Page 87 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

“There’s a perfectly good couch in here. You can have the bed—”

“No.”

Tension gripped her at his clipped tone.

“Excuse me?”

“I will not be taking your bed. Unless,” he added with a quirk of his lips, “you’re suggesting we share...”

Desire shot through her with such intensity she barely had the opportunity to conceal it. The idea of crowding onto the queen mattress with Julius’s six-foot-three body stirred memories of how their limbs had become entwined during their second round of lovemaking. Every time she’d moved, it had been to feel the slide of her naked skin against his. The intimacy of her breasts pressed against the curling hair on his chest, her thighs shifting against his, his hands cupping her rear and pulling her closer against him, had been almost as dizzying as when he’d slid inside her the first time.

“That would hardly be appropriate. Especially,” she added as much for his benefit as her own, “given that you have a ring and possibly a fiancée out there somewhere.”

His face darkened.

“I am not taking your bed.”

“Then sleep on the floor next to it. I’m not enjoying the comforts of a bed while the prince takes the couch.”

Even though she had initially pursued her career at the encouragement of her father, out of some ridiculous need for his approval, the job had become ingrained in her. Fed by her genuine love and loyalty for her country, the thought of letting the prince she had sworn to protect with her life sleep on the couch nearly made her choke.

He stepped toward her.

“I will toss you into that bed if I have to.”

His words lit the sensual tension hanging in the room. Eyes wide, Esme watched in stupefied fascination as his own gaze darkened, then swept over her from head to toe. She’d swapped out her bikini bottom for shorts when she’d come inside, but she might as well have been naked given the way Julius’s eyes burned.

“What gives you the right to give me orders?”

“I’m a prince, aren’t I?” A dangerous smile curved across his face, one that made her swallow hard. “Isn’t giving orders part of what I do?”

“Yes. But you’re no longer my prince.” Suddenly furious, with both him and herself, she strode past him, deliberately letting her shoulder knock into his chest as she headed for the door. He had lost the right to tell her what to do. She wouldn’t let anyone do that anymore. Not her father and certainly not Julius.

“Do what you want,Julius. Although I recommend calling Burak.” She paused in the doorway and gave him an ornery smile. “Unless you want to test just how quickly the palace can track you down and haul your royal butt back to Rodina whether you like it or not.”

With that parting shot, she let the door slam behind her.

CHAPTER SIX

“YES,BURAK,I assure you all is well. Thank you.”

Julius hung up and sat back in the porch chair, closing his eyes against the pain exploding in his head. His captain of security had been suspicious. But the code word Esmerelda had included when she’d inputted Burak’s contact information into his new phone had reassured the man. Burak had been less than happy about Julius’s sudden jaunt to Grenada and suspicious of Julius’s story that his personal bag with his passport and wallet had been stolen. The one thing that had placated him was that Julius was on a much smaller island with far fewer people than England.

He’d liked Burak. The man had balanced respect with backbone, the soft melody of a Turkish accent lacing his firm voice. He’d also been incredibly efficient at organizing several of Julius’s requests.

But there had been no sense of knowing, no connection to the man who had been a part of his security detail for over a year. Not like there had been with Esmerelda. They’d discussed details like getting him access to his finances and a new passport. It had been a productive conversation. But it had also prodded the always present headache, spreading from an obscure ache at the base of his skull to his temples where it pounded away with reckless abandon.

Further evidence that he needed time. Time to rest, recuperate, hopefully remember more before he assumed the role of heir to an entire country.

Although it wasn’t just that. After Esmerelda’s revelation, she’d disappeared inside, which had given him time to absorb the magnitude of what she’d shared. He’d read up on himself, scrolling through photo after photo of him in elegant suits looking pensive, cold, shrewd. The few pictures of him with any women were over eighteen months old. Plenty of articles had speculated on ambassadors he had spoken with at dinners, daughters of wealthy business leaders whose hands he had held onto “a moment longer than others.”

But there had been nothing that had given insight into who he was as a man. No hobbies, no candid photos, not even a smile. The lack of information, and the absence of any defining personality, had stoked the disquiet that had first appeared when he’d looked in the mirror and not recognized the face staring back at him.

Time. He needed time. He had confirmed with Burak that he would be gone the remaining two weeks they had previously agreed to. Two weeks to rest, to perhaps regain his memory.

And to figure out the puzzle of Esmerelda Clark.

His mind turned back to that last moment before she’d fled the cottage. The snap of electricity between them, the tantalizing spread of color from the V-neck of her shirt up her neck, the wariness mixed with desire in her vivid green eyes...he’d been ensnared. Intoxicated.

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