CHAPTER TEN

THETHINTHREAD of navy that clung to the horizon spread slowly upward, drenching the Caribbean Sea in darkness as day turned to night. Soft shades of pink and lavender decorated the sky above the villa. It reminded Julius of a painting he'd once seen at a museum in London, a decorated warship being pulled out to sea to be scrapped. A beautiful sunset that had deepened the sensation of loss, the passing of an era as an elegant ship past its prime was sent to a shipyard to be broken into pieces.

Another impression, a flash in time, of him standing before the painting, the gallery around him quiet as he'd stared, trying to reconcile his commitment to duty with an ache that hollowed out his chest and left him painfully empty.

A feeling he'd experienced once more when he'd heard the raw grief in Esmerelda's voice. When she had severed the connection between them. A connection that went beyond mere desire. A connection he had felt ever since he'd woken up to this new life.

Stars winked into existence overhead. They'd arrived back around one. Esmerelda had tied off the boat and walked back to the villa without a single glance in his direction. He'd debated following her, demanding answers, kissing her senseless and feeling her come alive beneath his touch again.

But he'd kept his distance, doing his damnedest to respect the boundaries she'd erected.

For now.

Had she simply been running from him again, he would have pursued. He was done with the subterfuge, the deception, what he suspected at this point were outright lies.

Yet he had kissed her as if his life had depended on it, had nearly stripped her bare and driven himself into her on the back of a boat where anyone could have seen them. That he had so nearly lost complete and total control had been unnerving to say the least. It had also struck at something deep inside, something innate that had risen from the dark and pulled him back.

His head dropped back against the back of his chair. It was odd to look at a vase and know that it was most likely a Waterford. To thank Aroldo in French without even thinking about translation when he'd come back to the villa. There were parts of himself that came naturally, logical aspects that were so ingrained not even a traumatic injury could wrench them away.

Yet what he suspected was one of the most critical moments of his life, a defining event involving a woman who had tried to help him today out of simple kindness, evaded him.

"...better to keep things unknown..."

Something pulled at his memory, a loose thread that dangled just out of reach. The more he tried to grasp it, to form an image of what had happened, the more his head started to pound.

He let out a growl as he exploded out of his chair. It was time for answers.

His suite included an alcove with bay windows that overlooked the bay and the faintest glimpse of the lighthouse. A pale gray desk with a slate-colored top stood in front of the windows, a laptop in the center.

So far, his searches had been restricted to himself, reading articles about suspected romances, goodwill trips to other countries and even archived stories dating back all the way to his birth. He'd also read up on his parents and Rodina.

The one person he hadn't searched had been Esmerelda. He'd wanted answers about her past, about who she was and who she had been to him, to come from her.

But that wasn't to be.

He typed in her name and "security guard Rodina." The first result, a video link, made him frown: Bodyguard saves island prince from runaway horse.

His chest tightened with dread. He clicked. It was from a little over a year ago, a parade through Rodina's capital. The video panned over floats from local schools, companies, the military. His father rode by in a sleek car, commentary from the video host noting the vehicle had been manufactured in one of Rodina's factories.

Then he saw himself, an odd sensation to watch as he walked behind the car, occasionally waving to the crowd with only the hint of a smile on his face. A stark contrast to the elegant yet friendlier waves of his father.

Esmerelda and a man he now recognized as Burak had walked just behind him. Both wore black suits with white shirts. Esmerelda's eyes roved, taking everything in, assessing. In the few seconds he watched her, he saw immediately why she had been so good at her job. She never stopped looking, alert as she soaked in details. He once again cursed her parents for eroding all sense of personal confidence.

Off-camera, someone shrieked. His heartbeat accelerated. Esmerelda's head whipped around. She didn't waste a second as she turned and ran toward Julius. A horse bounded onto screen, its rider frantically clinging to the reins even as he started to slide off.

Esmerelda was safe. Julius knew she was, had seen her with his own eyes just hours ago. That didn't stop his heart from pounding as he watched the horse rear up, watched Esmerelda push him out of the way just as the hooves came down on her back. She collapsed onto the road, rolling just as the horse reared up and came down again on her chest.

The camera zoomed in, capturing both Julius and Burak rushing to her side, before the feed cut off.

He slammed the lid of the computer shut and scrubbed his hands down his face.

It provided another piece of the puzzle, another clue as to what had happened between them. He couldn't remember, couldn't hear the sounds of the crowd, the scream of the horse, the shouts of terrified onlookers. But something told him his life had changed after that moment when Esmerelda had unflinchingly flung herself into harm's way to save his life.

Thinking about it now, he wanted nothing more than to storm her room and pull her into his arms. Touch her, reassure himself that she truly was all right.

To hell with it.

Esme jumped as a loud knock sounded on her door.

"Esmerelda. Open up."

Her eyes fluttered shut. She lay on her bed, curled up with a yellowed copy of her favorite Jane Austen novel. The familiar words had brought comfort while the scent of well-loved pages had soothed her errant emotions after the incredible events of the morning.

