CHAPTER EIGHT

JULIUSAWOKEWITH the memory of funeral music pulsing through his veins, as if he'd been hollowed out by grief. The image of a woman with hair as blond as his, her kind face covered in makeup to make her look in death as she had in life, was seared into his brain.

Throwing back the covers, he stood and strode to the glass doors overlooking the ocean. His chest rose and fell as he tried to get a handle on his racing heart, his erratic breathing. Hard to do when the grief he'd felt at his mother's funeral over twenty years ago flooded him as fresh as if he'd watched her coffin lowered into the ground yesterday.

He pressed his forehead to the glass. The coolness soothed the hot sweat on his brow, grounded him in the moment.

Elizabeth.

Her name came to him, a whisper in his mind that pulled up memories of warm hugs, a soothing voice tinged with a British accent, and the scent of violets. Each remembrance, of a kiss to his forehead after falling into the cold waves at some nameless beach, of sitting on a couch under a blanket watching some black-and-white movie, was both a godsend and a stab to his heart.

Gradually, the memories receded, leaving behind a different type of emptiness. He had wanted this, had craved a connection to his past. But remembering his mother, the things he had loved about her, made the knowledge that she was gone and had been gone for years even more painful. Like having a cherished treasure dangled before one's eyes only to have it yanked away moments later.

One deep breath, then another. Slowly, he accepted his grief, the newfound memories. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, he would revisit them, honor his mother as best he could.

But now, with the wound of loss so fresh, he needed to pause. The reopening of his grief had brought with it a faint memory of why he had withdrawn from the world, become the cold, hard man he'd witnessed in the photographs, heard about from Esme's account of his reassigning her. It wasn't a complete picture, more like a puzzle with important pieces still missing. But he had the gist of what had happened.

He'd been hurt. As people tend to do when they're in pain, he'd withdrawn. Unlike others, who had healed and gradually rejoined the world, he was beginning to suspect he'd burrowed himself deep into a hole of apathy.

A suspicion that made loathing churn in his stomach. If the doctor was right, he'd run from something in London. Even though he knew there was more to his and Esme's story than what she was sharing, he didn't doubt her grief, her humiliation, when she told him about his firing her from his detail. He wanted to remember. But, he wondered as he pulled the glass doors apart and stepped out onto the terrace, did he truly?

A sigh escaped him as he moved to the railing. Was this to be his life for the foreseeable future? Wanting his memories to return, yet being on guard as to when they would appear and how emotional they would be?

Remembering Esmerelda's face when he'd delivered the news of her reassignment had been a punch to the gut. Yet seeing her smile so vividly, the emotion in her eyes, had warmed him.

Until she had sworn that he had misinterpreted the memory, just as he had his first recollection of her.

He didn't believe her. Not about their personal history. It was an odd sensation, to entrust one's life to someone knowing they were concealing something. But despite her perfidy, he still felt as soothed by her presence as he did fired up by the passion swirling like a tornado between them, still experienced the thrill of a connection rooted somewhere in his murky past whenever she was near.

Although since their short sojourn onto the beach, he hadn't talked with her in over two days. When he'd gone to the hospital for his scans, she'd sat upfront with the driver, stayed quiet in a corner as machines had whirred about his head. Nothing of concern had been noted. The doctor had reiterated his initial instructions.

"Rest. Relax. I'm confident your memories will come back."

They'd returned to the villa and Esmerelda had promptly disappeared. The evening staff had drifted in just after five and prepared dinner. The butler, Aroldo, had mentioned that Esmerelda had dined in her room, then gone out for a walk around the grounds. The same had happened yesterday. He'd spotted her here and there, eyes scanning the landscape, occasionally walking the perimeter of the grounds when he ventured outside.

Doing her job, yes. But she didn't have to ignore him.

Her evasion grated, as did how much it bothered him.

He would not allow her to do the same tonight. Tonight he would take the tray himself if necessary—

"Good morning."

Soft, delicate, with a tinge of huskiness that brushed over his skin. Esme stood just outside the doors to her room, her curls pulled up into a ponytail, leaving her freckled face bare to his hungry gaze.

"Good morning."

She smiled, the gesture doing little to belie the wariness lurking in her eyes, as if she were afraid he might pounce.

"I was going..." Her voice trailed off. "Would you...?"

"Have you always been this eloquent?"

Red tinged her cheeks at his teasing tone. Whoever had told her that nonsense about flushing or whatever term it was had been a fool. The woman was a beautiful blend of colors: tan skin beneath coffee freckles, emerald-green eyes, red hair threaded with gold.

"I'm going to take one of the boats out." The faint pride in her voice had him suppressing a smile. "Would you like to join me?"

"Two days ago you could barely stand to be in my company." He cocked his head to one side. "Now you're proposing a boat ride?"

"I'm going out. You're welcome to join me or not."

She turned away and started for the stairs. His esteem rose, as did the intrigue surrounding this enigmatic woman. She had a backbone. He liked that about her.

"I'll be down in five."

