Page 82 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

The ring.

Just thinking about it sobered her instantly. She hadn’t seen it yet. She had no wish to. Just the thought of it made her stomach roll.

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.”

She froze, then silently swore. No one had snuck up on her in years. Slowly, she turned.

And realized that the house was far too tiny. How was it possible that a cottage that had seemed surprisingly roomy now seemed no bigger than a closet? He filled the space, all broad shoulders and lean muscle clad in the still-damp shirt and pants that, thankfully, had dried enough they no longer clung to his body.

“There’s a lot to think about.”

Thankfully her voice came out steadier than her chaotic stream of thoughts.

“Agreed.” He glanced around the cottage, the casual gesture not masking the intensity in his eyes. “How did you find this place?”

“Vacation listing online.”

Her jaw tightened as she followed his gaze. It wasn’t the same caliber as the fancy Parisian hotel they’d made love in, or the sweeping glamor of the Rodinian seaside palace. Not even close, with the worn white wicker furniture and amateur photographs of Grenada on the faded blue walls.

But that had been part of its charm. It was clean, affordable and exactly the opposite of where she’d been living.

“Cozy.”

“You mean cheap,” she retorted.

Embarrassment crept up her neck as his gaze swung back to her, a slight smile tugging at one corner of his full lips. Lips she’d kissed, lips he’d used on her breasts, trailed over her stomach, then lower still to—

“Your blushes are telling.”

“I don’t blush.” She moved to the living area and folded a blanket, needing something to do with her hands, to put distance between them. “I flush. There’s a difference.”

“Oh?”

“Blush implies roses, delicate pinks and beautiful women.” She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. Beautiful women like her mother. Beautiful women like the future bride of Prince Julius Carvalho. “Flush is more accurate for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

Surprised at the sudden hardening in his tone, she looked up to see him glowering at her.

“I turn red. Red underneath freckles, coupled with this hair, does not an attractive woman make.”

“And who told you that?”

She laid the blanket on the sofa’s sagging back and smoothed out the wrinkles. The sound of her mother’s disappointed sigh when Esme had turned down yet another offer to have it professionally dyed to something “more suitable than that unfortunate mix of red and yellow,” still sounded as piercing as it had the day her mother had said it.

On her thirteenth birthday.

“It doesn’t matter.” She’d told herself that so many times over the years until she’d almost believed it. “I don’t know how we even got onto this ridiculous topic. We should be discussing what to do next with you and...all of this,” she finished with a wave of her hand.

He inclined his head to her.

“Given you know more of...well, everything,” he said with another faint smile, “I am at your mercy.”

“All right.” She sank down onto the arm of the sofa, details swirling through her mind. Her ability to analyze and create a plan was one of the few skills she felt truly confident in. That it was a part of her and not just something instilled on her by an aloof mother or a hard-nosed father.

“You should call the palace and let them know what happened to—”

“No.”

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