She’s so warm and soft next to me. I was a fool to think it would be possible to lie next to her and not need more, even in my current condition. Just the pressure of her against me—wearing my shirt, no less—is enough to set my blood on fire. But I gave her my word I would try nothing tonight, and I do not intend to betray her trust.

Even if the effort will likely kill me.

She’s nestled against my side with one hand on my chest. I’m acutely aware of every single one of her fingers. Of every strand of her damp hair that has fallen across my bare skin. Of her warm breath tickling me just below my collarbone as she breathes slowly in and out.

When she initially climbed into bed with me, she was stiff. Awkward. She must have been afraid I would attempt to seduce her the moment she was within reach. And though I ached to do just that, I restrained myself, and little by little, she relaxed. She must have been completely exhausted because not a moment after she finally let herself lean against me, she was fast asleep.

I’m exhausted, too—God knows what hour it is, and this has been a particularly eventful night—but sleep is far away. I know I should try and get some rest, but there are too many things on my mind. And she’s too distracting, wrapped around me as she is.

I let my hand drift up her back—gently, so as not to wake her. She’s moved closer to me in her sleep. Perhaps she’s only seeking warmth, but the way her body has molded against mine makes me think otherwise. We’re drawn to each other. There’s no denying it. And while she might resist that desire while she’s awake—for reasons I’m starting to understand—in sleep, she has no such reservations.

But you can’t have her, I remind myself. Not tonight. Even if the soft touch of her fingers against my chest sends a fresh wave of need coursing through my entire body. Even if the smell of her completely intoxicates me. Even if the way her leg has hooked over mine makes my cock throb.

If she were awake—and if I hadn’t given my word—I’d let my hand on her back drift all the way down to the curve of her ass. I want to feel the shape of it with my fingers. Is it soft or firm? I’m not sure which would delight me more. And would she moan when my fingers dug into her flesh? Or would she whimper?

Next, I’d slide my hand back up her spine, following the line of her body all the way up to the back of her neck. I’d tangle my fingers in her hair and tug her head back so I could capture her lips in mine while my other hand slipped up her front. I would curl my fingers around her breast, feel the weight of it in my palm. Tease her nipple into a hard bud.

When she was panting and moaning against me, I’d slide my leg over hers and push her down onto her back. Then, when she was beneath me, I’d take my time exploring her piece by piece. I’d slide that shirt up her body and lick my way up to her throat and back down again, finally burying my face between her legs. She’d writhe beneath me. Grip my hair and cry out my name. More than anything, that’s what I want—to watch her finally give herself over to the hunger.

I squeeze my eyes shut. What am I doing? Why am I thinking about this? I want her so badly I’m in physical pain, and these thoughts aren’t helping.

Think about something non-sexual, I tell myself. Think about that time you accidentally walked in on your grandfather in the bath. Think about how much that vile Dr. Mitchell disgusts you. Think about how you’re going to handle your brother when he gets here.

It’s that last thought that sobers me. Part of me still hopes Matthias was mistaken about Andrew coming here—or even that I hallucinated the entire thing due to my head injury. But in my gut, I know it’s real, and I won’t be able to avoid talking to Andrew much longer.

We’ve hardly spoken since that night. It was easy enough to avoid each other—there were always duties to be done or distractions to be had. And when you have a private jet at your disposal, escaping to another country is as simple as making a call.

I can’t say whether it’s guilt or resentment that has kept us apart—for either of us. I took the fall for his error in judgment. That can’t be denied. But it was I who put Andrew in that situation in the first place. I who encouraged him to forgo his responsibilities. I who led him right into the devil’s den.

The world knows me as the troublemaker, the womanizer, the bad boy of the royal family. My younger siblings—William, Nicholas, and Sophia—still have time to decide who they will be in the eyes of the public, but my older brother has never had the chance or the choice. He’s the heir, which means he must be responsible. Must be dutiful. Must have a spotless record. And not just to the citizens of Montovia, or even the rest of the world—but within our family as well. Our father will not allow him to set a foot out of line.

Elle shifts against me and murmurs something in her sleep. I spread my hand against her back and pull her closer to me. My father, my brothers, and the rest of the world seem so far away. I just want to be here and relish the feeling of having this woman in my arms. Get drunk on the scent of her. Bury myself deep inside of her…

No. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. Not right now. I gave her my word.

I despise the man who did this to her, who betrayed her trust in a way that makes her fearful of what she and I have between us. She said she loved him. And he made her feel expendable. Made her feel like she was the one exercising poor judgment when it clearly must have been the other way around. Any man who would say such things to this woman, who would throw aside her desire and love for any reason, is a fool.

Be careful, I tell myself. I’m getting dangerously close to having something akin to feelings for Elle. Physical desire is simple. Interest and affection can be simple, too. But feelings are something else altogether. Something too complicated for what is already a rather complicated relationship.

Still, something softens in me when I look down at her. Something unfurls and swells inside me when she shifts and murmurs against me. The soft, accidental brush of her lips on my skin produces more than a purely physical reaction—and though that physical rush of need is nearly unbearable, it’s the rest that threatens to undo me.

She’s right, you know, I tell myself. You hardly know each other. There’s no reason for me to have a reaction like this to a woman I met only a handful of days ago. And yet here I am, wondering about the bastard who broke her heart. Punching doctors for her. Lying awake after the world’s longest day because I can’t seem to stop thinking about her. My thoughts may drift, but they always come back to her. Elle. This is foolish.

