If he followed the plan, this would be the last time he ever saw Nikolett. He hadn’t abused her unconscious body as thoroughly as planned, but he was sure what he had done would be enough for what he needed.
But there was another possibility—that Nikolett herself might not sound the alarm. His original plan was that she’d wake up, realize something had happened to her, and the Masters’ Admiralty would start a search-and-destroy mission for Angus McAngus. But nothing he’d done left clear evidence as to the abuse. The pen tucked in his pocket, originally intended to be used to scrawl a message on her skin, was unused.
Nikolett might wake up, assume she’d had too much wine, and passed out. If she did have memories of him in her bed, she might assume it was only more kissing.
After all, she’d wake up in her pajamas. He still didn’t know why he’d done that, except he didn’t want her to be cold. Didn’t want her guards to walk in and see her naked.
Stupidly, part of him was anxious about leaving her in a drugged, vulnerable state with her guards. What if they went to check on her, realized she wasn’t just sleeping but unconscious, and took advantage of that.
The fact that he wanted to stay and protect her was insanity.
As he stepped out onto the Paris street, shivering in the predawn chill, an odd thought occurred to him.
If she didn’t wake up and sound the alarm, he didn’t have to abandon the Angus McAngus alias, which meant this didn’t have to be the last time he saw her.
Maybe he wouldn’t yet abandon the version of Gus he became for her.
Maybe he would ask her out to dinner.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was cold and bright. The kind of morning that made it clear even the sun wasn’t enough to stave off the deepest cold.
Eric leaned back against the sand-colored brick of his hotel. The small iron balcony wasn’t deep enough for a chair, but he didn’t want to sit anyway.
The brick scratched and scraped his bare shoulders. He should probably put on a shirt.
There were a lot of things he should do.
Put on a shirt
Take a shower
Eat something
Not be such an asshole that he broke the heart of the woman he loved
Eric scrubbed his face with his hands before raking them back through his hair.
Nearly thirty-six hours since he last saw his Nikki.
Maybe it was more accurate to say thirty-six hours since he saw her for the last time.
When in the deepest part of his grief for what he’d lost, he mentioned seeing her for the last time, and Regina hadpragmatically pointed out that he would most likely see her again at meetings and Masters’ Admiralty functions.
But that would be the fleet admiral and admiral of Hungary, not Eric and Nikolett. One thing he vowed to never do again was tangle the personal with the professional.
Too late.
Yesterday, he’d wallowed, sitting on the edge of the bed in the elegant hotel, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands, for hours. At one point, Regina thrust a phone at him and he talked to Elijah for over an hour.
One of the many things that came out of that phone-therapy conversation was Elijah made it clear Eric should NOT race back to Nikolett’s hotel, kidnap her, take her back to Triskelion, and lock her in the castle dungeon until he could convince her to give him another chance.
Elijah had thrown around terms like “violating boundaries,” “coercion,” and “Stockholm Syndrome.”
He hadn’t realized that he hadn’t really accepted her “no” until Elijah told him not to go back. He’d staved off the worst of his regret and heartbreak with the secret relief that he could salvage this. Flowers—that he hadn’t actually brought—and a dinner invite hadn’t worked, and he’d secretly been blaming her rejection on the way he’d asked. Flowers and dinner weren’t Nikolett.
Not that she didn’t deserve flowers and fancy dinners. She did. But he knew her.
