Page 75 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

But something innate told him that Esmerelda Clark wasn’t just a resource. No, she was important. Perhaps even the woman he had planned to present this ring to.

“Will you write down the address for me?”

“Yes.”

Miss Smythe jotted down the address on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

“I do have a request, Mr. Adamos.”

“You’ve given me answers.” He picked up the box. “And an invaluable ring. Name it and it’s done.”

Her lips tilted up.

“Call and tell me how the story ends.”

CHAPTER TWO

TOANYONEWALKINGby on the white sands of Little Cove Beach, the woman lounging in the hammock was enjoying her vacation. Sun filtered through the palm trees and warmed her skin. A gentle breeze drifted in off the cerulean blue waves, carrying the crisp, salty scent of the Caribbean Sea. A glass of Grenadian rum punch sat within reach on the ground, droplets of condensation dripping lazily down onto the sand.

Esme Clark sighed. It was hard to enjoy her vacation when, just over a month ago, she’d been fired by her former boss and ex-lover. That her dismissal had been delivered so coldly by the man who just a week before had made love to her during a magical night in Paris had made it all the more humiliating.

Sex, she reminded herself grimly.We had sex. That’s it.

For a moment, she’d actually imagined herself in love with her boss. She’d known nothing could come of it. He was a prince. The heir to the throne of a small island nation off the coast of Portugal that had done surprisingly well for itself in recent times. Despite the occasional sweet story in the news or the romance novels she liked to read in bed late at night, reality was far crueler. Princes did not marry their bodyguards.

But for the first time in her life, even knowing how it would have to end, she had thrown caution to the wind and succumbed to her own desires. Desires that had been haunting her for the past year ever since she’d been injured protecting Prince Julius during a parade. She’d tried to rise when he’d visited her in the hospital. He’d gently pushed her back, sat by her bedside and chatted with her, even gifted her a copy of one of her favorite books. He’d made her laugh. When she’d looked at him, she’d seen a spark in his eyes, an awareness of her as a woman.

For months, she’d resisted indulging in anything physical. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for her emotions. Something had changed between them after that morning in the hospital. It had been small things at first, like him showing up at her physical therapy appointment to see how she was progressing. She had assured herself it was something he would have done for any one of his security detail who had suffered an injury in the line of duty. For all the whisperings of the prince’s cold and transactional way of handling his role, he invested in his people.

Except it had been something more. She’d resisted the pull between them for more than a year, the heated glances, the deep curve of his smile when they were alone.

Until Paris. Until one night when she had finally given in. They’d slept together—to think of it in any other terms but that was to invite heartache—followed less than a week later by his summoning her to his office where he’d informed her that he would be looking for a fiancée at the direction of his father, the king. Icy fingers wrapped around her heart still as she remembered staring at him, trying to keep her mouth from dropping open. She’d known when she’d gone to bed with him that it would be a short-term affair at most. What she hadn’t expected were the emotions that had stirred: jealousy, hurt, loss.

And then he’d added fury to the volatile churn of feelings inside her chest by saying, in the coldest of voices, that given the circumstances it would be better if she was reassigned.

“It’s over, Miss Clark. It has been since Paris.”

Anger surged through her. She momentarily embraced it, savored the flash of fire in her veins. Anger was powerful. Anger yanked her away from the dark pit of sadness and self-pity.

And from desire. She kept it buried more often than not. But there were still moments, especially at night, when it would slide through her body, dipping into her dreams and stirring heated recollections of the way he’d slid her shirt from her shoulders, trailing his lips down the back of her neck and over the curve of her shoulder as his hands had cupped her breasts—

Stop.She’d mistaken seduction for tenderness, sex for lovemaking. Yes, Julius had been the best lover she’d been with.So far, she reminded herself firmly.The best lover so far.While she couldn’t even begin to entertain the possibility of sex or a relationship right now, telling herself that she would move on helped.

That and the anger. The anger helped most of all.

Fortunately, she’d managed to harness some anger that day. It had kept the tears at bay and strengthened her voice as she’d simply bowed her head, replied “Yes, Your Highness,” and savored the satisfying flare of shock in his eyes before she’d turned and walked out.

Instead of reporting to the Royal Security Office, where she would have had to face her coworkers and her father, the head of the royal family’s security team, she had gone straight to her apartment in the wing reserved for palace employees. She’d packed up her few belongings, booked a ticket to Scotland and typed up a resignation letter in less than an hour. She’d hit send on the email as she’d arrived at the airport. Her father had called less than five minutes later, and had been calling almost every day since.

Once she would have been grateful for his attention. But it wasn’t a personal interest in her. No, it was his concern for the effect her abrupt departure could have on his career that spurred his calls. Not her. Never her.

She’d sent every call to voice mail.

A sigh escaped her lips. She stared up through the fronds of the palm tree as the anger seeped out. Pain trickled in through the cracks in her heart, spreading and weighing her down until she felt so heavy she couldn’t move.

Was there something fundamentally wrong with her? Was she destined to go her whole life being unwanted? Her mother had divorced her father and moved back to Scotland when Esme had been ten, then across the ocean to New York to follow a surgeon who had swept her off her feet when Esme was thirteen. Esme’s father had been more focused on steadily climbing the ranks from palace gate guard to head of the entire royal family’s security. Neither of them had cared much for being parents or the daughter they had created.

Their indifference had hardened her. She’d never allowed herself to be vulnerable again, including the few men she’d dated over the years, two of whom she’d allowed the intimacy of sharing her bed. None of them had been granted access to her heart.

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