One day, after long hours visiting a small village, the battered flatbed truck that the clinic assigned her to use for house calls just stopped running. After she fumbled with the hood, she finally propped it open. Steam cloaked her face in a hot white cloud that fogged her sunglasses and made her cough. Just as she was about to radio the office for help, she saw a man with close cropped hair and dark sunglasses riding up the hill toward her. He slowed his motorcycle down and pulled alongside her truck. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head to see him better.
"Having some trouble?" he asked.
Although his Spanish was perfect, he spoke with a slight accent that told her he was not a native speaker. Khaki cargo shorts brushed against his muscular calves and a very wrinkled blue linen oxford cloth shirt hung from broad shoulders. Suddenly conscious of the old t-shirt and cut-off shorts she wore, Elizabeth walked over to the man. She held her hand up to shade her eyes from the sun.
"Yes. It seems to have decided to take a siesta on me." Elizabeth answered in English.
"You're British?" He asked causally as he kicked the stand down on his bike and swung a long leg over the seat.
"I grew up there, but my parents are Conwyn. I'm with the WHO program in Copán. And, I'm volunteering in the clinic before I go to med school in the fall." She sounded like an idiot. Feeling the heat of a blush cover her face, she shoved her hands in her short's pockets.
He was kind enough to smile. "I'm on holiday myself."
"Holiday from what?" she asked curious what a man like him would need a break from.
When his half-smile turned a little wicked, her stomach fluttered.
"Everything."
He held out his hand. After she fumbled to get her hand out of her pocket, she watched as her fingers disappeared inside his gentle grip.
"I'm Callum by the way." His deep voice tickled her insides like an overly carbonated soda.
"Elizabeth," she answered breathlessly.
"It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth." His fingers slowly released hers. When they were gone, she missed their warmth.
Not sure what else to do with them, she wrapped her arms around her body and suppressed an uncontrollable urge to giggle. This was ridiculous, she thought. Get yourself together for goodness sakes.
Elizabeth cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "It's wonderful you were passing by when you did. Lucky really. I was afraid I would have to camp out here for the night."
He pushed his sunglasses up on his head and locked his grey eyes with hers. "Luck's a funny thing."
Elizabeth stopped mid-stride, the memory too painful to continue. It had been a long time since she let herself remember those months in Honduras. What would have been the point? To remind herself how stupid she was for believing that what they had shared together was actually real?
On the plane to Windsor, her father offered what little information he had on Callum. He had called a friend who held a senior position in the US Government. He told her father that he could arrange one of his guys to do some freelance security work. Her father had never met Callum until the day he came to collect her.
At the time, Elizabeth had wanted to see Callum again so they could work out their crazy situation. She told herself she would forgive him if he just came back to her. Elizabeth searched for him like a lovesick fool. She called her father's contact and left messages once a week for three months, but never heard back. She spent hours on the Internet and social media looking for her Callum Evans, but never found him. Elizabeth even called the American Embassy in Honduras and said that she was his wife hoping people would hear the panic in her voice and ignore the red tape long enough to give her some answers. But there were none. Only more questions.
At first, Elizabeth believed that Callum was in trouble or hurt. There had to be a reason he would not call. Stories of the tragedy and pictures of her family were splashed all over the news. If he was not dead, he would know where to find her. But he never did.
Despite his assignment as her bodyguard, she was sure they had something more. No one was that good of an actor. She wanted to let him know that she forgave him for lying. She just wanted him. But months and then years went by with no information. No one Elizabeth asked had ever heard of a Callum Evans. Even the cabin he rented was paid for by a cash advance. Her heartache mingled with anger and eventually hardened into hatred.
Elizabeth looked back at Victor, her unflappable bodyguard. He looked in complete control, barely winded, as he scanned the area for threats. She, however, was bent at the waist and grabbed her knees for support praying that her lungs would be able to capture enough air to keep her alive. Normally her daily runs left her energized and focused, but this run had pushed her too hard both mentally and physically. It had been a long time since she let herself remember those months in Honduras. What would have been the point? To remind herself how stupid she was in believing that what they shared together was worth fighting for? Believing Callum felt the same way?
Elizabeth stood up, her breathing under control, and crossed her arms. They were standing in small clearing that overlooked the Black Sea. Elizabeth squinted against the sun and forced herself to take a moment to appreciate the various greens of the new leaves that were sprinkled around the late spring forest. She took deep breaths as she tried to replace the mesh of unhappy thoughts swirling in her head with the beauty of the view. But did not work. All she could see was Callum sitting at the other end of the room from her with those piercing gray eyes.
Oh, she was so angry. But the anger went beyond Callum and his untimely reappearance. Beyond all of the unanswered questions it had taken years for her to accept. Elizabeth was angry that her world, the little bubble she had created for herself, seemed to be threatened. Since becoming Princess, Elizabeth forced herself to live only in the present. Do what needed to be done at that moment. One foot in front of the other.
Her bubble was the only way she coped with all of the changes she made and the dreams she walked away from. If her bubble popped, Elizabeth feared all of the control - that perfect princess persona she created and tried to maintain - would crash down around her. She could not afford to let that happen.
