Modern Romance November 2015 Books 1-4. Trish Morey

any indicator, he was the man who chased vulnerable women away.

      “And I am a man,” he said, keeping his tone dry. “So there is nothing all that exceptional about attraction exploding between us.”

      She frowned. “Even though we were fighting?”

      “Especially because we were fighting,” he said, his voice rough.

      “That makes no sense to me.”

      “Then I question the sort of lovers you’ve had in the past.”

      It was her turn to laugh. “I’ve had no other lovers.”

      It was the answer he had been afraid of. The rage in his blood turned to ice, settling in the pit of his stomach. “Is that so?”

      “Of course I haven’t. I had never even kissed a man before you.”

      Mother of God. Had she even known what was exploding between them out there in the hall? Had she even realized where it might go? What had he done?

      In that moment he despised himself. He hadn’t thought it was possible for him to reach a new depth of hating his own lack of self-control. The loss of his mother, what happened with Francesca, he had imagined that was the worst of it. Right now, looking at this angry, confused woman who had been a virgin only minutes earlier, he realized there were entirely new depths he hadn’t even known about.

      “How is it you have survived this long?” he growled, aware that he was allowing his anger at himself to spill out and hit the wrong target. “You are so naive it is painful. By rights you should have been devoured by a wolf in the forest.”

      Her eyes were filled with righteous indignation. “I feel as though I was just devoured by a wolf.”

      “If I had devoured you, little one, you would hardly be standing here radiating rage.”

      “Perhaps, had you not run away from me like a scared little boy, I would not be standing here radiating rage.”

      For a moment, he saw himself as exactly that. A scared little boy failing at his duty yet again. Going off into isolation.

      No.

      He slammed his hand against the wall, right by her head. “Were I a little boy you would not behave so satisfied as you apparently were.”

      “You can’t minimize and maximize the impact of what happened in the same argument,” she said, her eyes never wavering from his.

      “I can do whatever I like.” He pushed away from her, his heart raging. “I am the prince here.”

      She rolled her eyes, having the gall to look bored. “And I am a princess.”

      “Princess of the caravans,” he said. “Very compelling. You would be nothing here in my country were it not for your engagement to me. An engagement that you seem intent on preventing when you know it’s the only way you’ll ever make anything of yourself. You want to know who you really are? Apart from me? Impoverished. Would you like to explore the meaning of that? Being cold, being hungry, being truly alone.”

      The color drained from her face and he felt an answering ache expanding in his stomach. He didn’t think it was possible to be any more of a bastard than he already was. Yet again, he was proved wrong.

      “Whatever freedom you imagine you might find in that,” he continued, “I guarantee it will not be there. Here? With me? I will give you money, power, access to education, a chance to make a difference. Not sleeping in the street, which I feel you may also think an advantage.”

      She was now completely white-faced and still, like a small marble statue, turned to stone by his words.

      “My mistake,” he said. “You were imagining that you might have a life if you left me, and I have just stolen your illusion. What were you thinking? That I might finance your life without the benefit of having you in my bed?”

      “No.” Furious color rose in her cheeks. “Of course I didn’t think that. I thought that I could...perhaps find out what I wanted to do...”

      “For work? You have no job experience. You have no life experience. Forgive me, Princess, but you need to understand that growing up in the wilderness, surrounded by a band of people lost somewhere in the last century, does not give you the necessary tools to exist inside an urban society.”

      “I am not naive, nor am I stupid. The screaming in the palace... Andres, you would pray to God to have those memories removed from your head. However, it doesn’t work that way. If I had any innocence left, it all was lost then. So do not treat me as though I am some kind of wide-eyed child. I stopped being a child when I was six years old.” She took a deep breath. “I am the only survivor of a terrible attack on the royal family. I was whisked out of my bedroom in the dead of night by my mother’s maid, screams filling the air behind us, screams that echo in my head even now. Screams that most certainly belonged to my mother, my father. My brother. I am left with nothing but the sounds and my imagination to weave every dark image with them. I do not know exactly how they died, but I have thought of countless ways. Dreamed the most nightmarish things. Do not mistake me for an innocent.”

      Her words felt like a crushing blow against his chest. He wondered, for some reason, if anyone had ever taken care of her. Yes, the people who had raised her had certainly seen to her needs. Her basic needs. But he wondered if anyone had truly cared for her.

      His mother had left, and his father had been distinctly disinterested, but he’d had servants, nannies who at least approximated some kind of love. Who had read him stories, and tucked him in. Had anyone read her stories? She was a girl, a girl who had thick, luxurious hair. Surely someone would have needed to braid it for her? Had anyone ever done so? It seemed a crime if no one had.

       As if you’ve treated her any better. You were rough. You took no care for her virginity. And you must’ve known. There’s no way you couldn’t have.

      He had only contributed to her loneliness. He had left her. He hadn’t taken care of her. He had been so focused on her failing him that he hadn’t taken into account the fact that he had failed her.

      Just as he had failed his mother. His father. His brother.

      He had a chance to endeavor to do better by her. At least now.

      “Go into the bathroom,” he said, unable to modify his tone.

      She stayed rooted to the spot, glaring at him intensely.

      “Must you be stubborn about everything?” he asked. “Go into the bathroom.”

      She practically snarled as she pushed away from the wall and stomped past him, heading into the bathroom.

      He followed, undoing the last of the buttons on his shirt before casting it, and his jacket, down onto the ground. He tried to fight the heat that was pouring through his veins. This was not the time. He slowly undid his belt buckle, the button on his pants, and left both of them behind as he continued on. By the time he entered, he was naked.

      Zara looked up at him, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

      He bent down, turning the handle on the bathtub. “I am giving you a bath. I’m certain that you feel in need of one.”

      She crossed her arms over her chest as though she was trying to protect herself and looked away. “I do.”

      “Then, take your dress off.”

      She shrank in on herself, her expression suspicious. “I don’t know that I’m ready to be naked with you.”

      “It’s a bit late for that.”

      She locked her attention on to him, a blush coloring her cheeks. “It is not too late. We weren’t naked.”

      “No, but I was just inside you.”

      The color in her cheeks intensified. “Well, I don’t know if I’m ready for that to happen again.”