The Bodyguard's Bride-to-Be

by Amelia Autin

  She smiled up at him. “I’m sure.”

  He had them both naked in minutes. His clothes, he merely ripped off. Tahra’s were drawn from her body with reverence, and with each piece he removed, he paused to give her time to change her mind. Please do not, he begged her in his mind, but knowing he had to offer her that opportunity.

  Want and need clawed through him when he saw Tahra’s softly rounded body completely naked, and he wanted to claim her in the most primitive way. But he managed to restrain his desires. Barely. Slow, his mind chanted, forcing his body to obey his command. Take it slow.

  So his hands caressed...instead of seizing. His lips coaxed...instead of devouring. And he whispered words of love in her ear...instead of growling his possession. But underneath it all was the wolf who feared this might be his only chance to convince her she belonged to him the way he belonged to her. Forever.

  Then they were on the bed. Tahra moaned his name and arched like a bow when he tested her readiness...and found her damp. He almost fitted himself into place in that instant but gritted his teeth and remembered to don a condom at the last minute, praying there was no expiration date on them. He hadn’t used one in more than eighteen months...because he hadn’t been with a woman since he’d met Tahra.

  Then he was there. Finally. His mind still chanting, Take it slow, as he pressed inexorably inward. Until something blocked his way.

  He snatched at a ragged breath as comprehension dawned. “You lied to me, mariskya.”

  But when he would have withdrawn, she clutched at his hips, anchoring him where he was. “Please,” she begged. “If you love me...please. Please.”

  He wasn’t proof against the combination of her desire and his. “It will hurt,” he warned her, steeling himself against her pain that would also be his. “Just this once.”

  And it did hurt—he knew by the way her breath caught in her throat and her eyes squeezed shut. But by then he was deep inside her. Waiting. By sheer force of will he held himself immobile, waiting for her body to accept his. He kissed the little hollow beneath her ear, and her nipples tightened against the wall of his chest. Then he felt something else. A softening. A lessening of the tension in her inner muscles. An acceptance that this was as it should be. That not only his heart belonged to her, but his body did, too.

  He began to move. Slowly. Kissing her eyes, her lips, whispering words of love in the language of his heart. She was moving, too, her hips rising to meet his, her left hand clinging to his back, her fingernails digging in a little as she held on. The cast on her right wrist rough against his bare skin as she clung with that hand, too, as best she could.

  Her breathing was ragged—but in a good way now. He could tell by the tiny sounds issuing from her throat that the pain was gone and all she felt now was pleasure. Intense pleasure.

  “Yes,” he encouraged her when her movements became frantic.

  “Please.” She gasped the word. And then, as if she couldn’t help it, gasped again. “Please.”

  He clung to control by a thread, picking up the pace until she arched beneath him. Until her orgasm crashed through her body and she cried out, a wordless sound of entreaty urging him on, and he let go. Just let go and took what he needed from her, loving how her body embraced his in the ultimate act of giving.

  Chapter 15

  Marek insisted on a shower for both of them. ”Do not argue with me on this, Tahra,” he said grimly as he picked her up, cradled her against his chest and carried her into the bathroom. He waited for the water to be warm enough before wrapping a towel around the cast on her right wrist and drawing her into the shower with him. Washing her body with a touching gentleness. Refusing to let her hide the scars.

  “Shh,” he soothed her when she made a sound of distress and tried to keep her back to the wall. “I know the scars are there. Do you think they affect my desire for you? Can you not see they do not?”

  She choked on laughter, because she had to admit, no, they didn’t. He was already aroused again—apparently ready, willing and able to prove his point. But he didn’t do anything about it, just dried them both and carried her back to the bed, ignoring her faint protest that she could walk. He settled against the pillows he bunched up behind him and drew her back into his embrace. Then said again, “You lied to me, mariskya.”

  Tahra didn’t pretend she didn’t know what he meant. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did. You said, and I quote, ‘...if you knew I wasn’t a virgin, we would have been lovers long ago...but you wouldn’t have asked me to be your wife.’” He paused for a moment, then added in a low voice, “Those words I can never forget. Your accusation was untrue, but I will admit it hurt me...as you intended it to do.”

  “I did want to hurt you,” she admitted. “But I didn’t say I wasn’t a virgin. I merely postulated a what-if scenario by prefacing my statement with ‘if.’ If you knew...”

  “Play no word games with me,” he said, a stern expression on his face. “You deliberately led me to believe you were...experienced.”

  “No.” She raised her head and gazed at him, dead serious. “But you can’t be naive enough to think virginity and experience are two sides of the same coin. A virgin who is raped—as I nearly was—is technically no longer a virgin. But that doesn’t mean she made a choice. I wasn’t ‘saving myself for marriage.’ That went out of style decades ago. But I was waiting for a man I could love, because I wanted him to be the first. The only.” She shivered as she remembered how nearly that choice had been taken from her a few years ago.

  Marek gently tugged her back into place against his shoulder, tightening his arms around her, as if he knew what she was thinking. A supposition confirmed when he said, “I understand. When you told me what happened, I was... Let us just say I was furious. Not for me, but for you and any other woman so treated.”

