Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
James
Istood frozen in the hallway, my heart pounding against my ribs like artillery fire.
Evangeline was inches away, her skin flushed from the shower, water droplets trailing down her neck to disappear beneath the white towel she clutched to her chest. I could smell her vanilla shampoo, could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
"This isn't..." I began, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.
"Professional?" she finished, her blue eyes holding mine without apology. "No, it isn't."
My jaw clenched as I fought for control. Control I'd maintained through gunfire in Iraq, through royal security threats, through every fucking dangerous situation I'd encountered in my career. Control that was now unraveling because of one woman in a towel.
"We agreed—" I tried again.
"I know what we agreed," she whispered, taking a deliberate step closer until the space between us seemed to crackle with electricity. "I also know what I want."
Something snapped inside me then—some final thread of restraint I'd been clinging to since Luxembourg. I raised my hand to her face, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that belied the storm raging inside me.
"Tell me," I demanded, needing to hear the words. "Say it."
"You," she breathed, the single syllable making my chest tight. "I want you, James. I've wanted you since the moment you walked into my barn and judged me without knowing me."
I couldn't stop the ghost of a smile that touched my lips. "That long?"
"Yes," she admitted. "Even when I hated you, I wanted you."
My thumb traced her lower lip, and she trembled at the contact, her breath catching. "This changes everything," I warned her, my voice rough with barely restrained desire.
"Once we cross this line, there's no going back. Tell me to stop, Evangeline. Tell me to walk away."
"I want you," she whispered fiercely. "I don't care about the consequences."
For another heartbeat, I hesitated, the professional in me waging a losing battle against the man who had wanted this woman from the first moment he saw her.
My grip tightened on her, the snap of the last moral restraint completely broken.
My lips crushed onto hers with a hunger I had never experienced.
All thoughts of propriety forgotten as her lips parted beneath mine.
My knuckles whitened as I gripped the wet hair, the strands like a snare, fueled by a furious need to control.
Tilting her head back, her kiss tasted of old sorrows, each touch echoing with a despair that mirrored my own.
A chill snaked down my spine, yet the touch of her skin through the thin barrier of our towels sent an electric shock through me, a terrifying symphony of sensation.
She tasted of mint toothpaste and something else I could not put my finger on, but it was her—a flavor I'd memorized in Luxembourg and craved every day since, like an addiction I couldn't shake.
Her towel loosened as I pulled her closer, and I felt her momentary tension as she clutched at it.
The sight of her vulnerability sent a surge of possessive need through me so intense it was almost painful.
My breathing turned ragged, my heart hammering against my ribs as every muscle in my body screamed to take more, to claim everything she was offering.
I pulled back slightly, fighting for control before I lost myself completely.
"Not like this," I managed to say. "Not in a hallway."
She nodded, her lips swollen from my kisses, her pupils dilated with desire. I forced myself to take a step back, creating a distance between us before I could change my mind.
"We should..." she gestured vaguely, her usual poise temporarily abandoned.
"Get dressed," I said firmly, though every instinct screamed at me to carry her to the nearest bed. "We need to talk about this. Properly."Disappointment flickered across her features. "Right…..Talk of course."
I softened despite myself. "Evangeline," I said, savoring the feel of her name. "I want you more than I have ever wanted anything. But I won't rush this. Not again."
The truth of my words surprised even me. This wasn't just desire anymore—it was something deeper, more dangerous. Something I'd spent my entire adult life avoiding.
"Half an hour," she said. "In the living room."
I nodded once. "Half an hour."
I watched her retreat to her bedroom, the curve of her spine visible through the damp towel.
I sought refuge in the bathroom.Turning on the shower to cold and stepping under the spray, I hissed as the icy water hit my overheated skin.
It did not succeed in its mission to distinguish the chasm of heat that burned for her touch.
What the fuck was I doing?
I had spent my entire career maintaining strict professional boundaries. Had built my security firm's reputation on discretion and detachment. I had walked away from similar situations before because I understood the danger of blurring those lines.
And here I was, ready to throw it all away for a woman I couldn't have—who could never be mine, not really. She was Princess Evangeline Romanov, future Queen of Bellavista. I was her security detail, a temporary assignment that would end when she returned to the palace.
Yet even as I lectured myself, I knew I was lying. There was nothing temporary about what I felt for her. Nothing professional about how much I wanted her.
I dressed mechanically, my mind still reeling. By the time I reached the living room, I'd made my decision. I would apologize for overstepping, reestablish our boundaries, and focus on the security threats still hanging over her. It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
But then she walked in, her hair still damp, wearing simple jeans and a sweater that somehow made her look more beautiful than any royal gown. And all my carefully rehearsed words evaporated.
"Evangeline," I began, her name a rough whisper.
She approached slowly, stopping a few feet away, uncertainty in her eyes. "Have you changed your mind already?"
I should say yes. Should tell her this was a mistake, that we needed to maintain a professional distance. I should do my job and nothing more.
Instead, I closed the distance between us in two strides and pulled her against me.
My mouth found hers in a kiss that was nothing like the gentle exploration in the hallway.
This was hunger, pure and unrestrained. She matched my intensity, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she pressed herself against me.
I backed her against the wall, my hands sliding beneath her sweater to find bare skin.
