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

known it at the time, but Carly had passed on an exclusive interview to be there for her little sister. Carly had done something similar when Tahra had graduated from college. “Don’t sweat it,” Carly had told her. “You’re more important than the senior commander of the US forces in Afghanistan.” Tahra hadn’t really believed it, but it had made her love Carly even more...if that were at all possible.

      Love. That was it. The thing she couldn’t remember had something to do with love. Not the love of sisters for each other, but someone else. And though she couldn’t remember the details, she knew one thing for sure. Whatever it was—whoever it was—she’d wept bitter tears. Then she’d picked up the shattered remnants of her life and forged ahead. Just like Carly.

      The room was shrouded in darkness when Tahra groggily opened her eyes. She didn’t know where she was—this wasn’t her bedroom in the quaint apartment she’d just moved into a half mile away from her job at the US embassy. She liked her new apartment better than her old one, even if it was farther away from work. And she liked her new boss, too, a lot more than her old one. She hadn’t worked for Alec Jones very long—less than a week. And he wasn’t an easy man to work for unless you were a perfectionist like him—which she was. The previous regional security officer had done a slipshod job, in Tahra’s estimation, and she’d been glad when Alec had replaced him with almost no notice.

      Tahra gave herself a little mental shake as she suddenly realized she’d allowed her thoughts to wander. Where am I? she wondered now. She wasn’t in her bedroom. She wasn’t in her bed. Where am I?

      She blinked at the darkness and turned her head, then caught her breath at the pain that throbbed behind her eyes when the side of her head touched the pillow.

      She hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the room, but someone had heard her gasp, because a dim light over the bed was suddenly switched on and adjusted so it wasn’t shining directly into her eyes. A strong hand curved beneath her neck and lifted her head, turning it until the damaged area was no longer in contact with anything.

      Tahra sighed with thankfulness and smiled up at the stranger at her bedside. Then her eyes widened because this man was so handsome he took her breath away. His close-cropped golden-brown hair and deep blue eyes adorned a face that—even without a smile—could have been the model for Adonis. Her heart skipped a beat, and she blinked. Then her gaze took in all the equipment surrounding her bed, some of it faintly beeping. The IV connected to the back of her left hand. The cast on her right wrist. And though she didn’t remember coming here, she felt she was on solid ground asking, “Am I in the hospital?”

      “Yes.” There was just the slightest trace of an accent to this man’s English, and it seemed familiar somehow.

      She frowned. “I could have sworn I heard Carly talking earlier, but—”

      “Your sister was here. She left around midnight.” He darted a glance at his watch. “That was almost three hours ago. She will return in the morning.”

      “Oh.” So she hadn’t imagined it. “I’m in Zakhar, right?”

      “Yes, Tahra.” The back of his hand brushed her cheek in a way that seemed too intimate for a doctor or nurse, and she shrank away from it.

      “Please don’t,” she whispered. She’d once let a man touch her this way without voicing an objection, not wanting to cause a public scene. That had eventually led to a nightmare she’d only recently recovered from, and she’d learned a hard lesson about speaking up for herself. “I don’t know you, and I—”

      The stranger froze. “You do not know me?”

Chapter 3

      Of all the things Marek had envisioned happening when Tahra came out of the coma, he’d never imagined she wouldn’t recognize him. For just a moment his mind went blank. Then, before he could calmly and rationally consider what he should do, he heard himself saying, “I am your fiancé, Tahra.”

      He gently raised her left hand so she could see the old-fashioned engagement ring he’d placed there, a large pearl surrounded by diamonds in an antique setting, a ring that had been in his family for more than two hundred years. The ring she’d first accepted...then returned. “We are engaged.”

      “We are?” Her eyes squeezed shut and her lips moved silently. When she finally looked at him again, there was a bewildered expression on her face. “I don’t remember. Why don’t I remember?” When he just shook his head at her, unable to answer, she pleaded, “Your name. Tell me your name.”

      “Marek. Marek Zale. Captain in the Zakharian National Forces, on detached status. I am the head of security for the crown prince.” He watched closely for a sign that his name or occupation might mean something to her, but they didn’t.

      “Marek.” His name on Tahra’s lips was soft and sweet, and Marek’s heart ached for all the times she’d uttered it before in exactly the same way. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply. “I’m sorry,” she said after a minute. “I don’t remember you.” And he could tell by the poignant catch in her voice that she really was sorry. Then to his amazement her eyes fluttered closed. “Marek,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Her breathing slowed until he knew without a doubt she was asleep again.

      “Oh, Tahra.” Her name was torn from his throat, and he touched her cheek with fingers that trembled.

      * * *

      Marek was waiting outside Tahra’s door when her sister showed up punctually at seven, the exact time she’d told him last night she would arrive. “We need to talk,” he told Carly urgently. He glanced at the two guards standing at attention on either side of the door, who were due to be relieved at eight. “Privately.”

      “We can’t talk in there?” Carly asked, pointing toward Tahra’s room. He shook his head. “Well, can I at least go in and see her first?”

      “She is sleeping, but she is no longer in a coma. She woke around three this morning, and we spoke for a few minutes. That is what I must discuss with you.”

      “Tahra’s no longer in a coma?” she asked eagerly. “That’s great news! Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

      He held out his hand, indicating the waiting room at the end of the corridor they’d used last night for their private conversation. “Please.”

      They’d no sooner seated themselves in a secluded corner when Carly said, “Something’s wrong. Hemorrhage? Stroke?” Her lips tightened. “Just tell me straight-out—I won’t fall apart, I promise you.” Her quickened breathing was the only indication she wasn’t as calm as she appeared.

      “No, nothing like that,” Marek assured her. “But I spoke with Tahra’s doctors an hour ago. They examined her again and questioned her minutely. Physically she is fine. Still in great pain, of course, but nothing that will not heal.”

      “Then what? She doesn’t remember the explosion, is that it?” Carly shot at him. “It’s not all that unusual, you know. People’s brains often block out traumatic events, and—”

      Marek cut her off. “It is not just that,” he said vehemently. “Tahra remembers nothing of the past eighteen months...including me.”

      * * *

      Sergeant Thimo Vasska saluted his superior officer, and when told to stand at ease he did so. “What news do you have to report, Sergeant?” the lieutenant asked.

      “She is being closely guarded. She had not regained consciousness as of last night, but the nurse’s aide I bribed for information said the doctors had lessened her morphine dosage, preparatory to bringing her out of the medically induced coma. So—”

      “So she could wake up at any time,” said Colonel Damek Borka from the doorway.

      The sergeant and the lieutenant both jumped, then turned and saluted