Page 83 of The Unlikely Spare
Eoin’s eyes don’t waver from mine. “I doubt your father ever headbutted a terrorist. That particular brand of royal rebellion appears to be uniquely yours.”
“I’ll be sure to include it on my royal resume.Special skills: waving, smiling, and combat headbutts.”
And there it is again, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. The cool gray of his eyes warming to molten silver.
It transforms him from stern protector to something far more dangerous to my composure.
His gaze remains fixed on mine. “You’re missing a few important things on that resume. Professional deflection. Using humor like armor. Convincing everyone you’re shallow when you’re actually anything but.”
My stomach drops like I’ve missed the last step on a staircase.
I feel like I’m standing naked while someone catalogs every imperfection I’ve tried to hide.
Except somehow Eoin makes it feel less like exposure and more like recognition.
I swallow hard, looking away. “You’ve been analyzing me, I see.”
“It’s my job to notice things,” he says simply.
“About potential threats, yes. Not about my psychological makeup.”
“Understanding the principal is part of protection.”
Irritation spikes inside me. I’m back to being reduced to a job requirement. Another box to tick on his protection checklist—know the principal’s weaknesses, fears, and self-destructive tendencies.
I meet his eyes. “Is that all this is? Professional curiosity?”
Something flashes in his eyes, hot and dangerous. “You know it’s not.”
The air grows thick between us.
“Then what is it?” I ask, my voice dropping.
“A mistake,” he says, but his body shifts closer to mine, contradicting his words. “A complication I didn’t anticipate.”
“I’m quite good at being both. A mistake and a complication.”
His forehead creases. “This isn’t a joke, Nicholas.”
“I’m aware of that. Believe me, I’m very aware of that.”
We’re standing close enough now that I would only need to take one step forward for our bodies to touch. One small movement, and I could find out if he tastes the same as he did during that desperate kiss.
“We can’t do this,” he says roughly, but he doesn’t move away.
“Because of the job? Or because of who I am?”
Something complicated passes across his face. “Both.” He steps back, clawing a hand through his hair. “You’re the principal I’m meant to protect. There are professional boundaries, ethical considerations…”
“Rules.” I’m unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. Always rules, always protocols, always expectations of what I can and cannot do. Who I can and cannot want.
“Yes. Rules. And for good reason.”
“I’ve never been particularly good at following rules.” I take that small step forward that brings us closer again, close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
His breath catches audibly. “Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed.”
We stand there, our eyes locked, neither of us moving. The tension between us is a living thing, crackling and dangerous.