Elizabeth glanced back at Victor who stood by her side patiently. She gave him a weak smile. It was all she could muster at the moment and began to head back toward the palace. Elizabeth picked up the pace again hoping to exhaust herself to the point where coherent thought was not an option. In a matter of hours she would be in a room with Callum again and she refused to fall apart. She promised herself that the next time she saw him, Callum would be the one needed a five mile run and a cold shower.
Elizabeth reached over and wiped the steam from the mirror thankful that Victor had suggested a quicker route back. By that time she was ready to head back to the palace, Elizabeth honestly did not know if her legs would be able to carry her. Somehow she had made it. Thoughts of a shower and some quite time by herself pushed her the last quarter of a mile.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Maybe a little tired around the eyes, but presentable. That would make her mother happy. But her image reflected more than Elizabeth would like to admit. Her eyes and skin were sallow and dull. Elizabeth touched her face with her hand, brushing the tips of her fingers against the soft skin of her cheek as if she needed to remind herself that she was still here. That she survived today. Of course, she had this evening and the next three days of the conference to get through. She could do it. One foot in front of the other.
She reached for her robe. It was a thick baby blue terry-cloth robe that was threadbare in some places. It was one of the few things she managed to salvage from her pre-princess days. She had put up quite the battle to save it from destruction, but had not been so lucky with the rest of her former wardrobe. The majority of everything else she owned was deemed by the powers that be as too casual for someone in the public eye.
During that first transition year, there had been so many advisers and experts telling her what to do,
where to be, and how to do just about everything that she felt lost in the shuffle. She had been in such a fog over her change in lifestyle, giving up her dreams of medical school and losing Callum that concern over her clothes was the last thing on her mind. Her closets changed overnight from jeans, t-shirts, and flip-flops to suits, ball gowns, and high-heeled pumps.
Even now, four years later, her army of assistants and maids organized her closet. Her social secretary would work with Maya and her mother's staff to determine what she would wear for each event she attended. It was a rare occasion when Elizabeth could wear what she felt like wearing. Right now she longed for nothing more than a worn t-shirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and a pint mint chocolate chip ice cream. A night to wallow in self-pity, watch John Hughes movies, and go to bed early.
She picked up the comb and began to work out the tangles in her hair. Why did Callum have to show up now? Just when she had found a balance in her life. Had mastered the ability to carve out something for herself and still fulfill her duties of a princess. Granted there were slip-ups like tripping up the stairs of Parliament during the previous week, but even those moments were becoming rare.
She and Watson had settled into a comfortable relationship where each person respected the others stresses and obligations. He had been by her side during her family's darkest hours when they had to bury her uncle, aunt, and cousins. He had been there as she learned how to deal with her life being played out on a public stage where critics felt obligated to comment on her every move.
Watson had even helped her to feel again with his quiet patience and understanding. He never pushed her. Instead he stood beside her as she made faux pas after faux pas. She needed to give him credit for all of those subtle gestures of kindness. Wasn't that love after all?
Elizabeth knew from hard won experience that love was not like the movies where people fell into a fiery embrace and then spent fifty years of bliss together. Passion never lasted. It was like a strike of a match – quick, explosive, then over. If the person held the match for two long they would have nothing to show for their bravery but a burn mark on their fingertip. Callum was her match and she held on to it as long as she could. Elizabeth had a country that depended on her, and she could not have anyone in her life that she could not depend on in return.
"Ow!"
Elizabeth had lost herself in thought and yanked her hair too hard hitting a tangle with too much force. She slammed the comb down on the counter and took a deep breath. This was ridiculous. She could handle Callum or anything else that came her way. She looked at herself in the mirror again.
"Get it together. You're a princess for goodness sake, not some school girl with a crush on the wrong guy." In response to her own comment, she stuck her tongue out at herself and turned away from her reflection tired of the self-inflicted drama.
She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. How could Callum still have such an effect on her? She would like to think that it was because she never had a chance to say good-bye. Unfinished business. Stefan was right. She did need closure. Nothing more. It’s not like she wanted him back. He was just a member of the delegation. Someone she once knew. It did not need to be anything more than that.
Elizabeth had just about marshaled enough strength to see herself though the night with Callum when she heard someone moving around in her bedroom. Figuring the sound came from one of the maids fulfilling their never-ending quest to keep her room pristine, Elizabeth casually put her comb away, walked to the bathroom door, and opened it prepared to ask the maid for few moments of privacy before one of her ladies-in-waiting came to help her dress. But instead of seeing a maid frantically dusting her dresser, Elizabeth saw Callum casually sitting in the center of her pale blue sofa in the center of her room.
There was something almost comical about his large, muscular frame surrounded by delicate, fringed throw pillows. But she was in no mood to laugh, not with her stomach lodged in her throat. He looked relaxed with his ankle resting on his knee and his arms spread-eagle over the back of the sofa as if he sat in her room waiting for her to finish her shower every day. He even had the audacity to give her one of those half-smiles that was somewhere between sheepish and cocky. It made him look vulnerable and sexy at the same time and had never failed to make her go weak at the knees.
