McKinnon's Royal Mission (9 page)

When Trace arrived Alec was just hanging up the phone. “Vet’s on his way,” he said.

Trace heard him on one level and nodded, but he only had eyes for the princess. She was in Suleiman’s stall, trying to get him up. Suleiman was thrashing around on the ground, in obvious pain, and she was tugging on his mane, calling to him urgently in Zakharan, but Suleiman either wouldn’t—or couldn’t—rise.

When Trace entered the stall she turned a face of desperate pleading toward him. Two tears had trickled down her cheeks, leaving trails that glistened, but she ignored them. She said one word in Zakharan, then shook her head as if angry at herself, and switched to English. “Colic.”

Trace had understood her the first time. “Let me get in there, Princess.” But his hands were already on her arms, moving her firmly out of the way. To Alec he said, “Got to get him up—colic can be a killer if the horse rolls around on the ground and gets his intestines all twisted up.” He grabbed a halter from where it hung near the stall and quickly strapped it to the horse’s head despite the way Suleiman tossed his head in an attempt to resist, forcing the bit between the horse’s teeth and into place. Then he tugged hard, bracing himself against one wall for extra leverage, his muscles distended.

“Call to him, Princess,” he ordered.

“Suleiman! Up, boy, up, up!” she repeated, in a mixture of English and Zakharan.

With a shrill neighing sound, the horse staggered to his feet. Trace stroked the horse’s neck soothingly. “Good boy,” he praised in a calm tone, although he was feeling anything but calm. Just because Suleiman was standing didn’t mean he was out of danger. “Get back, Princess,” he told her curtly when she started forward. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t become violent.”

“Not with me,” she assured him, careless of her safety, her eyes anxious for her horse. “Suleiman would never—”

“Not normally, no. But with colic you can’t be sure. If the pain gets too bad he could lash out, and I don’t want you too close to him.” He started leading the horse out of the stables. “I’ll walk him until the vet arrives.”

* * *

It was nearly midnight before Trace finally fell into bed. It hadn’t taken long for the veterinarian to confirm the princess’s and Trace’s diagnosis when he arrived, and apply the proper treatment. Trace had been tremendously relieved it hadn’t been anything worse than impaction colic that didn’t require surgery. But it had been bad enough...and messy. Not just for the vet. He’d been surprised at the princess’s active participation, but then realized he shouldn’t have been—nothing was too much for her where the horse she loved was concerned.

Afterward, Trace had told Alec to take her back to the house so she could clean herself up, and he’d returned to the guest house himself for a shower and change of clothes. But he’d been quick about it because he’d had a hunch the princess would be back, and he’d been right. The princess had stayed with the vet while he gave Suleiman intravenous fluids merely as a precaution, then stayed, even after the vet left.

Trace stayed with her, Alec hovering in the background until Trace told him he might as well turn in. “No sense both of us hanging around,” he told the other man. “And you’re on duty tomorrow, so you’d better get some sleep.”

Trace glanced at the princess from time to time after Alec left, but didn’t say anything. He wanted to tell her there wasn’t anything more for her to do, so she might as well go to bed, too. But he knew that wouldn’t happen, not until she dropped from fatigue. At one point when he looked at her she caught his gaze and held it. There was gratitude in her lovely eyes, and something more. Admiration. The kind of expression that made a man feel ten feet tall and invincible.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“No big deal,” he replied. “You already knew what the problem was, and the vet got here fast. We were lucky it wasn’t anything more serious.”

Yes,” she agreed. “But I could not get Suleiman up. It could have been so much worse if you had not—” She caught her breath and her eyes darkened.

He shrugged. “I just happened to know what to do, that’s all.”

Her eyes betrayed her curiosity. “Yes, but how did you know? You are not a veterinarian. Were you raised with horses? I have wondered...”

Although Trace laughed, he felt a touch of bitterness. “No, Princess,” he said. “I was raised by my grandparents, and they couldn’t have cared less about horses...or me.” He caught himself up quickly, realizing he’d revealed something he would rather not have revealed.