She glanced over her shoulder, nodded once to shown she'd heard him and then continued on. He watched as she moved down the path until she disappeared around a corner. Whatever her motives were in inviting him out onto the ocean, it would give him time to get to know her better since she'd kept him at a distance the past forty-eight hours.

Four minutes later he strode onto the dock. A sleek, spacious speedboat greeted him. Portholes indicated a cabin belowdeck. Esme, seated at the helm, glanced up, her eyes hidden behind large sunglasses.

"Where are we headed?"

"The ocean."

"Did you always keep important details to yourself?" he asked as he climbed aboard and sank down onto a plush leather seat kept cool by an overhead canopy.

"Need to know, sir."

"Call me Julius."

"No thank you, sir." She tossed a saucy smile over her shoulder. "It's protocol, and I am your bodyguard."

"Yet you were something more."

Seated behind her, he couldn't miss the tensing of her shoulders beneath the white T-shirt, the tightening of her fingers around the steering wheel.

"Could we keep the past behind us? Just for an hour?"

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes hidden. But he could hear the vulnerability in her voice, the rawness that hinted at the depth of her pain. Pain that kept her from sharing the truth with him.

Suddenly angry with himself, regretting whatever he'd done to cause that pain, he nodded. She turned away and, gradually, her shoulders dropped, her body relaxing.

She guided them out of the bay with an easy confidence he admired. Even though a part of him wanted to grab the wheel, to take the helm and drive the boat across the waves, he knew he was in good hands.

An odd sensation, he reflected, as his gaze drifted over a sailboat cruising by. He felt that he was not the kind of man who handed over control easily. Based on what little he had remembered thus far, coupled with the minute details he'd gleaned from Esmerelda, Burak and the media, he seemed regimented, regulated almost to an extreme.

Was his ability to trust now, to place himself in the hands of someone he barely remembered, because he had no history to stop him from doing so? Or was it because of the woman at the wheel taking them further out onto the open ocean? This strong woman who had never been pushed on a swing and whose shocked laughter had stirred not just his desire but his heart?

Probably, he mused as he slid on his own pair of sunglasses as the sun glinted off the waves, a mixture of the two.

He shoved away his thoughts, leaned back into the seat and enjoyed the ride.

What was I thinking?

Esme glanced at a small mirror positioned on the dashboard that provided some protection from the ocean spray. Julius sat on the seat, arms draped casually along the back, his long legs stretched out. Wind ruffled his dark blond hair. Sunglasses now obscured his eyes so she couldn't tell if he was sleeping or watching the passing sea. In black swimming trunks and a gray T-shirt, he looked like any other beachgoer in the Caribbean.

Not at all like the disciplined prince she'd protected for over a year.

Over the past hour they'd barely exchanged five words. He'd appeared content to lay back and rest. That he trusted her and didn't pester her with questions had unnerved her as much as it had touched her. Julius had placed his trust in her before in a professional capacity. But then he'd had an entire dossier on her, not to mention security clearances, reviews of the very small number of men she'd dated and several extensive interviews that had felt more like inquisitions.

Now, he had a handful of memories and thirty-five years of emptiness. Yet still he trusted her.

Even though you're lying to him.

She pushed that uncomfortable thought away. Not only was she evading his questions, all created by her initial distortion of the truth, but she had lied to him this morning, too. She'd awoken just after sunrise and gone out onto the deck. It had been impossible to miss the sounds of someone clutched in the throes of a nightmare coming from the open window to his room. She'd had to force herself not to go to him, especially when she'd heard him gasp a word that had brought tears to her eyes.

"M?e."

He'd been dreaming of his mother. He'd only been fourteen when Her Majesty the Queen had passed away. Esme had been five. All she could remember of the event was dressing in black and standing next to her mother as vehicle after vehicle had passed by in a funeral procession, the people around her weeping and tossing flowers onto the street. The first four months she'd been a part of his detail, he hadn't said a word about his mother. But after the parade incident and her ending up in the hospital, he'd mentioned her occasionally. Little things, like commenting that his mother would have found an ambassador at a dinner in Lisbon amusing or that she would have liked a painting at the Louvre. She had thought those confidences an indicator that they had grown closer after the accident.

Reading too much into something simple, she told herself. Desperate for anything anyone would give you.

The past was the past. She'd made choices she had to live with. For now, she had followed the instinct of inviting Julius out onto the water and distracting him from whatever nightmare he'd lived through last night.

"Am I seeing things?"

She grinned.

"What do you see?"

"An umbrella sticking up out of the middle of the ocean."

"Welcome to Mopion."

The tiny speck of land rose out of the water, white sand topped with a wood-and-thatch umbrella. Esme anchored the boat just off the reef. After a short ride in the dinghy that skimmed over colorful coral and fish, Julius hopped out and hauled the boat onto the sand.

"Beautiful." He glanced around with a slight smile. "Although after walking the length of it in less than thirty seconds, I'm not sure what else there is to do."

