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13
28 February
Xavier Hall
Rowan’s anger simmered all day, a low thrum beneath his skin. Pre-injury, he would have gone on a punishing run, pounding the earth with each placement of his foot, hoping the intense pace would outdistance the mad coiled in his muscles. But now, he was left with all this fury trapped inside.
He was at once astounded and impressed by Juliana’s folly. Rowan knew no one who stood up to Alphonse Barrington. That Juliana had thought she could outfox the duke made Rowan acknowledge her naivete and her arrogance. While he was pissed as hell at her, he really wished he could have seen the face-off between them.
Had the duke’s face frozen into a mask of incredulity as he regarded this slip of a girl? Or had the man been all smiles and geniality as he plotted her demise in his head?
Rowan could imagine both scenarios. He knew the duke had probably underestimated the chit, thinking she was just a pretty face and didn’t have the experience to try to manipulate the situation.
Rowan also knew if Juliana had come to him and told him what she was going to do, he would have dissuaded her. But she hadn’t and now they were here, in this place where events had been set into motion, and their only option was to react.
He was thankful for his rehab session this afternoon. It had taken him out of that room, replete with the aromas of Juliana Altamirano.
She confounded him on every level. She was a pup in a dog-eat-dog world, and yet she had this resilience to her. He’d seen it in July when she orchestrated that devastating stunt. She caused a major international incident, and the hubbub bounced off her. He’d been curious after her visit to his hotel room and done some Googling. She had a series of flashy incidents in her history, things many high-profile families would have tried to downplay or bury. But it only seemed to increase the allure of her. In line for a throne. International beauty. Famous model. Yet no one ever condemned her for any of the things she did.
Bugger that!
If he’d have walked up and put his mouth on her, all hell would have broken loose. And maybe that was why she was perfect for his stupid, stupid plan. Maybe, just maybe, Juliana’s luck would extend to him.
The door to his suite opened, and there she was, like he’d conjured her.
She shut the door gently behind her and walked toward him. In a cable-knit sweater, skinny jeans, and boots, she was a stunner. “I’m sorry to come in without knocking,” she quietly said, “but the girls were leaving my suite, and I thought it would be odd if I knocked on my fiancé’s door.”
He studied her. “Have you been drinking again?”
She pulled on her ponytail—a habit he was starting to recognize. “A bit. They showed up—in support, you know. And they brought wine and food. It seemed better to entertain them than to send them away. We are going to need allies.”
“Oh, really?”
“Look, I’m sorry my miscalculation put us in a bad spot. But you have to know I did the right thing.”
Rowan nodded. He’d come to the same conclusion. She had done the right thing. The duke was poking around, trying to get a feel for them. If she’d conceded without any protest, they would have found themselves surrounded by the duke’s people. And that would have been catastrophic.
“You did. A little advanced notice would have been preferable.”
“True, true. I know that, and I’ll try not to put you on the spot again.”
“Fair enough.”
“So, I’m forgiven for the shitshow?”
This was the other contradiction he struggled with. This sophisticated ingenue. She was smart and worldly, but underneath was a layer of guilelessness. She was fine with moving forward with her own ideas, but she wanted his acceptance that she wasn’t trying to manipulate the situation. Mystifying really. Because he wanted to be mad at her, needed this barrier of wariness between them.
“Yes.”
She inhaled deeply, relieved. “Can I make some tea?”
“Of course,” he responded.
“Would you like some?”
“Yes.”
She wove through the room and worked her way around the small kitchen. She filled the kettle, found some tea bags and mugs.
“Do you have milk?” she called, “and honey? I love everything sweet. Drives my grandmother crazy.” She seemed to be talking out loud to herself, and Rowan sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, content to let her voice wash over him as he waited for her. “Have you checked your mobile?”
Her voice was suddenly louder, and he opened his eyes to find her standing over him.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the cup at him and then taking a seat on the couch across from him.
He pushed the chair into a sitting position, careful to watch the mug. On the table next to him, she’d set a small plate with some milk and sugar.
He fixed his tea and took a sip before he answered her. “I shut my phone off much earlier in the day. I wasn’t up for the incessant chatter.”
He watched her over the rim of his tea, waiting. A sweep of her ponytail. She was nervous.
“Right. Me too. But then Noah suggested I check it because he’d had a call from Robert.”
Rowan arched a brow. “Ele’s security guard?”
Rowan remembered the bloke. Big dude, stone face, lethal.
