Chapter 17
Natalie stepped out of her SUV and tilted her head back, letting her gaze travel up the stately facade.
She had only seen the first level during her last visit, and the promise of exploring the rest sent a thrill of anticipation through her.
The house’s symmetry, clean lines, and historical elegance soothed something deep inside her.
It was the kind of place that seemed to exhale history—a place begging for the right hand to coax it fully to life.
But the man inside? He terrified her.
No man had ever consumed her thoughts like Rylan. Even Mark, with all his manipulative charm, had never gotten under her skin like this. Mark had complained endlessly that she didn’t text or call him enough during the day—conveniently ignoring the fact that he rarely replied when she did.
Rylan, though… Rylan was in her head whether she wanted him there or not. She thought about him constantly. She dreamt about him. And she hated it. It was as if he’d picked the lock to her mind, moved in, and hung curtains. The sheer audacity infuriated her.
“Are you planning to come inside,” a deep, amused voice drawled, “or should I have a chair brought out so you can admire the view in comfort?”
She blinked and snapped out of her thoughts to find him leaning casually against the doorframe, one broad shoulder propped against the wood. The teasing glint in his eyes matched the easy confidence in his posture.
“I thought royalty had butlers to answer their doors,” she shot back, climbing the stairs at an unhurried pace, as if she hadn’t just been caught staring at his house—and, okay, maybe thinking about him.
“Apparently, you thought wrong,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving upward.
Her gaze flicked to his lips. They were firm yet sensual, the kind that could deliver either a scathing retort or the kind of kiss that melted reason. Not that she was thinking about kissing him.
“I could always hire someone else,” he mused, voice light but laced with provocation. “Maybe a designer who would add even more black-and-white paintings to—”
She stomped up the last two steps and glared. “You’re cheating!”
His grin widened, wicked and unrepentant. “Yes. And you’re finally catching on.”
He stepped back to let her in, his gaze lingering as though committing every detail of her entrance to memory.
Inside, her irritation was temporarily eclipsed by the clean, sunlit space. Despite its starkness, the open layout and generous windows kept the rooms from feeling oppressive.
“Do you really want to change this?” she asked, moving toward one of the windows. The earthy suede sofa and minimalistic design were impersonal but stylistically cohesive. “Most decorators work with a client’s preferences. This seems like…your style.”
“I told the decorator to keep it simple,” he said, following her in that unhurried, predatory way that made her skin prickle.
“Well, that’s what you got,” she replied, sweeping a hand toward the room.
“It was fine,” he admitted, closing the distance.
The untucked linen shirt and faded jeans clung in all the right places, a far cry from the tailored suits she’d first seen him in.
And then there was the detail that caught her completely off guard—he was barefoot.
Shouldn’t there be some royal edict about that?
“But now?” she prompted, trying not to notice the warmth radiating from him.
“Now I want something that feels…different.” His voice softened, deliberate. “Something I can sit down on and relax. Something I can…enjoy.”
The way he lingered on the word sent a shiver racing down her spine.
“Pillows,” she blurted, her voice dry as dust.
One eyebrow lifted, amusement deepening. “Just pillows?”
She nodded—or thought she nodded—though her body refused to move away. His nearness was magnetic, holding her in place.
Another step closed the gap between them. His voice dropped, low and intimate. “What’s really going on here, Natalie?”
Her throat tightened. “Nothing. My goal is to discuss the design. Not to be…seduced.”
His slow smile told her he didn’t believe her for a second. “Is that what’s happening?” he murmured, his eyes dark with intent.
“Isn’t it?” she countered, her voice a touch sharper as she finally forced herself to take a step back.
He let her retreat, but his gaze stayed locked on her like he was tracking a target. “If it were, would you stop it?”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Perhaps a different designer would be better suited to your needs, Your Highness,” she said coolly, lifting her chin in deliberate defiance.
The change in his expression was instant—his easy charm sharpening into something harder, more possessive. “No. I want you. Your vision. No one else.”
Her chin dipped despite herself, and she gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. Let’s sit at the table. I’ll walk you through some options, you can tell me your preferences, and then I’ll create a design board with—”
“You’re rambling,” he cut in, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Heat crept into her cheeks, and she stiffened. “I’m explaining the process, Your Highness. It’s called being professional.”
He gestured toward the dining table with an infuriating grin. “By all means. Let’s be professional.”
They sat. Natalie kept her focus on her notebook, determined to ignore how close he sat, how the subtle scent of his cologne seemed to wrap around her.
But as they talked, his questions surprised her—less about how things looked, more about how they felt.
