CHAPTER SEVEN

THESUNROSE over the eastern waters of the Caribbean Sea. Waves rose, turned golden by the sunlight, before splashing back down into blue-and-white foam. A seagull cawed in the distance. Manicured green lawns raced down to the private beach of fluffy white sand, the yard dotted here and there with a soaring palm tree or a well-tended bed of bright blooms.

Idyllic. Perfect. And Esme wasn't enjoying a single moment.

A yawn escaped her as she snuggled deeper into the robe she'd found in the bathroom. Luxurious and cozy, it warded off the early morning chill. Within an hour, she knew the temperatures would climb steadily and drive vacationers into the ocean waters or the nearest pool.

But for now, with a gentle breeze bringing just a touch of coolness off the water, it was soothing.

She needed soothing after the night she'd had. Once she'd said yes to the devil and agreed to accompany him for two weeks to his "new residence," she'd packed her tiny suitcase and walked with him down to the beach. A dinghy had been waiting and carried them out to an impressive two-story catamaran with big white sails that had ballooned out under the captain's expert skill and taken them south to Prickly Bay and the exclusive Lance aux Epines community.

It wasn't like she hadn't been exposed to wealth and luxury in her year on Julius's security team. But when her eyes were roving over crowds of people assessing for threats, when she was mentally evaluating potential exits in case of various hazards or disasters, she hadn't done much ogling.

Julius hadn't said much on the boat. In fact, he had been nothing but a gentleman since she had agreed to accompany him. All sensuality had disappeared, replaced by a man who was certainly friendlier and softer than Prince Julius Carvalho, but far removed from the man whose eyes had burned with desire as for one heart-pounding moment she thought he'd kiss her.

But he hadn't. Once she said yes, it was as if he pulled back whatever he felt, or thought he felt for her, and was striving to show her he could behave himself. Would not ask more of her than he already had. And wasn't that what she wanted? That she found herself missing the tension, the spark of desire, had only made her cranky and short with him. A pity, because the sail down the coast to Prickly Bay had been peaceful, the crew professional, and the views unparalleled.

And when the boat had pulled up to the private dock of the Dove Villa, it had been almost like a fairy tale. Cinderella's coach, or in this case sailboat, pulling up to the palace.

The villa was beautiful. No, not just beautiful. Stunning. An architectural wonder. Gleaming ivory walls offset by white pillars guarded the two-story front door. Yet instead of appearing so expensive she was afraid to step inside, the red tiled roof had added a touch of relaxation to the otherwise austere exterior. Inside met outside with the sliding walls of glass that could be rolled into recesses in the wall and open the massive rooms to blue sky and ocean breezes.

Julius had reached out a hand to help her off the catamaran onto the dock. She'd walked off herself, regretting the petulant move when he'd simply turned away and walked up the path to the villa. A butler, Aroldo, had met them and given them a tour.

The furniture was understated, a mix of whites and blues, yet of obviously high quality. More white pillars held up soaring ceilings and made room for large fans that rotated silently as they kept the villa pleasantly cool during the hot afternoons. Tiles faded to a soft red dominated the main rooms, while weathered gray hardwood added both elegance and relaxation to the bedrooms.

Julius had thanked Aroldo and asked him to show Esme to her room before bowing his head to her.

"Perhaps I'll see you at dinner."

But she hadn't. She hadn't seen him all evening. Restless, she'd unpacked, then re-sorted how she'd hung up her meager clothes. She'd prowled online job listings, waiting for something to click, to feel right.

Waiting for a knock at the door. She'd waited in vain.

She'd tried to focus on the beauty of her room. A large bed stood in the center, thick white pillows arranged perfectly against a light gray headboard. Opposite the bed sat a couch, this one covered in the same gray material as the headboard, with a large window just above the back that overlooked the expansive grounds. To her left lay the bathroom, with a freestanding white marble tub in front of a wall covered in mosaic tiles of emerald and scarlet red arranged into a tropical flower against a brilliant blue sky. To her right, the entire wall was comprised of glass, including two massive doors that opened onto a private terrace with steps descending to the infinity pool.

The rooms balanced elegance with relaxation, quality with comfort. Yet the location and the investments in furnishings, from the lamp stands fashioned of gold to the crystal vase overflowing with red roses, made it clearly known that this was the kind of place only the wealthiest could afford.

But even the loveliness of her surroundings could only soothe for so long. Growing edginess had driven her into the kitchen shortly after sundown. A bowl of pelau had been left for her in the fridge with heating instructions, along with a note from Aroldo inviting her to help herself to anything in the kitchen and to call if she needed something. The chicken and rice dish, made heartier with a mix of carrots, celery, beans, red peppers and a dash of brown sugar, had assuaged her physical hunger.

