Excerpt of My Own Private Hero by Julianne MacLean

Damien opened the library door, peered inside to ensure it
was empty, then brought Adele in and quietly closed the
door behind him.

“We shouldn’t be in here,” Adele said, crossing the dark
paneled room to stand in front of the window. “Not
alone.” She had to force herself to turn and face him
with an appearance of confidence.

He had changed into city clothes – a crisp white shirt
under a black jacket, and a long overcoat, open in front.

Yet, his wavy, black hair was in chaos, and despite the
fine clothes, he had that wild, rugged look about him.
His chest and shoulders were inconceivably thick and
broad. He was a mountain. A windswept mountain.

When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and
controlled. “I need to say something to you before I
leave.”

He is going to apologize and say it will never happen
again, she thought. Then it will be over, and by
nightfall, he will be in the arms of his mistress.

She clung to the image of his mistress. It strengthened
her will.

He took a step toward her. “Are you absolutely sure you
should marry Harold?”

Adele stared at him, dumbfounded. It was not what she’d
expected him to say.

And why was he asking her this? Did he mean to convince
her she should not be sure? Was Damien willing to
consider fighting for her himself?

She imagined becoming his bride instead of Harold’s, and a
part of her basked euphorically in the notion that it
could happen, that she could be loved, truly loved, by her
wild, black knight.

But no. She bristled. She should not fantasize about him
that way. She should not want Damien to fight for her,
because he was not the kind of man who could be a
monogamous husband, devoted to only one woman. Any bride
of his would surely suffer a lifetime of heartache.

“I’m sure,” she replied firmly. She would not let herself
be carried away by a childish fantasy that had no basis in
reality.

He slowly crossed the room, growing closer and closer
until he was standing in front of her with only a foot of
empty space between them. Adele realized she was holding
her breath. She had to consciously force herself to let
it out slowly.

“I’ve spent the past hour killing myself wondering if I
should tell Harold what just happened,” Damien said.

Startled by the suggestion, Adele blinked up at him.

“Don’t panic,” he continued. “I would never hurt him for
the sake of easing my conscience. But I would hurt him to
protect him.” He began to pace around the room. “He
lacks experience with women, Adele. He’s innocent, and
he’s naïve. What kind of wife will you be?”

The breath she’d been holding sailed out of her lungs in a
single, thunderous heartbeat that shook her. So. He
doubted her decency.

Though a part of her was having doubts about it herself,
her pride nevertheless bucked.

“Damien, I take great pride in my integrity, and I will
not take my marriage vows lightly.”

“But when I kissed you, you kissed me back.”

Adele raised her chin.

“Maybe you’re not as strong as you think you are.” He
took another slow and careful step toward her. “And
that’s what worries me. My mother was not faithful to my
father, and their marriage ended badly.”

He crowded her up against the wainscoting. God, she could
smell him. She could see the rough texture of the stubble
along his jaw. She could feel the size and the weight of
him, as if he were on top of her, which in a way, he was.

“I will never be an unfaithful wife,” she said.

Breathing hard now, she gazed at his lips, so full, so
soft-looking. Despite everything, she remembered what
they felt like, what his tongue felt like inside her
mouth. He was so much of a man. Strong and capable and
powerful. He could fight and conquer the world for her if
he wanted to.

But she did not want him to.

“You’re too close, Damien,” she said firmly, laboring to
stay focused. Think of the mistresses. He’s not the
knight of your dreams.

Damien’s eyes softened, and at long last, he stepped
back. Adele grabbed hold of the windowsill beside her.

He stared at her for a long, excruciating moment. “Part
of me wishes you were not so strong, Adele.”

“Not so strong? Why? So I would betray Harold and you
could congratulate yourself for being right? So he would
thank you and grovel to you for being his ever-faithful
protector?”

Anger stirred within her, while she struggled to
understand what didn’t make any sense.

He turned and walked to the door. “No. Because this
would all be easier to bear if I could think badly of you.”

He did not look back. He simply walked out.

Adele collapsed into a chair and struggled to catch her
breath. Easier to bear if I could think badly of you?