Reading had also provided a distraction from the way her lips still burned from his kiss. The way her body still tingled in places it shouldn't after she'd nearly let him undress her on the deck of a boat in the middle of the sea.

"It's open."

The door swung open. He stalked into the room, his steps almost silent. Yet the energy he brought into the room, the sheer power that filled up every corner, made her breath catch. It took every ounce of willpower to stay where she was propped up with a mound of pillows at her back.

"When were you going to tell me?"

Her fingers tightened on the pages. Her hour of reckoning had come.

"Julius—"

He moved to the edge of the bed, his large frame looming over her.

"You put yourself in harm's way, Esmerelda."

Her mind screeched to a halt.

"Wait...what are we talking about?"

"I saw the video." He turned away and began to pace her room like a restless wild animal prowling about a cage. "You pushed me out of the way."

The parade. She stifled a groan. The event had gotten some minor attention on the international circuit.

"I was doing my job."

"By putting yourself in danger?"

His voice vibrated with anger and pricked her own temper.

"I believe the definition of a bodyguard involves something akin to that, yes. More of a focus on serve and protect, but protect does imply—"

"Parar."

He stopped in front of her window, hands on his hips, his shoulders rising and falling with his ragged breathing. Her ire cooled as she recognized that this was not a man chastising her for doing her job.

She laid her book down and slid off the bed. She walked up behind him. Slowly, she laid a hand on his back, felt the tension bleed away at her touch.

"I'm all right."

He turned then, grabbed her hand and held it in his.

"The horse came down on your chest."

"Yes."

"Show me."

She knew what he meant, hesitated only a moment before pulling aside the neckline of her shirt. His eyes zeroed in on the half-moon scar just below her collarbone.

"I watched the video." His fingers came up, rested on the white marking. The intimacy of it, of him touching such a vulnerable part of her, stole her breath. "You didn't hesitate."

"I couldn't."

He whirled away from her.

"Do you always give yourself away so lightly, Miss Clark?"

Fury climbed up her spine, radiated throughout her body.

"It was my choice and don't you dare question it."

"Choice," he spat out as he turned back to her. "Except just this morning you told me you followed this path to please your father. You sacrificed your own body to shield me. And why? For duty? For a man who apparently cared for nothing but his job?"

"It's not just a job," she snapped back. "You told me countless times you and your father were the crown. There was no Julius without the title. It wasn't a matter of pride or ego, it simply was. You took your responsibilities and duties seriously, not because it brought you esteem or satisfied some selfish pleasure, but because you knew you could do it and do it well. There were times I saw how tired you were, how you wanted to step back, but you always moved forward."

"Moved forward at the expense of building relationships with others. I've read countless articles," he said at her confused look, "scoured TV and magazine interviews. Did you know I rarely talk about my mother? Don't even mention her. I can remember her, how much she loved me, and yet all I talked about was elections, construction projects, deficit spending. Even in that video of you..." He paused, looked down and sucked in a breath. "My father is king. He smiled at people, waved. I looked hard. Cold."

Her heart broke then, but in an altogether different way from when Julius had dismissed her. This time the fractures were for the man standing in front of her, a man torn between past and present, between the duty he had forgotten and the man he was without the burden of the crown.

"You could be, yes."

"Why?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know. I tried asking a few times after the accident."

"Why then?"

She hesitated. This was what came from telling lies. One lie led to another, forced her to pause and think about what she was going to say.

Or you could just tell him now.

She looked up at him, at the tension furrowing his brow, at the pain and anger and fear lurking in his eyes.

No. Telling him now would be unburdening herself to get the weight of her own mistakes off her shoulders. Selfish. Adding to his conflict.

"We became closer after the accident." She would stick to the truth as much as possible. "You visited me in the hospital. You brought me a book. After that you started talking to me more, asking my opinion about legislation or something similar from a citizen's perspective."

"You said before we became friends."

"We did." She smiled sadly. "It was a very nice time in my life. I made friends at the academy."

"Like Burak?"

"Yes," she answered truthfully, despising the little flare of satisfaction at the jealousy in his voice. "Him and a few others. But after all the training, the last thing we wanted to do at the end of the day was talk more politics. Grabbing a drink at a pub, going sailing, watching movies. When I talked, you listened. You told me..."

Her tongue suddenly felt thick, her eyes hot.

"Told you what?" he prompted softly.

"You told me I made you a better leader."

It had been two weeks before Paris. How many times over that year had she caught him looking at her, wondered if he felt something more? As many times as she'd dismissed her thoughts as foolish, the na?ve emotions of a love-starved young woman with a handsome, dynamic man for a boss.

But that day, after he'd asked her opinion on an email he'd drafted to an ambassador regarding a recent disagreement they'd engaged in and she'd made suggestions to soften his tone, to offer an olive branch and maintain the relationship, he'd looked at her and smiled just enough to make his whiskey eyes crinkle at the corners.