Yet still she felt hollow. Empty.

It wasn't just Julius, although he certainly played a significant role. She had questioned her decision to follow him so quickly, how a simple "please" had led to her changing her mind, and her plans, for the next two weeks. All for a man who had broken her heart.

Part of it, she was coming to realize, was because in some twisted way, Julius had tossed her a lifeline. Two more weeks of something else to focus on other than what she was going to do with the rest of her life. How she was going to shape it just the way she wanted, without outside pressure. Without bending to the whims of someone else.

"Good morning."

Her lips firmed into a frown even as her heartbeat quickened at the sound of his voice. The second time in less than twenty-four hours the man had snuck up on her.

"Good morning, Your Highness."

Tension rolled off him as he sat in the lounge chair next to hers.

"Please call me Julius."

"Saying ‘please' isn't going to get you everything you want." She glanced at him then, her chest tightening as the sun added golden highlights to his dark blond hair. "I spent a year referring to you as ‘Your Highness,' ‘sir,' et cetera. Hard to break that habit."

"It's odd," he mused, staring out over the ocean, "but when you use those titles, it makes me feel...distant. Almost tired."

Surprised, she glanced at him fully. He wore a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar with the sleeves rolled up, dark blue pants and... She blinked. Barefoot. The Crown Prince of Rodina was barefoot. Julius almost never went anywhere without a tie. He certainly never went barefoot.

Except for Paris.

She pushed the thought away.

"You carried a great deal on your shoulders."

"Did I?"

"Yes. You sit on multiple committees, including finance and transportation. You were also involved in military operations and, your personal cause, education."

"Given how little you seem to think of me as a man, I'm surprised by the respect in your voice."

She shrugged.

"Great leaders can be very different behind closed doors."

Silence followed. She forced herself to lean back in her chair, to focus on the crystal-clear waters of the pool, the ocean just beyond.

"Tell me why my reassignment of you hurt so much. Please," he added with the hint of a smile as she arched one brow.

The obvious answer, that she had fallen in love with and slept with her boss, wouldn't do. Yet as she turned his question over in her mind, she analyzed it in a way she hadn't before.

"I was embarrassed." Truth added a rawness to her voice that made her clear her throat. "My father is the head of palace security. He lives for his work. Always has. I had considered going to the States for graduate studies after I got my degree. Something around law or political science. He suggested I go through the academy." Over two decades of pain rose up and wrapped around her heart like a vise. "It was the first time he had shown interest in what I did. So I did what he suggested. I was out in six months, completed another three months of advanced training at the commandant's recommendation. Assigned to general palace security for six months when I graduated, and then your detail the following year."

"Your father must have been proud."

She shrugged to mask the hurt. "As much as he was capable of being. Still, I grasped onto the crumbs of his approval like it was a lifeline. And..." She could feel the blush rising up her throat, that damned telltale hotness that made her feel transparent, vulnerable. "Others were more impressed. Each compliment, each commendation, made me feel whole for the first time in my life. When I was promoted to your detail a few months before my twenty-fifth birthday, for the first time in my life my father said ‘well done.'"

"I took that away from you."

A warm hand settled on top of hers. Startled, she turned to look at him. She'd glimpsed occasional flickers of kindness in Julius. But the understanding on this man's face, so familiar yet so different, from the compassion in his gaze to the regret that pulled at the corners of his mouth, touched her in a way she wasn't ready for.

"Yes." She pulled her hand back. Did she imagine the hurt that flashed in his eyes before he settled back in his chair? "That's what it felt like. I didn't have any warning."

"I'm sorry."

She gave him a small, sad smile. "How can you be sorry for something you don't even remember?"

He looked out over the ocean, a small frown forming between his brows.

"I do remember it. Some of it at least."

Panic skittered down her spine.

"Oh?"

"Your face. You looked heartbroken." He looked back at her then. "And I put that there. That pain in your eyes. After you swore to protect me with your life."

Guilt settled on her shoulders, heavy and clawing. She didn't want to tell him, didn't know if it was the right thing to tell him so soon after the onset of his amnesia.

"I was angry. And hurt. But it was within your right to reassign me."

"Not if it made you hurt, Esmerelda."

The way her name rolled off his tongue made a shiver pass over her skin. Not ready to confront the desire that still lingered in her veins.

"I appreciate the apology, sir. I will get over it."

"I suspect you're a woman who rises to the occasion or surpasses it more often than not. But tell me," he said, leaning forward, filling up her vision and her senses with his closeness, "how often do you make that journey alone?"

His voice filled her, winding through her and warming her blood.

Her phone dinged. Grateful for the reprieve from diving any deeper into her past, she pulled it out of the pocket of her robe. She muttered a curse as she read the text.

"Something wrong?"

