by Mary Buckham
Without waiting for approval from the man she could all but feel steaming at her side, she reached for them, offering genuine smiles and thank yous, unaware of how much time had passed until the major spoke again, only this time not to her.
"Miss Rostov thanks you all but she must leave. Now." She knew the last word was stressed expressly for her benefit. "Or she'll be late for another important meeting."
This time it wasn't a tug but a command as she fell into step beside him. aware of the ring of soldiers closing in around her, blocking the children, bringing her back to reality with their impassive faces. Did they learn blank looks in military school? she thought peevishly as she was all but shoved into the limo, the door closed behind her with a resounding thwack. This time they were alone. The king's brother had obviously found another ride. No doubt the man knew enough to stay out of the lion's den when the lion was mad.
The limo hadn't even begun to move before McConneghy leaned toward her, his words as cold and controlled as his eyes were heated, "If you ever pull such a stupid stunt again—"
"It wasn't a stunt." Her own voice rose, an unheard of thing in librarian-Jane. "Can you imagine how long that little girl waited there? And for what? For me to ignore her? For me to walk past as though she didn't even exist?"
He ran a hand through his hair, a movement that spoke even louder than his voice. "This isn't about that little girl."
"It is too about that little girl." She leaned forward herself. "It's about her worth as a human being. Have you ever been ignored by an adult? Treated like you didn't quite count because you had no power? Kids can't fight back, they have no choice but to give way."
He gave her a sharp look, but held his tongue. Suddenly Jane found all the energy, all the anger pumping through her evaporate. She leaned back against her seat, her voice calmer now, her gaze locked unseeing out the window.
"I know exactly how that little girl felt. How it is to be invisible in a world of adults too busy, too preoccupied to notice. I've felt like that." She wished the words didn't sound so whisper-thin. "There was no way I could walk past that child and ignore the look on her face."
"How in the world am I supposed to keep you safe if you march right into a crowd of potential killers?"
She heard the frustration in his voice and answered with her own. "They were children. Not killers, or assassins, or revolutionaries. They were simply children. Is everything in your life so black and white? Either you know them and they are thus okay or you don't know them which mean they are a threat? Are there no gray zones? No people who might be just what they seem—ordinary, everyday people?"
She heard him shift, sensed he'd leaned forward, felt the brush of his pant leg against her skirt, a move that was hard to ignore, but she was going to try.
"Do you know how the last attempt on Elena Rostov's life was made?"
She looked at him then, surprised he didn't freeze from it. "As a matter of fact I don't know. I figured it was on a need-to-know basis."
He didn't look away, though his expression tightened, his hands came together in a tight ball. "It was a bomb, strapped to the underside of a baby's carriage."
"There wasn't—"
"No, the carriage was empty, but we still lost seven people. Seven." His voice sounded calm, but his expression was not. Especially his eyes. Windows to a soul. A tormented soul. "The assassin, three of my men and four bystanders, all because no one thought to look beneath the bloody carriage. Nobody wanted to believe something so innocent could be deadly. And if you think they're not beyond using a child, you're wrong."
If she thought she felt deflated before, it was nothing to what she felt like then. She could hear the pain in McConneghy's voice. The pain and the cost to him.
"You feel responsible for their deaths." Her words whispered against the hum of air conditioning in the car. "You think it's your fault they died."
"It was my fault." He glanced away, but not before she saw the bleakness in his eyes deepen. "Just like it's my responsibility if anything happens to you."
Wrong button to push.
If there was one thing she couldn't tolerate it was being a responsibility, an obligation to someone. Her parents had never let her forget that she was an obligation to them. Being in that position with this man was no better. But then he was the type of man to assume obligations, to accept duty and responsibilities, and then to live with the aftermath when things didn't go right. How could a man like that ever understand a woman like her? Worlds apart and no common ground.
She leaned her head against the seat, closing her eyes. "I didn't accept the flowers to make your job harder."
"I know you didn't, but the end result was the same."
She wondered if he knew he'd sworn aloud. "It doesn't change the fact that I can't ignore those people. I won't purposefully put you or your men at risk but you can't expect me to change what I am inside just because I look like someone else on the outside."
"I can't protect you if you won't follow orders."
Trains on one-way tracks were hard to change. But research librarians did not give up if they didn't find what they wanted in the first place they looked.
"You're treating me like a subordinate. Again." She opened her eyes, glad to see the signs of strain on his face lessening. "Isn't there a way we can compromise?"
"I won't compromise with your life."
She told herself he'd say the same thing, feel the same way with any of his responsibilities, but that didn't seem to stop the warmth spreading through her at his words.
She closed her eyes again, feeling the emotional drain of the last few hours. "I have great faith in your ability to find a solution to our dilemma, Major."
He made a sound that might have been a snort. His tone was dry as he remarked, "Now you have faith in me?"
"Of course." She couldn't help the yawn. "The king said you fixed problems. This is your area of expertise."
Lucius didn't know if he wanted to lose his legendary sense of control, or applaud the woman before him for neatly boxing him into a corner, a very tight corner.
