But he knew when a woman was giving him the green light. And the green light had been flashing all evening. The problem was...him.
Don’t lie to yourself, a little voice in the back of his head mocked. It’s not that you didn’t find her attractive. It’s just that she didn’t have green eyes.
Green eyes fringed with long, delicately tinted lashes that owed nothing to artifice. Hair the color of wild honey. Lips that wore just a touch of lip gloss; that curved into an open, natural smile more often than not. And a voice like water trickling through a mountain stream bed, cool and clear, with just the faintest hint of an accent.
Sunday he’d gone to his cabin near Keystone, but that hadn’t been a success, either. He’d done the long-overdue yard work and prepped the cabin for winter until his body was aching and dripping with sweat. But his thoughts continually strayed to the princess, wondering what she was doing on her last day before the semester started. Wondering what she’d think of his rustic cabin in the mountains if he ever dared take her there. Wondering what it would be like to kiss her until her lips were naked of anything but the color of passion.
When he’d caught himself thinking along those lines he’d severely chastised himself, but it hadn’t done any good. It had only been a month, but she was slowly driving him crazy with wanting her. How was he going to make it through the rest of the year?
Trace had reminded himself he had no intention of falling into the trap that falling for the princess would eventually become. Hadn’t he made it quite clear to his boss and to the State Department that he would not, under any circumstances, use his looks to attract her the way the State Department had wanted him to do? That he would not compromise the princess that way? But who would believe him if he said now that he was drawn to her for reasons totally unrelated to his job? Even he’d have a hard time believing it of himself, though he knew it was the God’s honest truth.
He’d returned to the estate last night in a foul mood. Then he’d lain awake until the wee hours of the morning, unable to banish the princess from his mind. Thinking about the way she watched him when she thought he wouldn’t notice, and what that meant. Thinking about the way she looked on Suleiman, how she handled the high-spirited thoroughbred with ease and rode as if she and the horse communicated on a higher plane. Watching as she groomed Suleiman with firm and sure strokes—she never left that manual chore for her groom to do, earning Trace’s respect for her as a true horsewoman. Hearing in his head her gentle voice as she talked to her horse in Zakharan when she thought no one could hear, all soft and sweet and loving, nothing held back.
Would she be like that with a man? With him?
He’d finally fallen asleep, for all the good it did him. She haunted his dreams, memories of the times he’d spent in her company interwoven with fantasies. Vivid fantasies. Erotic fantasies.
Now Trace tried to shake off the remnants of his dreams as he dressed in the jeans and casual shirt she insisted her bodyguards wear on campus so as not to stand out. Then he strapped on his SIG SAUER, automatically checking the action and the clip before shrugging on a blazer to cover the gun and its holster and heading out.
He wasn’t looking forward to today. Guarding the princess meant he’d have to sit in on her classes. And since she didn’t want anyone to know she was being guarded, he was going to have to pretend he was a student. A little long in the tooth for a student, he thought, smiling wryly. But that meant he couldn’t read the newspaper, couldn’t do the crossword puzzle, couldn’t do anything but sit there, listen and pretend to take notes.
Why did she have to be a math teacher? Well, maybe he’d learn something. He couldn’t imagine how it might apply to his job, but you never knew. He’d just have to make the best of it.
He started out the door, but was called back by the ping of the secure fax machine indicating an incoming fax was pending. He quickly keyed in the code to release the fax, then waited impatiently for the two sheets of paper to print. His brows drew into a frown as he perused the latest intelligence report from the State Department. It was disquieting, to say the least, to think that the estate might have been under observation by a person or persons unknown. The good news—if you could call it that—was that if there had been surveillance, which the State Department was by no means sure of, that surveillance had since been withdrawn.
Trace considered things for a moment, correlating known facts with this latest intel. No one had been following the princess, he was sure of that. And no one had attempted to penetrate the estate’s perimeter. So the reason for the surveillance—if there had been any, he reminded himself—was unknown at this point.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like unknowns, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, except kick up their state of readiness, just in case. He made a mental note to discuss the situation with Alec and Liam. Before he mentioned anything to the princess and her Zakharian bodyguards, he wanted to get the Jones brothers’ take on it. He had to be careful about how much he revealed regarding his government’s secret intelligence reports—especially if they showed his government in a poor light the way this one did. He considered how he might word a warning to the Zakharians as he folded the pages and tucked them securely in an inner pocket of his jacket before he walked outside.
The princess’s chauffeur had parked the brand-new midnight blue Lexus SUV in front of the main house in preparation for her, leaving the keys in the ignition, and Trace took a minute to look the vehicle over. On the one hand it wasn’t a vehicle many college professors could afford to drive. But on the other hand it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility, either. If she wanted to fit in, as both Alec and Liam had made a point of telling him, at least the SUV would be less noticeable than the limo and driver.
The princess had already driven the two DSS agents to and from the university, getting a feel for the SUV and learning her way about town. They’d both assured him she was a good and careful driver, if a little nervous at times. Only to be expected, he thought. Zakhar doesn’t have the kind of traffic we take for granted, and she probably didn’t have much opportunity to drive herself there anyway. The same goes for the time she spent in England.
The front door opened and the princess walked out alone. She was dressed as casually as he was in jeans topped with a pale green blouse open at the throat, exposing a creamy expanse of skin. A brown leather purse was slung over one shoulder, she carried a leather briefcase in her other hand and brown leather flats were on her feet. A delicate gold necklace, a discreet gold watch and tiny gold studs in her ears were all the jewelry she wore. Her hair was pulled back into the chignon she customarily wore in public, a style that begged for a man’s hands to undo to let her wavy tresses flow free.
Her makeup was understated, as always, as if she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. And the disguising horn-rimmed fake eyeglasses were firmly in place—they really did make a noticeable difference in her appearance, although they didn’t really hide her lovely green eyes. Not from him, anyway.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling hesitantly.
His heartbeat quickened when her eyes met his, and he had to steel himself to be brusque. “Good morning, Princess.”
Her smile faded, and she took a deep breath. “Please do not call me that. Not today. Today I am Dr. Marianescu. Only that.”
She’s right, he thought. She’s gone to a lot of trouble to fit in, and it would defeat the purpose if anyone overhears me calling her Princess.
He knew why he called her Princess. It was his only defense against her, against the way she tugged at his emotions, the way his body responded to her. It was the only way he