"Swim. Snorkel. Relax. There's a cooler for when we get back on the boat, too."

She smoothed her hands over the white swim shirt she wore as protection against the blazing sun. It provided some security. But her decision to wear bikini bottoms was now inspiring doubt. She felt naked, vulnerable, with so much skin on display.

"Take a look at this."

Julius wasn't ogling or even sneaking covert glances at her. No, he was examining the pole of the umbrella. Telling herself she was relieved instead of disappointed, she moved up the sand.

"Initials," she said with a small smile. "There's so many."

Some were simple letters, others with hearts, stars and even a few Cupid's arrows.

"Looks like a popular place." Julius looked around. "Although not today. There's hardly a boat in sight."

"Hurricane season."

"So naturally you came here."

She shrugged as she stood and moved back toward the water.

"Affordable, and Grenada is far enough south that it rarely gets hit. Plus," she said as she tossed a smile over her shoulder and stretched out her arms, doing a spin in the sand, "I get to enjoy places like this all to myself."

Julius moved suddenly, stopping her midtwirl by placing his hands on her waist. She grabbed onto his shoulders to steady herself. His touch made her suck in a breath before she could summon her defenses.

"Why did you invite me today?"

She hesitated. The old Julius would have been apathetic at best, and coldly furious at worst, to know someone had witnessed a moment of vulnerability. How would the new Julius handle it?

"I heard you this morning. Dreaming." She tilted her head to the side as she watched him: the surprise that flickered in his eyes, the thinning of his lips. "Or perhaps remembering."

Slowly, he released her. A chill raked over her skin despite the sun burning overhead as she took a step back.

"Remembering."

Surprised, she watched him as he walked a few feet away and stared out over the ocean.

"I remembered my mother. Elizabeth. I remembered her death. Her funeral. A couple moments from my childhood."

What more was there to say? She had heard the grief in that one uttered word this morning. It had been strange to hear the depth of emotion in the voice of a man who so often seemed intractable. The brief flutter of panic she felt at hearing that he was remembering disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, her concern overriding her fear.

"She was by all accounts an incredible queen. She volunteered a lot. Engaged with the people."

"That sounds...familiar. Like her." He blew out a harsh breath. "I want to remember more."

What could she say to that? What would it be like to have one's entire life, the people they cared about, erased in a matter of seconds?

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged, his back to her.

"The doctor said any returning memories were a good sign."

"A good sign for your long-term health, yes. Doesn't mean you have to like what you remember."

He let out a low laugh.

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

She gave in to instinct, went to him as she had once before. This time, however, instead of stiffening beneath her touch the way he had the morning after their night together in Paris, he leaned into her touch.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, almost painfully. Her defenses wavered.

Dangerous. Too dangerous, a voice frantically whispered in her head.

Accepting her touch, opening himself to her. It all led to dangerous places where emotion crept through the cracks and weakened her resolve to keep her heart intact.

"Let's swim."

He turned. Her hand fell away, only for his to come up and brush strands of hair from her face.

"Thank you, Esmerelda."

Before she could come up with a response, he dropped his hand and moved away.

Oh, yes. She was in trouble.

Time flew as they slipped into the crystal-clear water and swam in lazy circles around the island. Aroldo had thoughtfully packed snorkel masks and fins, allowing them to strike out over the coral and spot schools of fish along with the occasional stingray resting on the sandy bottom. She kept a watchful eye out for passing boats and tourists lurking with cameras. But none appeared, leaving them cocooned in a rare moment of solitude.

By the time they climbed back into the dinghy and struck out for the boat, nearly two hours had passed. She was exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that accompanied a bone-deep contentment. Seeing the same state of relaxation on Julius's face, the sadness no longer in his eyes, made it even better.

Not, she realized with a slight smile as she climbed back on the boat and did another quick scan of the ocean, because she felt like she had to or because it had been the right thing to do. No, she'd done it because she had wanted to.

She disappeared belowdeck and changed into a white sundress. As she climbed back up to the deck, she pressed a button Aroldo had showed her that dropped the back sides of the boat down into an enlarged terrace. Julius, still in his swim trunks and with his muscled chest on display, set the cooler down on a countertop just behind the cockpit.

"Did you pack this?" he asked as he opened the cooler and glanced inside.

"No, Aroldo did."

Julius's smile flashed, quick and uninhibited. It stole her breath.

"That makes more sense."

He laid out containers of ripe strawberries, glistening mango and thick slices of cheese, along with shrimp, crab and several sauces. Esme's eyebrows climbed as he pulled out a bottle of champagne.

"It's barely noon."

"And you're on vacation."

"I'm working. Technically," she added with a touch of sass as he frowned, "I shouldn't even be drinking at all."

He poured two glasses and handed one to her.

"Your boss sounds terrible."

She laughed and accepted the glass. The sweet flavor of peach hit her tongue as bubbles danced down her throat.

"The old prince would never have drunk champagne, let alone had a drink before five."

A hint of darkness raced across his face.

"All the more reason to do it."