She didn’t say anything at first, just turned to watch Suleiman for a minute. Without looking at Trace she said, “But you are a natural horseman. There is no question of that. So how, if you were not raised with horses...?”

“I was cowboy crazy when I was a kid,” he said with a half-smile of remembrance for the boy he’d been. “I delivered newspapers, mowed lawns in the summer and shoveled snow in the winter to earn money to take riding lessons when I was twelve.”

This time when she looked at him her admiration was for the single-minded determination of the boy he’d been, not just the man he was. “I understand that kind of dedication,” she said, her green eyes shining, and Trace remembered this woman had obtained her doctorate at the age of twenty-five. Since most math PhDs took five to six years to complete in addition to a four year undergraduate degree, that meant she had to have started very young, putting aside everything else in her drive to achieve her goal.

“When I was fourteen,” he continued, “I was ‘hired’ by the stable where I took lessons, and I worked there for the next four years. At first they just paid me with more lessons and free rides, but when I was older they paid me in cash, too. I cleaned out stalls, groomed horses, fed and watered them, led trail rides, and even gave lessons myself toward the end.” He smiled at her. “So yeah, I’ve seen colicky horses before, not to mention a few other ailments. Haven’t lost one yet, though some of it was just plain luck.”

“But you are not a cowboy now. Why did you stop working there?”

“I joined the Corps at eighteen. The US Marine Corps,” he clarified. “I wanted to see the world.” He chuckled. “That used to be the recruitment line for the US Navy—‘Join the Navy and see the world.’ But I didn’t want to be a sailor. I wanted the toughest bunch of SOBs this country had to offer, and I got it.” Then he realized who he was talking to. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Sometimes my language is a little rough around the edges. Blame it on the cowboy, not the marine.”

Her green eyes twinkled mischievously. “It is nothing,” she assured him. “I have heard worse.” She laughed under her breath and said something in Zakharan, the earthy curse he’d thrown at Alec and Liam the first day.

Trace was hard put not to display his shock, but he managed it.
How the hell does a princess know that?
“Sounds like a curse,” he said, wondering if she’d tell him.

She laughed again, this time with delight. “It is, but I dare not translate it for you.” Then her eyes turned wistful. “It is Andre’s favorite curse. Not in public of course. He is very circumspect in public, very much the king. But I have heard him use it...on occasion.” Her face retained its wistful expression, but an amused, remembering smile touched the corners of her lips.

“You miss him a lot, don’t you?” The question popped out before he realized he was going to ask it.

“More than anything in the world,” she said simply. She blinked several times, then looked at Trace, and there were tears in her eyes. “He is...special. And so precious to me. I cannot explain. He is my king, yes. But he is my brother, first and last. He would give his life for me, and more no man can give. If not for him...” She wiped the tears from her eyes unashamedly. And what she said next took his breath away. “You remind me of him. So very much.”

“Me?” he asked ungrammatically, not believing he’d heard correctly.

“Yes. I cannot explain, not with words. It is something in here,” she said, raising a hand and pressing it to her heart. “I know I am safe with you. Alec and Liam—they guard me well. Do not think otherwise. But they do not remind me of Andre.” She drew a deep breath, sighed and said softly, “I just wish you did not dislike me.”

Trace didn’t know what to say. He didn’t dare tell her the truth, that he liked her far too much for comfort. Far too much for safety. Hers...and his. “I don’t—” he began, but she cut him off.

“When I saw you with Alyssa, I saw the man you really are. Gentle. Loving. So very protective. And she is not even your own daughter.”

“Any man would feel that way about a child,” he said, not quite understanding what she was getting at. “Especially a sweet little girl like Alyssa.”

She went very still, as she had once before, and at first her face was like a blank, emotionless slate. This time, however, he saw a struggle in her eyes instead of that passive acceptance, and he knew he was on the verge of some cataclysmic revelation. But then she said no, ducked her head and turned away. “It is late. Thank you again for saving Suleiman.”

