Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Copyright
“Lady, they’re going to stop at nothing to get you.”
“Do they want me dead?” Tarini tried her best to keep her voice neutral, though inside she was shaking with horror.
“They’ll take you dead, but I think they want you alive,” Austin said. “At least, so they can publicly execute you in the capital square.”
Tarini swallowed hard.
“Don’t worry,” Austin said in that damnable we’re-doing-it-my-way voice. “I’m going to keep you away from them…for the baby’s sake.”
“Austin, maybe I better explain—”
“Don’t bother,” he said dismissively. “I don’t have time for explanations. You might be important to others because of some ancient monarchy garbage, but you’re important to me only because you’re carrying my best friend’s child. No other reason, understand?”
Dear Reader,
As a novelist, I am surprised every morning when I turn on the computer. Characters that I thought certain to do one thing decide most emphatically that they will do the opposite. Situations that were pretty straightforward the afternoon before take a decidedly Gothic turn. And sometimes characters who have a small but nonetheless pivotal role in one book announce they have their own story to tell.
It was while I was writing the November 1996 Harlequin American Romance novel #655, Marrying Nicky, that Tarini Schaskylavitch demanded her own book. When single father Nicholas Sankovitch entered into a “green card” marriage with Toria Tryon to resist deportation to his native land, it was countrywoman Tarini— special agent to the U.S.—who afforded Nick the opportunity to live up to his wedding vows.
For all that hard work, Tarini wanted her own chance at romance. And two very special editors, Debra Matteucci and Denise O’Sullivan, agreed. But Tarini is no ordinary heroine—she’s a woman of mystery and danger. She needed a whole new category for her story. Luckily, there’s Harlequin Intrigue.
My best,
Vivian Leiber
His Kind of Trouble
Vivian Leiber
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Tarini Schaskylavitch—Could she be killed for the secret she carries?
Austin Smith—He forgave his best friend, but could he forgive—and protect—Tarini?
Vladimir Romanov—He needs an heir to secure a kingdom. Tarini offers a solution, both political and personal.
Andrei Karinolov—Will this brutal man extinguish the hopes of a fragile young nation?
Tanya Schaskylavitch—Living in the shadow of her sister, she will do anything for Andrei.
Bob Kearner—He swears he will stop at nothing to help Austin.
Ambassador Reginald Smith—A retired diplomat-at-large, he has a penchant for hightech gadgetry…and espionage?
Mrs. Smith—The devoted wife and mother knows all the protocol of international diplomacy. But is she really what she seems?
Mrs. Schaskylavitch—The widow has lived through every terror of war…and will do anything to protect her daughters.
Prologue
January 7, 1997
Byleukrainia
As the aerial assault on the city began, some of the soldiers in the trenches felt fear. Others a rush of adrenaline. Still others, an unleashing of their dark, primitive selves. But Andrei Karinolov felt none of these emotions. His only emotion was a possessiveness for a city that would soon be his. He simply stood behind the safety of the bunkers, and watched the bombs fall on the helpless city. He spared not a moment’s thought or pity for the innocent lives being destroyed.
“Necessary,” he would have said if asked.
Once the city fell, Andrei would travel across the Atlantic to bring back the last traitorous Romanov. And then he would stand to gain a country and a city and a people.
But, most of all, he would bring the woman to her knees before him. He had promised himself the woman. Because she was very much like him— strong-willed and proud—Karinolov would enjoy breaking her as he would a fine Thoroughbred. He marveled at how soon she would be enslaved by him.
He remembered the touch of her skin. Soft as silk, the color of café au lait. Her hair he remembered as blue-black, and her eyes like emeralds.
She would be his reward.
And from her, he would bring forth his own dynasty.
January 7, 1997 New York City
SHE FELT the cold, clammy touch at her cheek and she screamed.
“Tarini, Tarini, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
Jerking her head around, she opened her eyes to the sapphire blue eyes of her lover, Austin Smith.
He held her from behind, his hard, damp legs entwined with hers, the scent of their lovemaking lingering in the tangled Egyptian linen sheets, the traffic sounds of Manhattan drifting up to the penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park.
“You were having a nightmare,” he consoled.
Tarini Schaskylavitch shuddered with embarrassment—she didn’t like this unwilling display of her weakness.
She was sure that Austin didn’t, either. Austin liked their relationship clean, uncomplicated—the carnal sparring of two sexually sophisticated equals.
Equals with no past.
And no future.
She thought of the nightmare—just a smattering of images from her youth. An odd touch to her cheek that provoked such revulsion. So much haunted her from her early childhood in Byleukrainia. Her widowed mother had sacrificed greatly to get her two daughters to the safety of the United States. Tarini remembered everything, too well, in fact. Her sister, Tanya, had been a toddler and had no memory of those difficult years before they came to America.