She arched into my touch. A hitched breath and a soft moan escaping her lips, my thumb traced the underside of her breast. My other hand tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, exploring her mouth like I was mapping territory I'd claim as my own.
Her sweater rode up as my hands explored. The sight of her skin—flushed and perfect—broke through the haze of desire just enough for reality to intrude. We were in the living room, against a wall. She deserved better than this.
With Herculean effort, I pulled back, my breathing ragged.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words automatic as I stepped away from her. "I shouldn't have—"
"Don't," she interrupted, her voice husky. "Don't apologize for something we both want."
I ran a hand through my hair, struggling to regain control. "It's not about want. It's about what's right."
"And this isn't right?" She challenged, stepping toward me.
I held up a hand to stop her approach, needing distance to think clearly. "You know it isn't. You're my client. I'm here to protect you, not—"
"Not what, James? Not kiss me? Not touch me? Not make me feel things I've never felt before?" Her eyes flashed with a mixture of desire and frustration. "It's too late for that. It's been too late since Luxembourg."
She was right. It had been too late the moment I'd given in to temptation that night we almost crossed the line. Maybe even before that—the first time I saw her in that gold dress, or when she cooked for me in the penthouse, or when I ran a bath for her after the kidnapping attempt.
"We need to focus on the threats against you," I said, retreating to the safety of professional concerns. "Frederick's information about Mikhail Kozlov is disturbing. If he's actively searching for evidence about his son's death—"
"So that's it?" she interrupted, hurt flashing across her face. "We're just going to pretend this never happened? Again?"
The pain in her voice cut through me, but I forced myself to hold firm. "It's for the best."
She stepped back as if I'd struck her, her expression closing off. "Fine. If that's what you want."
"It's not about what I want," I said, my voice rougher than intended. "It's about your safety. Your future."
Without another word, she turned and walked to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. I stood in the living room, the ghost of her touch still burning on my skin, knowing I'd made the right decision and hating myself for it, anyway.
I grabbed my jacket and left the penthouse, needing air, needing distance from the temptation she represented.
The streets of Luxembourg were busy with evening commuters, people leading normal lives with normal concerns.
Those people did not have to protect a princess they could not stop thinking about.
I pulled out my phone and called Harrison, my former commanding officer who now worked in intelligence. If anyone could get me information on Mikhail Kozlov's current activities, it would be him.
"Banks," he answered on the third ring. "Twice in one month. I'm flattered."
"I need everything you can find on Mikhail Kozlov's current whereabouts and activities," I said without preamble. "Particularly anything related to Bellavista."
"The Russian whose son's body was just found in the river?" Harrison's tone made it clear he knew there was more to the story. "Word is he's been making a noise in certain circles. Throwing money around for information."
"What kind of information?"
"The kind that could destabilize a small monarchy." There was a pause. "Is your princess in danger, Banks?"
"She's not my princess," I said automatically. "But yes, I believe she may be."
"I'll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, watch your back. Kozlov isn't known for his subtlety or mercy."
I ended the call and headed back to the penthouse, my mind racing through security protocols and contingency plans. This was what I needed to focus on—protecting Evangeline from tangible threats, not my own dangerous feelings for her.
When I returned, the penthouse was quiet, Evangeline's bedroom door still firmly closed. I retreated to my room, spending the night reviewing security reports and making calls to contacts who might have information on the Kozlovs.
The next morning, we fell into an uneasy routine—polite, distant, professional.
She went to her classes; I shadowed her from a respectful distance.
She studied in the library; I positioned myself within sight but not close enough for conversation.
She cooked dinner; I ate quickly and retreated to my room to continue my investigation.
My withdrawal hurt her, she never showed it. The Princess Evangeline mask was firmly in place—poised, controlled, regal even in jeans and sweaters.
Three days of this torture passed before Frederick called again. I was in the living room when her phone rang. She glanced at me deliberately before answering and putting it on speaker, as if she wanted me to hear his smooth voice.
"I've been thinking about your situation with the Kozlovs," he said. "You should know how to defend yourself if something happens. Basic self-defense, at least."
I tensed, waiting for her to decline. Instead, she surprised me.
"That's actually not a bad idea," she replied. "I'll ask James—"
"I was thinking I could show you some basics," Frederick interrupted. "I took classes for years. Nothing fancy, just enough to give you a fighting chance if you needed it."
My hands clenched into fists. I should be the one teaching her. It was my job, my responsibility—but I'd been keeping my distance, too afraid of what would happen if I put my hands on her again. Now that bastard was swooping in to fill the void I'd created.
There was a pause, and I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to object, to claim what should rightfully be mine. I kept my expression carefully blank, though internally I was seething at my own cowardice.
"That sounds helpful," she finally said, and I heard the disappointment in her voice when I remained silent. "When did you have that in mind?"
"Tomorrow? The gym at The Royal has private rooms. Your security can observe, of course."
The casual way he dismissed my presence as a mere observer made my jaw clench. I should be the one with my hands on her, teaching her to defend herself, protecting her in every way possible. Instead, I was handing her over to another man because I was too fucking scared of my own feelings.
"I'll be there," she agreed, and ended the call.
She looked at me challengingly, clearly expecting me to forbid it. Instead, I nodded once, hating myself for the choice I was making. "I'll drive you."