She looked as him as he deftly maneuvered between groups of people. He was dashing in a princely-sort of way. He would make a wonderful husband. Right? She should just accept his proposal and get on with her life. What was standing in her way? A man that she shared a few months with before her life turned upside down? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She wished Callum would stand in her way, but that was like wishing on dandelion seeds.
Her partner swung her around in a reverse turn. She smiled because she thought she should. The retired general that held her had to be close to eighty. He was hard of hearing and did not try to make small talk as they danced. She thanked fate for small favors. She had had her share of small talk for the night. Elizabeth let her mind wonder during her few minutes of reprieve.
Maybe her feelings for Callum were actually feelings of regret over her lost pre-princess life. He was a symbol of the freedom she had before she wore the crown. Her longing for him was just a longing for her life prior to becoming a princess. When things were simple and her life was her own. When the choices she made did not have international repercussions and her dreams did not matter to anyone but her. When her father was not fighting poison ingested in his body and her bodyguard was not a Russian spy. Calling her life before the crown simple was like calling Versailles a little house in the suburbs.
It made so much sense, Elizabeth could not help but to laugh at herself. She felt as if the world around her just opened and a tremendous weight had been lifted off her shoulders. It was Psychology 101. Callum had not ruined her for some other man. She would be able to love again. Why not take Watson and make little Corranian babies. How bad could that life be? Her confusion was not about Callum, but about her on life as a royal.
Her partner seemed to take her sudden merriment as his personal success and turned her around in an exuberant spin. She hoped she would be as nimble as he was when she was an octogenarian. Surprised that the general had it in him, she laughed harder. Elizabeth relaxed and enjoyed the moment. During another practiced turn, Elizabeth scanned the ballroom again looking for Watson or Stefan hoping they were having as good of a time as she was. Instead, her gaze locked on a pair of silver grey eyes that had haunted her dreams for four years.
The calm she felt only a moment before was replaced by something she did not want to label although she knew exactly what it was. Desire. Heat. She turned every sexual urge off four years ago as if she was a nun. It was fairly easy. She was not interested; could not get excited if she tried. Elizabeth figured she was broken.
The change of lifestyle, the heartbreak over Callum, the stress of being perfect all of the time flipped a switch in her. Dried her up. She did not think even think about romance and sex. Instead, she accepted it for what it was. A life of duty to others. It worked for her until the moment when her eyes met his at the luncheon. Since then another switch had been flipped. Once that was grounded in need and want. Heat and passion. A selfishness that made it easy to forget about what she should do and who she needed to be. All she cared about - all she thought about - was him.
Callum stood in the corner watching her intently. Even from halfway across the ballroom she could see his grey eyes sparkle as if he knew what she was thinking. His half-smile dared her to relegate her feelings for him to nothing more than a passing fancy. He leaned lazily against one of the twenty-foot marble columns that surrounded the room with his hands in his pockets and a foot crossed over his ankle.
He had removed the gauze bandage from his forehead. Although she could see the marks and bruises that scared his face, they somehow they made him look even more handsome. Even more like the devil he was. To an outside observer, he appeared to not have a care in the world. As if palace-life and ballrooms were his natural habitat. But she knew better.
Knowing that he was there to protect her, to protect her country, made the magnetic pull around him that much stronger. She could see other women sizing him up as if he was fresh meat in a lion's den. A sharp twinge of jealousy shot through her. The music ended and she forced her gaze away from Callum and thanked her partner for the thrilling dance. They applauded the orchestra and she kissed the elderly general on both cheeks in thanks.
"If you are not otherwise engaged . . ."
Elizabeth was not sure how Callum crossed the ballroom and ended-up at her side so quickly. She took the hand he offered without a word. She was tired of fighting what she knew was an unwinnable battle and stepped into his open arms. The orchestra began to play a slow waltz as he put pressure on her waist and began to guide her around the floor with what seemed like little effort. She could not hide her surprise.
"You dance beautifully, Callum."
"You sound surprised."
"I guess never pictured you as a ballroom dancer."
He twirled her in a complicated spin forcing her to look down at her feet to verify they were still touching the floor.
"How do you picture me?" He asked.
She ignored his question since her real answer - naked and in her bed - would lead in to dangerous territory.
"Where did you learn how to dance?" She deflected. Her pulse raced as he turned her again.
The corners of his mouth turned up into a knowing smile. She was happy when he did not press his question, but answered hers instead.
"My father shipped me off to a military prep school in Virginia when I was fourteen. Ballroom dance was the only way we could see girls on a regular basis. I had to pay some guy fifty bucks to drop out so I could take his place."
She shook her head in wonder.
"What?" He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her hand brushed her hand across the fine fabric of his black tuxedo that hugged his thick shoulder.
"I'm just trying to reconcile Honduras Callum with bodyguard, tough-guy Callum with the way you look now."