Austin turned on the light. The bedroom was white, with plush pillows and soft, thick comforters. Comfortable and yet masculine—an antique map of Cape Horn and a series of framed black-and-white photographs decorated the walls. A sleek glass-andsteel desk flanked the bed. The windows were covered with rice paper screens and a screen door opened to the dressing room and bath.
As the son of retired U.S. diplomat-at-large Reginald Smith, Austin had lived all over the world and his sanctuary showed his appreciation for the many cultures and customs he’d encountered.
“Come here,” he said, drawing her to him. He caressed her legs, quickly chasing away the memory of her dream, bringing pleasure in its place. She was as physical as he was, though she was not nearly as sophisticated.
He entered her just as she was ready for him and they came together in pulsing, driving passion that chased away the darkness and exhausted them both. They fell into a calm, dreamless sleep.
Tarini awoke in the morning to an empty bed. She pulled on Austin’s work shirt, discarded in the previous night’s lovemaking, and walked up the spiral staircase to the rooftop conservatory of the penthouse apartment. Austin was working out on the treated-pine flooring and glass panels he had built himself. Potted early crocuses and paper white narcissus dotted the courtyard. He kicked, blocked and punched in the combinations prescribed by traditional Shoto-kan k
arate.
Tarini sat at the wrought-iron table where Austin had laid out a tray of her favorite black tea, and a platter of buttery croissants still warm from the oven.
He had always been thoughtful the morning after intense lovemaking.
She fixed herself a plate and watched Austin work out. Austin was a man of the world, with cultured tastes in wine, cuisine, automobiles and women. She lived at home with her mother and sister—and was in awe of everything Austin had to show her.
About life.
About love.
All right, admit it, she thought, she was in awe of everything Austin had to show her about sex. And, from what her married girlfriends had hinted about sex, he was an unusually gifted lover.
She had come into this relationship with her eyes open. Austin wasn’t a settle-down kind of man. And she had no intention of marrying outside of her Byleukrainian community—her mother would hit the ceiling if she did.
Their relationship had, at her request, been kept a secret. Her traditionalist community would scorn her had they known. And Tarini was determined to protect her mother and her younger sister’s reputation. They had been careful about where they went, how long they stayed wherever they went, how they acted when their paths crossed in public.
There was no talk of love and no talk of a future.
She hadn’t wanted either of those things when they first met. She had been surprised by her wanton surrender to him and even more surprised by how quickly she had come back for more.
Now everything had changed, although the rooftop conservatory with its potted boxwood and bonsai spruce looked as eternally lush and serene as the day before, although Austin’s glistening chest and arms worked the same karate moves as they had the day before. The Manhattan streets were still covered with a thin dusting of the New Year’s snow.
Only Tarini was different.
She swallowed hard just thinking about the future. She had thought she was past the trouble spots of her life. But now, in just the past day, her world had been turned upside down.
But she was a survivor.
She’d figure out a way.
She pulled his shirt closer around her shoulders, feeling a scratchiness in the pocket of the otherwise soft cotton fabric. She felt a piece of crumpled paper in the shirt pocket, pulled it out, looked at it and felt her cheeks burn.
She looked down at the phone number scrawled in loopy, feminine script. He hadn’t made any promises and she had no right to confront him.
If she talked to him, told him everything, she was sure Austin would do the right thing—but for how long and with how much resentment?
She took a sip of the burning hot tea.
As if there had been any doubt about telling him. She knew only one man to go to. Vlad would help her. The young United Nations ambassador from her homeland was like an uncle to her—her grandfather had fought in his grandfather’s army, her grandmother had spirited Vladimir’s own mother to safety when the Communists took over and her father had died fighting to protect Vlad’s father. The family ties were cemented by a personal affection.
But Austin and Vlad were friends, the very closest childhood friends. Would going to Vlad destroy the bond between the two men?
She put the piece of paper into the pocket of Austin’s shirt and went downstairs to get dressed.
She left the apartment before Austin finished his workout.
January 9
Byleukrainian United Nations Mission, New York City
THE UNITED NATIONS MISSION for the Sovereignty of Byleukrainia is pleased to announce the engagement of the Honorable Ambassador Vladimir Romanov to private citizen Tarini Schaskylavitch. They will wed February fourteenth in a traditional ceremony to be held at the mission.
Ms. Schaskylavitch is a native of the mother country and has worked as immigration liaison to the ambassador for the past two months. She was posted with the United States Immigration and Naturalization Service in Chicago and is notable for saving the life of Byleukrainian environmental scientist Nicholas Sankovitch and his American bride Victoria Tryon.
