Page 106 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

“Like Burak?”

“Yes,” she answered truthfully, despising the little flare of satisfaction at the jealousy in his voice. “Him and a few others. But after all the training, the last thing we wanted to do at the end of the day was talk more politics. Grabbing a drink at a pub, going sailing, watching movies. When I talked, you listened. You told me...”

Her tongue suddenly felt thick, her eyes hot.

“Told you what?” he prompted softly.

“You told me I made you a better leader.”

It had been two weeks before Paris. How many times over that year had she caught him looking at her, wondered if he felt something more? As many times as she’d dismissed her thoughts as foolish, the naïve emotions of a love-starved young woman with a handsome, dynamic man for a boss.

But that day, after he’d asked her opinion on an email he’d drafted to an ambassador regarding a recent disagreement they’d engaged in and she’d made suggestions to soften his tone, to offer an olive branch and maintain the relationship, he’d looked at her and smiled just enough to make his whiskey eyes crinkle at the corners.

“You make me a better leader, Clark. Thank you.”

When she’d stuttered out“You’re welcome,”his gaze had lingered, drifted down her body before returning to his computer.

And she’d known. Known the building attraction, the sensual tension she thought she’d imagined so many times, was not one-sided.

“And then I fired you.”

Oh, God.

She closed her eyes. The way he’d done it had been awful. But the reason...oh, the further time moved away from that hideous day, the more she recognized that the reason itself was not wrong. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn’t want a woman who had slept with her husband guarding him, being around them constantly. She could be angry, furious with him over how he’d done it.

But the reason made all the difference.

She opened her mouth to tell him, to let him know that there had been more than simple vanity or a royal’s capriciousness behind his decision. He glanced over her shoulder and, before she could say a word, moved past her. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave. When his footsteps paused, she turned to see him standing next to her bed. Her chest tightened as he picked up her book off the bed, a dark green splash against the white feather comforter.

“Was it this book?”

“Yes.”

He turned it over, his fingers lingering over the worn leather cover, the silver embossing on the spine.

“I remember it. I remember picking it up and thinking of you.”

Her pulse thudded, slow beats that echoed in her ears.

“Oh.”

He set the book down on the bed and came back to her. His fingers brushed the material of her shirt to the side again, his eyes burning as he stared down at the scar.

“I never told you why I handled my duty from a distance? Placed a wall between me and my people, between me and everyone.”

She shook her head.

“Whenever I tried to ask, you would change the subject or simply not answer.”

His fingers drifted lower. His palm flattened against her chest, just above her breast, where her heart beat. A breath escaped him, as if he had needed to convince himself that she was still there, still alive.

“I’m sorry, Esmerelda.”

She gave in to temptation and reached up, framing his face with her hands.

“No. Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should—”

“Don’t you dare.” He caught her in his arms, his hands settling on her back and pulling her against him. “You pushed me out of harm’s way.”

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