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That’s still no excuse for almost kissing another man.
And not just any other man. But the one man I swore I’d never kiss again.
It’s probably just a result of him risking his life to save mine. Some sort of rescue-savior syndrome.
That’s all.
I refuse to believe I almost kissed him because of any other reason.
Thereisno other reason.
There can’t be.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Creed
The tension’s back.
I should be relieved. Should welcome it.
Instead, as I continually glance in Esme’s direction during the short flight home, I can’t help but long for the way things were between us yesterday.
And last night.
And earlier this morning when I nearly kissed her.
If my mobile didn’t ring, there’s no doubt in my mind I would have, despite the promise I made Anderson not to do anything that could interfere with the happiness she found with Tristan.
But the more time I spend with Esme, the more I question whether she actuallyishappy.
I think she’s just trying to make everyone believe she is, including her brother.
Maybe even herself, too.
When we finally land back in Montrose, I glance out the window, dozens of reporters and photographers assembled, most likely invited by the royal household to cover Esme’s return after nearly being killed.
“What’s the plan?” I ask Esme’s private secretary, the cabin buzzing with activity now that we’re on the ground.
“Get her into the car and home. No bloody publicity stunts.”
“Good.” I stand, buttoning my suit jacket, and head down the aisle toward Esme. “Ma’am,” I begin, pulling her attention away from the window.
“Captain.”
I fight the urge to grimace in response to the formality in her tone. I remind myself it’s for the best, though.
“We’re going straight from the plane into the SUV. No stopping to entertain the press.”
She blows out a small breath, a crack in the armor she’s worn all morning. “Good.”
I nod, about to retreat, but pause. “Will you be okay?” I drop my voice. “With the camera shutters and flashes? Will it—”
She holds her head high as she rises to her feet, turning into the woman the royal household molded her into years ago.
“I’m perfectly capable of navigating the steps of a plane with the media present, Captain. I’ve been doing it my entire life.”
I’m about to remind her she hasn’t done it after nearly being shot, but she pushes past me, stalking toward the open door of the plane before I have a chance to voice my concerns.