Except at that moment. Standing in the bathroom doorway, her private space invaded by the man who took away every dream she had ever hoped for without even a simple good-bye, all she could feel was anger. How dare he act casual about this encounter?
Elizabeth wanted with every fiber of her being to make him as uncomfortable as she had felt all day, but she knew lashing out at him with questions and angry words would be a battle he would be prepared to fight. He was trained for combat and would have armed himself for the onslaught of emotions that he would assume she would unleash on him. Well, Major Callum Evans - or whoever the hell you are - think again.
Elizabeth stood in the bathroom doorway getting angrier and angrier as he sat on the couch still as a leopard waiting for his prey to make the first move. She could see it in his eyes, his need to know what direction she would take in this unplanned encounter. At that moment, Elizabeth knew what she had to do. She held her head high and walked across her bedroom to the closet.
With both of the double doors open, he could easily see her every move. Her closet was the size of a small apartment with shelves and drawers on one side and a variety of hanging racks on the other. There was a vanity with a mirror at the end of the room and a round settee in the center tufted in a complementary fabric that matched her suite's fairy tale decor. One of her assistants had laid out a simple black Channel dress that had a slight ruffle at the hemline. It was form fitting, sleeveless and would fall just above her knee. Sheer black stockings, Christian Louboutin patent-leather pumps, and a lime green pashmina would complete the outfit. Perfect.
With the closet doors open, giving Callum a perfect view inside, Elizabeth took a deep breath, keeping her back to him, and dropped her robe. She knew he was no threat to her. He would never do anything without her consent. Even with as many unanswered questions she had about Callum Evans, she knew that with all of her heart.
The sharp intake of breath she heard from across the room gave her the courage to continue. She slowly put on her black lace undergarments silently thanking whoever put out one of her nicer sets. Normally the fact that her staff would choose the underwear she wore would irk her to no end. Sometimes she would trade them out for a plain white cotton set just to remind herself she had some control over her life. But not today. Today she was more than happy to have to fiddle with a garter belt and stockings. She just prayed she would not fumble with the snaps like she usually did. Her hands were shaking from the uncharacteristic display of exhibitionism, but there was no doubt that the control of the room had shifted in her favor. She knew from his silence that Callum had not prepared himself for this type of guerrilla warfare.
Elizabeth sat down on the settee and inched each of silk stockings along her leg. She stuck one of her well-formed calves in the air and smoothed the stocking across her skin before she fastened it to the garter. Knowing she was not yet brave enough to face him directly, Elizabeth kept her back to him, sliding the form fitting dress down her body. She was glad it was a simple slip on with zipper underneath the arm and not down the back. Callum might misunderstand and consider the open back an invitation rather than the gauntlet she intended.
Elizabeth lifted her bare arm and zipped the dress closed then bent at the waist to slip her foot in the pumps. She looked down and twisted her ankle as if she was inspecting the fit. The finishing touch was a thick black belt that encircled her waist. She pulled it tight as if it could somehow give her the additional strength she would need to get through the next few minutes. Elizabeth had not heard any sound from the sitting room.
After a few more moments of tense silence, Elizabeth's curiosity got the best of her. Still not prepared to face him
directly, Elizabeth thought she might be able to catch a glimpse of his reaction through the mirror above her vanity. She sat down on the dainty stool preparing to blow-dry her hair and slowly raised her eyes to meet his reflection. She realized her mistake the second their eyes met.
His rock hard stare locked on to hers with a vice grip that would not let her go. His face was stone and his glare pure heat. The tension caused by her reverse striptease suffocated the air from the room as if it was hit with a back draft. Elizabeth felt like a matador in the center of the ring and someone just opened up the gates for the raging bull. Raw strength against practiced skill. Only one of them would survive. And from the look of molten steel he was giving her, she doubted that it would be her.
Chapter 5
Callum could not turn away from her dark amber eyes even if the leader of AP walked in the room carrying the vitals of Argent on a silk pillow. He sat paralyzed except for his racing pulse and the hardness growing in his pants. His fingers curled around the back of the sofa in a death grip that turned his knuckles white. Every fiber of his being wanted to take off each piece of clothing she had just put on and help her remember what they could be like when they were together. As he prepared to launch himself off of the sofa like a ballistic missile and make use of the plush carpet covering the floor of her closet, a soft knock at the door caught him by surprise.
Elizabeth broke eye contact at the sound, a flash of guilt crossing her face. But before Callum could figure out if her guilt stemmed from her sexy display of bravado or the emotions they had just uncorked when their eyes meet, Elizabeth was across the room. She shot him a look of pure anger before she opened the door just wide enough to poke her head through.
"Yes?" She asked.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay. One the maids saw a gentleman from the delegation walking the halls this evening near your room."
Callum heard Victor's deep voice from the other side of the door. The man that had taken his place as her bodyguard. A flair of intense white-hot jealousy ripped through him. Victor immediately went to the top of his list as someone who would have access to Elizabeth's cell phone. He planned to give the bodyguard's name to the analysts supporting the mission as soon as he finished with Elizabeth.
Princess Bodyguard Page 5