She sat before him, her eyes closed, creating half moons of dark lashes against her satin skin, her breathing even and deep, while he churned inside like an ocean beneath a typhoon's wind.
Part of it was residual fear. The minute she'd broken pattern and approached the crowd he'd aged ten years. Logically he knew she didn't have a clue what she was up against. Why should he? Librarians from the midwest didn't have to fear crowds and the threats so easily hidden in their midst. But logic had nothing to do with the riot of emotions erupting within him when she'd made her instinctive move toward the small child.
He'd heard it in her voice. That need to make another feel good, to make sure they were acknowledged, that their gesture did not go unrecognized. It was a move worthy of a country's ruler, and Tarkioff would be blessed if he had such a mate at his side.
That was part of the problem. She was not Elena Rostov. Her role was not to make the future queen beloved by the people, it was to make sure there was going to be a future queen. And to do that she needed to stay alive. He had to make sure she stayed alive.
But there was more than that, and he knew it. Not that he liked accepting it, his job was challenging enough without emotions clouding issues, but damn if he was going to let her get hurt—at all—in this mission. She'd had no choice but to be a part, and he couldn't go back and fix that, though in his final report he was going to make darn good and sure heads would roll because of it. But he could do everything in his power to make sure she came out in one piece. If she let him do his job.
Now she wanted him to allow her to be accessible while keeping her safe. Impossible. It wouldn't work. There was no way.
So why couldn't he ignore the way she'd looked when she'd reached for that bloody wilted flower? There was a softness about her face, a smile in her eyes, the kind of look that the children automatically responded to and that made grown men want to slay dragons
. Or do whatever was within their power to see that look again. Even if it meant twice as much work for his men and thrice as much for him.
"Damn," he uttered the word aloud, but softly and without heat. She looked so relaxed at last that he hated to disturb her. He was glad someone could relax because it sure as hell wouldn't be him or his team. Not until they got one stubborn, independent-minded woman who looked soft as fluff and smelled like sin, out of Vendari and back to where she belonged.
Trains on one-way tracks were hard to change. But research librarians did not give up if they didn't find what they wanted in the first place they looked.
"You're treating me like a subordinate. Again." She opened her eyes, glad to see the signs of strain on his face lessening. "Isn't there a way we can compromise?"
"I won't compromise with your life."
She told herself he'd say the same thing, feel the same way with any of his responsibilities, but that didn't seem to stop the warmth spreading through her at his words.
She closed her eyes again, feeling the emotional drain of the last few hours. "I have great faith in your ability to find a solution to our dilemma, Major."
He made a sound that might have been a snort. His tone was dry as he remarked, "Now you have faith in me?"
"Of course." She couldn't help the yawn. "The king said you fixed problems. This is your area of expertise."
Lucius didn't know if he wanted to lose his legendary sense of control, or applaud the woman before him for neatly boxing him into a corner, a very tight corner.
She sat before him, her eyes closed, creating half moons of dark lashes against her satin skin, her breathing even and deep, while he churned inside like an ocean beneath a typhoon's wind.
Part of it was residual fear. The minute she'd broken pattern and approached the crowd he'd aged ten years. Logically he knew she didn't have a clue what she was up against. Why should she? Librarians from the midwest didn't have to fear crowds and the threats so easily hidden in their midst. But logic had nothing to do with the riot of emotions erupting within him when she'd made her instinctive move toward the small child.
He'd heard it in her voice. That need to make another feel good, to make sure they were acknowledged, that their gesture did not go unrecognized. It was a move worthy of a country's ruler, and Tarkioff would be blessed if he had such a mate at his side.
That was part of the problem. She was not Elena Rostov. Her role was not to make the future queen beloved by the people, it was to make sure there was going to be a future queen. And to do that she needed to stay alive. He had to make sure she stayed alive.
But there was more than that, and he knew it. Not that he liked accepting it, his job was challenging enough without emotions clouding issues, but damn if he was going to let her get hurt—at all—in this mission. She'd had no choice but to be a part, and he couldn't go back and fix that, though in his final report he was going to make darn good and sure heads would roll because of it. But he could do everything in his power to make sure she came out in one piece. If she let him do his job.
Now she wanted him to allow her to be accessible while keeping her safe. Impossible. It wouldn't work. There was no way.
So why couldn't he ignore the way she'd looked when she'd reached for that bloody wilted flower? There was a softness about her face, a smile in her eyes, the kind of look that the children automatically responded to and that made grown men want to slay dragons. Or do whatever was within their power to see that look again. Even if it meant twice as much work for his men and thrice as much for him.
"Damn," he uttered the word aloud, but softly and without heat. She looked so relaxed at last that he hated to disturb her. He was glad someone could relax because it sure as hell wouldn't be him or his team. Not until they got one stubborn, independent-minded woman who looked soft as fluff and smelled like sin, out of Vendari and back to where she belonged.
Punching in the number of his second-in-command on his cell phone he wondered if she had raised this much trouble in the library.
Jane opened her eyes slowly, aware that the limo had stopped, but not sure why or where she was. The feeling increased as she glanced across to the opposite seat, her gaze locking with McConneghy's.