She walked out of the stables, her head held high. But there was something about the gallant figure she made as she walked away that tore at his heart. Something about the way she’d said that one word,
No
. Something that made him feel like crying.

He wanted to call her back, to ask her what in God’s name she meant by it. But he was afraid. Afraid that if he knew the answer, his defenses against her would be irrevocably breached.

Chapter 8

S
eptember segued into October. The aspen groves displayed the bright golden color for which they were justly famous, drawing flocks of tourists, and though the sun still shone the average temperature dropped by ten degrees. Snow fell in the mountains west of Boulder, and jackets became the norm.

Trace sat in the guest house living room on the first Sunday night in October, toasting his feet in front of the fire in the fireplace. The one beer he allowed himself when he wasn’t on duty was sitting half forgotten on the end table beside him as he reviewed the meticulously prepared case reports from the Jones brothers covering the past week. Nada. Zip. Zilch. There was nothing in their reports worth funneling upward to the State Department. And his own reports weren’t any more informative. Still, the reports would be filed as they’d dutifully been filed every week since the assignment began. The State Department’s bureaucracy demanded it.

Not for the first time Trace thanked his lucky stars the agency he really worked for was free of that monotonous bureaucracy and paperwork. If there was nothing to report, there was nothing to report, and you didn’t have to go into excruciating detail while saying it. That wasn’t to say his fellow agents didn’t prepare periodic case reports. Sometimes the absence of something was just as important to the overall picture as its presence, so case reports were still required. But the agency trusted its agents to make the judgment call on what and when. The agency had better things to do than drown in needless paperwork.

Trace tossed the last report aside with a little sound of frustration, picked up his beer and drained it in one long swallow. For a minute he longed for his real job with the agency, missing the never-ending challenge, the excitement of pitting his wits against terrorists and criminals. Even without Keira as his partner he missed it. Then he cradled the empty bottle in his hands as he stared into the dancing flames, his thoughts turning inevitably to the princess who was never far from his thoughts, waking or sleeping.

His obsession with her had been bad enough before she’d begun what he called her campaign to deliberately attract him. In any other woman he’d have thought it laughable, but that wasn’t the emotion her attempts to gain his attention aroused in him. Far from it. Each attempt merely made him feel more protective of her...and at the same time drawn deeper under her spell. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain his distance.

A little niggling voice inside him said he should ask to be taken off the team guarding her. And he’d do it, too, if he felt his objectivity had been compromised. But he was handling it like the professional he was. Wasn’t he? And he’d hate like hell having to tell anyone—even Walker—why he wanted off.

No, he’d see the assignment through to the bitter end. He’d never called it quits on an assignment before, and he wasn’t about to start now. No matter the cost to himself.

* * *

Mara had been teaching for six weeks when she woke to a Monday morning world of swirling white. She stood at her bedroom window, marveling at how the landscape had been transformed overnight. She wanted to bundle up, go outside and frolic in the snow as she had done when she was a little girl. She longed to be young enough to catch snowflakes on her tongue, to be pulled on a sled by a laughing Andre, to make angels in the snow.

A tap at her bedroom door startled her out of reverie. “Come,” she answered automatically in Zakharan, refusing to take her eyes from the winter wonderland outside, and the happy memories it invoked.

Mara’s personal assistant entered and spoke a few soft words in Zakharan, dragging Mara back into the here and now. Her heart skipped a beat as she retied the belt of her robe and told her assistant, “Bring him.” But before she was prepared Trace walked into her bedroom.

Trace stopped short on the threshold, transfixed by the sight of the princess standing by the window from which she’d drawn the drapes, with her hair hanging around her shoulders in glorious sleep-tousled waves. He’d only seen her once in person with her hair down like this, and she’d quickly bundled it back up, but the photo of her with Suleiman and her hair loose was one of his most cherished possessions.

His eyes slid from her hair downward, taking in the soft fleece of the pale green, floor-length robe that hugged her curves like a lover. Like he wanted to do. A wave of heat slammed through him, and it was all he could do to remember why he was there. “Good morning, Princess,” he said finally. “We have a slight problem.”