Ambassador Romanov is the last direct descendant of the Byleukrainian Romanov dynasty and is…
Austin crumpled the memo in his fist and cursed Tarini’s name. An innocent? Hardly. She had played him for a fool. Claiming they must keep their relationship a secret because of a traditionalist family—and he had honored her desires.
Forget it! Forget her!
January 14
The Ambassador’s Suite, New York City
SHE MUST HAVE BEEN two-timing him all along, luring Vlad into a marriage alliance while coming to Austin for more…carnal pleasures.
Barely days after she had left his apartment, after she’d declined to take his calls at her office—he now knew why—she had risen from his bed to place the Romanov diamond engagement ring on her finger. And he had actually worried that he had done something to hurt her feelings!
She had acted like a viper, a—But here he stopped himself. He hadn’t made any promises, and had never asked for any. He wasn’t that kind of man. And while he wanted to warn his friend Vlad what sort of woman Tarini was, he figured Vlad already knew well enough about his bride-to-be.
After all, this was not a love match. Tarini was descended from a long line of high-ranking Byleukrainian aristocracy. A marriage would be regarded as a triumphant reemergence of the Royalist movement—although the military now threatened to take over the tiny breakaway republic on the Black Sea.
The dark-haired beauty Tarini and the impeccably pedigreed Vlad would be a perfect political couple. As an American, he confessed that he could barely comprehend the importance of these unions. As the son of an American diplomat who had been posted all over the world, he knew these alliances could change the course of a country’s history.
No, he shouldn’t warn his friend. He should simply offer his congratulations. He ran his fingers through his hair and touched the tiny amplifier in his ear. He heard the crackle and hiss and then a sudden clarity.
He reminded himself he had a job to do.
In his mind’s eye, he reviewed the layout of the mission—every stairwell, door and window. And every weakness. He thought of the men he had under his command and where he had placed them. Then he buttoned the suit jacket of his tuxedo and gave a last tug at his black silk tie.
Working out the wording of his reluctant congratulations, he took the secret stairwell to the private penthouse apartments of the mission. He found Vlad standing by his valet tray, his eyes glued to the television, scenes of the battle for the Byleukrainian capital casting an unholy light against the walls.
“How can you watch that stuff?” Austin said, flipping off the television and closing the heavy teak armoire that contained it. He reached down and picked up from the Aubusson rug the diamondencrusted cuff links Ambassador Vladimir Romanov, with his shaking hands, had dropped.
“It’s my country. I fear for it.”
Austin slipped the links through the stiff linen cuffs of Vlad’s sleeves. He studied the lines of worry and the paleness of his friend’s face—Vladimir felt so intently every tragedy of his people.
Did he understand that he had his own life to consider, as well?
“Sorry,” Vlad said. “Never could get the hang of these things.”
Actually, both Vlad and Austin had worn black-tie so frequently in their thirty years they could dress blindfolded.
“As security adviser for the mission, I’m formally requesting that you cancel the ball,” Austin said. “I can’t guarantee the safety and security of the mission and its personnel.”
“You’re still mad about the metal detectors.”
“Vlad, I’m mad about you not letting me do my job,” Austin said, reining in his emotions because he was unsure how much of it was the desire to shake his friend by the shoulders and tell him not to marry the scheming, wickedly beautiful Tarini. “Vlad, every other day of the year, you follow my security procedures. It means the
difference between safety and death.”
They both paused, thinking of the assassination attempt two months before. Austin had ended up with an arm in a cast—but Vladimir had been hustled to safety with no more than a scrape.
Austin had done his job well.
“Tonight is different,” Vlad said. “We can’t put guests through the same security checks that airline travelers endure. These are representatives of sovereign nations, diplomats, even a few royalty.”
“I’m not talking about security for them anymore,” Austin said. “I’m talking about your safety. Your capital is burning. Your democratically elected government is going down in flames. You need to consider…your personal options. I have a contact at the State Department standing by and a safe house in Connecticut, and—”
“There is no ‘personal’ in this, Austin,” Vlad interrupted. “I am nothing more and nothing less than a servant of my people. That’s what being a Romanov means. Generations ago it came with a crown.”
Austin sighed regretfully. How he wished he could protect Vlad from the realities of the world.
Like the other Romanovs, Vlad didn’t have a good sense of self-preservation, a selfish survival instinct that Austin knew was an inherent part of himself. In fact, Austin had often wondered if he could ever be as selfless a servant to his people as his friend was.
Probably not.
There were only three people he’d consider laying down his life for: his mother, his father and Vladimir Romanov.
That left a little less than four billion people on earth out of luck.
Parting the heavy golden damask curtains, he looked out onto the mission’s cobblestone courtyard. A parade of black limousines with tiny flags flapping at each corner paused at the ornate wrought-iron gate to the official residence of the U.N. ambassador. Drivers leaped from their seats to open their passengers’ doors.
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