Helene smiled, the expression private and protective. “She is an unusual queen.”
“You’re proud to protect her.”
The fact was evident in her voice.
“I am. Zayn is a good king, and my best friend, but Mina... Mina is a gift to the nation. There’s only one other person I trust to keep her safe.”
Drake quirked an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t imagine that’s her husband.”
Helene snorted as if the notion was absurd. “Not round-the-clock, no. He’s got too many responsibilities for that. He loves her, fiercely, but I meant Moustafa.”
“Moustafa?”
“We share guard duty.”
“Shared.”
Again, she snorted, and added, “Share.While this has been a lovely diversion, in slightly less than six days, I’m going back to work.”
Unbothered by her conviction, he offered a small, smug smile. “We’ll see.”
“We will indeed.” Face turning serious, she added, “My father was a bad man, I know it. I’ve spent my whole life cleaning up the messes he left, only to have new ones swoop in from the sea.” Her blue eyes sparkled for him as she spoke and he found himself hypnotized. “I cannot bring your father back or give you your life back, but I am committed to restitution and reparation without breaking my vow.”
She made a picture and it eviscerated him—glistening pearly skin, tropical sea-blue eyes, her body barely restrained by straps and swatches of navy fabric of her bikini, unarmed and absolutely unbothered by that fact, and assured in her ability to make the world more just.
Dominic d’Tierrza was dead. His daughter was very much alive. And, having no idea just how close she was to being devoured by the Big Bad Wolf, heedless of just how vulnerable she was to his seduction, she was unwavering in her sweet and brave commitment to right the wrongs of the past. And in that way she made him question himself, question the path he’d chosen, for the first time since Helene had come apart beneath him. Should he continue? Was it right?
His research had revealed her rebellion. It hadn’t revealed her innocence. It hadn’t revealed the open sensitivity of her responses, or her utter helplessness to them. It hadn’t revealed that touching her would fill him with a sense of reverence and honor.
Experience had shown him he had the upper hand when it came to passion. That she was both good and innocent demanded he tread lightly with that power, rather than take advantage of the fact that she came alive at the barest touch. And he would. His revenge didn’t demand he lose his honor, just that he not lose his focus, or his heart.
He was old enough to know that once lost, hearts were unrecoverable, and that love, like water, could find a way through even the tightest seams.
A life at sea had taught him that fighting water was the fastest pathway to a watery grave. Like water, no matter the resistance, love got in whether you wanted or not. His father, his mother, his sister, Yancy, Prince Malik—he loved them all. And, for the most part, it was loving all of them that had led to his greatest heartbreaks. What lay between Helene and himself was, and should remain, about triumph and overdue justice, not tender feelings and heartache.
Where love traveled, pain followed, and for the first time in his life, he was ready to celebrate without enduring.
But the waters of love were drawn to the kind of strong physical attraction between them. Whether she realized it or not, he knew the dangers implied when bodies fit together like theirs seemed to.
And while her inexperience was clear, she wasn’t clumsy, but merely eager, her energy and attention bright with wonder at what came next. Her enthusiasm alone was a heady aphrodisiac, rousing him to heights he couldn’t remember reaching with any other woman.
His balls tightened at the thought, as if he was the one that was brand-new to all of this. And therein was the danger.
Though there was a first time with every new partner, there was something singular to what happened when he and Helene touched.
Either way, wisdom and experience aside, he wasn’t the only one with power when they came together...even if she had no idea what to do with it, or even that she had it in the first place.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HEHADN’TSPOKENa word since she’d made her statement, but his eyes had communicated a world’s worth of data. Heat, anger, passion, desire and more danced across his endless brown gaze.
His arms had fallen out of their habitual crossed position, revealing the massive stretch of his muscled chest. His smooth, deep brown skin, decorated with a surprising arrangement of tattoos, well-placed and balanced on his body, and dusted at his pecs with faint curling hair, cried out to be touched, stroked.
He was more attractive in swim trunks than any man had a right to be. Out of trousers, his legs were thick, as defined and muscled as his chest, and incredibly powerful, even standing at ease in the pool as they were.
His shorts were the perfect length that it seemed only one man in a million could find—not so long he looked like he might still live with his mother, not so short he seemed like he had something to sell.
As tall as she was, it was rare for a man to make Hel feel small, but standing beside him, craning her neck to remain in the trap of his stare, she was hyperaware of how broad he was in comparison to her own narrow frame.