"How do I look now?" He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
"Like you walked off of the set of Casablanca. Certainly not some boy desperate to meet women. I can't even imagine you like that."
She smiled at the idea of him being young and awkward.
"Don't let the tux fool you. I'm still desperate." He gave her a wink and a cock-sure grin that turned her insides to liquid.
Her eyes scanned his scars, his tan rough and weathered skin, and his lips. She forced her gaze back to his. "Please. You could have any woman in this room with just the snap of your finger."
He pulled away a fraction of an inch so their eyes met. The heat in his was unmistakable.
"But I only want one." He said with a voice rough with emotion.
She lost her balance. His arms immediately tightened around her.
"Are you okay?"
No, she would never be okay. He had ruined her. Broke her the day they met on a desolate road in Honduras.
"I think I need some air."
Callum watched as Elizabeth hurried out of the ballroom. A few people seemed to notice her departure, but did not seem to make much out of it. Callum debated if he should follow her.
He activated the radio he wore underneath his shirt.
"Cal, do you have eyes on the Princess?"
Cal worked back-up with about five other undercover operatives, but Cal was the only person Callum trusted to take over for him.
"Roger that." Cal responded. "She just headed down the balcony stairs to the garden."
"Does anyone seem overly interested in her?" Nothing mattered more than her safety.
It took a moment for Cal to answer. "No, Sir. Everyone is doing their own thing. She is heading to a house in the back of the garden."
"The Orangery?" Callum pictured the tall stone structure that stood alone in the middle of the garden. He had studied multiple satellite images of the property to prepare for the assignment and memorized a map of the castle. It was just the sort of place Elizabeth would use as a hideaway.
"Um, sure. I'm not sure what you would call it. A stone house thing with windows all around it. Do y
ou want me to go inside with her?" Cal asked.
Callum could not help but smile. Was he ever that young?
"No, just monitor the perimeter. I'm on my way." Callum clicked off his radio. Despite Cal's innocence with the world, he was an excellent soldier and would protect Elizabeth at all cost.
Callum hung back for a moment longer scanning the crowd for anyone that looked out of place or seemed curious about the Princess' disappearance. Stefan and Watson were focused on the little huddles of people that surrounded each of them. He doubted either one of them noticed that Elizabeth was no longer in the room.
The last few days had been a roller coaster. Callum knew he should have kept his mouth shut and not said anything about her being the only woman he wanted. But it was time they stopped ignoring the heat that surged between them every time they were within twenty feet of each other. He had tried to ignore it. Tried for four years to ignore her. But, damn it, he was human. This limbo they were in was torture. When he saw her come out of her room in that lacy black gown all wrapped up like the ultimate present, his fingers itched to unwrap her.
He knew that she would protest if he confronted her. She would claim that he made everything worse and she would be right. He knew he should just leave her alone. Stay close enough to be there if she needed him or if something happened, but far enough away so he did not ache to pull her closer with every beat of his heart. What was the point? Eventually they would wrap-up this case and he would be assigned to some other mission. She would go on with her life, likely marry Watson, and have babies. It all sounded easy. Neat. But no matter how illogical it seemed - no matter how it did not fit in to any one's plans - every fiber of his being wanted to go after her and finish what they started the night before.
Callum swallowed hard. He needed to stay in control. He let his pants do the talking in Honduras. He refused to make that same mistake when there was a real threat around the corner. But damn, he needed to find some release. Maybe after she went to bed, he could pass Cal the watch for an hour and go for a run. Maybe punch a stone wall for a while. Something other than just watching.
"What did you do? Step on her toes?"
Callum turned to see Philip standing next to him holding a glass of champagne and wearing a self-satisfied smirk.
"I must admit, Major, you look strangely at home here. I did not realize you father was General Highgate, former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. I am assuming you took your mother's name." Phillip took a slow sip of his champagne.
Callum ignored the arrogant man.
"Well, anyway. Even through you might be more schooled in etiquette than you first appear to be, this is still a very different scene than even your West Point or White House dinners."
Callum continued to ignore the little man's erroneous comments.
"You do plan to apologize, don't you?" Philip took a sip of his champagne.
Callum thought he misheard. "Excuse me?"
"Go and apologize to the Princess for whatever you did. I don't want your He-Man attitude screwing up months of work. The last thing we need is an international incident the night before the agreement is signed."
If Callum believed in signs, this one would certainly count.
Callum shrugged his shoulders. "Well, if you think that would be best."
"I do. Be humble. Grovel if you need to, but make sure you leave her with a smile on her face."
"Whatever you say, Phil." Callum winked and started across the ballroom toward the balcony.
Callum reached the balcony and headed straight for the Orangery.
"I'm coming in from the North. Don't shoot me. Especially you, Cal. I don't feel like being pissed off tonight."