He wanted warmth. Comfort. Rooms meant to be lived in, not just admired.
Bit by bit, her shoulders eased, her pen moving steadily across the page. But every time their eyes met, her pulse betrayed her, beating a fraction too fast.
An hour later, she rose, her notebook full. “I think I have enough to get started, Your Highness,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
He stood too, closing the distance until the air between them seemed to hum. He didn’t touch her, but his presence pressed against her all the same.
“You’re using my title to keep me at arm’s length,” he said, voice low and probing. “Why is that?”
She met his gaze without flinching. “Because we need to keep this professional.”
His lips curved slowly, knowingly. “Do we?”
“We do,” she said firmly, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck. She extended her hand in what she hoped was a brisk, polite gesture. “Thank you for the opportunity, Your Highness. I’ll be in touch with my designs.”
He took her hand in his, his grip warm and deliberate—then covered it with his other hand, holding her still. “Did you tell the police about the attempted murder?”
Her breath caught. “It wasn’t… murder,” she said, startled by the word.
His gaze hardened. “The driver aimed directly at you, Natalie. They adjusted to hit you. That wasn’t an accident.”
The conviction in his tone punched through her denial. Her fingers slipped out of his grip. “I… I don’t know what it was,” she whispered, hating how her voice shook.
He studied her for a long moment, his focus so intense it made her skin prickle. “You’re scared. I can help you—if you’ll let me.”
For a fleeting heartbeat, she wanted to. She wanted to step into the safety of his arms, let his strength shoulder some of the fear she wouldn’t admit to. But survival instincts won out.
“I’ll handle it,” she said, stepping around him toward the door.
“We need to talk about what’s going on between us,” he said, halting her escape.
“I thought we already did,” she replied, exasperation threading through her voice.
He moved closer again, stopping just short of touching her. “No, we didn’t. Not really.”
Natalie tilted her head, bracing herself. “Then what do you want to say?”
“I can’t pretend there isn’t something happening here. That kiss the other night—”
“Was a mistake,” she cut in, though her tone lacked the steel she wanted it to have.
One dark brow arched, his mouth curving in faint amusement. “Really? Because it didn’t feel like one to me.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “Look, Rylan, I’m not denying there’s chemistry. I’m not blind. But I can’t do casual. I’m just not built that way.”
His arms folded slowly across his chest, his eyes narrowing—not with anger, but with calculation. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said, meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and something far more fragile, “I need to know someone. To trust them. I need more than just physical attraction. Casual sex doesn’t work for me—it never has.”
The words settled in the air, heavy with honesty. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Rylan’s expression shifted—his sharp edges easing—as he stepped forward. His approach was slow, measured, like a man stalking something valuable he had no intention of scaring off.
“That’s not a bad thing,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But what if I’m not looking for casual either?”
Her brow furrowed. “You’re… not?”
“No,” he replied, without even a flicker of hesitation. “I’m not.”
She searched his face, scanning for even the faintest sign of deception.
All she found was the unwavering sincerity in his eyes—and that, somehow, was even more disarming.
Still, her doubt clung to her. “Rylan, I’ve been in a relationship before where I thought I could trust someone. It didn’t end well.”
“Mark,” he said flatly, his tone clipped.
Her eyes widened. “How do you know about him?”
“I did some digging,” he said without apology. “After the attempt on your life, I needed to know more about you. About who might want to hurt you.”
The admission sent a rush of conflicting emotions through her—irritation sparring with a reluctant spark of gratitude. “I can take care of myself, Rylan.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “But I can protect you too. And I want to.”
She shook her head, putting distance between them, though her pulse kept pace with his presence. “You don’t even know me. Not really.”
“I know enough to want more.” His voice was soft but carried a weight that made her chest ache.
“You’re intelligent. Talented. Passionate about your work.
You’re strong, even when you’re scared. And you have this way of lighting up a room without even trying.
” He took another step forward, his gaze never wavering.
“Don’t tell me I don’t know you at all, Natalie. Because I see you.”
Her breath hitched, the force of his words sliding past her carefully constructed walls.
“Rylan,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “I don’t know if I can do this. If I can trust you.”
His eyes locked on hers, his tone a quiet promise. “Then let me earn it.”
Natalie’s heart pounded, each beat ricocheting through her as she stared up at him. His presence was a gravity she couldn’t seem to fight, his words both terrifying and intoxicating. She wanted—good grief, she wanted—to believe him, to surrender to the pull between them.
But trust… trust wasn’t something she could hand over easily. Not anymore. Not after what she’d learned the hard way.
And yet, she wasn’t entirely sure if she was walking away from him… or being pulled closer despite herself.