Page 77 of The Unlikely Spare
None of them will know about what happened in that maintenance room. No one will know that, for a few glorious minutes, I wasn’t the spare heir or a royal security risk.
I was just a man being thoroughly, magnificently kissed.
The lift doors slide open, and my heart performs an entirely undignified leap at the sight of O’Connell standing in the corridor. He’s deep in conversation with Singh and looks up as we approach. His expression shifts through too many emotions to register before settling into careful neutrality.
“Your Royal Highness.” His voice is steady, but his eyes are turbulent.
“Officer O’Connell.” I match his formality. “I trust the debriefing was productive?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Very, sir.”
We stand there for a moment, and his gaze drops briefly to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes. The sheer want I see before he shutters it away makes heat pool low in my stomach.
“Shall we?” Cavendish gestures toward the conference room.
O’Connell steps aside to let me pass, but we’re forced into proximity by the narrow hallway. Our arms brush, the brief contact sending electricity skittering across my skin.
Good god. When did I become someone who comes undone from arm touching?
This is going to be the longest security briefing of my life. I know I should be thinking about what happened. The syringe aimed at my neck. Was it meant to kill or incapacitate? Who is behind the attack, and what do they want from me?
But despite all the questions swirling in my brain, as I move past Eoin into the conference room, I allow myself one backward glance.
He’s watching me, his expression unreadable.
What happened in that maintenance room changed something fundamental between us.
The question is, what happens now?
Chapter Nineteen
Eoin
I don’t think I’ve ever fucked up quite like this.
Prince Nicholas sits across the conference table, one leg crossed over the other with his usual elegance. The small butterfly bandage on his forehead makes something feral wake up in my chest, makes me want to pin him against a wall and check every inch of him for other injuries.
In the brutal aftermath of an attack against a member of the royal family, with a room full of security personnel and palace officials picking apart how we fucked up, all I can think about is the taste of him when I kissed him like the world was ending.
My career, my mission, my professional integrity…all shattered because I couldn’t control myself when faced with the terror of almost losing him.
That terror is still inside me. It’s clawing at my chest with phantom fingers, making me sweat in this air-conditioned room. My body remembers the moment I saw him dive toward that attacker, how my guts turned to water.
Every time I blink, I see him bleeding, see him falling, see the infinite possibilities of how he could have been hurt.
Is this normal? The terror inside me seems to come from a deep place.
It’s a type of terror that only comes when you realize you care about something at the moment you’re about to lose it.
Malcolm pulls up security footage from the naval base. The screens on the wall light up, displaying multiple camera angles of the attack. I force myself to watch with professional detachment as chaos unfolds across the monitors. The smoke grenade. The flash-bangs. Nicholas running toward the children instead of to safety.
My breath catches as Nicholas moves on screen with that fluid grace that’s become my obsession.
I can still feel the ghost of his mouth on mine, while fury and fear war inside my chest.
“This was a coordinated attack.” Cavendish’s voice is tight. “Five operatives, military precision, in-depth knowledge of our security protocols.”
The wall screen flickers to life with the faces of our London contingent, looking like a budget version of Hollywood Squares. Pierce appears first, his wire-rim glasses slightly askew like he’s been rubbing his temples. Probably because of my lack of progress on this case, which potentially helped lead to this outcome.