Maybe she felt so disoriented because she'd fallen asleep in front of him—a move that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. It was an instinctive response, an age-old one, a silent admission that she'd been willing to let her guard down, had been helpless while he was there, just across the car, watching her while she'd been unaware.
She couldn't believe she'd done that. Or that it implied a measure of trust and sense of security she wasn't aware she possessed around him. He'd said he'd protect her, but that was his job and she accepted it as that—nothing more. She knew instinctively that around a man like him, a woman's best defense was constant wariness. And she'd dozed off like a lamb with a wolf on guard.
"Where are we?" she asked, sitting up straighter, wishing there was more of her skirt to pull over her knees.
"We're at the Ministry of Industry and Commerce. You're expected inside in a few minutes."
"I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep."
"You needed it." He sounded so cool, so controlled, she must have dreamed their earlier argument, the emotions reflected in his face. The man before her would never have unwittingly exposed so much of his soul.
"Do you want a glass of juice or something before we head inside?" he asked.
She glanced at the small bar to one side of where they sat. "No, nothing."
He sat still, his gaze steady, his posture relaxed, but she wasn't fooled for a moment. There was a lot going on behind those gray eyes.
She glanced out the window, still feeling disoriented. "I've forgotten who I'm supposed to be meeting." It wasn't quite true, but as long as they were discussing logistics she could have a few minutes to regain her sense of composure, what little she ever had around this man.
"It's a consortium of agricultural interests, farmers, land policy makers, mining interests."
"A few tree huggers?" She didn't know why she asked, but was secretly thrilled when he smiled, even if it looked a little tired and haggard. It happened so rarely.
"Tree-huggers only exist in a climate of free speech and civil liberties."
How could she have forgotten so soon? A country scarred by back-to-back attempted coups was still a child struggling with ideas and concepts she had always taken for granted.
She brushed a strand of hair from her face, aware of McConneghy's gaze following her movement, sensitive to the conflicting feelings it aroused. "I'm supposed to smile and wave again?"
"Yes. Though it'll be a smaller group, more smiling, less waving."
"Got it." She swallowed, surprised to find she wasn't as frightened this time as she had been earlier. She'd done this once already and McConneghy had been there the whole time, at her side, lending her silent support when she needed it most.
"Ready?" he asked, the expression in his eyes telling her they'd wait where they were, in the safety and obscurity of the car, for as long as she needed.
"Yeah, I'm ready."
"Good. I'll lead. You'll follow."
That she could do. And he didn't think she could take orders.
A little over two hours later she found she'd survived. More than that, she'd actually enjoyed herself. That and the fact that, at the very end, when she was getting her hand squeezed by a number of dignitaries who all looked alike, McConneghy had taken her aside, gesturing to a line of ordinary-looking people waiting to meet her.
"A compromise?" she asked, touched that he'd actually listened, and maybe even understood, a little.
"A compromise." He nodded toward where a half dozen men stood, controlling the line by the positioning of their bodies. "Watch them. They're here to protect you."
Risking themselves, she realized, even as she stepped forward to accept the first handshake from a man who looked as if he'd spent every day toiling i
n the fields, his skin weathered, his hands roughened by calluses. One after another they came, their smiles tentative, their manner wary. And yet they came, judging her silently. Not her, but their future queen, Jane thought, greeting them all, until her hand felt like putty and her legs quaked.
It was McConneghy who came to her rescue. Again.
"Time to go," he murmured as she smiled into the face of a woman who must have been a hundred if she was a day.
"Did I meet everyone on Vendari?" she asked as he escorted her out of the hall and into the blazing afternoon sun.
He gave her a skeptical glance as he opened the limo door. "Rethinking your position?"
"No." She laughed, surprised at how good it felt to sink into the leather seats. "Not at all. I just hadn't realized how much work is involved in shaking hands. I always thought dignitaries and movie stars were spoiled and lazy."
"And now?" He'd opened a bottle of orange juice, poured it into a crystal glass and handed it to her; its taste was ambrosia on her tongue.
"And now I take back every petty, envious, unjustified thought I had about them."
"You did a good job back there."
The words both surprised her and pleased her, she realized, shoving away the feeling that it was much like being a child seeking approval. A feeling she knew only too well. Instead she changed the subject.
"Thank you for making it possible for me to meet those people."
This time he was the one who looked surprised.
"You mean for Elena to meet them."
She knew the smile on her face wavered, but she kept it there, even as she turned her gaze away. It was silly that his words should hurt, especially following a compliment she knew was sincere. But they did. It was as though he was reminding her she was a fake. None of this was real and she was only doing a job.
"You never told me how long I'd be here," she found herself remarking, knowing she'd meant to ask the question earlier, surprised at the conflicting feelings it aroused in her. On the one hand she'd be able to get back to her real life, the one where she belonged, not walking around in silks and pretending she was somebody important. On the other hand it would mean never seeing Lucius McConneghy again, a man, who by all rights, she should despise. But the anger wouldn't come, nor the bitterness. No matter how hard she tried.