“Yes?” Her voice was early morning husky, and sent tendrils of desire streaming everywhere through his body.

Trace ignored the feeling, ignored the unmade bed that gave him forbidden ideas and pointed to the snow swirling outside the window. “How much experience do you have driving in snow?”

“Oh,” she said blankly. “I did not think of that.” She turned away to stare wistfully out the window. “I was just remembering when I was a little girl.”

When she said the words Trace saw a vision of her as she must have been when she was young and carefree, before her world was bounded by protocol and paparazzi, and tenderness was added to his desire. But that tenderness was even more dangerous than the desire he was barely able to control.

“That’s why you have me,” he said. And when she threw him a puzzled glance he clarified, “To think of these things. So how much experience do you have?” As soon as the words left his mouth he realized the unintended double entendre, and hoped the princess wouldn’t realize what his question could be referring to.

Her startled eyes met his, and he could see by her sudden intake of breath that she hadn’t missed a thing. She stared at him across the room, and Trace knew nothing had changed since the day she’d touched his lips on Mount Evans. She was as vibrantly aware of him as a man as he was of her as a woman. Maybe even more so. “None,” she admitted finally, her voice low and trembling.

For just a second Trace wondered which question she was answering. “Then...” He cleared his throat. “Then it’s probably best if your chauffeur drives us to and from school today.” He held up his hand before she could dispute him. “Trust me on this, Princess.”

“I was not going to object...I am not stupid,” she said with some heat, lifting her chin in the obstinate way she had the first day. “I was merely going to say I do not mind if he drives the SUV.” She stared at him for several seconds as varied emotions flitted across her face, then added, “I would not risk my life...or yours. Not until I have more experience.” She took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage, and walked slowly toward Trace until she was standing right in front of him. “Will you teach me?”

Desire roared back in full force, and he longed with all his heart to be the one to teach her. Not just how to drive in snow, but how to please a man and be pleased in return. To teach her what her body was capable of, to awaken her desire to the point where she knew what hunger was, the way he hungered for her. He longed to sink his body deep into hers; to carry her with him on rising waves of passion until the whole world disappeared, leaving only the two of them...and their need for each other.

He fought the hunger biting through him, curling his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.
Driving
, he reminded himself.
She’s talking about driving.
But his body didn’t want to listen. “Sure, Princess,” he told her, letting the slight mocking tone creep into his voice, his only defense against her. “I’ll teach you...anything you want to learn.” He turned and walked out of the room, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes.

* * *

Two days on, four days off. Trace had had four days to try to build his defenses against the princess on something solid, something with more strength to it than deliberately hurting her, again and again. The subtle mocking inflection to the word
princess
was banished now, never to return. He’d reached the end of the line where that pitiful defense was concerned. Each time he hurt her he hurt himself now, and he couldn’t do it anymore. She didn’t deserve it...and he couldn’t bear it. Something had changed in their relationship—she
mattered
to him. It was a hell of a thing to have to admit, but he couldn’t deceive himself anymore.

Maybe it was that day at the shooting range when he’d realized she was deliberately creating excuses to have him touch her, hold her. Or maybe it was the way she’d looked at his goddaughter the day before that—wistful, bewildered, yearning. He didn’t understand the emotions that had flitted across her face, but he’d known she was vulnerable. Damned vulnerable. Maybe it was the way she’d said he reminded her of her beloved brother, Andre, the night Suleiman had colic. That shock had left him reeling. It was almost as much of a shock as hearing that earthy, Zakharan curse on her lips accompanied by a mischievous expression.

Or maybe it was everything. Everything about her. Every day spent in her company. Every minute spent listening to her musical voice, so full of enthusiasm as she taught. Every sidelong glance she cast at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. Every naive attempt to draw his attention. Every aching, erotic dream about her. Every time he saw her lovely, green eyes—smiling, solemn, wistful, hurt. Even blank, the way he’d seen her eyes a few times when that curtain had come down over her emotions. Her eyes owned him.

