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

him laugh. Regularly. Not the laugh he was in control of—his father’s loud, booming, carefree laugh that he’d mimicked his whole life—but the genuine amusement of a man.

“Why do you call it Yancy Grove?” she asked.

The answer was as easy as it was painful. “We named it for our friend who didn’t make it back from its discovery.”

The frown that furrowed Helene’s face, shadowing her eyes in the process, was one of understanding. “I’m sorry.”

Drake shook off the sympathy. “It was a long time ago. Yance, Malik and I graduated from the naval academy and entered the king’s navy the same year. It was Prince Malik’s first command. We were outgunned by a human trafficker and Yance was hit and we were boarded.”

Helene’s eyes widened. “You lost the ship?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. We were boarded. We fought them off, but Prince Malik was nearly killed and ended the battle unconscious. I led the retreat. The luck of the sea was with us that day, but even though we discovered the island, we lost Yancy. We buried him in the fort’s courtyard grove and named the island in his honor.”

Moving quietly through the water, she came to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” The blue of her eyes, as tempestuous as the ocean, was deep and serious, and he was once again reminded that a soldier hid beneath the pretty mask.

Not just a soldier. A commander. Someone who could understand this particular pain. The kind that gnawed and ate at you from the inside, clawing to get out but too tender for the light.

“I miss him still,” he said. “But that was a long time ago. Long before duty called Malik back to the capital and I retired.”

“You mentioned he was a prince?”

He smiled, a teasing glint coming to his eyes. “Helene, are you angling for an introduction?”

Her snort in response was the furthest thing from being blue-blooded he could imagine, and yet, coming from her, the noise was upper-crust. “Spare me. I just wanted to make sure I got it right and you were talking about hobnobbing with Prince Malik of Sidra.”

“More fishing with every word...”

She splashed him again until he raised his palms. “Yes. Prince Malik. Though we only call him that when he’s being particularly pretentious.”

Helene smiled again, the real one she’d graced him with before—the one that stopped him in his tracks. “It can be so trying to pal around with royalty.”

This time Drake snorted. “You must know from experience, niece and cousin to kings, as you are.”

She didn’t bother to deny it. “Where else would I come off making a statement like that?”

“Odd sentiment for a royal guard.”

Rising to on her back, she let her long body bob in the water while she stared at the stars above. As mesmerized as she appeared by the heavens, he, too, could not seem to take his attention from her. “Not all royalty is created equally,” she said. “Zayn, the cousin you mentioned, is as insufferable as you might imagine—intelligent, handsome, excellent at everything—but Mina is different. She was born common, didn’t even know she was going to be wed to the king until the day of their wedding.”

“A similar story to your own near-engagement,” Drake observed, earning a splash from her foot.

“Before becoming queen she was a scientist,” she continued.

He was surprised despite himself. “An usual occupation for a future monarch.”

Helene smiled, the expression private and protective. “She is an unusual queen.”

“You’re proud to protect her.”

The fact was evident in her voice.

“I am. Zayn is a good king, and my best friend, but Mina... Mina is a gift to the nation. There’s only one other person I trust to keep her safe.”

Drake quirked an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t imagine that’s her husband.”

Helene snorted as if the notion was absurd. “Not round-the-clock, no. He’s got too many responsibilities for that. He loves her, fiercely, but I meant Moustafa.”

“Moustafa?”

“We share guard duty.”

“Shared.”

Again, she snorted, and added, “Share. While this has been a lovely diversion, in slightly less than six days, I’m going back to work.”

Unbothered by her conviction, he offered a small, smug smile. “We’ll see.”

“We will indeed.” Face turning serious, she added, “My father was a bad man, I know it. I’ve spent my whole life cleaning up the messes he left, only to have new ones swoop in from the sea.” Her blue eyes sparkled for him as she spoke and he found himself hypnotized. “I cannot bring your father back or give you your life back, but I am committed to restitution and reparation without breaking my vow.”

She made a picture and it eviscerated him—glistening pearly skin, tropical sea-blue eyes, her body barely restrained by straps and swatches of navy fabric of her bikini, unarmed and absolutely unbothered by that fact, and assured in her ability to make the world more just.

Dominic d’Tierrza was dead. His daughter was very much alive. And, having no idea just how close she was to being devoured by the Big Bad Wolf, heedless of just how vulnerable she was to his seduction, she was unwavering in her sweet and brave commitment to right the wrongs of the past. And in that way she made him question himself, question the path he’d chosen, for the first time since Helene had come apart beneath him. Should he continue? Was it right?

His research had revealed her rebellion. It hadn’t revealed her innocence. It hadn’t revealed the open sensitivity of her responses, or her utter helplessness to them. It hadn’t revealed that touching her would fill him with a sense of reverence and honor.

Experience had shown him he had the upper hand when it came to passion. That she was both good and innocent demanded he tread lightly with that power, rather than take advantage of the fact that she came alive at the barest touch. And he would. His revenge didn’t demand he lose his honor, just that he not lose his focus,