Callum took the steps to the garden in a brisk jog. He knew to give fair warning if he was approaching the target zone.
The warm spring wind rustled the trees above him and the evening air smelled of rain. He jogged around sculpted topiary and hopped over manicured flower beds. Finally he reached the stone building whose windows were fogged from the humidity inside. No lights were on, but the full moon would give him enough illumination to see shadows.
"Cal, continue covering the perimeter. I'm going inside. I'm turning my radio to mute but it will still be on if you need me."
"Roger that." Cal said in the radio.
Callum did not see the young soldier, but knew his was close.
Callum opened the glass-paned door and called to her. No one answered, but he heard a slight rustle at his eleven o'clock. He took a chance and headed in that direction. He found her sitting on one of the stone benches.
He hesitated for a moment, doubting if he should even be here with her. He did not want to hurt her again. And, heaven knew that he might not recover if things did not go well tonight.
Elizabeth turned as he approached her. Her form was outlined in moon shadows. As he stepped closer, he could see that her face was damp and dark trails of mascara ran down her cheeks. Grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket, Callum took the last three steps that closed the distance between them and sat down next to her. Instead of handing her the linen, he reached out and cupped her chin with his hand. He tilted her face and wiped her tears away.
To his surprise, she leaned forward and let him take care of her. His movements were slow and controlled. There was no point in rushing. Callum knew their time was limited and this might be their last private moment together. Ever. That thought chilled him to the bone. Could he leave her and never see her again except on magazine covers in the grocery store check-out line or after he had too many drinks and searched for her images on-line?
Once her face was cleaned and dry, Callum pocketed the handkerchief. He leaned back against the cool stone and stared out into the darkness of the room. He planned sit in silence next to her all night if that was what she wanted. If something came up, the team knew how to reach him.
Her voice broke the silence. "I'm going to marry Watson."
He sucked in his breath, but did not move. "You'll make a perfect couple."
Elizabeth turned and angled toward him with one leg tucked underneath the skirt of her gown. She did not speak for a few moments while she looked down and played with a bead on her dress. When she finally spoke, he could hear the raw emotion in her voice.
"There is no reason not to, right? If something happens to my father, if the annotate does not work, I'm next in line. I could have been queen already if you and your men had not acted so quickly." She paused. "I need be the person the country needs me to be."
"You do." He shifted and put his elbows on his knees and looked down at the darkness below him.
He could feel her glare on him. There was a reason silence was such an effective interrogation method. When something needed to be said, most of the time all that a person needed was time to say it. His emotions got the best of him and he felt his first slip of control.
He sat up and ran his fingers threw his hair. "What the hell do you want me to say, Elli? Don't marry the perfect guy?"
He heard his own voice grow louder, and took a breath and tried to bury the frustration he felt. Finally, he said in a low voice, "I have nothing to offer you. What would a life with me look like? Who would give up what?"
Callum stood and took a few steps into the darkness of the room. He needed to put space between them. He balled and released his fists and concentrated on his breathing.
He heard her stand up and walk toward him. Callum closed his eyes and wished that she would just walk past him to the door. Just walk away, Elli.
Instead, he felt her hand tighten around his arm. The heat of her fingers burned him. He felt the strength to fight her leave his body as he let her spin him around so they were face to face.
"That's a shitty thing to say, Callum Evans." Her voice was soft, but firm. Her golden eyes that glowed in the moonlight did not waver from his.
"I thought you wanted honesty. That's as honest as it gets." Callum felt the tension rise up in him. She needed to understand. "You're
a princess. I'm a soldier. It has always come down to that. It's why I left you in Honduras and it's why I'll leave you when this mission is over. You need more than me, Elli."
He did not want to sound cruel or hurtful. He had never cared for anyone as much as he cared for her. But she needed to understand that they needed to let each other go. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, less argumentative. What he was doing, he was doing for her.
"We are who we are, and there is nothing either of us can do about it. Go marry your prince charming and have a wonderful life."
She let go of him and took a step back. She crossed her arms, which pushed her breasts up. The tension in him became layered with heat.
"You're an ass. I know you feel more for me than that. You think you're being so honest, but you aren't. You're standing here lying to me and lying to yourself."
"What do you want me to say?" He ground out his words and his body coiled in anticipation. He knew if he admitted his feeling for her, something in him would snap.
"Tell me the truth. Tell me it was not easy to let me go. You might walk away when this is over but don't act like it's easy."
Her stare was hard and unyielding, but the moonlight caught the unshed tears that glanced in her eyes. Her chest rose up as she took a deep breath, her breasts strained the form-fitting fabric. He waited for her to exhale, but instead she held her breath in her while she waited for his answer.
"Don't push me, Elli."
His voice was low and firm. He took a step toward her. His hands itched to touch her. She held her ground. Her head titled up so their eyes met. In the shadows, she looked half devil and half angel.
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