Royal Surrender - chapter four

She was even more stunning than he remembered.

Cajetan stood in the open doorway, only vaguely aware that he shouldn’t do such things. It had been ingrained in him since he was a child. He should know better than to leave open any possibility of being seen, even in a place like this that swore it was impossible.

But it was like he was turned to stone, incapable of the slightest movement.

It was Noe, he knew.

She was doing this to him.

And then she made it infinitely worse when she reached out, her gaze wary on his, and took the hand he’d offered.

Her flesh pressed to his, at last.

Cajetan could feel that contact everywhere. As if so simple a touch was rearranging him from the inside out—but then, this was what had happened when they’d locked eyes that first time.

This was why they were both here.

He led her inside and let go of her hand—because he did not want to let go at all, he wanted to draw her closer—and then shut the door behind them.

Noe moved deeper into the suite, and yet he doubted she was cataloging the furnishings, the space, the moldings. He rather thought she was doing the same thing that he was doing. Breathing the same air. Marveling that this was actually happening.

He took the moment too, recalibrating.

Or trying to, at any rate.

She was beautiful. That was an objective fact. But it wasn’t simply the dark hair in waves down her back, highlighting the span of her waist and her long legs. Or those wary, glossy dark eyes. The faint hint of a smile that seemed to curve directly into him.

It wasn’t the dress she wore, perfectly selected to flatter her figure and project an air of effortless confidence. Or the heels that he knew were expected for a woman who had to walk through corridors of power, yet always look as competent as she did lovely.

All of these things were factors. He noticed them.

But it was her.

She turned back to face him, her expression unreadable, and he felt it again.

That shocking pull. That connection between them.

It was instantaneous. It was impossible.

“So we did not dream it,” he said, shocked to hear the roughness in his own voice.

Noe’s gaze darkened. “Maybe we should have.”

“No.” Cajetan shook his head. “This I cannot believe.”

“I think…” she began. In that voice that had haunted him since they’d met. Cultured, yet neither one thing or another, as if she could have come from anywhere. “I think that perhaps this—”

And he knew what she was going to say. Worse, he knew what she would do once she said it, and he couldn’t allow it.

He couldn’t bear it.

“Tell me,” Cajetan said, before she could say the thing that would end this before it began. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”