Alec's Royal Assignment. Amelia Autin
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“He seemed...nice, Your Highness.”
“Mara, please,” the princess said. “I am an American now, and I prefer the freedom of being just me.” Her green eyes twinkled. “And Alec is many things, but nice is not a word I would have picked to describe him.” She tilted her head to one side. “Liam, now, he is nice. Sweet, too. And idealistic. But Alec?” She shook her head. “No, Alec is not sweet. And he is not idealistic. But he is a man to contend with. I would not want to be on the wrong side of him, but I would trust him with my life.”
* * *
Humming a tune under his breath, Alec left the McKinnons’ suite and headed for the grand staircase. He was just about to go down when he saw a woman come out of another suite on the other side of the landing. A woman he recognized in a heartbeat. Recognized, and wanted to talk to. Urgently.
He’d thought of Angelina whenever he’d had a free moment. And even when he didn’t really have a free moment, just a few seconds. Every night since he’d last seen her in the cathedral—since he’d kissed her until they were both trembling—he’d found himself thinking how lonely his bed was without her. As if they were already lovers. As if he knew what it would be like with her, so that her absence hurt. Physically. An ache that started—predictably—in his loins, but that spread throughout his body as he imagined her there next to him in bed.
“Angel.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried far enough.
She turned his way, startled. “Alec.” She glanced around quickly and hurried over to where he stood at the top of the staircase. “You are not to call me that,” she said in a hushed voice. When Alec tilted his head and gave her a questioning look, she explained, “You are not to call me Angel...in public.”
“Why not?” Vivid in his memory was the moment he’d first used that name, and he could tell by her expression and the warm tide of color washing over her face she was remembering, too.
“It is...unprofessional.”
“How is a nickname unprofessional?”
“Not any nickname, just that one.” When Alec raised his brows in question, she added, “Because it is too...too feminine.” Then she quickly changed the subject. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting McKinnon. You?”
“I work here,” she reminded him. “Queen’s security detail, remember?”
“Right.” He smiled at her, his most whimsical smile. Deliberately turning on the charm. “So when do you get off duty?”
She looked as if she wanted to smile back but wouldn’t let herself. “Now, actually. I am done for the day.”
Alec remembered Angelina saying, “We cannot do this... I cannot do this,” after they’d kissed in the cathedral. But she hadn’t said why. Until she explained, Alec wasn’t about to just let it go. They had something together. Something good. Something explosive. Something worth fighting for. As long as he was in Zakhar—and he was here for at least a year, maybe more—he was going to pursue it. Unless she said no.
Alec wasn’t a wolf. When a woman said no, that was it for him—he took her at her word. The trick was persuading her not to say no in the first place. To give her a damned good reason to say yes. “I cannot” wasn’t the same thing as “no.”
Now he said, “Dinner? I’ve got an apartment—I moved in two days ago—but I haven’t had time to stock up the kitchen yet, so I’ve been eating out. I took the advice of somebody at the embassy last night—big mistake. Don’t get me wrong, the food was okay. But a man on his own in a restaurant geared for couples gets shunted off to a table behind the service door, and the waiters act as if he’s invisible.”
Angelina made a valiant attempt to hold back her smile, but it was impossible. “I cannot see you allowing that to happen. Not you.”
Alec grinned. “Okay, you’re right. I didn’t. But they tried. Believe me, they tried. It would’ve been easier if I’d had a date with me. Someone like you. A beautiful woman always gets great service.”
She wasn’t averse to the compliment—that was obvious. But just as obvious was the fact she wasn’t expecting it—either the compliment or the flirtatious way it was delivered—and it took her off guard. Despite that, she came back quickly with, “Only if she is with a man. A woman dining out on her own in Zakhar is...unusual. Breakfast and lunch are not a problem. But dinner?” Her lips quirked into a hint of a smile. “A woman alone is not considered a good tipper. But a man with a woman he is trying to impress—that is a different story.”
He thought he knew the answer already, but he moved a step closer and asked, “So could I impress you...by being a big tipper?” His voice was husky with meaning.
She didn’t back up, and he admired that about her. Most women would have...if a man invaded their personal space. But Angelina just shook her head. “You do not have to impress me that way,” she said honestly, her blue-gray eyes meeting his. “I am already impressed.”
She doesn’t play games, Alec realized with a sense of shock. But then you knew that. It was refreshing. And at the same time disarming. Tread cautiously, a little voice in the back of his head warned him. But Alec—who was so good at trusting his instincts— ignored the warning.
His voice dropped a notch when he urged, “Have dinner with me, Angel. Pick a restaurant—any restaurant you want. Just have dinner with me.” It wasn’t his usual approach. He was good at charming a woman, an approach that had worked many times before. But somehow, his usual facile charm was absent this time around. And Alec had never held his breath as he waited for an answer. That was something new, and he wondered why her answer was suddenly so important.
Angelina tilted her chin up, staring at him so intently, so seriously, Alec was sure she was going to say no. The decision hung in the balance for a moment. Then she said, “Mischa’s, in the central district, is probably the best choice. They have been there since before my mother was born.” Her eyes smiled before her lips joined in. “They are not four-star, you understand. Casual dining, not formal. But the food is good, and at a reasonable price. You will like it, I think. Even the king enjoyed eating there with his fellow soldiers when he was in the Zakharian National Forces. There is a picture of him with his unit on one wall, with pictures of other famous diners.”
“Sounds good. Where is it?”
“It is a little difficult to explain. Do you know the central district?”
“My apartment’s there. And I should tell you my sister calls me the human GPS—I’ve never gotten lost yet, no matter where in the world I find myself.”
Angelina’s smile deepened. “Where exactly is your apartment?”
When Alec told her it was on Vasska Street near Jalena Lane, she said, “But that is very close to Mischa’s. No more than five blocks away. You could walk to your apartment from the restaurant. And the market is on the way. I could help you shop—not everyone speaks English. Did you take a taxi?”
Alec shook his head. “Not this time, I’m afraid. One of the embassy cars brought me.” He didn’t tell her he wanted the embassy staff to know he was visiting his friend in the palace—adding fuel to the gossip he knew was already swirling about him. The best way to accomplish that was to have one of the embassy drivers bring him back and forth, casually-on-purpose mentioning the reason for his visit to the driver. If Alec and McKinnon met openly as friends, it was less likely someone would suspect McKinnon was involved in an investigation when he visited Alec at the embassy.
He also didn’t tell Angelina that using an embassy car and driver for ostensibly personal reasons was a violation of the rules—something he’d done deliberately. Not just to stress his friendship with McKinnon, but to spread the word he wasn’t ethically a stickler. He was going to uncover whoever in the embassy was responsible for the fraud and corruption—that was a given, no matter