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.

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."

"Perhaps I didn't make it clear." She set the knife down carefully, as if she was trying to resist the temptation to stab him with it. "I want nothing more to do with you. I am sorry about your accident, but you expressed that you had no interest in working with me anymore."

"And now I'm saying otherwise."

"You can't just change your mind like that!" She went from simmering frustration to full-blown anger in seconds. "I've moved on. If you haven't noticed, I left the country I was born and raised in and decided to travel halfway around the world thinking that I might just have a slight amount of time to get myself together before tackling the next phase of my life, only to have the man who fired me from his team chase me halfway across the world and show up on my private beach that I paid good money for. Do you think you can just waltz in here and take over my life once more? Do you truly think that after you..."

She paused then, as if trying to get her words right before she spoke. He made note of it, filed it away for later.

"After you reassigned me without talking to me at all, just dropped this bombshell on me with no warning, you assigned me to a role that I had expressed that I was not interested in in the slightest, that I would just give in to your demands?"

"I did think that having amnesia might make a difference."

"Well, it doesn't," she fired back. "I'm getting on with my life. You should do the same."

"I'll ensure you have a reference for future employers. I will also pay you one hundred thousand euros for you to serve as my bodyguard."

Her eyebrows climbed up to her hairline.

"That's nearly a year's salary."

"I'm interrupting your vacation. And after firing you. Paying you an outrageous sum seems like the least I could do."

He smiled, a slow, sensual smile designed to tempt. And tempt it did. Not that it would make a difference."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that all I'm expected to do? Or would there be other duties as assigned?"

"Such as?"

"Sharing your bed."

Fury ripped through him.

"That's not what I would be purchasing, Miss Clark."

She blinked at the chill in his voice, then surprised him as a chilly yet satisfied smile slowly tilted her lips up.

"You might have lost your memory, Your Highness, but you're still in there. Just as cold and bastardly as ever."

With that, she turned to leave. He went after her, his long strides eating up the distance between them. He caught her elbow and turned her around.

"Then I'll try a different tactic."

She yanked her arm away.

"There's nothing you can say that will make me—"

"Please."

She stared at him, stunned.

"What?"

"Please, Miss Clark. Maybe by the time I return to Rodina, my memory will have returned. But if it doesn't, then I will be stepping into a role that literally impacts people's lives. I will do far better if I have time to recover, and recover with the presence of someone who feels familiar to me. Someone who knows me, better than I know myself."

She was bending. He saw it in the way she bit down on her lips, crossed her arms over her chest as if to ward him off even as her defenses began to crumble.

"Why can't Burak fly over—?"

"I don't know him."

She frowned.

"You don't remember me either—"

"You're the only person in my life, or rather my former life, with whom I feel any recognition. With you, I feel calm. My recovery will go better if I were to have someone near that I'm comfortable with. It might even help speed up the process of me regaining my memory."

She stared at him, evaluating. Could she see that he had another agenda in mind? Yes, everything he was saying was true. But he also wanted to find out what had happened between them, to get to know the woman who stood before him. To understand the attraction that flared in her eyes every time she was near him. To understand why he was so sure that what had happened between them had been life-changing. To understand his reaction to Esme Clark, the way she made his blood heat.

Her breath came out in a rush, followed by a softly muttered curse.

"And what if you don't recover your memory?"

"No matter what does, or does not, happen, I will return to my role within the palace." He paused, watching her. "You told me the one thing you know for certain is that you love your country. If you love it so much, help me."

Her head snapped up.

"Don't you dare use that to manipulate me."

"I'm only trying to manipulate you a little." At her raised brow, he held up his hands. "Okay, I'm trying to manipulate quite a bit. But there's truth in what I have to say, too. You love your country. And right now, your country needs you. The family you once served needs you. That it will give me a chance to right the wrong I did to you is a bonus I probably don't deserve."

She stared at him for so long he wondered if she would say no.

And then she sighed. Triumph surged inside him.

"I don't like this."

"Don't like what?"

"I don't like the uncertainty, giving up the time I planned for myself." She tugged at the band holding up her hair, reddish gold curls tumbling down over her shoulders in a riotous cascade that made the seductive memory flare once more. "I lived for years with someone else making choices for me, arranging my life to suit their desires and wants. I'm not going back down that road again. Not just when I've broken free."

He regally inclined his head to her.

"I will not ask anything of you beyond these two weeks."

She arched a brow.

"Unless you change your mind and want something else," she said knowingly.

His eyes glinted again, but this time with humor.

"It depends on what I want and how badly I want it."