Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 by Carol Marinelli (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

of rest, and a leisurely morning and afternoon, she was exactly where he wanted her: hungry for more.

The enchantment of the Calla night market was famous throughout Sidra. With its abundance of hand-painted paper lanterns and string lights, the dancing aromas of fresh-cooked local food, roasting meats and hot, sweet treats, and his talented artisans, farmers and craftspeople on display, it would be a seduction of the senses in itself.

He had worked hard to turn Calla into the prosperous, cheerful port town it had become—it could do work for him in return.

Hel smiled a blinding aristocratic smile at every vendor she met.

Somewhere along the way, she collected a patterned woven basket, which was overfilled with other free offerings from vendors as they made their way through the market.

She mesmerized everyone she encountered, despite the language difference. It wasn’t a shock that she caught attention—she was movie-star beautiful and had a presence about her, was utterly confident and relaxed.

What surprised him, though, was the effort she put into it. She went out of her way to be kind to everyone she met, trying offered foods and dutifully examining every item and tasting every morsel she was presented with.

After encountering her as a fighter and then a sarcastic captive, he was mildly surprised—and a little impressed—to witness her as a gracious traveler.

But he didn’t fail to notice the almost imperceptible sigh of relief and easing of her shoulders as they exited the market. She had put on a good show, but the effort had tired her, more so than any of their battles of strength and will had, which he would not have expected. The woman had incredible reserves of energy.

Together they walked along the Tela River, outside of the market now, along the quieter row of long-established, high-end riverside restaurants. Later, after dinner, a car would meet them to take them back to the manor.

Cobblestone streets and whitewashed mud-brick walls dominated here, but bright pops of color in the forms of painted buildings and trees exploding with blossoms ensured the eye had a full buffet of delights.

The Tela was a cool whisper at their side, quiet and calm, before it opened softly into the harbor, having made its long slow curve through the city and its mad rush through the semi desert canyon valley, where wild goats and deer came down the steep cliffsides to drink from its banks.

The restaurants along the river were among the most popular and expensive in the city, their special coastal cuisine famous throughout the entirety of Sidra.

As Drake understood it, reservations were a must, and hard to come by, but he wasn’t worried. Being the man who had made it all possible had its perks.

He secured them a lovely mosaic-topped bistro table facing the night-darkened Tela, her waters inky and slick, small eddies catching the flicker of streetlamps to glisten and sparkle.

They sat on either side of the table, separated by a tasteful flower arrangement, elegant, largely rounded, long-stemmed wineglasses, a bottle of the local red and a pitcher of fresh water, picturesquely dripping condensation in the warm breeze. Drake spoke to their server.

In Sidran, his smooth baritone undulated and danced with a warmth it lacked in his mother tongue, his second language alive with the love and welcome he’d found far from home. He knew Helene didn’t speak it, but appreciated the reprieve from speaking in the formal and reserved language of his early youth.

The server lapped up their presence like a flower in the sun, his demeanor that of a proprietor eager to impress an important guest. Some things required no translation.

Their dinner, however, did.

Still smiling, Drake turned to Helene. “He says he’s preparing each of his specialties, which he will serve over three courses. I tried to rein him in, but as you’ll undoubtedly realize on your own, any attempt to ward off Sidran hospitality is absolutely futile.”

Helene smiled and for a moment he forgot why they were there, forgot that she sat across from him at a table in Calla because he had less than six full days to convince her to give up the deathbed vow she made to her father. For a moment, she was simply the bright star of a woman he was having dinner with...and that was a kind of loosening of the reins he couldn’t afford.

“I haven’t gone to dinner in a long time,” he admitted before he could stop himself. Eyebrows drawing together, he frowned. Verbal slips were not something common in his experience, not with his kind of control. Something about her disarmed him, though—lured, or perhaps hypnotized, him into taking his hands off the wheel, at least for a moment. It was all the more pressing that he remain diligent.

A frown crossed her own expression like a cloud, then she said, “Neither have I. Not since the academy.”

That surprised him, though his research had already told him as much.

He understood being dedicated and driven, more than most, but by his age he’d learned the value of R & R. Any sailor worth his salt knew that they were certain limits the body could not overcome. The need to recharge was one of them.

“That’s a long time,” he said.

She nodded, taking a bite and savoring it. Everything from the fork to the swallow was slow and sensual, then she added, “I joined the royal guard straight out of the academy, and quickly realized I wanted to make captain. I had to sit for another set of exams for that, which isn’t my strong suit, and pass a more rigorous physical exam. Doing all of that while on active duty didn’t leave much time for socializing.”

“You made captain a long time ago,” he challenged. “What has your excuse been since?”

“Touché,” she said, lifting a glass to him. “I made captain and everything was wonderful—the agony and uncertainty of dating far from my consciousness—until the king was assassinated and suddenly I was a brand-new monarch’s chief defense.”

He noted she said, “the king,” and “new monarch” rather