Modern Romance November 2015 Books 1-4. Trish Morey

been frustrating, but better than being set up to fail. Every luncheon, every church service, ever concert...it all seemed designed to doom him.

      Then the last Christmas banquet had come. The last one his mother had been at.

      He had destroyed that too.

      He had tried, and it hadn’t been good enough. He had made her cry one too many times. And he was certain that his father, that Kairos imagined it had been like every other time before. But Andres had felt it. When his mother had wiped that final tear off her cheek, he knew that it would be the last year she ever cried for him.

      Of course, in order for him to stop making her cry, she couldn’t see him anymore.

      None of them saw her again. Because of him.

      Kairos never blamed him, because Kairos was too honorable to ever think about doing such a thing. Kairos only blamed him for the loss of his fiancée when it suited him, and then, never as much as Andres felt he deserved. Given that, he would never, ever blame him for their mother leaving.

      Their father had. Angrily. Loudly. And Andres hadn’t even been able to feel sorry for himself because it had been true. He had known it then; he knew it now. You will never amount to anything. You’re nothing but a disappointment. If that was your best, if that was you trying, then you will never, ever succeed.

      He had known it to be true then, and so he had simply gone off to do what he wanted. He hated trying to conform to palace life anyway. Who did he have left to please? His father believed him to be beyond redemption, his mother was gone. Kairos cared, if only in a long-suffering way, and didn’t seem to mind what Andres did as long as it didn’t affect him.

      His indiscretion with Francesca had not been acceptable as far as Kairos was concerned, but then, Andres was not terribly surprised by that.

      It was because of that that he was trying. Because of Kairos. Because if nothing else his brother had always cared for him, in spite of the fact that he had been nothing but trouble. Nothing but a disappointment. He was trying, and Zara was intent on seeing him fail.

      That was why he had dragged her out of the ballroom. That was why he had allowed her to push him into this power struggle. Allowed her to push him into trying to one-up her.

      And then she had grabbed him. She had meant it to be a threat, and he was not naive enough to think she wouldn’t follow through with it. Zara was a survivor. A fighter. He would not underestimate her. Had not underestimated her from the moment he had walked in and seen her in his bedroom.

      He had anticipated that she would be difficult. That dealing with the engagement, the upcoming marriage, wouldn’t be an easy thing. He had never anticipated he would lose his mind completely and take her up against a wall in the palace. In public, where anyone could have found them. Yes, they were in a slightly hidden alcove, but all it would have taken was someone to wander out of the banquet and get lost looking for the restroom.

      That was not how a prince was to treat his future princess. It was certainly nothing Kairos would ever have done with Tabitha. Of course, his brother was the authority on unhappy marriages. That was becoming more and more apparent.

      That was also Andres’s fault.

      His actions had forced Kairos into the speedy marriage in the first place.

      The reason he had to atone now.

      And Zara was making things impossible for no reason other than her own bloody-mindedness. She had nowhere else to go. He didn’t treat her badly.

       What happened back there wasn’t treating her badly?

      He gritted his teeth, shoving the thought down deep. Trying to ignore the growing unease in his chest.

      He threw open the doors to his bedchamber before slamming them behind him. He pushed his fingers through his hair, and only then did he realize that his hands were shaking. How could he have done such a thing? How could he have allowed her to push his control like that?

      How could he allow her to prove that he was still nothing more than the boy he’d been? The boy who couldn’t sit still for more than a couple of minutes. Who couldn’t fight any impulse that came upon him. He had wanted her, and so he had taken her.

      Without a condom.

      He swore, taking his suit jacket off and casting it onto the floor. He had never in his life forgone the use of protection. In truth, he was quite controlled in his debauchery. He didn’t keep himself from doing anything he wanted, but if he wanted to resist something, he was able. Sure, he didn’t have to exercise self-denial very often, but he was capable of it. Was capable of making responsible decisions.

      Not today.

      In public. In the middle of the day. Without protection.

      The door burst open behind him and he whirled around to see Zara standing there, her hands clenched at her sides, her expression stormy, her dark eyes glistening. Her glossy black hair, which had been expertly schooled into a bun earlier, was disheveled now, all but shouting about what had taken place only moments earlier.

      “How dare you walk away from me?” Her voice was quivering with indignation.

      There was no doubt that Zara’s feathers were thoroughly ruffled. Though he had a feeling there was nothing he could do at this point to unruffle them. In truth, she had been rather ruffled from the first moment he saw her. It was the effect he seemed to have on her.

      That didn’t bother him. What disturbed him was the effect she seemed to have on him.

      “Did you want me to stay and initiate another round? We were standing in the hallway. Anyone could have walked by,” he said, throwing the same accusations at her that he had just thrown at himself.

      “That didn’t bother you before.”

      No, it didn’t. Because he hadn’t been thinking. He hadn’t been in control.

      He ground his teeth together, his heart thundering hard. He was...angry. At his body, for betraying him as it always did. At himself, for his weakness.

      At her, for making him vulnerable.

      Before he knew what he was doing, he growled, crossing the room toward her. Her eyes widened, and she shrank back from him, her back hitting the wall.

      “You think the wall will save you? I think we’ve proven that it won’t,” he said, rage making him reckless. Making him cruel.

      He wanted to use his words to drive a wedge between them. To push her away. He didn’t want her to look at him with desire.

      “You are not touching me again until you explain yourself.”

      “What’s to explain? I wanted you. I had you.” With no control, no finesse, no care for anything at all. He hadn’t even asked her if she wanted it. Yes, her body language had given every indication that she did, but he hadn’t even known how innocent Zara was. He still wasn’t entirely certain. She had acted boldly back there, but that meant nothing. He was afraid to ask. Now that it was too late, he was very afraid indeed.

      “And then you left.”

      “Again, Princess, what did you want from me?”

      “I thought we might go back in for dessert,” she said, her voice wobbling.

      That innocence, the insecurity, tore at him like claws and yet he could not stop himself from putting more distance between them.

      He laughed, the sound carrying no humor. “So you thought I would go back in there with no buttons on my shirt? After all, a little creature pulled them off.”

       She is not the creature. You are the monster.

      Her expression turned all the more stormy. “I am not a creature. I am a woman. As I think I just proved.” She was as haughty as ever. As prideful. Her chin tilted upward, her eyes full of determination.

      But she was also