“Nonnegotiable, Miss Stephenson.” Blue fire flashed in her eyes as her mouth thinned into a straight line. But she didn’t argue as he guided her to the elevator.
Worry and unwanted awareness thickened the air in the elevator. The palm of his hand, splayed cross the curve of her hip, grew warm as the heat of her skin seeped through the thin material of her gown.
Disgust tightened his throat as his body reacted. The one time he’d confronted his father about his affairs and the toll they’d taken on Queen Marianne, a month before his mother passed, Daxon had said he just couldn’t help himself when he saw a pretty woman.
And now here he was, the faint scent of roses making his heartbeat quicken, as Clara grew paler by the moment.
Pervert. Selfish jerk. Bastard.
The words he’d leveled at his father before he’d stalked out of the room pounded through his head, each damning word making him want to revisit his gym and punch the bag until he collapsed from exhaustion.
He slowly loosened his hold on her waist and, once he was sure Clara wasn’t going to topple over, released her completely. He needed to reassign her. Immediately. This wasn’t her fault. No, it was his. His for letting himself lose control too many times, for not having enough strength to resist his own chaotic desires.
Clara deserved better.
When they reached her room on the top floor of the castle, she paused outside her door.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“I will leave once I know you’re safe.”
The door swung open. Clara walked in, her shoulders tense as she moved into her apartment. He didn’t bother to disguise his curiosity as he looked around, making sure to keep plenty of physical distance between the two of them even as he kept an eagle eye on her form should she suddenly start to collapse. When he’d been in there earlier, he’d been so focused on finding her, and then so incensed by her outright defiance, he hadn’t bothered to take note of her residence. With Clara’s toned-down style and ruthless efficiency, he’d expect a minimalist approach, lots of clean lines and white and black. Not the pale blue walls, dove-gray sofa scattered with colorful pillows or twinkling lights draped over the fireplace mantel.
His eyes drifted to Clara as she kicked off her heels and sank into an overstuffed chair by the fireplace. What else did he not know about his assistant of seven years and onetime lover?
Drop it.
Common sense chased away his curiosity. The more he wondered, the more he blurred the lines between work and his personal life, the more he courted trouble.
Taking her on your desk didn’t count as blurring the lines?a voice taunted in his ear.
Clara’s shuddering breath broke through his thoughts.
“Thank you again, Your Highness.”
He gritted his teeth. The formal address was appropriate and a reminder of their stations. It shouldn’t bother him. Just another example that she was behaving professionally.
While he was remembering how incredible her body had felt beneath his hands.
“You’re welcome.”‘ A quick glance at her face confirmed that she was still too pale. “I’m going to get you a glass of water before I leave.”
She started to stand.
“I can get it—”
“Sit,” he ordered as he crossed the room.
That she only shot him a minimal glare before sinking back down into the depths of the chair let him know just how exhausted she felt.
He walked into the kitchen and pulled a glass out of a cabinet. He kept his gaze focused on the water flowing from the faucet, not on the little details begging for his attention: the photos on the refrigerator that hinted at a life outside of the palace, a vase of flowers in the corner, a book lying facedown on the counter.
As he turned off the faucet, something caught his attention—a little white stick sitting next to the vase.
A dull roaring built in his ears. The apartment faded as his vision narrowed. He reached out, pulled the stick closer and read the single word still visible on the screen.
His fingers tightened around the test as white-hot anger stormed past the walls of his usual restraint. How long had she known? How long had she concealed the truth from him? Clara had always struck him as honest and honorable. Yet she had hidden something that literally changed not just the course of both their lives, but the future of the country.
He breathed in, then out, tamping down the fires of his fury to simmering embers that he could control. Then, slowly, he turned and walked back to the mother of his child, keeping the test partially concealed in his hand.