Читать книгу The Bodyguard's Bride-To-Be - Amelia Autin - Страница 13

Chapter 4

“Why not?” Tahra’s question seemed to take her by surprise as much as Marek, because warm color rose in her cheeks and she gave a little embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Please forget I asked.” She tried to pull her hand away from his, but he held tight.

“But I want to answer that question.” His thumb brushed the engagement ring on her finger. “I have said this to you before...when I asked you to marry me.”

Her eyes sought his, and she said softly, almost shyly, “Please tell me again.”

“It was harder than you know leaving you at the door to your apartment,” he confessed in a low voice. “Holding you...kissing you...” He shook his head. “Letting you go every night took every ounce of determination I have.”

“Why did you?”

He smiled faintly. “Because you are the first woman I have ever envisioned as my wife. And in Zakhar a man does not... That is, we are taught...”

To his amazement, Tahra’s cheeks whitened and she jerked her hand away from his. “In other words, you have a double standard where women are concerned.” Her voice was cool, but he heard a thread of anger running through it. “I thought that went out of fashion fifty years ago.”

“That was not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” She gave a scornful snort. “Virgin brides are the exception nowadays, Marek, not the rule. Are you a virgin?”

He couldn’t believe she was asking him, but his answer was automatic and immediate. “Of course not. I am thirty-three and I am a ma—”

She cut him off. “Man. You’re a man, and therefore it’s expected that a thirty-three-year-old man wouldn’t be a virgin.”

He tried to possess himself of her hand again, but she refused to let him. At a loss to understand what was happening, he asked, “Why are we arguing about this?”

“So what you’re saying is that if you knew I wasn’t a virgin, we would have been lovers long ago...but you wouldn’t have asked me to be your wife.” She tugged furiously on his engagement ring, which wasn’t easy with the cast on her right wrist. When it was finally free, she grabbed his hand and slapped the ring in it, then forcefully closed his fingers around it. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t hold you to an engagement entered into under false pretenses.”

“Tahra!”

“I can’t believe you told me this before, and I agreed to marry you,” she said under her breath. “I don’t believe it.”

“I did not tell you that part.” He opened his fingers and stared at the ring it contained...the second time Tahra had returned it to him. The second time she’d turned him down. “That is not why—” He broke off when he realized what he’d almost said.

She wasn’t listening to him, and Marek could only thank God. “How could I?” she was saying to herself. “How could I possibly... Especially since...”

Then he focused on what she’d said earlier, and a savage pain slashed through his heart. “...if you knew I wasn’t a virgin, we would have been lovers long ago...but you wouldn’t have asked me to be your wife.”

Was Tahra telling him she wasn’t a virgin? Could it be possible his sweet, shy Tahra hadn’t waited for him? Had...slept with other men?

Just as swiftly her scornful question leaped to mind. “Are you a virgin?”

A two-word litany began repeating in his brain—double standard, double standard, double standard—and shock sent icy shards everywhere. Tahra was right. He had slept with other women. Women he’d desired but hadn’t loved. He had not waited for Tahra. Why had he automatically expected she would have waited for him?

This new thought struggled with the Zakharian concepts with which he’d been raised, a culture clash of momentous proportions. Out of the maelstrom, only one thought emerged—he loved Tahra. That hadn’t changed. Could never change. No matter what, she was still his darling to cherish. To protect. And that meant maintaining the fiction they were still engaged so long as she needed his protection.

“No,” he told her firmly, capturing her left hand and sliding the engagement ring back on her finger. “Do not.” His voice was as implacable as his words when she opened her mouth to protest. “Do not fight me on this, mariskya. Your accusation is untrue. Whether you believe it or not, I would have asked you to marry me no matter what.”

Tahra stopped resisting, but her eyes searched his face, as if needing confirmation of his words. Finally she nodded. “Okay. I believe 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 it was ever necessary for Marek to guard Raoul personally. Not likely, but as a belt-and-suspenders man he always wanted to be prepared for any contingency.

