Page 167 of Modern Romance Collection March 2025 (1-4)

‘I should go back to the main house,’ she said, the hollow tone making his chest contract.

She stood, clearly intending to walk away, and he lurched across the bed without thinking and grasped her wrist.

‘Don’t…’ He swallowed past the blockage in his throat. ‘Don’t go… I still want you.’

He could feel her pulse pummelling her wrist, could see her arousal, and knew she wanted him too. But instead of melting back into his arms—so they could forget about everything, together—she tugged her hand free, her gaze shadowed with regret.

‘I know you do, Rene, but sex is not enough. Not for me. Not any more,’ she said.

‘Why the hell not?’ he snapped, his frustration—and panic—getting the better of him. ‘It’s what we’re good at, dammit. And there can’t be anything else, not with me. You know that even better than I do.’

He didn’t want to show her more, didn’t want her to know about the dark things in his past which had formed him and the fear which would always be there inside him. Because if she ever found out the truth about that broken boy, masquerading as a man, as a prince, she would be appalled.

But instead of the snarky comeback he had expected, she sat back on the bed and a smile curved her lips which didn’t reach her eyes.

‘Why do you always do that?’ she asked, the gentle tone only disturbing him more.

‘Do what?’ he replied, genuinely confused now, as well as wary.

‘Try so hard to make everyone believe you’re shallow and selfish, when you’re not?’

He frowned, shocked by her response and the way it made him feel—desperately needy and even more terrified.

Why was she looking at him like that? With tenderness and understanding? Panic clawed at his throat. He thrust his fingers through his hair, the rigid tension making his stomach hurt.

He was going to have to tell her, at least some of it. To give her some insight into the man he was, instead of the man she wanted him to be.

‘I never figured you for the sentimental sort,’ he managed in a last-ditch attempt to put them back on track, but she only laughed, the sound tinged with sadness.

‘Me either, but here we are.’

Her fingers skimmed down his back and he tensed. The swift shot of arousal was almost as torturous as the surge of need, which had nothing to do with the heat pooling in his lap when she circled the scar on his hip.

‘I understand if you don’t want to talk about them…’ she said, far too perceptively. ‘I know how hard it is to let anyone see your vulnerabilities,’ she added. ‘But I just want you to know you can talk to me, and I won’t judge. Not any more.’

He looked over his shoulder to find her watching him, the soft, coaxing tone matched by the affection in her eyes.

Turning, he captured her hand in his, tugged her closer and framed her face.

How could he still want her—so much? When she was scaring him half to death with this conversation. But when he saw the desire in her eyes he saw his way out.

Theonlyway out now. He’d let her see too much, and for that he would have to pay a penance. But once she knew enough, she wouldn’t mistake him for a good man ever again.

‘If you really want to know, you can,’ he said, resigned but also determined.

Melody Taylor had convinced herself she was falling in love with him. He could see it, even if she couldn’t. She wasn’t the first woman to make that mistake—but she was the only one he had ever felt a responsibility to protect. And the only one he had ever needed in his bed.

He couldn’t let her go. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Which meant they would have to set parameters. And the only way to do that was to tell her some of the ugly truth.

His gaze glided down to where her nipples peeked over the clutched sheet. He skimmed his thumb over the swollen tip and felt her jolt of response.

He let out a harsh laugh. ‘But I think we’d better get dressed first and do this somewhere neutral or we’re liable to get sidetracked.’

She nodded and scrambled off the bed. She pressed her hand to her bed hair, looking even more adorable. And vulnerable. ‘I should go back to my room. Will you… Will you come over for lunch?’

‘I’ve got work to do…’ he said. It wasn’t entirely true. The state business he had been handling online could be postponed and he could reschedule the meetings he’d lined up with his advisers and the legal team too—as they worked to turn around the media backlash from those photos. But he needed some time to figure out exactly what to say to her, to extinguish that sheen of emotion in her eyes, without destroying the desire.

If she was pregnant—in fact, even if she wasn’t—he might have to marry her, because he wasn’t convinced now that he would ever be able to let her go. But she needed to know how much he could give her and how much he couldn’t. Because the man she wanted him to be had died inside him a long time ago. And there would be no resurrecting that boy, not even for her.

---