He didn’t want to like her...but he did. He didn’t want to want her...but he did. He didn’t want to need her...but he was afraid it was already too late.
You’re in over your head, McKinnon,
he warned himself sternly.
You’re drowning.

But he didn’t care. Not anymore, and it was as if a weight had been lifted with that determination. He wasn’t going to fight what he felt for her. He wasn’t going to act on it, of course—she was as much off limits to him now as she’d always been—but what was the harm in enjoying her company? A little light flirtation, a little friendly conversation. And maybe she’d answer some of those questions about her past that had been slowly driving him crazy.

Tomorrow was Sunday, and he’d be back on duty. He was going to do what she’d asked him to do last Monday morning—teach her how to drive in the snow. As the week had progressed the temperature had warmed somewhat. Most of the snow here in Boulder had melted, and even the side roads were clear. But he’d let her drive up into the mountains a little way, just as far as his cabin outside Keystone. I-70 would be dry as a bone, as would the other highways, but they never plowed the long dirt road that led nowhere except to his cabin, and there should still be snow there.

That road would be ideal for her to practice on since there would be no other traffic; if she skidded, she couldn’t hit much of anything. Then they could take a break in his cabin before starting for home. He’d always wondered what she’d think of it, and now he’d find out. The water was turned off, but he could turn it back on for the time they’d be there, then shut it off again without too much trouble.

I can handle this,
he assured himself.
Look but don’t touch.
It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d had lots of experience doing just that in Afghanistan. The same for when he’d been married. His ex-wife had never believed him, but he’d been completely faithful to her in the years they’d been married. Hell yes, he’d looked at other women. He was a man and had a man’s appreciation for women in all their interesting variations. And with his looks women had always thrown out lures. But his vows had meant something to him, and he’d never succumbed to the many temptations that had crossed his path. Not once.

Janet just hadn’t believed him. And her constant suspicions, her lack of faith in him had eroded whatever love he’d once felt for her, until...at the very end, when she’d demanded he give up his new partner, Keira Jones, accusing him of caring more for his partner than he did for his wife, he’d realized she was right. Not that he was having an affair with Keira. He just no longer cared for Janet, couldn’t bear her lack of trust a minute longer. And that had been that.

A sudden memory surfaced—the princess taking his hand at Summit Lake, an expression of utter trust in her lovely green eyes. She should have been terrified, or at the very least she should have been on guard against him after his violent confrontation with the man who’d taken her picture. But she’d trusted him implicitly, had known somehow that the violent side of him would never be turned against her. Had known, too, that he would protect her with his life...and not just because he was her bodyguard.

That memory triggered a new line of thought.
Maybe that’s when you first realized she mattered to you,
he told himself with a flash of insight. Trust was such a rare and precious commodity. Other than his former partner, what other woman in his entire life had ever trusted him? Really trusted him?

The princess did. Even though he’d pushed her away emotionally, time and again, even though he’d resorted far too often to that mocking tone of voice to drive her away, she trusted him. And she didn’t hide it from him. Her hand had lain trustingly in his all the way back from Summit Lake. And her eyes...her eyes had spoken volumes.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly Sunday morning, the temperature hovering in the high thirties, and the air was calm and still when Mara walked out the front door to where Trace was waiting for her with the SUV. She was bundled up against the cold he had warned her they could experience at the higher elevation of Keystone no matter what the temperature was in Boulder, and her face was glowing with the anticipation of a child. When he’d casually mentioned his plans at dinner last night she’d been excited, all the more so since he indicated they wouldn’t need her chauffeur to accompany them. A chance to spend time alone with Trace was as exhilarating as it was unexpected.

He was dressed in jeans and a navy blue wool sweater with a Norwegian reindeer pattern across his broad chest. Boots and leather gloves, of course, and an unzipped down vest, also in navy blue, completed his ensemble. He was leaning casually against the SUV, and looked wonderfully masculine to Mara’s eyes.