Page 66 of Royal Affair
"And this isn't right?" She challenged, stepping toward me.
I held up a hand to stop her approach, needing distance to think clearly. "You know it isn't. You're my client. I'm here to protect you, not?—"
"Not what, James? Not kiss me? Not touch me? Not make me feel things I've never felt before?" Her eyes flashed with a mixture of desire and frustration. "It's too late for that. It's been too late since Luxembourg."
She was right. It had been too late the moment I'd given in to temptation that night we almost crossed the line. Maybe even before that—the first time I saw her in that gold dress, or whenshe cooked for me in the penthouse, or when I ran a bath for her after the kidnapping attempt.
"We need to focus on the threats against you," I said, retreating to the safety of professional concerns. "Frederick's information about Mikhail Kozlov is disturbing. If he's actively searching for evidence about his son's death?—"
"So that's it?" she interrupted, hurt flashing across her face. "We're just going to pretend this never happened? Again?"
The pain in her voice cut through me, but I forced myself to hold firm. "It's for the best."
She stepped back as if I'd struck her, her expression closing off. "Fine. If that's what you want."
"It's not about what I want," I said, my voice rougher than intended. "It's about your safety. Your future."
Without another word, she turned and walked to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. I stood in the living room, the ghost of her touch still burning on my skin, knowing I'd made the right decision and hating myself for it, anyway.
I grabbed my jacket and left the penthouse, needing air, needing distance from the temptation she represented. The streets of Luxembourg were busy with evening commuters, people leading normal lives with normal concerns. Those people did not have to protect a princess they could not stop thinking about.
I pulled out my phone and called Harrison, my former commanding officer who now worked in intelligence. If anyone could get me information on Mikhail Kozlov's current activities, it would be him.
"Banks," he answered on the third ring. "Twice in one month. I'm flattered."
"I need everything you can find on Mikhail Kozlov's current whereabouts and activities," I said without preamble. "Particularly anything related to Bellavista."
"The Russian whose son's body was just found in the river?" Harrison's tone made it clear he knew there was more to the story. "Word is he's been making a noise in certain circles. Throwing money around for information."
"What kind of information?"
"The kind that could destabilize a small monarchy." There was a pause. "Is your princess in danger, Banks?"
"She's not my princess," I said automatically. "But yes, I believe she may be."
"I'll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, watch your back. Kozlov isn't known for his subtlety or mercy."
I ended the call and headed back to the penthouse, my mind racing through security protocols and contingency plans. This was what I needed to focus on—protecting Evangeline from tangible threats, not my own dangerous feelings for her.
When I returned, the penthouse was quiet, Evangeline's bedroom door still firmly closed. I retreated to my room, spending the night reviewing security reports and making calls to contacts who might have information on the Kozlovs.
The next morning, we fell into an uneasy routine—polite, distant, professional. She went to her classes; I shadowed her from a respectful distance. She studied in the library; I positioned myself within sight but not close enough for conversation. She cooked dinner; I ate quickly and retreated to my room to continue my investigation.
My withdrawal hurt her, she never showed it. The Princess Evangeline mask was firmly in place—poised, controlled, regal even in jeans and sweaters.
Three days of this torture passed before Frederick called again. I was in the living room when her phone rang. She glanced at me deliberately before answering and putting it on speaker, as if she wanted me to hear his smooth voice.
"I've been thinking about your situation with the Kozlovs," he said. "You should know how to defend yourself if something happens. Basic self-defense, at least."
I tensed, waiting for her to decline. Instead, she surprised me.
"That's actually not a bad idea," she replied. "I'll ask James?—"
"I was thinking I could show you some basics," Frederick interrupted. "I took classes for years. Nothing fancy, just enough to give you a fighting chance if you needed it."
My hands clenched into fists. I should be the one teaching her. It was my job, my responsibility—but I'd been keeping my distance, too afraid of what would happen if I put my hands on her again. Now that bastard was swooping in to fill the void I'd created.
There was a pause, and I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to object, to claim what should rightfully be mine. I kept my expression carefully blank, though internally I was seething at my own cowardice.
