never been an option for me, but I respect his intentions.” The pads of his fingers brushed over her knuckles—rough skin and reassurance. “Not only is he the closest thing I have to a living uncle, but I got the impression you two are pretty special to each other. So that makes him family in an entirely different way.”
Frankie ducked her face. Philip had softened toward her over the years she’d reported from Sage Haven. He’d learned to understand her; to say the right thing, as best he could, when guilt left her struggling to maintain her cover. In turn, she’d discovered his stuffy chest pumped with a loyal heart that cared more keenly for the royal family than his duty alone required.
“Am I wrong?” His question was quiet.
Eyes stinging, she shook her head.
“Hey,” he said, and she looked up at his strange tone. “You know how your father taught you his line of work? Teaching you to embody the con as if you were born for it? Yet here you are, trained for this role by a different man, wearing the same regalia that he once wore.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Can you see where I’m going with this comparison?”
Commanding security was Philip’s own kind of legacy—and he’d trained her and passed the position on to her like a daughter. Sniffling, she said, “Stop it.”
Kris’s smile was gentle—a barefooted approach through the mess her father had left inside her.
How could he be so intuitive? He came from a strictly traditional family: mother and father, and brothers forged in blood and birth. His royal ancestral line was neat, perfectly traceable where it wanted to be, all unbroken unions and children within marriage.
Philip wouldn’t appear on either of their family trees—unconnected by marriage or descent—yet Kris had written him in without hesitation.
On an unintelligible murmur that only her heart understood, she kissed him.
His mouth opened on a sigh, tasting of sweetened coffee, and his hand slid to cradle her head as his tongue blended with hers. Slow and soft, his kiss was like a cushion that remembered the shape of her, giving and guiding as she sank into him. She pulled him closer, sensing him start to swell and stretch as their bodies locked together, but he didn’t rise to take control. He didn’t act like he wanted to; he leashed his desire so far down, he was nothing but a warm, receptive lover on the surface. This kiss was hers.
He was hers.
She gripped his arm at the wobble in her chest—the sensation of losing her balance on a path she’d walked her entire life.
He held steady as stone beneath her palm.
“Frankie,” he murmured when she drew back. Lashes low, breath heavy. “Don’t stop.”
She almost caved to his plea. “We both have work to do.”
He released her with a groan.
She fought the urge to chase his touch. Work. She had work to—
“Oh no,” she said, gaze skimming the portraits on the wall over Kris’s shoulder. There was a reason the memo had been sent to her in the first place. A bubble of pained amusement rose up her sternum. Was it funny? It wasn’t funny. “Philip’s going to hate this.”
Kris frowned at her, his eyes kiss-dark and distracted. “What? Why?”
“You’ve essentially named him part of the family. Presented him with a royal suite. His own manservant. An ongoing invitation to dinner at your table.”
“Our table,” he corrected her in a low voice, shifting closer.
“Word will spread within the palace.”
“That’s okay, though.” He ran the backs of his fingers down her neck, and shivering, she curled her fingers around his wrist, holding him still. “It’s his decision whether or not to explain his relationship with Noel. The point is that the palace staff will know we consider him family and will treat him like it.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
Finally, he met her gaze in question.
“His status has shifted. He’s not an heir, but he’s valuable. Possible leverage. I have no choice.” She saw comprehension dawn with a glint in his eyes. “He used to monitor the security team’s every move—now they’ll have to monitor his.”
Naturally, Frankie’s softness about the way Kris had treated Philip didn’t flow over into any other matter. Like, say, where he could find Tommy. For days, she’d refused to tell him, and as she escorted him from the portrait hall back to the summer drawing room, she held firm.
“Can you at least give me a hint?” he said, tasting grit in his mouth.