McKinnon's Royal Mission. Amelia Autin
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Ever since she could remember her secret dream had been to be an ordinary woman. Not a princess. Not an icon. And certainly not someone whose face and life story were used to sell magazines. And such stories! She made an expression of distaste at the memories of the fictional stories—all supposedly true—that had been written about her over the years. Andre had told her not to read them because they upset her so much, but she’d never been able to resist. It was almost a morbid fascination. Then she would throw the magazine against the wall, or rip the pages into tiny fragments, muttering dire threats she wished she could carry out. If only the world knew the truth! No one would want to read about her real life, so the tabloids were forced to make things up.
But that was all behind her now, and Mara hummed to herself as she dressed. She had taken note of what the women professors at the university here wore, and had gone shopping with a vengeance. No one at school except the president of the university and the dean of her college knew that Her Serene Highness Princess Mara Theodora and Dr. Mara Marianescu were one and the same person. Mara was determined to keep it that way, even though it meant camouflaging herself by wearing clothes bought off the rack and donning eyeglasses with plain glass lenses instead of prescription ones she didn’t need. All her adult life she had downplayed her looks; preferring to remain in the background rather than stand out. Now she was glad of it. Most people saw only what they expected to see. And even though her photograph had been plastered across the pages of magazines for years, no one would expect to see her here in Boulder, a simple math professor in a university that ranked in the top hundred in the US, but not in the top ten or even the top fifty.
Mara smiled to herself, remembering the battle she’d fought with Special Agent McKinnon over her insistence on being just like everyone else. That meant the limousine and chauffeur had to go. It had required a phone call to her brother, but in the end Andre had relented. She would be allowed to drive herself to and from school without her Zakharian bodyguards in tow—just one of the special agents assigned to her “riding shotgun.” Mara laughed with delight as she thought of it. English was such a colorful language, full of imagery and idioms.
Then her laughter faded. Special Agent McKinnon would be guarding her today. She was already on excellent terms with the other two special agents, the ones from the Diplomatic Security Service, Alec and Liam. She called them by their first names now, and although they had both refused to call her Mara, and she had refused to allow them to call her Princess Mara, they had laughingly agreed to call her Dr. Marianescu.
And while Alec and Liam zealously guarded her, they treated her like a normal person, which was what she so desperately wanted. She knew all about their large family—mother, older brothers, younger sister and her daughter, their one-year-old niece. They had shared with her a little of their dreams and aspirations, and knew something of hers, too, and how much she wanted to belong.
But Special Agent McKinnon was different. When she was with him she always felt on edge, and it wasn’t just because his face and physique set her senses jangling. It was as if he were judging her and finding her wanting, and that hurt more than she’d ever thought possible. He never told her anything about himself, either. After more than a month she knew no more about him than she had that first day—the facts in his dossier and the effect he had upon her senses.
Because of him she had drastically restricted her rides on Suleiman, a real sacrifice. Neither Alec nor Liam rode, so if she rode she was forced to do it with Special Agent McKinnon at her side. That meant riding only on the days he was on duty, instead of every day as was her habit. The first time he had appeared on horseback on one of his days off Mara had been startled. He hadn’t said anything about it, and it was so difficult to talk to him about anything. So she’d asked Liam, who was officially on duty that day. After that she had requested a copy of the duty roster every week, and planned her rides accordingly.
But Special Agent McKinnon didn’t seem to appreciate her sacrifice. Didn’t seem to appreciate her. Sometimes in bed at night she thought about him before falling asleep. Wondered what kind of woman would appeal to him. Wondered why he didn’t like her. And she wanted him to like her. So much so that she wondered what it would take to change his mind. Wondered what it would take to make him stop calling her Princess in that subtly mocking way she hated.
She watched him when he wasn’t looking, especially on horseback. She rode English and he rode Western style, but that didn’t mean she didn’t admire the way he rode. Man and horse seemed as one, and she imagined he had been born in the saddle. He was such a superb horseman she would even have trusted him with Suleiman—and she had never let anyone but Andre ride her precious Suleiman.
But it wasn’t just the way he rode. He did everything well, from training her household on security measures—including the two additional alerts in the past few weeks and his no-nonsense dissecting of everyone’s actions, including hers—to picking a veterinarian for her horses, to dealing with the hundred and one problems that cropped up as her staff adjusted to life in a new country. Competent. Self-assured. Liked and respected by everyone, from her housekeeper to her chefs to her chargé d’affaires. Everyone in her household turned to him as the final arbiter. Alec and Liam didn’t say much about him, but she could tell they, too, thought highly of Special Agent McKinnon.
You do, too, she told herself sadly. It wasn’t his handsome face she was drawn to, although looking at it filled her with the challenge of making him smile at her. A real smile. A private smile, just for her. And it wasn’t that incredibly fit body of his, either, although her thoughts had followed a forbidden path more than once as she imagined what it would be like in his arms. No, it wasn’t either of those things, but something entirely different. Even though he made her nervous and edgy, she trusted him implicitly where her safety was concerned. She knew nothing could happen to her when he was there, the same way she felt with Andre. Safe. Secure. Sheltered.
And something more. She wasn’t sure what that was. Not exactly. But she wanted to find out. If only he didn’t dislike her...
* * *
The order to stand down two days before had come as a surprise to the men who had covertly surveilled the estate for weeks. They had quietly discussed the order among themselves, but there was no question of disobeying. The reason behind their original posting and their withdrawal order was beyond their need to know. They had filed one last report, then disappeared as if they had never been there, leaving no trace of their passing. What, if anything, had been learned from their observations would be used—or not—at the discretion of the man whose word was law to his men. Their operation was over...for now.
* * *
Trace woke late, with barely enough time to shower, shave, brush his teeth and grab some breakfast in the guest house’s kitchen. He was not in a good mood. He’d had big plans for the weekend—his first full weekend off in a month—but nothing had gone according to plan.
First, Keira had called him early Saturday to say his goddaughter was running a fever, and it would probably be best to postpone his visit to another day. He’d really been looking forward to spending time with Alyssa. Not to mention he’d wanted the opportunity to favor Alyssa’s father with a few choice words about the current assignment he’d been suckered into taking on.
Then his date Saturday night with the tall hot blonde who was subletting his condo had turned into a complete washout. Not that