Amelia Autin - King's Ransom

The Zakharians firmly believed the good fortune and prosperity their country had experienced throughout the centuries was somehow tied in with the House of Marianescu and the monarchy’s father-to-son direct descent, from the first Andre Alexei to his oldest son, Raoul, right up to the present day. Superstition? No question. But the average Zakharian citizen vehemently opposed tempting fate by breaking with the time-honored tradition. So Andre had every intention of acceding to the Privy Council’s fervent wishes in the near future. Just not the way they expected.

Andre knew there were eyes all around them, watching, speculating, as if his life and Juliana’s were just food for gossip, grist for the tabloid mill. He tore his gaze away from Juliana and smiled easily at the little group of men and women around him, joining in the inane conversation. No matter what, he had to shield Juliana from the tabloids if he could, the same way he’d shielded his sister, Mara, until her husband had come along to assume that responsibility. Perhaps that was an outdated attitude in this day and age, but he was Zakharian right down to his fingernails, and like his famous ancestor he would change for no man.

Just because he wasn’t looking at Juliana didn’t mean he couldn’t see her, however. That heart-shaped face; those violet eyes fringed with long, natural, sooty lashes; those lips that looked so passionate yet somehow unkissable until a man saw the way the hesitant curve of her smile betrayed her vulnerability; the long, silky, ebony tresses that wreathed her face like a dark wavy halo and cascaded down her back.

She was perfection itself now, but that wasn’t why he loved her. He remembered her as a coltish teenager, unsure of herself, unsure of the changes her body was going through as she metamorphosed from a girl into a woman. He had first loved her when she was sixteen and he was twenty, had loved her when only her violet eyes had conveyed a hint of the beautiful woman she would someday become.

But he had not touched her.

He had not touched her when she turned seventeen and began blossoming into a diminutive beauty standing just as high as his heart, not even when she practiced her newly discovered feminine wiles on him. He had teased her gently, turning aside her natural curiosity about men and women, deflecting her innocent desire for him, keeping her at a physical distance in a way that wouldn’t seem like rejection to her sensitive soul.

Even the summer she turned eighteen he had not touched her, though by then her beauty made heads turn on the street, made men openly lust after her with their eyes. His body burned to possess hers that summer. He knew he could have her—Juliana’s expressive eyes betrayed she ached for him the way he ached for her. Desire made him toss and turn in his bed so that he took to riding his stallion through the countryside late at night until they were both exhausted, then camping out in the rustic hillside cottage he’d made his own. Far away from the palace. Far away from the sleeping streets of Drago. Far away from temptation.

And he had not touched her.

She had tested his willpower to the breaking point, but it had held. Until the night before she left for college. Until the night she came to him like a silken dream...

As usual when Andre thought of Juliana, his body responded with a fierce surge of desire. He’d had a wealth of experience controlling that desire, and he tried to do so now. But it wasn’t working. Not this time. Because Juliana was right there...just across the room. For the first time in eleven years he’d spoken with her, watched up close as those violet eyes changed hue with her emotions, saw the sudden fear ripple through her body, making her tremble and her nipples tighten under the violet silk sheath that caressed her body the way he longed to do. The gown she’d worn with nothing beneath it, knowing the effect it would have on him and every man who saw her. And then...knew she was remembering, as he did, one perfect night.

Do not think of that, he warned himself. Not here. Not now. Not with the eyes of the world fastened upon you like vultures on a carcass.

When he’d ascended the throne and had Zax assign men to protect Juliana, his cousin had asked in his blunt way if it wasn’t possible Andre had built his love for Juliana into something more than it really was. That if he saw her again in person he might be able to get her out of his system.

Well, he’d seen Juliana in person. Finally. And Zax was wrong. He would never be free of the hold she had on him—heart, mind, body and soul. She was in his blood. In his DNA. Not that he’d spent the past eleven years doing nothing—he’d built a life of purpose without the woman he loved and had accomplished great things in the few short years of his reign. But as he’d told his sister, Mara, without Juliana he would be forever incomplete. Come to me, Juliana, he prayed silently. Come to me.

Chapter 3

“Change of plans,” the man said, sipping from a wineglass and gazing in Juliana’s direction. “That may well be your first target instead. Before anything else.”

“Juliana Richardson?” the Russian standing with him asked dubiously, instantly recognizing the famous face. “How does removing her achieve your goal?”

“Let me worry about that,” the first man replied, his eyes hardening. “Trust me, I have a very good reason. You just prepare to do what you are told...should it become necessary.”

The Russian laughed, a short bark of laughter that held no humor. “It is your money.” His eyes were cold, with no redeeming touch of humanity in them, not even when he laughed. “A target is a target.” He shrugged. “A pity she made an enemy of you.” His gaze displayed a hint of curiosity, but no hesitation. “Security?”

“Assuredly. See the two men standing against the wall just behind her, with their eyes glued to her? They are not guests, although they pretend to be. Their sole purpose is to guard her—and there is not a thing I can do about it. You will just have to take that into account.” He took another sip of wine—a bigger one this time—using the alcohol to give himself courage. He is a tool to be used, he reminded himself, needing the false courage engendered by the alcohol. Not an equal. “But do no more than prepare until I give the word. It may not be necessary.”

“It will be arranged.” A slight touch of contempt colored the Russian’s tone. “At no risk to you, of course.”

The first man’s voice held nothing but ice. “There had better not be. Not with what is at stake—for everyone concerned.”

* * *

Dirk excused himself for what he said would be a brief discussion with the film’s producer, but Juliana and Sabrina made humorous faces at each other. They both knew once Dirk got started on a topic of conversation it would be difficult to drag him away. While they waited patiently for his return, the two women wandered toward one of the tall windows open to the night air along one endless wall. They didn’t say much—theirs was an easy yet intimate friendship that didn’t require constant chatter to fill any silence—and both women were guarding secrets.

Juliana knew why she wasn’t ready to share anything about Andre with Sabrina. She’d never told anyone about that time in her life and didn’t intend to start now. But she wondered what Sabrina was keeping from her. Her friend looked strange, unlike herself, and it wasn’t merely the pain Sabrina was obviously suffering that she tried her best to hide. There was just something about her, something Juliana couldn’t put her finger on. The faintest trace of trepidation combined with...suppressed excitement?

A hand touched her bare arm and a voice said, “Juliana.”