"Once we cross this line, there's no going back. Tell me to stop, Evangeline. Tell me to walk away."
"I want you," she whispered fiercely. "I don't care about the consequences."
For another heartbeat, I hesitated, the professional in me waging a losing battle against the man who had wanted this woman from the first moment he saw her. My grip tightened on her, the snap of the last moral restraint completely broken. My lips crushed onto hers with a hunger I had never experienced. All thoughts of propriety forgotten as her lips parted beneath mine.
My knuckles whitened as I gripped the wet hair, the strands like a snare, fueled by a furious need to control. Tilting her head back, her kiss tasted of old sorrows, each touch echoing with a despair that mirrored my own. A chill snaked down my spine, yet the touch of her skin through the thin barrier of our towels sent an electric shock through me, a terrifying symphony of sensation. She tasted of mint toothpaste and something else I could not put my finger on, but it was her—a flavor I'dmemorized in Luxembourg and craved every day since, like an addiction I couldn't shake.
Her towel loosened as I pulled her closer, and I felt her momentary tension as she clutched at it. The sight of her vulnerability sent a surge of possessive need through me so intense it was almost painful. My breathing turned ragged, my heart hammering against my ribs as every muscle in my body screamed to take more, to claim everything she was offering. I pulled back slightly, fighting for control before I lost myself completely.
"Not like this," I managed to say. "Not in a hallway."
She nodded, her lips swollen from my kisses, her pupils dilated with desire. I forced myself to take a step back, creating a distance between us before I could change my mind.
"We should..." she gestured vaguely, her usual poise temporarily abandoned.
"Get dressed," I said firmly, though every instinct screamed at me to carry her to the nearest bed. "We need to talk about this. Properly."Disappointment flickered across her features. "Right…..Talk of course."
I softened despite myself. "Evangeline," I said, savoring the feel of her name. "I want you more than I have ever wanted anything. But I won't rush this. Not again."
The truth of my words surprised even me. This wasn't just desire anymore—it was something deeper, more dangerous. Something I'd spent my entire adult life avoiding.
"Half an hour," she said. "In the living room."
I nodded once. "Half an hour."
I watched her retreat to her bedroom, the curve of her spine visible through the damp towel. I sought refuge in the bathroom.Turning on the shower to cold and stepping under the spray, I hissed as the icy water hit my overheated skin. It didnot succeed in its mission to distinguish the chasm of heat that burned for her touch.
What the fuck was I doing?
I had spent my entire career maintaining strict professional boundaries. Had built my security firm's reputation on discretion and detachment. I had walked away from similar situations before because I understood the danger of blurring those lines.
And here I was, ready to throw it all away for a woman I couldn't have—who could never be mine, not really. She was Princess Evangeline Romanov, future Queen of Bellavista. I was her security detail, a temporary assignment that would end when she returned to the palace.
Yet even as I lectured myself, I knew I was lying. There was nothing temporary about what I felt for her. Nothing professional about how much I wanted her.
I dressed mechanically, my mind still reeling. By the time I reached the living room, I'd made my decision. I would apologize for overstepping, reestablish our boundaries, and focus on the security threats still hanging over her. It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
But then she walked in, her hair still damp, wearing simple jeans and a sweater that somehow made her look more beautiful than any royal gown. And all my carefully rehearsed words evaporated.
"Evangeline," I began, her name a rough whisper.
She approached slowly, stopping a few feet away, uncertainty in her eyes. "Have you changed your mind already?"
I should say yes. Should tell her this was a mistake, that we needed to maintain a professional distance. I should do my job and nothing more.
Instead, I closed the distance between us in two strides and pulled her against me. My mouth found hers in a kiss thatwas nothing like the gentle exploration in the hallway. This was hunger, pure and unrestrained. She matched my intensity, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she pressed herself against me.
I backed her against the wall, my hands sliding beneath her sweater to find bare skin. She arched into my touch. A hitched breath and a soft moan escaping her lips, my thumb traced the underside of her breast. My other hand tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, exploring her mouth like I was mapping territory I'd claim as my own.
Her sweater rode up as my hands explored. The sight of her skin—flushed and perfect—broke through the haze of desire just enough for reality to intrude. We were in the living room, against a wall. She deserved better than this.
With Herculean effort, I pulled back, my breathing ragged.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words automatic as I stepped away from her. "I shouldn't have?—"
"Don't," she interrupted, her voice husky. "Don't apologize for something we both want."
I ran a hand through my hair, struggling to regain control. "It's not about want. It's about what's right."
