better tone it down, he told himself. No matter what I think of her personally, I’ve got a job to do.
When she was seated inside, he turned to the bodyguard who had tried to help her earlier. “If you want to sit in the front with the driver, go ahead. I’m going to ride shotgun.” And he slid into the seat beside the princess.
The cavalcade had already begun before the princess asked him, “Ride shotgun?”
Trace chuckled at the innocently curious note in her voice. He couldn’t help himself. “It actually means sitting beside the driver of a vehicle, providing armed protection. Like me, now. You’re not driving, but I’m still sitting beside you, armed and ready to do whatever’s necessary to protect you.”
She said something under her breath he had to strain to hear. “Even though you do not like me.”
“Yeah,” he said, “even though.” Her head snapped up, as if she was surprised he’d heard her. Or surprised he openly acknowledged his dislike.
She stared at him for a moment, her green eyes widening. Then she drew a deep breath and said, “I think we have somehow started incorrectly.” There was honest contrition in her face. “If I have offended you in some way, I apologize.”
Trace couldn’t hide his surprise. An apology? From her? That didn’t jibe with her insulting words earlier to her Zakharian bodyguard. But he couldn’t have misunderstood. It was a knack he had with regard to languages. Just as he had been able to soak up the Afghani language during his tour of duty there, not to mention the various tribal dialects that confused the hell out of most of his fellow soldiers, it hadn’t taken him more than three months to master the rudiments of the Zakharian language. And by the time he’d left Zakhar three months later he was speaking the language like a native.
No, he couldn’t have misunderstood her. But maybe, just maybe, there was an explanation. It’s not like me to jump to conclusions, he thought. Why did I? He had a suspicion, but he didn’t want to admit it. Especially not with the effect those green eyes were having on him. Safer to dislike her. But it was a tenuous safety at best.
* * *
The cavalcade drove through the iron gates of the palatial estate the king of Zakhar had purchased in the Boulder foothills and furnished for his sister’s year-long stay. Even though Trace had been here weeks earlier checking out the security measures and having new ones installed, he still couldn’t help mentally whistling through his teeth at the size and grandeur. But now that he’d seen the number of people accompanying the princess he realized the estate wasn’t too big—not if it had to accommodate a small army.
Trace had previously gone through every room in the house in minute detail, especially the bedrooms, and in his mind he’d already assigned rooms to the princess and the key personnel he knew were accompanying her. But the princess had other ideas, and wasn’t shy in the least about expressing her opinions.
“No,” she said immediately when he showed her to the large, sumptuous bedroom he’d picked out for her.
“Why not?” Trace dug in his heels. Not only was this the largest bedroom, it was the most easily defensible, situated as it was on the east side of the house with a vast expanse of open lawn in front of the long windows, no cover for anyone who might make it past the iron gates.
“I did not come to Boulder to look at grass,” she said firmly. “No matter how well kept. I wish to see the mountains from my bedroom window.”
She wandered through the house, oblivious not only to the beehive of activity around her, but also to Trace following behind her like a tall, grumpy shadow. She peered into room after room, commenting favorably or unfavorably on each of them in her native language, and once or twice Trace was hard put not to respond. But he knew she was talking to herself, not to him. And besides, she wasn’t to know he understood.
“This one,” she said finally in English, surprising him yet again. The bedroom was neither the largest nor the most opulent, although it had its own attached sitting room and luxurious bath. But when he joined her at the window from which she’d drawn back the drapes he realized why she’d picked it.
The Rockies soared in majestic wonder—layer upon snow-capped layer of blue and purple mountains filling the horizon. All at once Trace remembered Zakhar’s capital city, Drago, nestled deep in a mountain valley surrounded by towering, jagged peaks, and the princess’s words at the airport, I hope to soon feel at home here.
She turned abruptly, not realizing how close he was behind her, and bumped into him. “Excuse me,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile. But Trace didn’t back away. The expression on her face in the seconds before she ran into him held him mesmerized. He knew that expression. Knew the emotions it sprang from. He just never expected to see it on the face of a princess.
Loneliness.
Why the hell should she feel lonely? It’s not as if she has no one here with her from home—she brought a bevy of people with her. Every one of them here exclusively to see to her comfort and protection. Just like me.
He stared into her face. Her smile faded and her green eyes widened. And Trace could have sworn the delicate, expensive perfume she wore increased its potency as her pulse points heated up. Something tugged at him again, something he hadn’t felt in years. Not just desire. Not just passion.
He wanted to run the tips of his fingers along the curve of her cheek and banish the loneliness from her eyes. He wanted to pull the clip from her golden brown hair and have it spill over his hands in a heavy wave, then wind it about his throat, binding them together. And he wanted to draw her into the shelter of his arms and tell her...
Tell her what?
His face hardened in rejection of his unprofessional reaction to her and he backed away, muttering a soft imprecation under his breath. Then he turned and abruptly strode out. But not before he saw an expression in her eyes that stabbed through him. An expression he knew would keep him awake that night—and many nights to come—trying to figure it out. An expression so markedly different from the avid one he’d seen in the eyes of countless women over the years that he would never be able to erase it...or her...from his mind.
She was attracted to him. And it surprised the hell out of her. But that wasn’t what tore at his heart. That wasn’t what would haunt his nights. It was her quiet expectation—and acceptance—of his rejection that told Trace more than words just how little she expected from the men in her life. Princess or no princess, no one as young and lovely as she was, no one with her impressive string of accomplishments and with her whole life ahead of her should feel that way. Ever.
Mara watched Special Agent McKinnon go, watched him walk away from her as she had expected. Why should he be any different? she thought. But she was still surprised deep down...and that surprised her. He had seemed so unique, so different from all the men she knew, men who either treated her with kid gloves and a stultifying protocol, or the ones she had always studiously avoided—men who looked at her with conquest in their eyes, wondering what it would be like to bed a princess.
Trace McKinnon had done neither. He had reminded her of her brother, Andre. No, that is not correct, she told herself with a little shake of her head, wondering why her first instinct was to liken Special Agent McKinnon to her beloved
