CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘D ON’T HURT ME . Not again… Please.’ Pain lanced through Rene’s head and seared his soul. Why did his father hate him so much? He’d tried so hard to be the son he wanted, a good prince. But, no matter what he did, the punishments, the rages, the tests he could only fail still came. Always.
The familiar fear consumed him, but then gentle fingertips brushed his forehead.
‘It’s okay, Rene. Just drink this. It’ll help. I swear.’
The voice was so cool and strong it dragged him away from the searing heat, and the childish terror.
‘Don’t leave me again, not with him,’ he whispered. The monster was still there, lingering on the edges of his consciousness, and only she could protect him.
‘Shh, it’s okay. I won’t, I promise, but you must drink more water.’
Something touched his mouth. He opened dry sore lips, let the icy cold soothe his scorching throat. Was it her—the woman who had held him before, and kept the monster away with the fierce, furious rush of pleasure?
He clasped her wrist, forced his eyelids open despite the ten-ton weights attached to each one. She shimmered into view, her heart-shaped face so beautiful. The concerned expression calmed the emptiness inside him. He stared, captivated by the sight of those cornflower blue eyes—intent, determined, the full rosy lips so lush. Had he kissed them? He must have, because he could remember her taste and knew he wanted to taste her again.
‘He hates me,’ he said, because he wanted someone, finally, to know the ugly truth which had been locked inside him for so long. ‘And I can’t make it stop.’
‘Rene, it’s okay, he can’t hurt you any more,’ she said, her voice strong with understanding and courage. A courage he had never possessed. ‘I won’t let him.’
He closed his eyes again as shame washed over him on another wave of searing heat.
Why had he told her? Would she hate him too now? For his weakness, his cowardice.
‘If you complain, I will make sure you regret it. Do you understand?’ his father’s voice threatened again from the darkness.
He was too exhausted, too weak, to fight the fear, alone again…
‘Sleep, Rene, you need sleep. You’re safe. I think the fever’s broken now…’
As he drifted into the darkness he could hear her voice, protecting him, and knew it was finally safe to let himself fall.
* * *
Rene jerked awake, then winced and cursed, before slamming his eyes shut again.
Had he been run over by a truck? Because he hurt, everywhere .
And who had turned on the searchlight? Because his retinas were on fire. He lifted his arm to cover his face and block out the light, but it took a while because the limb was a dead tree attached to his shoulder, unwieldy and not really his own.
He lay, taking deep shuddering breaths as he assessed the damage.
Thumping headache? Check. Aching bicep? Check. A throat drier than the Gobi Desert? Check. Cheeks that feel as if someone has sandpapered them? Double check.
It was a technique he’d learned as a child, to cope with all those times he’d woken up in pain, with bruises in places no one could see, feeling broken inside.
He frowned.
Get a grip on the pity party, Gaultiere. That broken kid is long gone and good riddance.
After what felt like several eternities, he eased his arm down and reopened his eyes, with a lot more caution.
What the heck was he doing lying flat on his back on the floor? In a room he did not recognise. Because the décor—carved wood beams and dark stone, not to mention the floral throw covering his lower half—looked like something out of a luxury fever dream.
Fever? Dream? Melody?
He re-covered his eyes as the memories of the storm and—far too much more—came flooding back into his consciousness.
‘Don’t. Wait.’
Heat swelled as he recalled lodging himself deep. Thrusting hard.
But had that actually happened? Or was it just another wet dream? Everything was so hazy and confused, because the memory of kissing her neck, touching her swollen flesh, thrusting into her again, was all mixed up with other stuff. Like his father being an even bigger arse than usual. And her saying tender things while her eyes glowed with compassion.
Surely, he’d imagined that. How could it be true when she hated his guts? Almost as much as his father had.
He rolled to his side, then moaned, the pain in his arm exploding.
‘Ouch. Dammit.’
Memories flashed back as he clocked the makeshift bandage on his arm. He’d cut himself during the frantic effort to get out of the storm… That much he remembered with clarity. Had Melody wrapped the wound for him? Why?
He levered himself into a sitting position.
Then took a moment to breathe through the dizziness while contemplating his surroundings. And attempting to decipher what was real and what wasn’t from the mush in his brain. He gave up after a few minutes because it was making his head hurt more. And it already felt as if someone had hit him with a sledgehammer.
The outside was still an impregnable swirl of white through the open shutters, the muffled howl a sign the storm hadn’t abated since last night.
A fire blazed in the hearth, and a pile of unfamiliar clothes had been folded neatly on the couch—which was helpful, because he couldn’t see his jeans or sweater anywhere. All he had on was his shorts, and they weren’t doing much to hide his reaction to the memories which he was fairly sure couldn’t be real now.
