Page 88 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

And she’d run.

The desire to pursue, to catch and demand answers, had been strong. But from what little he’d learned of Esmerelda, patience would serve him better. Her flight, coupled with the sensual tension between them, had confirmed that there had been something more to their relationship than simple professionalism.

The next few weeks would give him the chance to heal, but also the opportunity to break down whatever barriers he’d erected between him and Esme in his previous life and uncover the truth.

What if she’s telling the truth? That you were simply a cold, callous bastard?

Was he pursuing Esmerelda because she was the one thing he could remember? Had he created the memory of them, naked and wrapped around each other in a lovers’ embrace,i because he had needed something, anything, to grasp onto? Or had an unrequited attraction surfaced from his trauma? Had it been one-sided on his part?

Uncomfortable thoughts. Yet none of them felt right. And whether they had been lovers or not, something terrible had happened between him and Esmerelda. Something that had severed his relationship with the woman who been his sworn protector.

His mind opened unexpectedly—just for a moment—but it was long enough. He saw Esmerelda’s face, her freckles standing out starkly against pale skin as she stared at him, eyes shining bright with unshed tears. A memory, and a vivid one. Pain hit him in the chest, hard and ugly, along with a remembered determination that pushed him on to do what he had to do...

A wall rose up. He inwardly swore as the headache turned sharp, combining pressure with tiny hot pricks like a dagger held over an open flame being driven into his skull again and again. Were all his first memories going to be so painful?

Several minutes passed before the headache lessened enough for him to focus on other things. He glanced at his watch. It had been nearly an hour since Esmerelda had left. An hour that he had put to good use. But he didn’t like how long she’d been gone. Yes, the woman could obviously take care of herself. But each passing moment was another moment she could be using to get away from Grenada, to disappear once again.

His chest tightened. Then loosened as he heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs. Esmerelda appeared at the top a moment later, her hair pulled into a loose bun on top of her head, errant curls slipping down to frame her face. A cloth bag hung over one shoulder.

“Groceries,” she said as she caught his curious glance at the bag. “Not much, but enough to get us through today and tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded, then moved quickly past him into the cottage. He waited a moment, assembled his thoughts, reviewed his strategy, then followed her inside.

“I got in touch with Burak. He wasn’t happy about my supposed change in itinerary, but he’s made arrangements for me.”

“Good.”

He watched as she pulled out a knife and cutting board and started chopping up fruit.

“One of the arrangements is a residence here on the island. Larger than this one.”

Much larger.

The knife blade slowed in its downward arc and became stuck in the papaya Esme had been slicing.

“You’re leaving then?”

“I am.”

She looked up, blinked rapidly, then nodded as her breath whooshed out.

“Good. That’s good.”

“I’d like you to come with me.”

A frown appeared.

“I’m not going back to Rodina.”

“Neither am I. Not for at least two weeks. I’m staying here on Grenada.”

Her lips parted.

“You’re what?”

“I’m staying. And I’d like for you to stay with me.”

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