There was another reason why Marek wanted to retain a personal connection with the crown prince...something he didn’t like to think about but was always there in the back of his mind. The succession.

Should anything happen to the king—God forbid! Marek always told himself whenever he thought of it—Crown Prince Raoul would ascend the throne. That transition would be difficult enough for an adult, much less a child of tender years, and Marek would do anything in his power to smooth the way. It was his duty, yes, but it was also his honor. The men of the king’s security detail would assume responsibility for their new monarch, but Raoul wouldn’t be familiar with any of them the way he would be familiar with the men who’d guarded him in the past. It would be Marek’s job to facilitate that transfer.

During Raoul’s minority, the king had named his cousin, Prince Xavier, and his wife, Queen Juliana, as regents...something the queen had vehemently protested. Marek had been an unwitting witness to the ensuing argument when that issue had arisen...almost a flaming row, in fact. Not that the queen wanted sole control; that wasn’t it at all. She just refused to accept the king might die and objected to any plan that meant she would have to go on without him.

A smile touched his lips. The timeless bond shared by the king and queen was becoming legendary, rivaling the love story of the first king and queen of Zakhar more than five hundred years ago. Two hearts as one, forever and a day. Words carved in Latin on the tomb of the first King Andre Alexei and Queen Eleonora. Words etched in his heart. Were they also etched in Tahra’s heart? He’d thought they were...until she’d rejected his marriage proposal three weeks ago. Until she’d tugged his ring from her finger—the same way she’d done today—and whispered in a voice that shook, “I can’t marry a man who doesn’t trust me. I can’t. I won’t.”

He’d told himself when Tahra had been in surgery that she’d been right to accuse him of not trusting her. But now a little voice of doubt whispered in the back of his head. If she really loved you as she said she did, would she have returned your ring? He would never know...until Tahra regained her memory. If she regained her memory.

Unless...

Unless he could make her fall in love with him all over again.

When the thought flashed through his mind as he descended the back stairway on his way to his office on the ground floor, he stopped so abruptly one foot was suspended in midair, and he almost missed the step.

Was it possible? Could he do it? Could he accomplish in a few weeks what had previously taken eighteen months...winning Tahra’s trust? Winning her heart?

Gaining Tahra’s trust hadn’t been easy. He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d spotted her in the reference section of the library, and he’d pretended to bump into her just so he could have an excuse to apologize...and start a conversation. But her reaction had been totally unexpected. He hadn’t missed the flash of fear in her eyes, quickly masked. And from the way she’d drawn back, her stammered apology, the color that had come and gone in her cheeks, he’d known instantly she wasn’t pretending—she really was afraid of him.

All of which had intrigued him and immediately aroused his protective instincts. And awakened the wolf inside him at the same time. He’d exerted himself to put her at ease, initiating friendly yet casual conversation, but making sure he kept a physical distance between them to make her feel safe. And eventually she’d rewarded him with a tentative smile.

He’d vowed in that moment that someday she would trust him enough for a real smile. One without the shadows in her eyes.

Within a month of knowing her, he’d known she was The One. As he’d told Alec Jones, a man would have to look far and wide to find someone like Tahra. Sweet without being cloying, with a tender, loving heart that made him determined to win her for his own. So he’d sat down, and with the deliberateness with which he’d planned his whole life after Zorina, he’d charted a course to accomplish his goal—Tahra as his wife.

It had taken him almost seventeen months, but he’d persevered. And three weeks ago he’d been the happiest man on earth when Tahra had agreed to marry him. Only to have his dreams come crashing down around his ears.

But he hadn’t given up hope. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Tahra’s sister he was merely giving Tahra time to come to terms with what he’d disclosed right after his proposal. Time for her to remember they shared a bond that could not be broken—especially not for so insignificant a reason.

Marek walked into his office just as the phone was ringing, and he answered it with his name as he always did. “Captain Zale.”

He listened to the voice on the other end without saying a word, his eyes growing hard and cold. Then he asked one question. “How could that happen when she was in custody?”