He needed to find Melody and ask her what the hell had occurred during the rest of the night, though, to be sure… Shame washed over him. How he was going to broach the subject of possibly, maybe, having jumped her in his sleep he had no idea—but he wanted to be fully clothed when he had that potentially excruciating conversation.
After getting to his feet, it took another moment for the fresh wave of light-headedness to pass, before he could stagger over to the couch.
He selected a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the pile. The T-shirt was too tight across his chest, and the pants too loose at the waist, hanging low on his hips, and were also way too short, finishing above his ankles. But at least the clothes were warm and dry and covered the essential bits.
Luckily, the thought of the conversation they now needed to have—which promised to be even more difficult than the one they’d had to postpone, thanks to their journey into hell—quelled any lingering erotic dreams. Doubly good because the borrowed pants did not have a lot of spare room in the crotch either.
Maybe Melody was the one who had run him over with the truck.
His lips curved, making the chapped skin crack, as he remembered her snarky attitude from last night. And the battles they’d fought, and he’d won, first in the East Wing and then the garage. Why did those seem like several eons ago now, too? One thing was for sure. After their near-death experience, he wasn’t angry with Melody Taylor any more. In fact, he felt weirdly okay about getting stuck here with her.
When it came to surviving a white-out in the Alpine wilderness in the middle of the night, he couldn’t think of a better person to do it with than a badass like Melody. He certainly couldn’t imagine any of the other women he’d dated over the years holding their own the way she had, without a single complaint, or ‘I told you so’.
He headed across the living area, finally steady enough to go in search of her…
Surely, he couldn’t have had sex with her again and not remembered it clearly? Because that would be a crime, in more ways than one.
He padded into a vast, brightly lit kitchen, drawn by the salty aroma of frying bacon. His empty stomach turned inside out, but he stood in the doorway, taking a moment to enjoy the view. And process the wave of affection which tightened his ribs.
Melody stood with her back to him, busy cooking at a stainless-steel kitchen range. She wore a baggy T-shirt which hung to mid-thigh, over a pair of yoga pants which clung to her generous curves. She’d piled her tawny blonde curls on top of her head in a careless knot, baring her neck. He could almost smell her there, just below her ear, the fresh scent another siren call to his senses.
The image of making love to her in the shadowy darkness as she begged him for release pulsed in his brain, and his groin.
Well, hell…
Surely that had to be a false memory, he decided, because it reminded him of all the others he’d had in dreams since that night in a cramped bed in her student flat in London. Even so, the sensory overload was so powerful the fabric at his crotch tightened again.
Damn, he wanted her still. Was that where these phantom memories came from? The urge, not the actual deed? Because that would be pretty lowering, but at least it meant he hadn’t taken advantage of her again, like he had when she was a starry-eyed eighteen-year-old.
He cleared his throat.
She jumped, let out a cute squeak and then swung around, wielding a spatula.
‘Rene, you’re awake?’ she said, her eyes widening as her cheeks ignited with colour.
Okay, interesting reaction.
In his experience, Mel only ever blushed in the throes of passion. Also, she didn’t look as if she wanted to brain him with the spatula, which was her usual response these days to being confronted with his presence.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, her gaze slipping away, the blush going radioactive.
‘Good… Mostly.’ His voice rasped against his dry throat as his gaze zeroed in on the tell-tale burst of colour mottling her collarbone, revealed when the oversized T-shirt slid off one shoulder. Heat pounded into his crotch, but at the same time emotion wrapped around his torso. Guilt or tenderness, he couldn’t be sure which, but neither could be good, given their history… And their current circumstances.
‘I need to know,’ he said, deciding to rip off the Band-Aid. ‘Did we have sex again last night, or did I just imagine it?’
* * *
‘Of…of course not!’ Mel blurted out the knee-jerk denial, still struggling with the wave of relief at seeing Rene well again after thirty-six hours of extreme stress.
He had been delirious for hours yesterday, his fever not breaking until around midnight, in the grip of nightmares which had terrified Mel almost more than his spiking temperature. And he’d been virtually comatose ever since, every time she’d checked on him. But of course, Rene being Rene, the only thing the man could remember was the ill-advised sex they’d indulged in before he’d become feverish.
‘Are you sure?’ One dark brow winged up, his suspicion clear. ‘Because you’ve gone an interesting shade of vermillion. And that’s a colour I’ve only ever seen on your face once before…’ he paused, his scrutiny intensifying ‘…four years ago.’
‘I’m positive,’ she snapped, trying for indignation but getting guilt instead. Because she’d always been a terrible liar.
His gaze zeroed in on her burning cheeks. She swung back to the stove and made a big production of turning off the heat then scooping the rashers onto a plate to add to the late breakfast she’d cooked—to give herself time to gather her wits.
Yesterday had exhausted her. And shocked her in many ways, when she’d watched Rene battle what appeared to be extremely vivid and terrifying nightmares. But when she’d woken up this morning and waited the whole day for him to wake up, she’d also had far too much time to think about where those nightmares could have come from.
