His heartbeat halted. His teeth locked. His lips went dry. He dropped his hand away from her face.
“Uh…okay.” He managed a stiff nod. “Sure. I understand. In the morning, we can—”
“Pretend this conversation never happened.”
With her queenly spikes circling her head on the pillow, she eyed him as if really making the request from an anointed throne. The shadows returned to shroud her, despite the unchanging brilliance in her opalescent eyes. Their intensity was like a taunt now, like rare jewels beneath museum lights. Reminding him of a splendor he’d turned away. A treasure he’d knowingly turned down.
The only gem he longed for now.
“Désonnum, Brickham. That was most blunt of me.” She leaned and swiped the back of his hand with the tips of her fingers, almost as an afterthought. “And I am most grateful, in so many ways, for how you have extended your stay in order to care for me a little.”
But I want to care for you a lot. Don’t you get that, woman? Don’t you feel it? I want to care for you every damn day, until—
“But I understand so much more now, especially about accepting our ultimate reality here.” She patted the back of his hand again. Christ, like he was some puppy to be soothed. “You have a life to return to. A business to run. A life to lead. The idea of changing all of that for some female you have known for less than a month…”
He chided her with a stern look. “You mean a princess of her people, who’ll be returning to her royal duties soon?”
She released a heavy sigh. “A princess who will be thinking of her magnificent king and his empire.”
Brick huffed and rolled his eyes. “Right. That oh-so-mighty kingdom where the castles are flipped upside down.”
The statement did nothing for his ultimate purpose right now but was worth it for the payoff of her giggle. “Dungeons on the top sounds like a fine idea to me.” But all too quickly, her laughter faded. “I shall certainly be adding yearly visits to Seattle in my travel schedule, you know. Perhaps, if you are not too busy with others vying for your attention, we can—”
“Sure.” He nearly spat it as he lurched to his feet, ignoring the rubber in his knees and the nausea in his gut. “Yeah, that sounds…”
Like the worst idea he’d ever heard.
Like the most unacceptable arrangement he could conceive.
Like a living hell that was never, in a thousand years, going to work.
The surety only twisted its blade deeper as he settled Jayd beneath the blankets and then stroked her forehead until she fell back asleep. It started its full evisceration as he watched her well past that point, running a knuckle down the proud slope of her nose, across her sculpted cheeks, and around the sweet curve of her jaw.
By the time he touched the steady thrum of the pulse in her neck, he was officially, thoroughly gutted.
And now, consumed by new resolve.
The heart that created that beat…the life in it, the love in it…
Nobody would protect them the way he could.
Nobody would love them the way he did.
Which meant things had to change. A lot of things.
He was willing now. He was ready now.
And yeah, that cliff was still damn scary to contemplate. But to dream as big as the sky, he had to be willing to leap—and fly.
Chapter Sixteen
Pretend this conversation never happened.
What, by all the saints and stars, had she been thinking?
It had been exactly the conversation she wanted from him. Had begged the Creator to materialize for them. But when a whole week went by without Brickham so much as hinting he wanted to reevaluate their relationship, what there even was of it, Jayd had indulged herself a good long cry before resetting her mind for a life without Maximillian Brickham. Yes, to the point that she reread that silly French folk story about the secret prince who shared his name. To the point that she spun it into a little morality play of her own. Yes, complete with the psychological T-shirt and a mini motivational bible to tote around.
To the point that when Brickham did finally hint at sticking around here longer, she had obeyed her script instead of her heart. Gone completely on autopilot, rather than strapping on her parachute pack just in case the flight got shot out of the sky again.
She threw the whole bible at him.
And this time, damn it, he listened to the stupid sermon.
The next morning, he even took the rest of the thing to heart. For that matter, it seemed, to the depths of his soul.
By the time she returned from the infirmary, where the recheck on her ribs had been quick but painful, the man was briskly packing his small tote bag. He was scheduled on the next flight out of Sancti, which would take him to meet up with his friends on Mykonos before the long journey back to Seattle.
That was when breathing did become difficult again.
To the point that she had to leave the room as he gathered up the few things from his stay in her land. The casual shirts and khakis he had been able to purchase from the palais clothier. A few books that Syn had gifted to him, apparently after he passed the kicking-bad-guy-ass-in-handcuffs test. A patch with the Cimarron crest, bestowed by Evrest after he passed the hands-off-the-injured-princess test. ’Raz had not been so demanding about his conditions, simply gifting Brick a blank journal. Remarkably, it seemed to be the most well-appreciated boon of the bunch.
With a frightening pang, she wondered what he would think of hers.
But she would never know that answer.
She took care to sneak back in when Brickham went to collect his stuff from the tuvalette. By the time he emerged with his toothbrush, razor, and hair shaving kit, she was already back out in the living room, feigning nonchalance with a game on her phone. He would not know about her present, along with the note she hastily scribbled to go with it, until unpacking it from the deep burial spot in his bag.
Once he gave the tote a final zip-up, he strode out to the living room with purposeful strides. Ohhh, yes. The walking version of approaching thunder, so long and forceful and—
Not nearly as magnificent as his kiss.
His massive sweep of a tree branch arm. His grip, cupping her bottom in lieu of her ribs, still able to hike her a good three inches off the floor. And then his lips on hers, force-of-nature fierce. His tongue along hers, act-of-God illicit. His moan in every crevice of her mouth, so heaven-and-earth moving.
Until, just as quickly, he let her go.
Before he turned without another word—and left.
Pretty much as she had decreed to him.
Making her vow to never make her own bible again.
Not that, within the next four weeks, she never peeked back at the one she already had made. Not because the recall brought mental reinforcement or even a good wallow of sorrow. Because it brought so much more.
Memories.
Of the way Brickham had gazed at her in the shadows of that midnight.
Of the way he embellished her story with so many attempts to make her smile.
Of the way, in the end, that he saw into everything she wanted to say because of it, though most of it was not what he wanted to hear. The way he honored her with his seriousness, even when he was trying so desperately to change her mind.
Even when she was being nothing but stubborn in return.
Even though it clearly killed him to back down.