"I emailed a friend at Scotland Yard to ask about any reports of muggings or assaults near the hotel you were staying at." She sighed. "Nothing."

"The doctor said it looked like a blow from a blunt object."

She frowned. "When did you see a doctor?"

"A doctor from one of the resorts in St. George's came by last night." Julius's fingers wandered to the back of his neck, crept up to rest lightly on the wound. "No evidence of any lingering concussion, although I do have an appointment this afternoon for some scans."

"And the memory loss?"

Julius's lips thinned. "Hopefully temporary. The head wound is unfortunate, but other than the loss of consciousness and initial nausea when I woke up, there's no evidence I'm still suffering from a concussion."

Confused, Esme propped her chin on her hand.

"So what does that mean?"

"Most likely dissociative retrograde amnesia."

"Pardon?"

"It means I saw something scary and disassociated from the event by forgetting everything about my previous life."

The words came out as a growl. Esme felt herself slip back into her old role, the one of peacemaker, of guard and protector.

"You're angry at yourself."

"Extremely."

"Because you feel weak."

"Aren't I?" he snapped. "Apparently I saw something frightening and instead of facing it, I retreated into my worthless mind."

"Your mind's not worthless, Julius."

Her use of his first name did what it was intended. His shoulders relaxed, his frown lessening as he blew out a harsh breath.

"It is disconcerting to think I ran from danger. Even more so when I hear how I treated my employees." His laugh was short and humorless. "I shudder to think of the ruler I was. What kind of ruler I will become."

The guilt gnawed deeper, making her sick.

"Julius—"

"No more." He suddenly looked tired, the shadows beneath his eyes darker and more pronounced. "I am in need of a walk."

He stood and moved to the edge of the terrace. She pulled the lapels of her robe closer, seeking comfort in the plush material. She needed to talk to the doctor who had treated him, find out if telling him the truth would be better or worse for his recovery. Because keeping the secret of their time together was feeling more and more selfish. Yes, he'd hurt her. But he also hadn't outright fired her. He had also made it clear in Paris that what they would have would be temporary.

She'd been the one to go and fall in love. To think they might have more than just one night. She knew he would have to marry someone suitable. The he was meant for someone else.

"Esmerelda?"

She blinked and focused on him.

"Sorry. What did you say?"

"Would you like to join me?"

"Oh. I don't want to interrupt—"

"I would prefer the company of someone else than just my own," he said with a sardonic smile.

"Of course, sir."

"Julius."

He said it softly, but the single word was threaded with steel. She hesitated. It would be a submission. Surrender.

Part of her argued it was the best thing she could do given everything he'd been through. The still aching part of her soul fired back that after he'd cut her loose in such a cold manner, had taken away the career she had told him had been so important to her, he didn't deserve any capitulation.

But when she silenced those voices, focused on her heart, she found that the answer was simple.

"Thank you... Julius."

Triumph flashed in his whiskey-brown eyes. Suddenly afraid that she had given up something valuable, she fumbled for an excuse to go inside, to flee to the safety of her luxurious room.

Warm fingers curled around hers. Her heart stopped, then slammed into overdrive. Her feet moved of their own accord, following Julius as he gently but firmly pulled her down the deck to the stairs.

Minutes later, they arrived at the beach, hands still entwined. Every time she started to pull away, his fingers tightened just enough that to pull away would have been obvious.

Worst of all, she didn't want to. Even during their all-too-brief romantic interlude, they had never held hands. It made her feel young, cherished, protected.

"Oh!"

The exclamation escaped her lips before she could stop it. Up ahead, hanging from the tops of two massive palm trees, was a wooden swing.

"Do you like to swing?"

"I'm not sure."

She felt Julius's gaze on her, felt it burn through her.

"How can you not be sure? I have amnesia, and even I feel comforted by the sight of a swing."

"I never had a playset growing up," she admitted. "Beautiful toys, things to keep myself company. But nothing like a swing or a slide. My mother didn't like getting her hands dirty and preferred the label on the toy versus the functionality. My father worked too much to be concerned with trivial matters."

"Trivial matters?" Julius repeated. Disdain dripped from his voice. "How is raising a child trivial?"

"I was not intended. My mother and father were dating. I came along. They never even married. They lived together for years, although my mother made frequent long trips back to Scotland and England. My father just wasn't interested in children. My mother preferred a more exciting life. Having a small child hindered that."

It hurt less to talk about now. She had never once been wanted. Not until her surprisingly successful career in security. Not until she had, for one brief moment, been wanted by a man without condition, simply because he desired her. And it had been because of that she had had the courage to walk away from everything. Because of the knowledge that it was possible, even if that man's dismissal of her had been the most painful thing she'd ever had to go through.

"Where is your mother now?"

