Chapter 15 #3
“And yet, here we are. Just the two of us, off the beaten path.”
His grip tightens fractionally before he releases me, stepping back. “We need to return to the main pathway.”
“Why? Afraid of what might happen if we don’t?” I move closer, eliminating the distance he just created.
The colored lights shift around us, bathing us alternately in crimson, violet, and blue. Each new hue reveals another facet of his expression. There’s frustration, desire, and something deeper that makes my heart rate quicken.
“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice comes out in a low growl, all pretense of professionalism seemingly abandoned.
“What do you mean?” I try to keep the triumph out of my voice, but I’m rather certain I fail spectacularly.
His expression hardens, anger overtaking the other emotions warring in his eyes. “Is this a game to you?” he demands. “Because it isn’t a game to me. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
The intensity in his voice catches me off guard. Something uncomfortable blooms in my chest, too close to real emotion for comfort.
“Well, you’re doing a splendid job of it,” I recover quickly. “I’ve never felt more alive than I do at this moment.”
“See. That’s what I’m talking about. This blatant flirting you’ve been doing all evening.
” He claws a hand through his hair, blowing out a frustrated breath before continuing, “What do you want me to say? Yes, my body reacted to you the other day because I’m someone who’s attracted to men and I’m not made of ice.
Having an attractive man pressed up against me for that length of time caused my body to respond, but that doesn’t mean you get to play with me for your own amusement.
Not all of us have the luxury of treating life like an extended game with no actual consequences. ”
My heart pounds in my ears and a flicker of heat races through me at the rough edge in his voice.
But this isn’t playing out how I imagined. His frustration should have felt like victory, but instead, it’s stirring something unexpectedly real in my chest.
“And what makes you assume my flirting is a game?” I counter. “How do you know there’s no genuine sentiment behind it?”
Bloody hell.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize the truth hiding in my question.
I want him. I want this gruff Irishman. I don’t just want him to want me for my ego. I want him to desire me the same way I desire him.
Officer O’Connell pauses for a second, his face going through a myriad of emotions before it settles on scathing. “Surely even you aren’t so entitled to think anything could ever happen between us.”
His words land like a blow to my stomach.
“I’m trying to be a professional and do my job. I would appreciate it if you’d let me,” he finishes.
It’s the way he says the words, with such resignation beneath the frustration, as if I’ve confirmed every cynical assumption he’s ever made about people with my breeding and background.
As if I’m exactly the entitled aristocrat he expected me to be.
Shame rears inside me.
It takes every ounce of royal training not to flinch in the wake of his stare.
He’s right, of course. I have been treating this like a game.
A diversion to alleviate boredom, to satisfy my curiosity about whether I could crack his professional veneer.
As much as I’ve wanted to get to know him, I haven’t actually stopped to consider the real person behind the uniform, with his own career and reputation at stake.
I take a step back from him.
I feel…chastised.
It’s not something to which I’m accustomed.
I swallow, still locked in his gray eyes.
“I apologize if my attempt to make conversation with you has made you uncomfortable,” I say. “I think you are correct, we should return to the main path where it is more secure.”
I turn on my heel and stride away. Back straight, chin up, emotions buried so deep they might as well be in another time zone.
The Field of Lights stretches around us like a galaxy of artificial stars, but I focus only on the path ahead, refusing to look back to see if he’s following.
Of course he’s following me.
It’s his job.
I’m glad for the dim light, as I’m sure blood is pumping to my cheeks.
As we rejoin the gala, I slide back into Prince Nicholas mode without missing a beat. Smile, handshake, charming comment about Australia’s beauty, repeat.
No one notices anything amiss. Why would they? I’ve spent my entire life perfecting this performance.
I deliberately don’t look at Officer O’Connell.
But as we drive away from Ulu?u later that evening, its ancient face receding under the night sky, I can’t shake the feeling that O’Connell saw straight through my royal veneer to something raw and uncomfortable beneath.
For all my privilege and power, he’s the one who walked away from that encounter with his dignity intact. While I—second in line to a thousand-year-old throne—am left wondering why the rejection of a commoner I’ve known for mere weeks stings so much.
Why it feels like losing something precious I never realized I wanted until it was already gone.