The Bodyguard's Bride-To-Be. Amelia Autin

you.” Then she smiled and he could breathe again. “They told me in my pre-assignment briefing that Zakharians are a little...shall we say...behind the times where women are concerned. Not like some other countries where women have to go around covered head to toe and aren’t even allowed to drive a car, but...”

      His fingers tightened on hers. “I am a product of my upbringing, yes,” he admitted. “But I am not wedded to my ignorance. You know I have already learned a few home truths about women and their role in society from Angelina, and I—” He stopped when confusion spread across her face. “Captain Angelina Mateja-Jones,” he explained patiently. “Head of the queen’s security detail, a post I held until the king asked me to take over the security for the crown prince. She is married to the man you work for at the US embassy, Alec Jones.” He paused for a moment, then stated flatly, “None of this strikes a chord in your memory, does it?”

      She shook her head, a shadow creeping into her eyes. “No, it doesn’t. I wish it did.”

      “We are friends with them,” he continued after a moment. “Alec is the regional security officer—RSO, you call it—at the embassy, and you are his administrative assistant. That created a slight problem at first, because Alec and I are friends, as are Angelina and I. But we all agreed that when you are at work, you and Alec act as professionally as if that is all there is to your relationship. When we are together as friends...that is a different story.”

      “I see.” There was a tinge of doubt in her voice, but she didn’t add anything.

      “As I started to say, Angelina has taught me much about women and their place in society.” His voice dropped a notch. “As have you, mariskya. You must believe me. I am not the man I was two years ago. I am not even the man I was two weeks ago.” That was getting dangerously close to revealing too much he was concealing from Tahra, and he gratefully changed topics when he saw they had arrived at Tahra’s apartment building. “Ahh, here we are.”

      He came around and held the door for her before she could get out, but then she paused on the sidewalk, staring in confusion. “I live here?”

      His heart ached for the touch of panic in her voice. Everything from the past eighteen months was unknown to her. Everything was strange and...yes...potentially frightening. “You moved here six months ago, when your lease expired and the owner raised the rent on your old apartment. You had only lived there a year, and you loved it, but you were adamant about moving.”

      “Why would I do that?” she murmured to herself. “I’m not dependent on my salary.” She glanced at Marek, almost as if embarrassed to admit, “Carly and I...we inherited money from our parents. Not a fortune, but enough so that we never had to worry about where the money would come from for college and...well...other things.”

      He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I had something to do with your decision to move.” When she gave him a questioning look, he added, “I live around the corner.”

      “Oh.” Her smile returned. “I guess that explains it.”

      * * *

      “She is not dead.” Colonel Borka’s voice was always chilling, but now it sent fear trickling down Sergeant Vasska’s spine. “The woman who interfered in our plans is not dead. Worse, the aide you bribed is in custody. And she is talking.”

      Sergeant Vasska was surprised into asking, “How do you—”

      “I know. Let us leave it at that.” The colonel looked the sergeant up and down. “If you were me in this situation, what would you do, Sergeant?”

      The fear moved to his bowels, but Sergeant Vasska forced himself to ignore it. “I would...eliminate the man who had failed to carry out his assignment.” He snatched at a breath. “I would eliminate...me.”

      Colonel Borka smiled, but there was no humor in it. In fact, there was not the slightest shred of any human emotion in that smile. “That is why you are merely a sergeant,” Colonel Borka said. “I do not waste men...even men who fail. I do not even demote them—I give them a chance to redeem themselves. But...” He held up one hand. “I do not think it serves our cause to have you here in Drago at this time, where you might be spotted. I am sending you to the eastern border...for now. You will go there directly and await orders. Is that clear?”

      Sergeant Vasska saluted. “Yes, sir!”

      * * *

      “I must leave you here,” Marek told Tahra after he’d seen her comfortably ensconced in her suite in the royal palace. He touched her cheek briefly. “I have work waiting for me.”

      He didn’t say it, but Tahra filled in the blanks. He’d neglected his duty for her. She barely knew him, but she knew this much—duty was everything to Marek. “I’ll be fine,” she hurriedly assured him.

      “Your luggage will be here shortly,” he told her. “The master of the household has assigned a maid for your use. She will arrive at the same time as your luggage to unpack for you and provide anything else you might require.”

      “I don’t need a maid.”

      “Nevertheless, one has been assigned.” He unbent enough to add with a hint of a smile, “Please do not make the maid feel she is unnecessary. You would take away her face, wound her pride. And that, I know, your heart is too tender to do, mariskya.”

      “No. Oh, no,” she rushed to say. “Of course I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

      “And even though you have been discharged from the hospital, that does not mean you are completely healed. The doctors told you to resume normal activities slowly, yes?”

      “Yes, but...” He headed for the door and she trailed after him, suppressing a tiny dart of panic. So she was in a strange place. So what? So she didn’t know anyone in the palace. Was that really important? So Marek was abandoning her here. He’s not abandoning you, she quickly chastised herself. He has a job to do, and he has already spent the entire morning on you.

      She was so lost in her thoughts that when Marek turned around and pulled her into his arms she didn’t resist. Then he kissed her, and—oh, God!—could he kiss. Being kissed by Marek was so much more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tightened, her stomach quivered. And that was just in the first ten seconds. He deepened the kiss, and sparks flew everywhere, melting her with incredible heat from the inside out. He wasn’t even touching her between her thighs, but she felt him there and she trembled.

      When he finally broke contact, both of them were short of breath. She stared up at him, dazed. Wondering if another bomb had just exploded, knocking her senseless.

      “You will let the maid do her job, yes?”

      One word was all she could manage. “Okay.”

      Only after Tahra closed the door behind Marek did she realize she just might have been had. That his little smile had deepened when she’d agreed to accept the maid’s services. That very possibly she’d been manipulated into doing exactly what he wanted her to do.

      “And that is not going to continue,” she muttered to herself, despite acknowledging there was some truth to Marek’s statement; the doctors had told her to take it easy, to not overdo anything. But still... “Maybe I’m not as assertive as Carly, but I’m no pushover, either. He’s not going to walk all over me.”

      But if he kissed her that way again? Could she stand up to him then? “Doubtful,” she whispered, touching a finger to her lips, reliving the kiss that had turned her entire body into a quivering mass of jelly. “Highly doubtful.”

      * * *

      Marek checked on the crown prince and the men guarding him in the royal nursery on the second floor—something he did on a regularly irregular basis. Not that he didn’t trust his men. He did. But showing up from time to time accomplished two goals: it kept his men on their toes, since they never knew when he might appear, and it ensured the little prince knew Marek, which could be important if