Royal Surrender - chapter three

Noe knew she’d made a mistake.

But there was no backing out now.

She was welcomed by a man who gave the impression of being a butler, though he was dressed like a billionaire himself. He ushered her inside, and she had the impression of a quiet house of great elegance all around her.

Though she saw only the majestic foyer, all marble columns and soaring ceilings.

It announced quite clearly that Noe was out of her depth.

The man led her up a stairway that looked as if any number of opera heroines ought to have been draped over it in flowing gowns, arias at the ready, and it was only when he was leading her into a private hall with only one door at the end that she realized that for all the man’s ease, this was choreographed.

Down to the second, she imagined, if this was the club she’d heard whispered about in any number of languages in the places rich men gathered, and always by men who had not been invited to join. The identity of the members was assumed, though not known for certain.

Noe had never imagined that she would end up at a place like this.

It was a terrible mistake—

But then they arrived at the ornate door that waited at the end of the hall. The man beside her smiled, inclined his head, and pressed a buzzer she hadn’t even seen there.

Noe tried, she really did, to open her mouth and announce that she needed to leave. She tried to simply turn around and walk away, but her body did not obey her.

And then it didn’t matter.

Because the door swung open and he was there. Cajetan. Here. In the flesh. Without his royal entourage.

He filled the wedge of the open door, light pouring out from behind him, and yet he outshone it. She had never seen him in casual clothes, just a shirt and a pair of trousers tonight, and that intensity of his that had slammed into her hard at first sight.

It did the same thing here, making her wonder how she was standing upright.

His hair was dark blond, like the richest chocolate mixed through with gold. His eyes were an impossible amber.

But it was the way he was looking at her, as if he was as desperate to see her again—and here—as she was to see him, that made her heart stop.

Then start again, hard and wild.

And Noe stopped pretending she wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Thank you, Laszlo,” he murmured, but Noe had already forgotten the man who’d led her here. Cajetan gazed at her, hot amber that seared through her. “You’re here. At last.”

His voice was a caress. And Noe watched, holding her breath, as Cajetan held out his hand.

Inviting her in.

And then waited, as if he was as uncertain as she’d been on the walk here.