“Thanks, mate.” Another breath or two and Stephen knocked lightly. Then a third time with more vigor, listening for sounds from the other side.
When he first returned from Afghanistan with a heart of stone, he’d convinced himself Corina had to go. One, he couldn’t give his heart to her because if she knew the truth, she’d despise him.
Second, every time he saw her, he’d remember what he wanted to ardently forget.
Third, she could not be trusted with the truth. The Defense Ministry determined the incident to be one of national security. Corina and the Del Reys were a powerful family with access and influence.
With the truth in their hands, they could have exposed everything. And Stephen’s plan to excise his demons on the rugby pitch would’ve come to ruin.
The door flew open, startling him. “Come in,” she said with a sweep of her arm.
He hesitated, then stepped inside. “Thank you.” Was it possible she still took his breath away? He wanted to push Pause and simply stare at her for a moment, refilling his cup with the light of her hazel eyes. He itched to weave his fingers through the long silky flow of her dark hair.
He’d first noticed her as she walked across Knoxton’s campus, her long locks flowing behind her as if baiting the breeze to follow.
“Where’s your protection officer?”
“In the hall, waiting.” Stephen remained just inside the door. The sprawling loft was very much Corina. Elegant and classic with hardwood floors, cathedral ceilings, arched doorways, and ornate crown molding, yet lived in, cozy and homey. “Your place is lovely, Corina.”
“Thank you. I like it.” She switched on a kitchen light that spilled a golden glow down the walls. “Can I get you a bottle of water?”
“Water would be lovely.” Stephen spied a pile of newspapers by the rocker-recliner and a familiar twist tightened in his chest. Their honeymoon month had been the last time he had known real peace and true comfort.
“Here you go.” Corina handed him the water and remained standing.
She wasn’t going to invite him farther in, was she? He pointed to the newspapers. “I see you still enjoy the printed news.”
“I do,” she said without looking at him.
His memories congealed, forming a soft reminiscence in his heart, but there was no wisdom in strolling down memory lane. He had a task to do.
“So what do you need from me?” Her crisp, sharp voice sliced into his thoughts.
Their gazes locked for a moment, and Stephen’s resolve wavered ever so slightly. Breaking from her visual hold, he moved inside and set his water on the kitchen table, retrieving the documents from his messenger bag. “Just need you to sign these.” He spread the papers on the table.
She didn’t move, just stared. “I was sorry to hear about your father’s passing. I’d planned to send a card, but . . .” She picked at the paper label on her water bottle.
“Don’t mention it. I–I understand.” Stephen slid the papers toward her, sweat beading under his arms and down his back. He ignored the pressure mounting in his ankle. He could sit when he returned to his beachside condo. But for now . . . “We all miss him.”
“I miss Carlos.” Her unexpected honesty ignited an inferno in Stephen, charring his personal rules of engagement for this exchange. To be businesslike, frank, saying nothing intimate or personal. Just tend to the task.
Her hazel gaze swept across his face, inspiring sweat beads on top of sweat beads. He twisted the top from his water bottle and gulped a long, undignified swig. The cold did little to cool his hot sand soul.
“You’ll see the papers are all here.” He pushed the annulment documents nearer to the table’s edge. She wanted a response, didn’t she? But blimey, he could never bring himself to speak of her brother in her presence. “Read them over. See if you have questions.”
He smiled as if to convince her this was going rather well. Wasn’t it? But she didn’t move toward him, the table, or the papers. He cleared his throat, shifted his weight, breathed through the twinge in his foot. “Have you lived here long?” Mundane, superficial, but he yielded to the temptation to chip away at some of her ice.
“Six months.” Corina tipped her water bottle to her lips. “But you didn’t fly four thousand miles to chitchat.” Moving to the kitchen table, she snapped on a nearby lamp and glanced at the documents. Stephen waited. What was going on behind her amber and green eyes? She gave no real clues. A moment later, she glanced up. “If you want me to sign these, I’m going to need something from you.”
He lowered his arms. Stiffened his back. How did he not anticipate a counterplay? He was a sportsman, running offense and defense.You’re losing your wits, chap. Pay attention.
“So, state your request. But I make no guarantees.” She couldn’t want money. The Del Reys most likely had more wealth than the Strattons. In fact, he was sure of it. He’d not given her a ring, nor any other gifts of worth, so she’d not ask to keep anything. Did she want a princess title? He bristled at the idea. Nathaniel would heartily object.
“Find out what really happened to my brother.”
“Pardon?” But he’d heard her. The room darkened, and in Stephen’s ear he heard the mocking of his demons. His blood flowed like molten lava, burning him from the inside out. His ankle shot shards of pain through his leg. “You give me more credit than I’m due, Corina. I–I’ve no access to your brother’s records. He was in a different unit, which deployed six weeks before mine. How am I to find out? I’m but a lowly prince.” He could not control the tremor in his voice.
“A lowly prince?” Her expression matched her sharp tone. “You’re the Prince of Brighton, or you’re supposed to be. You have access to the Defense Ministry, to top clearance.”
