a question as it was a statement of fact, because she’d thought he’d died.
Clearly, he signed in American Sign Language, barely looking at her.
“They told me you had died.”
His expression softened briefly. I’m sorry. There was a lot of confusion at first. I was reported dead for days...
“Your medical transport was attacked and they found your dog tags in the rubble.”
Again, there was a lot of confusion.
It was obvious that he wasn’t going to give any further information about it.
Reagan sat down on one of the chairs at the table in Michael’s office. There was a stack of materials there. New orientation information for Kainan. She needed to keep busy and not think about why he never reached out to her.
“Has anyone explained all this stuff to you?” she asked as she quickly scanned the binder full of information. If she kept busy she could ignore the racing of her pulse, her trembling hands, the urge to hug him and cry because he was alive.
He shook his head and took a seat across from her. Then he cleared his throat. “Best...come...from...you.”
His voice was broken, harsh and guttural. And color bloomed in his cheeks. It was either embarrassment or anger, and knowing Kainan it was most likely anger.
She knew how much he liked to be in control of every situation. He’d commanded all those around him during surgery, and those working with him had followed him blindly.
When he lost control he got angry, but that would drive him to work harder to solve the problem and regain control.
He was an amazing surgeon.
And this loss of control...
She could only imagine what he was going through. She liked control in her life, but she’d learned a humble lesson when Peter was born. Control was just an illusion.
Reagan had to admit that she was angry too. That he was alive and hadn’t let her know. He’d known where she was going. He’d known so much about her. Why hadn’t he reached out?
Only she couldn’t think about that right now. She’d swallow the anger she had and do her job. Keep moving forward as she had always done. If she stopped for a second everything would fall apart.
“Okay,” she said, setting her half-empty coffee cup down and opening up the materials. “We can do this together.”
Is there anyone else? he signed.
The words were like a slap. He didn’t want her here. She realized his body language was more than just embarrassment or anger over his situation. He was annoyed that she was here, helping him.
Her spine stiffened.
She should have known his attention to her back then had just been seduction. He didn’t want to see her again. He’d just been using her.
You wanted it too.
Well, she wasn’t going to let him shove her aside. She had a job to do, and anyway she’d got the best part of him. She had Peter, and she didn’t regret that for anything.
“No, there is no one else. I am the only doctor here who can interpret American Sign Language and who’s free to support you.” Now she was really annoyed with him. She wasn’t going to let him ruin this job for her.
Fine, he signed. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. His gaze was fixed on her, but instead of anger or annoyance, like before, there was bit of humor. Some smugness.
She wanted to wipe that off his face. “What?” she snapped.
I forgot how prickly you get. How fast your walls go up.
The twinkle she knew so well returned to his eyes. It was meant to lighten the mood, but she wasn’t in the mood for that.
“I get prickly when people are acting like jerks.”
“Sorry.” He spoke, his voice now barely a whisper.
Reagan shut the binder and, though she knew she was going to regret it, she had to ask. “Why don’t you want to work with me?”
* * *
The question caught him off guard. Of course this whole situation had caught him off guard. He’d known that Reagan was Canadian, but hadn’t realized that she worked at this hospital, in this city. Canada was a large country. He’d chosen this hospital simply because Dr. Shaw, his otolaryngologist was here.
He hadn’t known that Reagan was here. And he hadn’t known that she knew American Sign Language or that she would be working in the education part of the hospital. He’d have thought she would be on the surgical floor, wherever she worked, which was where he wanted to be, but couldn’t be any longer.
How could a man with no voice convey what he needed to his surgical staff during an emergency situation? He couldn’t, so his surgical career was over.
Of course that wasn’t the only reason his career was over.
His throat tightened at the thought of why it was over. It always tightened when his stress levels rose, and he was certainly stressed now.
Seeing Reagan again was a shock.
And he’d had to hold himself back, because his first reaction when he’d seen her had been to run to her and take her in his arms and kiss her. But this wasn’t the time or place.
Nowhere was the time or place.
Still, seeing her again had brought back so many memories. Even though they’d served during a war—a brutal war which had torn his country apart—working alongside her had been some of the happiest moments of his life.
He loved his country, but being called back to serve had been painful. Since his mother had died Isla Hermosa had reminded him only of loneliness and pain.
Reagan had brought back joy into his life.
One of the hardest things he’d had to do in his life was to leave her behind, knowing that she was going back home to her country and that he was going to the front lines. That he might never see her again.
It had nearly broken him, but it had been for the best that she’d left when all was said and done. Now circumstances had changed and they could never be together. He’d never trap her the way his mother had been trapped in her marriage to his father.
Still, he wanted Reagan—even though he shouldn’t. Their year apart had done nothing to extinguish the flames of passion that he felt for her.
He still wanted her.
That long, silky brown hair that was so neatly tied back. The long, graceful neck that he’d once run his hands over. And those lips he’d kissed and wanted to taste again.
Only he couldn’t now. Not because he’d lost his voice, but because he would never, ever put her inside the dangerous situation he now found himself in.
He was a displaced king, of a country that was precarious and about to sink into oblivion, and he couldn’t bring her into that situation.
There were people who wanted to assassinate him. And he would gladly take a bullet for his country, because he felt responsible for Isla Hermosa’s downfall.
He hadn’t been able to control his late brother. Kainan had tried, but his brother had ruined the country in six months after their father had ruled gracefully for fifty years.
Now Kainan was King of a broken, bleeding country. And instead of being there he was here in Canada. First in Ottawa, to recuperate from all the injuries that he’d sustained when the palace had been attacked, and now here at this hospital in Toronto, working and waiting for surgery that might or might not return his voice to him. Surgery he might not survive due to the damage in his throat.
Still, he needed a voice to rule. As King,