He hadn’t been lucid while in the grip of the fever, but his cries of pain, his confused ramblings, had seemed like those of a child, not the man she knew.
But the man was definitely back now, even though he still seemed a little shaky on his feet, was sporting a two-day beard and had dark circles under his eyes. Even in the borrowed clothes—which she’d found in the master bedroom she was sleeping in and had left out for him—he looked like a prince again—arrogant, overwhelming and untouchable.
‘By the way, we didn’t get here last night, Rene,’ she began, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction. ‘We’ve been here for over two days now…’
The harsh curse interrupted her. ‘How can that be right? Are you telling me I’ve been asleep for thirty-six hours?’
‘Yes. When you weren’t out of it with fever,’ she murmured, deciding not to mention the other time he’d been awake. If he didn’t remember that encounter clearly, it made sense not to enlighten him. Because it had been a mistake which neither of them needed to dwell on.
She heard his bare feet padding across the stone flooring.
‘I guess that explains why I’m ravenous,’ he said, the husky tone disturbing her even more.
She turned to find him standing too close, still staring at her with that sceptical expression on his face. Shouldn’t he look ridiculous in those ill-fitting clothes, the pants too short and the T-shirt stretching tight across his pecs? Why was he still so hot? It really wasn’t fair.
Her gaze dropped then shot back to his face, but her blush flared again, because the damn pants were tight in all the wrong places.
‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ she said, plucking the toast from the grill and slathering it with butter, far too aware of the musty smell no longer masked by soap and the expensive cologne. Why did she find his scent even more compelling now?
‘I’ve made more than enough for both of us,’ she added, desperate to fill the uncomfortable silence, and keep all the unnerving memories of the intimacies they’d shared, accidentally , under control. ‘Luckily, this place has a cold storage full of enough food to survive a nuclear war.’
He took the hint and, after grunting his thanks, went to sit on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
She took her time loading a couple of plates with eggs, bacon and toast, then placing them on the counter between them, along with glasses of orange juice and cutlery. But five minutes later, when she slid onto the stool opposite him, it still felt far too soon to face him again.
Why couldn’t she get this reaction under control? The sex had been fast and frantic, nothing more than a basic, elemental reaction to surviving a life-threatening situation, obviously. She’d been half asleep and Rene had been barely lucid too. It hadn’t meant anything. Maybe pretending it hadn’t happened at all—lying to him when he’d asked her a direct question—was a little…unethical. But the fact he didn’t really remember it only proved it hadn’t meant anything to him either. Hardly surprising, given their first time had meant nothing to him as well!
But as she scooped up a forkful of eggs, determined to get through the awkwardness, and control the guilt, he grasped her wrist. Her gaze rose, his touch making her pulse spike. Could he feel it? Probably.
‘What do you mean, I was out of it?’ he asked, the wary expression calming her guilt—and panic—a little. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as he appeared.
‘You had a fever, which started yesterday. You were having nightmares, saying lots of weird stuff, begging me not to leave you with someone. Once it broke last night, though, you slept like the dead.’
Stark emotion flashed across his features, reminding her of the expression on his face that night so long ago in London, when she had questioned him about the scar on his forehead.
In the years since, she had convinced herself she had imagined the guarded, almost panicked reaction. Now, as then, he masked it quickly, but this time she had seen it clearly. And knew what it was. Because she’d heard the same fear in his voice during the night terrors she had nursed him through for hours.
Flags of colour appeared on his cheeks, and he dropped her wrist. He dipped his head and dug into his eggs, clearly keen to end the conversation.
Curiosity consumed her all over again at the defensive reaction.
Who was the monster who had chased him in dreams? The one he’d begged her to protect him from… Was it possible the monster wasn’t just a figment of his feverish imagination, but something more tangible, something real?
Was that why he’d been so surly and mean as a teenager? So cynical and reckless as a man. What if his life hadn’t been as charmed and entitled as she’d always assumed?
Yeah, maybe don’t drop down that rabbit hole again, or you’ll only have yourself to blame if you get your heart broken.
She cut off the wayward direction of her thoughts—which could only be a carryover from the romantic eighteen-year-old who had wanted to find a connection with Rene, to justify the physical urge they’d both succumbed to that night… And in the early hours of yesterday morning.
She had always been drawn to him whenever he seemed vulnerable. But then, finding excuses for the selfish behaviour of men was a weakness she had always suffered from. After all, hadn’t she succumbed to the same self-destructive naivete with her dad, determined to kid herself that he cared for her, that he loved her, that he wanted to have a relationship with her after the divorce, when he had made it abundantly clear to her in every way that he didn’t?
Rene had done the same damn thing by sleeping with her then ghosting her, and yet she had still wanted to believe there was more to their lovemaking than a quick endorphin fix.
