Amelia Autin - The Bodyguard's Bride-To-Be

Dear Reader Dear Reader Dear Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Epilogue Extract Copyright , “Oh, what a tangled web we weave. When first we practice to deceive!” Sir Walter Scott wrote those lines centuries ago, but they still hold true today. One lie begets another, and another, and soon the lies take on a life of their own. When I wrote King’s Ransom, part of my Man on a Mission miniseries, Captain Marek Zale played a pivotal role, providing secret protection for the woman who would become Zakhar’s queen. And in Alec’s Royal Assignment, he (and we) met Tahra Edwards, administrative assistant to the hero of that book at the US embassy in Zakhar. Marek and Tahra were such compelling characters, I knew I’d have to write their story. In many ways Tahra reminds me of the heroines I loved in romances years ago. But just as I have grown and changed over the years, Tahra is also very different from those long-ago heroines. She knows what she wants, and she won’t settle for anything less than an equal partnership with the man she loves, despite being “an old-fashioned girl.” And Marek? Zakhar is fifty years behind the times, and über-alpha hero Marek is a product of his environment. But he has already learned a few home truths about women and their role in society in Alec’s Royal Assignment. Now, in The Bodyguard’s Bride-to-Be, he’s about to be brought into the twenty-first century in the way only Tahra can do it. But first Marek must explain away a tangled web of lies and deception...begun with the best of intentions. I love hearing from my readers. Please email me at AmeliaAutin@aol.com and let me know what you think. Amelia Autin

Title Page The Bodyguard’s Bride-to-Be Amelia Autin www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author Award-winning author AMELIA AUTIN is an inveterate reader who can’t bear to put a good book down...or part with it. She’s a longtime member of Romance Writers of America and served three years as its treasurer. Amelia resides with her PhD engineer husband in quiet Vail, Arizona, where they can see the stars at night and have a “million-dollar view” of the Rincon Mountains from their backyard.

Dedication For my sister, Peggie Autin Schommer, who encouraged me in the early days of my writing career...as well as when I decided to jump back into the fray after many years. For a real-life hero, Shannon Johnson, who shielded a coworker with his body during the San Bernardino massacre, saying, “I got you.” Not every man has it in him to be a hero, but Shannon Johnson’s action that day is the very definition of bravery—conquering your fear and doing what you have to do in the instant you have to do it...even at the cost of your own life. Requiescat in pace, Mr. Johnson. And for Vincent...always.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Tahra Edwards grabbed her lunch bag from the refrigerator in the break room and headed for the elevator. It was too nice a day not to eat lunch outside, and the park across from the United States embassy in the heart of Drago was the perfect place. She ate there a lot, joining the native Zakharians, young and old, who also found the park the perfect midday escape.

She settled on her favorite bench in the shade of a massive oak tree, not too far from the preschool that bordered the park on its eastern side. She loved watching the children at play, even though the sight of them had been bittersweet for the past two weeks...ever since she’d turned down the marriage proposal she’d once prayed to receive. Knowing the children she’d dreamed of having with the man she loved would never be. Knowing she’d never watch her own children this way.

She was early—the playground was empty. But she’d deliberately come early to make sure her favorite spot wasn’t taken, as it had been on occasion. That wasn’t a problem today.

Tahra had finished her sandwich—the Zakharian bread from the bakery two doors down from her apartment building was worth the extra calories—and was just starting on her apple when the children poured out the door into the preschool’s fenced yard. Happy, high-pitched voices came to her as the children swarmed onto the playground equipment—swings set in motion, bodies whizzing down the slide, the more intrepid climbing to the top of the jungle gym.

She smiled to herself with a sense of nostalgia. Her older sister, Carly, had been the intrepid one growing up, daring anything. Tahra had always been the fearful one, afraid to climb so high, afraid of falling. But not when Carly was there. Somehow, when Carly was there, Tahra had found the courage to clamber until they reached the top, pretending she was as fearless as her sister. But Carly had known. And she’d understood. Carly had always understood.

Sighing a little, and missing her globe-trotting big sister a lot, Tahra stood up and walked over to the discreetly placed trash container, the motion taking her closer to the preschool and the children. She watched them for a moment from where she stood, wishing the world at large could see this playground and take a lesson from the blond, fair-skinned Zakharian children—no more than four or five years old—clutching the hands of the newest arrivals to their nation, urging them to join in their play.

Zakhar, like other countries within the European Union, was taking in as many of the refugees streaming over its borders as it could accommodate...at the express invitation of the king who could do no wrong in the eyes of most of his subjects. These dark-skinned children of refugees from war-torn countries in northern Africa and the Middle East had experienced things no child should ever experience, Tahra knew. Had seen things no child should ever see. But the open hand of friendship from the children in this preschool would go a long way toward helping those terror-filled memories fade with time. And though she wasn’t Zakharian, Tahra couldn’t help feel a tiny thrill of pride in the country she’d once thought would be her adopted homeland...if the man she loved hadn’t...

Tahra had just thrown away her trash when her attention was caught by a lone man standing next to the fenced playground, a knapsack at his feet. One hand clenched the metal fence, and he was staring at the children, who played on, completely oblivious. Something in his intent gaze made Tahra hesitate and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Something wasn’t right. She couldn’t put her finger on it at first, but then she realized the man was too old and too well dressed to be carrying a student’s knapsack.

The man turned suddenly and strode in the opposite direction, and Tahra started forward. “Sir!” she called in her rudimentary Zakharan. “Sir, you forgot your knapsack!”

The stranger cast one long look backward. Their eyes met across the short distance, and Tahra knew she’d never forget those eyes. Never forget that face. Then he turned away and continued walking, faster now. Almost running. Tahra watched him for a couple of seconds, then her gaze moved to the knapsack, sitting at the base of the preschool fence, and she knew. “Oh, my God!”