"You make me a better leader, Clark. Thank you."

When she'd stuttered out "You're welcome," his gaze had lingered, drifted down her body before returning to his computer.

And she'd known. Known the building attraction, the sensual tension she thought she'd imagined so many times, was not one-sided.

"And then I fired you."

Oh, God.

She closed her eyes. The way he'd done it had been awful. But the reason...oh, the further time moved away from that hideous day, the more she recognized that the reason itself was not wrong. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn't want a woman who had slept with her husband guarding him, being around them constantly. She could be angry, furious with him over how he'd done it.

But the reason made all the difference.

She opened her mouth to tell him, to let him know that there had been more than simple vanity or a royal's capriciousness behind his decision. He glanced over her shoulder and, before she could say a word, moved past her. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave. When his footsteps paused, she turned to see him standing next to her bed. Her chest tightened as he picked up her book off the bed, a dark green splash against the white feather comforter.

"Was it this book?"

"Yes."

He turned it over, his fingers lingering over the worn leather cover, the silver embossing on the spine.

"I remember it. I remember picking it up and thinking of you."

Her pulse thudded, slow beats that echoed in her ears.

"Oh."

He set the book down on the bed and came back to her. His fingers brushed the material of her shirt to the side again, his eyes burning as he stared down at the scar.

"I never told you why I handled my duty from a distance? Placed a wall between me and my people, between me and everyone."

She shook her head.

"Whenever I tried to ask, you would change the subject or simply not answer."

His fingers drifted lower. His palm flattened against her chest, just above her breast, where her heart beat. A breath escaped him, as if he had needed to convince himself that she was still there, still alive.

"I'm sorry, Esmerelda."

She gave in to temptation and reached up, framing his face with her hands.

"No. Don't apologize. I'm the one who should—"

"Don't you dare." He caught her in his arms, his hands settling on her back and pulling her against him. "You pushed me out of harm's way."

"Yes, but that's not it. I—"

The words caught in her throat as he crushed his mouth to hers. This time she didn't hesitate. She moaned against his lips, her hands gripping his hair and pulling him closer. He swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Their mouths were still fused together as he lowered her to the soft surface, then covered her with his body. She arched against him, legs moving restlessly, nipples hardening as he continued to kiss her with reckless abandon. He pushed his hips against hers and she felt the hard length of his arousal against her core. She cried out.

"Esmerelda."

Her name came out on a guttural groan as he buried one hand in her hair, the other slipping up her side beneath her shirt, trailing over her stomach, before settling on her bare breast.

"Oh, Deus..."He lifted his head, stared down at her with eyes burning.

She blushed.

He grabbed the material of her shirt and pulled it up. Cool air kissed her breasts before his mouth descended, hot and wet, making her bow up off the bed as he sucked a nipple into his mouth and laved it with his tongue.

"Julius!"

He moved to the other, repeated the same tantalizing, delicious act of torture on her other breast. When she pulled at his shirt, he sat up and yanked it off before lowering himself back down. His bare chest pressed against her breasts. The intimacy of his skin naked against hers, the sheer heat of his body, sent a bold, erotic thrill through her. She reached up, her hands framing his face as she pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his.

More. God, she wanted more. Rational thought tried to break through, to remind her what she had been about to tell him. She needed to tell him before things went any further.

And then he pulled back. He stared at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy, ragged breaths. Embarrassment started to creep in.

"Julius—"

He rolled off the bed and stalked over to the window, hung his head and let out another harsh breath.

"I lost control. I'm sorry."

"Don't..." She fumbled, trying to come up with the right words. "Julius, I kissed you back—"

"I never should have come to your room in this state." He swore as he turned, his face shrouded in shadow. "I'm coming to understand I'm the sort of man who held himself back. Who kept things inside." He raked his hand through his hair. "And I lost control. Just like that."

He took one step forward, out of the shadows and into the golden glow of a lamp. Shock robbed her of speech as their eyes met. Desire burned, just as it had on the boat. But so did something else. Something she heard in his voice, felt in the way he'd touched her. Something that went deeper than simple lust.

Julius was coming to know himself once more. The past was merging with the present. Except this time, he still wanted her.

And I want him.

Before she could wrap her mind around what she'd been fighting the past few days, could accept that the man standing before her felt something similar to what she did, Julius moved past her toward the door.

"Wait!"

"Tomorrow, Esmerelda. We'll talk tomorrow."

The edge to his voice reminded her of the crown prince, authoritative and unyielding, his accent more pronounced. He was hurting, perhaps just as confused as she was.

She let him go.

The click of the door closing echoed in her room. Slowly, she sank into the embrace of her pillows. One hand drifted up, her fingers trailing over her swollen lips.

The last five minutes had been enlightening on multiple fronts. The question that had plagued her since he'd first appeared on the beach, however, remained the same.

What was she going to do?