —an e-mail?”
    She shrugged, then squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. “He might be everyone else’s king, but he’s my father. And I didn’t want to talk to him.”
    “I’ll bet you didn’t.”
    “He’ll understand. He loves me.”
    No doubt he did. But he was also king of a country. A man who was used to ruling, commanding, telling