I slide my fingers up her back, allowing myself that much. I should have listened to her when she first tried to push me away. It would have made things far simpler. I should have done my duty and nothing more. Returned home and resumed my normal life. Instead, I’ve made a right proper mess. All because I couldn’t refuse my cock.

Elle moves again, her leg shifting across mine and her fingers twitching against my chest. A moment later, I sense her wake. For a short while, she doesn’t move, but I know the exact moment she remembers where she is because she stiffens in my arms.

I don’t move. I wait breathlessly for her to pull away, even though I want nothing more than to tug her face up to mine and kiss her dizzy. After a couple of long seconds, her body relaxes again. She stays where she is against me.

“You’re awake,” she whispers.

“I can’t sleep,” I tell her honestly.

“You should try,” she says. “You need to rest.”

“I am resting. Just not sleeping.”

“You know what I mean.”

I do, but that won’t make sleep come any easier. Especially not now that she’s awake.

“Did you pull me closer to you?” she asks quietly after a moment.

“You pulled yourself closer to me,” I tell her. “I merely did nothing to discourage it.”

She spreads her palm flat on my chest. “I should go back to my side of the bed.”

“If that is your wish, I will not stop you.” Even if every cell in my body cries out against the idea. “But I told you I would do nothing more than sleep with you in my arms, and I intend to keep my word.”

“You aren’t sleeping,” she points out. But neither does she move away from me.

“Tell me then, Doctor,” I say, “what do you recommend to your patients who are having trouble sleeping?”

“That’s not exactly my area of expertise.”

I smile. “Humor me, then.”

She lets out a breathy sound that might have been a laugh if she weren’t still groggy with sleep. “Have you tried counting sheep?”

“That sounds remarkably dull.”

“That’s the idea.” Her cheek shifts against me. “Or you can count the raindrops falling on the roof.”

The storm has quieted somewhat—the thunder has subsided, at least—but the rain is still pouring overhead.

“That would be an impossible task,” I tell her.

“Again, that’s the idea. To keep your mind focused on something boring and repetitive so other thoughts won’t keep you awake.” Her breath hitches, almost as if she means to go on but thinks better of it at the last minute.

She’s purposefully avoiding asking me what is keeping me awake. I’m certain, though, that she could make a fairly accurate guess. Perhaps she can even feel the answer in the tension of my body. Why, if she let her hand on my chest drift downward, she’d soon stumble across a part of me that would leave her with very few doubts on the matter. That thought sends a new throb of longing through me.

But she doesn’t ask. And her fingers don’t move.

“You could try breathing deeply, then,” she says after a moment. “Close your eyes and focus on letting the air go in and out.”

It’s the last thing I want to do, but I decide to try anyway. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with air. Her body moves with me as my chest expands.

It’s a simple thing, breathing. And yet I like the way she rises and falls with me, like the way we’re molded together so closely that we seem to move and breathe as one being. It’s more intimate than I could have imagined. And after a time, I realize her breath against my skin is moving in and out in time with mine.

My free hand moves up from the bed and rests gently on top of her hand on my chest. My fingers curl around hers. I ache to do more, so much more, but instead I keep breathing deeply.

In and out. In and out.

A short while later I sense her drift off to sleep again.

In and out.

My body is starting to feel heavy. My mind has stopped racing.

In and out.

I still want her. Hunger for her. If she woke and told me she needed me, I’d have no trouble rising to the task. But the desire is being slowly overtaken by my exhaustion.

In and out.

She’s so warm. So soft. So perfect. So…

In and out.

I’m not sure when I succumb to sleep. But I must sleep deeply because the next thing I’m aware of is a loud pounding on my door. And when I open my eyes, bright sunlight is creeping in around the shutters on the window.

The pounding sounds again, and I feel it in my skull. Elle grumbles a sound of protest and buries her face deeper against my shoulder. Elle. She’s still here, still in my arms, even though it appears to be morning.

What time is it? I fumble around on the bedside table for my mobile, then remember it must still be in my pocket.

“Your Highness!” comes a voice at the door. Matthias. “Your Highness, are you in there?”

I want to order him to go away. To leave Elle and me to some much-needed sleep. My fingers find my mobile in my pocket, and I pull it out.

“Your Highness!” Matthias says again, and there’s an edge of worry to his voice. “Your Highness, please!”

“I’m coming,” I finally call back. Blast him.

I rub my eyes and force myself to sit up. Elle is still clinging to me, but her eyes flutter open as I shift into an upright position.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her softly. My God, she looks beautiful. Her eyes are heavy-lidded with sleep, and her hair is a halo of messy waves around her face. I want to kiss her fully awake—and then push her back on the pillows and do much, much more.

“Your Highness,” Matthias says again. “I thought you should know—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I say, swinging my feet off the bed with a sigh. The wound on my chest pulses with a dull ache. I lift my mobile and look down at the time on the screen.

Christ. It’s nearly noon. Though after the long night Elle and I had, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised we slept so late.

I stumble across the room to the door and open it.

“Yes, Matthias?” I say, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” he says. “I didn’t realize you were still sleeping.”

“I’m awake now,” I say. Though I’d rather not be. “Did you need something?”

But even as the words leave my mouth, I remember the things Matthias said last night, and my chest tightens even before he gets the words out.

“Your brother’s jet has landed,” he tells me. “He should be here within the hour.”

* * *