His heart, which he’d always believed was very firmly in his possession, was hers. At that moment, he knew, she could break him in half with a careless word. So it was he who spoke almost carelessly.

“No, there was no one else. Do you want an apology?”

She wasn’t sure how to react or how to respond. Did a man feel responsible when he’d taken a woman’s innocence? How would she know? Maybe not responsible, she thought, but uncomfortable. She couldn’t afford the luxury of showing just how that idea hurt. Instead she kept her eyes level and her voice calm. “No, I don’t look for apologies. Do you?”

His tone didn’t change, nor his expression. She could read nothing in either one. “Why would I?”

“I started this, Reeve. I’m well aware of that.” She started to rise, but he held her in place.

“Regrets?”

Her chin came up, just a bit, but enough to show him her mood. “No. Have you?”

The first time she’d been with a man, he thought, and he’d started a stilted, foolish conversation for his own defense. She was entitled to some tenderness, some sweetness and some truth. He touched her face, just a fingertip along her cheek.

“How could I regret being given something beautiful?” He kissed her then, softly, lengthily. “How can I regret having made love to you when it’s something I’m already thinking about doing again?”

Reeve saw her lips curve just before he shifted so that he could cradle her against him. When they started back to Cordina, he knew he’d have to begin thinking again, planning. If he was to help her … but not now. Not just yet.

Content, and finding she could indeed relax. Brie rested a hand over his heart. It put her engagement ring directly in her line of vision. In the shadowed light it didn’t seem so stunning, so demanding. It seemed—almost—as if it belonged there. But it wasn’t real, she told herself quickly. It wasn’t anything more than a prop in a complicated game. Not real. She closed her eyes, settling her body against Reeve’s.

No, the ring wasn’t real, but this was, she thought as she let herself drift. This was real—for as long as it lasted.

Chapter 8

Nothing seemed to become easier, Brie thought as she walked down the wide, window-lined corridor toward the Grand Ballroom. There were paintings that any artist with a soul might have wept over. There was furniture that had been lovingly polished for centuries. She passed by without a glance.

Rather than simplifying with each day, life became more complicated. Hadn’t Reeve told her life was never simple? It wasn’t any use wishing he’d been wrong.

Nearly a week before, she’d lain beside him on a narrow little bunk, half dozing until they’d turned to each other again. And made love again. Didn’t that make them lovers? she asked herself as she stopped by one of the windows. Weren’t lovers supposed to be at ease with each other—continue to desire each other? Yet a week had passed. In that week, Reeve had been faultlessly polite, outwardly attentive. He’d even in his own way been kind. And he’d gone out of his way to avoid touching her.