"America. She met a doctor when I was thirteen, had a whirlwind courtship and now spends her days lunching and sunning by a pool."

"And your father didn't care?"

"I believe he shrugged and said he hoped she was happy. He doesn't care about much other than his job."

A long pause ensued, broken up only by the surf cascading onto the white sandy beach.

"I'm not certain of many things these days," Julius finally said, "but I'm certain I would not like your parents."

She stifled the retort that came automatically to mind. For too long she had defended her parents and their lackadaisical attempts at serving in the roles of mother and father. Had wanted to believe that they cared more than they did.

"I don't much like them myself. I love them," she added thoughtfully, "as I imagine many children love the caretakers they know. They don't know anything else, or any better."

Another beat of silence ensued.

"What is my relationship like? With my father?"

His voice sounded strong, steady. Yet underneath she heard the current of uncertainty, the slight twist of doubt.

"On the outside, amiable. Mutual respect, partnering on various political and legal matters." She turned to face him then, wanting him to see the truth. "In private, he loves you very much, as you do him. The pressure you've placed on yourself to succeed comes primarily from within." She hesitated. "I'm not sure from where. We didn't have the kind of relationship where you would have shared what drove you. But your father believes in you. He knows you will be a good leader."

Julius regarded her for a long moment before taking her other hand in his and squeezing them both.

"Obrigado."He cast a glance at the swing, then back at her. "You should get on."

She chuckled. "I don't think many twenty-six-year-olds swing."

He stepped closer, both hands still wrapped around hers. Her breath caught in her chest as she tilted her chin up to look at him.

"You wanted to figure out what you wanted from your life." He nodded toward the swing. "Seems like a simple step. Does Esmerelda Clark like to swing or not? Find out."

When he phrased it like that, it did seem extraordinarily simple. She stepped back, missing the touch of his hands even as she hated that she missed it. She turned away and slipped onto the swing. The wood was warm from the sun. The ropes were made of thick twine, scratchy against her palms. She dug her toes into the sand and prepared to push off.

The swing gave a tug. Startled, she looked up to see Julius's hands wrapped around the ropes.

"Hold on."

His words whispered over her. He pulled back, then let go. A moment later she flew out over the water, blue beneath her and above. Startled by the sensation of flying, of weightlessness as she reached the pinnacle, she threw back her head and laughed.

She didn't how long Julius pushed her on the swing. Probably only a minute or two, but it felt like one of those blissful moments in time that stretched forever, where the rest of the world faded away and left nothing but contented pleasure.

She glanced back over her shoulder with a grin. And nearly fell off as Julius suddenly stopped the swing.

"What—"

He circled around, his hands still on the ropes, caging her between his body and the swing. The morning heat changed, crackling with sensual tension as she looked up at him. The whiskey brown had turned almost golden as he gazed down at her.

"You've smiled at me like that before."

Her throat constricted.

"What?"

"You smiled at me like that before," he repeated. His eyes took on a faraway look as his mind tried to grasp the past. "In... Paris. We were in Paris. There was a café and flowers. I said something to you, and you laughed and smiled at me."

"Okay."

She tried to stand up, but he held his ground. She sat back down, unwilling to put her body against his, not with this electricity humming between them.

"I don't know if you realize this, but people do smile and laugh at each other. Even princes and their bodyguards."

"This was different," he insisted. He leaned down until she could see the dark flecks in his eyes, could smell the rich scent of cedar rolling off his skin. "I saw it in your eyes. You felt something for me. Tell me what it was, Esme."

Her fingers tightened around the ropes. She couldn't lie. She had already stretched and twisted the truth enough, justified her insistence that they were not lovers. But what could she say now? This Julius, the softer, protective, yet no less commanding man who had emerged from whatever atrocity had occurred in London, could entice her back into his arms. Into his bed. He would insist the few idealistic memories he had of her meant they were to be together. And damn it, with how raw her still hurting heart was, she didn't know if she would have the strength to resist.

Only for him to go back to Rodina and assume his responsibilities. To marry another woman, to have children with her.

Or worse...for him to remember. To remember and look at her once more like she was nothing more than a woman he had had one night with and no more.

"I don't think your memories can be considered reliable given what's happened, sir."

The words had their intended effect, as did her formal address. He released the ropes and stepped back. She surged to her feet and hurried up the beach toward the path, not caring if she looked guilty or not.

"Esmerelda."

Oh, how she wanted to keep running. But wasn't that what she had been doing for over a month? Running away, running toward something, even if she didn't know what that something was?

She forced herself to stop, to turn and face him. He stood on the beach, shoulders thrown back, the wind ruffling his hair. Even from this distance, she could see the regality on his chiseled features, feel his confusion and anger.

"I will find out the truth," he shouted, his face hard and unyielding. "That's a promise."