  Tahra was watching Marek’s face and saw the steel enter his eyes as he continued. “I will not lie to you—even here in Zakhar these things happen. But the king has instituted new laws with severe penalties, and I pray this will be a deterrent.” He clenched his jaw. “But that is for the future. I had to make sure the man who attacked you paid for his crime once he returned to his own country.”

  Startled, she sat up straight, pulling the bedclothes around her, staring at him. “What did you do?”

  A faint smile touched his lips, but a smile with no humor, and she suddenly saw a family resemblance to the king. “He will live. But he will never again touch another woman against her will.” And despite her pleas for the details, he would disclose nothing more than that.

  They cuddled for a bit, then Marek sighed deeply and said with regret, “I must take you back to the palace.”

  “Why can’t I stay here?”

  “Because...” He kissed her, a kiss she figured he’d intended to be quick, but which soon turned into more. When he finally lifted his head, he said, “Because you have a reputation to maintain, mariskya. As do I. The limousine driver...if I send him back to the palace alone, he will know you are with me. If I do not send him back, he will know you are with me...and he will be unhappy he will not sleep in his own bed. The driver knows better than to say anything outside the palace, but I would spare you backstairs gossip if I can. And no,” he said firmly, “this is not in any way related to making decisions for you or trying to control your life.”

  “But we’re engaged,” she protested. “In the US—”

  “Yes, but this is Zakhar. I can change myself for you, but I cannot change the entire country. Besides...” His hands cradled her face so she couldn’t look away. “A woman’s first time...your body must be...” He cleared his throat. “That is, it would be selfish of me to...”

  “I’m fine,” she hastened to reassure him. But now that he mentioned it, she was sore. The initial pain had soon been replaced with the kind of em
otional and physical ecstasy she’d only read about and dreamed of, but now her body was confirming Marek’s assumptions. And his consideration, his tender care for her, was just another in a long list of reasons why she loved him. “You didn’t hurt me,” she whispered, suddenly a little shy talking about this. “You made it beautiful for me.”

  “I am glad.” His smile was suddenly very male. “It was beyond beautiful for me...as you no doubt could tell.”

  They dressed silently, Marek helping her by fastening her bra in the back and zipping up her dress because of the cast on her right wrist. Tahra decided to forego donning her nylons again. It was just too difficult with the cast—it had taken almost ten minutes to wiggle into them and not create a run back at the palace—and since Marek didn’t care about the scars on the backs of her legs, she wouldn’t, either. She stuffed the nylons in her purse, hoping the limo driver wouldn’t notice.

  Marek caught her arm as she started to walk out the door, tugging her gently into his embrace. “Wait,” he said. “I have one more thing to say.”

  “Yes?”

  He didn’t immediately respond, just drew her left hand up and kissed it, then stared down at his ring there, varied expressions flitting across his face. Finally, his voice very deep, he admitted, “You should already know this, but I will say it anyway. I would have loved you even if...even if you had not waited.” And she knew what he was trying to say.

  She smiled tenderly. “I know.”

  He raised his eyes to meet hers. “But I must confess I am...honored...” Then he frowned. “I wish now I could have given you the same gift, but I cannot. All I can offer is my word that since the moment I met you there has been no other. Nor will there ever be.”

  Honesty shone from his face, and Tahra’s heart skipped a beat. She’d never heard a more romantic declaration in a movie or read one in a book than the one Marek had just made to her. She wished she could tell him what those words meant to her...as well as the love that inspired them. But all she could think of to say was “I’m so glad I waited for you.”

  * * *

  The first commercial plane carrying recalled soldiers from the northern border landed at the Drago airport shortly before 5:00 a.m. The second plane, from the western border, landed shortly thereafter. In keeping with the clandestine nature of the recall, none of the soldiers were in uniform. None of the soldiers carried their belongings in a military duffel bag, either. And none of the soldiers were picked up by a military transport—they made their way in twos and threes via taxis to a huge warehouse that had been rented the day before and furnished overnight with the dispatch and efficiency for which the Zakharian National Forces was justifiably famous.

  Cots, complete with blankets and pillows, were already set up in neat rows, and a footlocker stood at the foot of each. One wall was lined with racks of weapons to replace the ones the soldiers had been forced to leave behind. Along another wall was a makeshift mess area—officers and enlisted men would eat side by side. A third was roped off and screened. Behind the screen were makeshift showers and portable latrines.

  Four privates with clipboards stood at the entrance, each one responsible for one-fourth of the expected influx, and each one checking soldiers off their list and assigning them to cots. The sixty in the first wave were processed and eating breakfast by seven.

  * * *

  Tahra was already awake when the phone by her bed jangled. She’d woken before dawn feeling wondrously refreshed and deliriously happy. So she’d just lain there, her left hand tucked under her cheek, thinking of Marek. Thinking no woman could have had a more tender lover—especially for her first time. Wishing she could have woken beside him this morning. Wishing for a repeat performance of last night.

