CHAPTER FIVE

SHEHADNEVER cared for diamonds. To her they had always seemed bland. But this diamond, flecked with black and surrounded by blue gems and tiny pearls, entranced her, drew her into its depths.

A sunbeam fell on the diamond and made it glint. The flash of light made her wince, breaking the spell.

"Your future fiancée is a fortunate woman. Whoever she ends up being, I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

"And it was not for you? You're certain of that?"

She waited a moment, suppressing her anguish, her bitterness. When she spoke, she hoped he wouldn't detect the depth of strangled emotion in her voice.

"I can assure you that you would have never proposed to someone like me."

"Someone like you," he echoed with a frown as he thankfully snapped the box shut and placed it back on the table. "The second time you've used that phrase."

She nodded toward the box.

"The woman who will wear your ring will fit the part. Beautiful, distinguished, most likely wealthy, and with a family pedigree that traces back centuries." She held up her hand, wiggling her fingers. "Not a former bodyguard who's never had a manicure and drinks rum cocktails on a beach on a tiny island."

"You sound far more interesting than my future fiancée."

She brushed aside the hurt. To this man with no memory, she probably sounded fascinating. To Prince Julius Carvalho, the heir to Rodina's throne, she was nothing. He'd made that perfectly clear.

He circled around the sofa. Instinct told her to run. Training kept her in place as he drew near, filling every corner of the room with his dominating presence.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

The use of his title didn't stop his advance. Whatever had happened to cause his amnesia had certainly not dulled his powerful presence, his ability to command attention as soon as he walked into a room. It rippled off him, drew her in like a moth to a flame.

Except she wouldn't get burned. Not this time. She would not survive it if she did.

Julius stopped in front of her, less than a foot away, although it could have been less than an inch with the heat swirling between them. Their eyes met and the temperature rose.

"Whoever made you think you're not beautiful or fascinating or worthy was a fool."

"My mother."

"A fool," Julius repeated. "When I came to, I had three memories. One was of a voice. Another was a chandelier." He leaned forward a fraction, golden-brown eyes glinting. "The third was of your hair."

Her heart stuttered.

"My hair?"

"Yes." He reached out and twirled an errant curl around his finger. "Like flames spilling over my hands."

Longing pierced her heart like an arrow. Her own memories of that night rising unbidden from the depths of her mind. The depths she'd pushed them to to try and forget. Memories of him raising himself up on his arms after he'd kissed her. Long, drugging kisses that made her limbs heavy. The look in his eyes when he'd trailed his fingers through her hair had stirred something deeper than lust. For one moment, as he'd stroked the tresses and murmured "T?o bonito," she'd felt truly beautiful for the first time in her life.

Remembering was too much. Too painful. He'd made her believe something that could never be true.

"Why would I have that memory if there was nothing between us?"

She paused, fumbled for a plausible excuse. Another memory surfaced, a lifeline. Something she could distract him with.

"I was in the hospital a year ago. You visited me. I had a head wound and you brushed back my hair to look at the bandage."

When he'd leaned down, devastatingly handsome in a steel-blue suit over a white dress shirt, and smoothed back errant curls from the white bandage plastered to her forehead, something had shifted inside of her. Respect had segued into longing, loyalty into longing. She'd tamped it for months, convinced it was one-sided and simply a product of the intimacy of laying down one's life for another.

Until Paris.

Suspicion flickered across his face.

"You believe that's what I'm remembering? Nothing else?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, strove for nonchalance as she forced herself to step away from him. The sheer magnetism of him was making her breathless. She needed room to breathe, to remember why she couldn't be the person he turned to in this hour of need.

She moved back toward the small kitchenette and set about making herself a cup of tea. "I have no idea what's going on inside your head, Your Highness, what memories are fact and what are fiction."

"I see."

Silence reigned behind her. She willed herself to stay strong, to not be the first to give in. The rest of the world rose up to fill the void, from the creaking of the roof to the shooshing of the breeze that lifted the faded gauze curtains hanging over the window. Each sound grew louder than the last. Pressure built in her chest, heavy and constricting, until she could barely breathe past the tightness in her throat.

"You need to check in with Burak, your head of security."

There. That was professional. And it started the ball rolling on getting him out of her cottage.

"Otherwise the armada will sail across the ocean to find me?"

"What is it you fear?" She turned and frowned at him. "You flew on a cargo plane to find me, to get answers. The palace could provide you with everything you're seeking. That and resources to help you heal."

"When I came to find you, there was one person I was focused on tracking down. Not an entire country that, as you described, looks to my father and me for leadership."

A small wrinkle appeared between his brows as he blinked twice. Subtle, but she knew the signs of an impending headache. How many times had she sat in his office at the end of a long day as they had debriefed, seen the tells that so many people missed? How many times in the past few months had she grown bolder, moving to make tea or offer him an aspirin?

"I need time, Esmerelda. Time to wrap my head around the enormity of what you've shared." He gave in then, the quickest touch of fingers to his temple. "Time to reconcile what I feel versus what you've told me. I will not be rushed."

Hope flared, bright and brilliant, then winked out just as quickly. It didn't matter if the desire that had brought them together was at the forefront of his mind. When he remembered, when he resumed his role back in Rodina, they would be right back where they had been five weeks ago. Hope was hopeless. It had no place here.

"When you do call Burak to check in, let him know you changed locations and that your wallet was stolen." She held out her hand for his phone, avoided touching his fingers as he passed it over. She plugged in Burak's number before she handed it back over. "They can have new identification, passport, credit cards and anything else you might need by tomorrow." She bit back a sigh. "You can stay here until they arrive."

She couldn't leave the heir to the Rodinian throne alone to fend for himself. The professional part of her knew that. Even if the personal part railed against it, instinctively knowing it wasn't a good idea.

The prince's eyes bored into hers.

"Are you sure?"

No.

"Yes. I'm not going to have your welfare on my conscience."

"Mercenary," he replied dryly. "But given that it benefits me, I won't argue." He glanced around the small cottage, the slightest lift to his brow. "Although I'm curious as to how two people will fit in such...intimate accommodations."

"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.