What on earth was the matter with her?
When someone tells you who they are, believe them, Mel, remember!
‘I hope I didn’t make a nuisance of myself,’ he murmured, keeping his head down.
‘No more than usual,’ she said, determined to puncture the strange sense of intimacy, and get their relationship back to where it had been before their near-death experience.
After all, snarky had always been a much better defence against Rene’s dark arts than curiosity and compassion.
He let out a weary laugh which didn’t seem to have a lot of humour in it.
‘ Touché ,’ he murmured.
But as he began shovelling the bacon into his mouth like a starving man, she found herself dwelling again on those tortured cries. And her heart swelled against her ribs, as it had for hours while she had watched him struggle with those demons.
They finished the meal in silence, but when she got off her stool and reached for his empty plate he snagged her wrist again.
‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘I’ll wash up.’
She tugged her wrist free, far too aware that her pulse had started dancing a jig.
‘No, thanks.’ She tilted her head to one side. His colour was a bit better but he still looked washed out. ‘I don’t want you faceplanting in the kitchen this time,’ she added. ‘Because you’re too heavy for me to carry anywhere and too big to step over.’
Her heartbeat accelerated alarmingly as a sensual smile curved his lips. She hadn’t seen that smile for four years—the only time he’d ever bestowed it on her—but she could still remember its devastating effect. How annoying he could still use it like a lethal weapon to disarm all her defences.
‘Fair point,’ he murmured. The mocking light shimmering in the golden brown of his irises only added to his killer charm. ‘I’ve discovered that sleeping for days on the floor is quite literally a pain in the arse.’
She collected the plates and headed to the sink, determined not to be charmed. Nothing had changed between them. He was still a prince, and she was still a PA—and she wasn’t about to make the mistake again of thinking that he viewed her as more than just an easy lay.
Been there, done that and still have the inferiority complex to prove it.
Unfortunately, they were stuck here, alone together, until the storm broke or the phone line was restored. Or a search and rescue team came looking for them. Hopefully, that would be sooner rather than later, but until then she would just have to ensure she kept her wits about her—and didn’t fall into the trap he had always represented.
After all, she’d already slept with him once without intending to—because he had a devastating effect on her libido as well as her common sense, even when they were practically comatose.
Rene had always been indiscriminate when it came to his sexual conquests—and he had a devastating personal charm when he chose to use it. But forewarned was forearmed.
She turned on the tap and began scrubbing the plates with more force than was probably necessary. She heard him get up from the stool and swear softly as he stumbled, but forced herself not to turn around.
‘There’s a guest bedroom on the ground floor you can use. I’ve taken the master upstairs.’ She threw the words over her shoulder, glad her voice remained unmoved.
She needed to make it clear that even though he was a prince they were equals here.
‘I found a stash of toiletries in the laundry room under the sink,’ she added, her nerves forcing her to fill the silence when he didn’t respond.
‘Are you saying I stink?’ he asked.
She turned, then realised her mistake when she got another eyeful of his chest, temptingly displayed in the figure-hugging cotton. She folded her arms across her breasts, suddenly aware of the bra she had left drying in the laundry room when her nipples tightened under his amused gaze.
She gave him a deliberate once-over, then sniffed the air. ‘I’m saying a shower certainly wouldn’t hurt.’
But instead of reacting with indignation or anger as she’d hoped, he let out a gruff chuckle, his gaze still warm with appreciation.
‘ Touché . Again,’ he said, the amusement in his tone not helping with the rabbit punches of her pulse, or her now painfully engorged nipples. ‘Landing cheap shots is getting to be a bad habit, Melody.’
She took some satisfaction from the hit. And the thought that her provocative reply had set their relationship back on track. After all, their bickering had always been her safe space where Rene was concerned, a throwback to their childhood which she had clung to after that night to cover the hurt he’d caused. But the spurt of satisfaction was short-lived when his voice lowered even more—into a confidential rumble rich with innuendo—and his gaze drifted over her body with far too much entitlement.
‘Be warned though,’ he said, the intensity in his eyes as much of a surprise as the possessive tone, ‘I’m starting to feel a lot better already, and once I’m back to full strength you won’t find it as easy to best me.’
Gauntlet thrown down, he strolled from the room, the confident grace back in his stride. Her gaze drifted down to a muscular male backside displayed to perfection in too-tight sweats. And then jerked back up again.
For goodness’ sake, Mel, stop checking out his butt.
But as she turned back to the sink and began scrubbing the plates hard enough to erase the design on them, heady desire shot through her overwrought body at warp speed. And it occurred to her that her safe space was now history. Because bickering with Rene was now almost as much of a turn-on as the light of approval in his golden gaze. And that mocking, devastatingly sensual smile. Not to mention the far too vivid memory of their latest X-rated faux pas. Blast the man .