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

his partner in justice. Even when his mind and body were tempted to float away in favor of examining emotions other than triumph, reticent emotions that lurked beneath the surface, entirely unconcerned with obsession and revenge, and all the more powerful for it.

Those emotions were best left for times after they’d worked through their shared business.

Her vow had been thoroughly burned to ashes.

His children, his name, would replace d’Tierrza on the map.

That victory had come wrapped up in the most phenomenal package he’d ever had the pleasure of opening, was more than a cherry on top.

If they had not already achieved his ultimate goal of seating his children on the d’Tierrza throne, it would certainly be a pleasure to try again. And again.

The incredible had occurred: he’d gotten his cake and got to eat it, too. He’d turned tragedy into triumph so monumental that he was on the verge of pinching himself. He couldn’t stop the smile that stretched wide as he pulled her close and nuzzled his face in her hair, drawing in the fresh scent of her, before shifting her gently. Her noise of protest had him wincing, tightness squeezing his chest as he pulled back. He’d been lost in thought when he needed to see to her comfort.

“It’s time to get you out of this pool. I’m sure you’re wrinkled all over by now.”

She groaned, the sound a tremor quaking through her body. He felt it like a knife edge along the oversensitive line where they were still connected. He slid out of her slowly, careful to go easy, knowing she’d be sore nonetheless.

More groaning came from her, but he could tell it was merely on principle now. He was surprised to find it...cute.

For the briefest second, he wondered if she was some kind of sleeper agent, the ultimate coup de grâce of Dominic d’Tierrza’s grand evil schemes, even while he knew it wasn’t possible.

A move like that would have required that he understand things like love, and need, and the cruel choices of the heart.

To the world’s great fortune, Dominic had not been aware of exquisite agonies of the warmer emotions. If he had realized love could burn like fire, he would have seen his daughter as a weapon, instead of merely a pawn. That he had done even that, and that it was only her own ingenuity that had kept her safe from his machinations, was repulsive enough.

But as childhood images of her flashed through his mind, he wondered if perhaps Dominic had understood more about his daughter’s potential than he’d ever let on.

In his memory, it was as if she had always been there, a constant companion at his side, carried around to protect and encourage and goad and draw smiles from, rather than a woman with whom he’d only recently become reacquainted.

He gave his head a shake to free it from the cobwebs of melodrama. It was time to get out of the pool and away from his gorgeous linchpin.

But first he drew her closer again.

She softened against him, her eyes closing on an exhale.

Just like that, they fit together—as naturally as if they had been made to comfort one another.

They stood together in the pool without words as the sun made its debut, its light dancing across the black waves of the sea, bursting free to bring blue to the sky.

Helene opened her eyes in the growing light, the pool room sparkling, and he watched the realization dawn on her that the room’s nighttime performance had been mere sleepwalking, that it truly woke with the dawn, its bright white walls near blinding, its mosaics glittering like paintings rendered with multifaceted gemstones. The room itself was a treasure chest, the water of the pool crystalline turquoise, the beautiful cushions of fabrics and pillows even more stunning by day.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, enjoying the irritation that flickered across her face at being asked such a mundane question after all they had shared.

“You’re always trying to feed me,” she grumbled.

“You’re too skinny,” he insisted, to her outrage.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“On a normal day, I eat three thousand calories!” she said.

“So you say,” he said, shrugging. “Your frame speaks for itself, however.”

Her eyes narrowed, glittering in the light as jewel-toned as the mosaics beneath their feet.

Her statement was ruined, however, when Hel’s stomach grumbled.

Squinting in the ever-brightening room, he turned a grin her direction and said, “You’re hungry. And tired, I’m sure, after our little adventures. We’ll eat, rest and then we’ll return to Cyrano to destroy your father’s legacy.”

From the pool room, it looked as if the sun had bleached out every color except for blue on the island, the palm fronds mostly silhouetted against the sand and sea.

She nodded, eyes wide blue orbs in her moon-pale face reflecting the impossible blue of the sea in the distance, as well as the topaz-clear waters of the pool. Her cheeks had pinkened again, making her look like a porcelain doll...but he knew she was far from fragile.

Lifting himself from the water, he wrapped a towel around his waist before reaching out a hand to assist her.

Taking it, she followed his lead, wrapping her towel to hang low around her hips, and he shook his head, his smile growing. Most women would have covered their whole bodies.

Helene wasn’t most women.

He walked them out of the room, toward the kitchen.

The compound on Yancy Grove was impressive, considering its foundations were historic, if not ancient—he didn’t know for certain because accurate structural dating of the original foundations was less important than privacy.

Over the years he had improved the existing ruins, maintaining structural integrity wherever he could, and made sure that every element of new architecture blended stylistically with what remained.

The result was like traveling back to the times of the great African kings. Wide walkways lined with fragrant blooming vines created the boundaries for smoothly tiled hallways. Cleverly placed arched cutouts in the walls encouraged the sea air to dance through the buildings,