  She replayed every moment in her mind, loving them all. But three instances stood out above the rest. Marek taking a step back in the bedroom, saying, “Are you sure, mariskya? If you are not sure, please tell me now. I have waited so long, and I...” As if he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop if she changed her mind later. “But he would have,” she whispered to herself, knowing it for the truth. He’d hesitated as he undressed her, giving her time to change her mind. And as soon as her body betrayed he was her first lover, he’d tried to draw back. And he would have, if she’d let him.

  Then there was the memory of Marek washing her so gently in the shower, saying, “I know the scars are there. Do you think they affect my desire for you?” as his body proved beyond a shadow of a doubt they were meaningless.

  And Marek confessing, “I wish now I could have given you the same gift, but I cannot. All I can offer is my word that since the moment I met you there has been no other. Nor will there ever be.”

  What woman could resist a man like that? “Not me,” she acknowledged just as the phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello?”

  Marek’s deep voice sounded in her ear. “Good morning, mariskya.”

  A wave of heat washed through her. “Good morning.”

  “I am sorry to call so early, but I... That is... How are you feeling this morning?”

  She smiled, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m fine. More than fine. I was just lying here, thinking of you. Thinking of last night.” Then she remembered how exhausted he’d appeared when he’d picked her up for dinner, and said, “How did you sleep last night after you brought me back to the palace? You looked so tired yesterday.”

  “I slept like a man without a care in the world. Thank you very much.”

  She laughed softly. “I slept dreamlessly for the first time in...oh...forever. Thank you very much.” She turned onto her back and stretched deliciously. Remembering. Emboldened, she asked, “Will I see you today?”

  “I would like nothing more, but duty calls.”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “Yes, and I have been absent for most of three days.”

  She didn’t want to be one of those women where it was all about her, so she said quickly, “I understand.” But she couldn’t help adding, “Call me before you go to bed tonight? Please? Just so I know you’re okay?”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. “A man would have to be made of ice to turn you down when you say ‘please,’ mariskya. And I am not made of ice.” Something in his voice told her he was remembering last night...and the many times she’d said “please.” Especially right at the very end. And Tahra blushed.

  She grasped at the first thing she could think of to change the subject. “You know, you never did explain where you were, or why you didn’t tell me you were leaving.”

  There was dead silence at the other end. Then he said, “I should have told you I was leaving, yes. But where I was and why I had to leave on short notice—these things I cannot tell you. Not because they are secret from you, but because they are secret. Top secret.”

  She thought about this for a minute. Much as she wanted to know, she was also—in an odd sort of way—proud that he wouldn’t tell her. He took his oath on Zakharian national security as seriously as she took hers regarding her clearance with the US government. A life with Marek wouldn’t be easy because there was so much he couldn’t share with her. She would have to take him on faith. To trust that when he wasn’t there, he wasn’t out somewhere doing what he shouldn’t do.

  But that wasn’t all. She also had to accept that he could die in the line of duty. Like wives and husbands of police officers, firefighters and soldiers, she would have to kiss him goodbye in the morning, never knowing if he would return at the end of the day. But you already accepted that...didn’t you? a little voice in the back of her head demanded. You had to know what you were getting into with an officer in the Zakharian National Forces who is also a royal bodyguard when you started dating him.

  “I understand,” she said finally. “But if you want me to trust you, you have to trust me. No more secrets except those related
to your work. And no more ‘sheltering’ me from the harsh realities of life. Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  The word was uttered without the slightest hesitation, and inside Tahra was thrilled. But all she said was “I should let you go. You probably have a million things to do today. Just...please remember to call me tonight.”

  He said something under his breath in Zakharan that she didn’t catch, and when she asked him to repeat it he did, but then he translated it into English for her. “You are a woman in a thousand. And I will never again leave without telling you—you have my word.”

  * * *

  Marek hung up the phone and threw back the bedclothes, then stood and stretched, naked. He ordered himself to ignore the way his early-morning arousal had been inflamed into an urgent ache by merely hearing Tahra’s voice on the phone...and remembering last night. He could have dealt with his problem in five minutes—the same way he’d dealt with similar occurrences over the past year and a half—but now that he’d finally...finally...made love to Tahra, seeking release without her was anathema to him.

  He dressed swiftly in jogging clothes and running shoes, and headed out for his daily five-mile run. The sun was just rising over the mountains to the east as he settled into a steady pace. The daily regimen helped him stay in the peak physical condition he needed to maintain as head of the crown prince’s security detail. He was the best at what he did, better than any man who served under him, and he had no intention of ever letting that change; no man would ever be able to claim Captain Zale wasn’t up to the challenge.

  But running for Marek wasn’t just about exercise. He also used the time to puzzle out the answers to knotty questions, and this morning was no exception. He had two equally important yet totally separate issues weighing on his mind. One was the Zakharian Liberation Front. The other was Tahra. And of the two, what to do about Tahra occupied more of his thoughts as he took the turn that would take him past the river that flowed through the center of Drago.