Protecting His Princess

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In this kingdom, not even the royals are immune to danger  With a sexy FBI agent posing as her suitor, Princess Laila of Qamsar is home for the wedding of her brother the Emir. In truth, the beautiful royal and Harris Truman are on an undercover mission: to find the infamous terrorist her brother is suspected of aiding. But once the festivities begin, Laila faces a bigger threat than Al-Adel. Her secret meetings with Harris pose a danger to her safety­—and her heart. To gain his love and live in freedom as his equal is her ardent desire. But will she betray her traditions for a man whose kisses are part of a charade?About the AuthorC.J. writes romantic suspense novels for Harlequin. She loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted through her website: www.cj-miller.com. She lives in Maryland with her husband, son, and daughter. C.J. believes in first loves, second chances, and happily ever after. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.She would never enjoy a cup of coffee again. Laila removed her stained navy-blue apron and shoved it in the washing machine with the others. A few more tasks and she could close for the night, giving her feet—and her nose—a much-needed break.Laila had been listening to the radio since she'd closed the store, hoping to learn new information about the situation in her home country of Qamsar. Her brother's regressive, conservative social policies weren't popular with certain factions in the country, and Laila hoped Mikhail would adopt a more moderate approach to ruling before tensions erupted into violence. Her mother feared civil war, and Laila feared for her family's safety. The broadcast had nothing new to report.Laila double-checked the coffee, latte and espresso machines, and switched off the lights and radio in the back room. The only sound in the small cafe was the washing machine filling with water.She jumped when she saw a man leaning against the cafe's glass front door. Deep blue eyes watched her. Laila crossed the room, her heart jittering nervously. He had visited the cafe dozens of times before, and each time, he had caught and held her attention. "Harris. What are you doing here?" she asked through the glass.Had he not been one of her regular customers, she would have backed away, told him to leave and maybe even called the police. But Harris was a good man, charming, easy to talk with, and she'd developed a fondness for him. She looked forward to his visits, and though this one was oddly timed, a shudder of excitement piped through her."I tried knocking, but you didn't hear me," Harris said. "I need to talk to you."Laila stared at him through the glass. "About what?" Growing up in Qamsar, even as a member of the royal family, she was wary of men. American men made her doubly nervous; though with Harris, her nervousness was centered on attraction not fear. Attracted to him and unsure how to strike up a friendship, her feelings for Harris confused her. In Qamsar, it wasn't appropriate to have a friendship with a man. Much about her life in America was new to her, including her job, which she'd taken to stay off her brother's radar and have money of her own. It was a freedom she enjoyed.Harris pressed a badge against the glass. "You're in danger. I need you to come with me."Laila leaned forward, examining the badge that contained Harris's picture and the words FBI SpecialAgent. Surprise and alarm skittered across her skin. Harris had never mentioned what he did for a living, and she had never told him that she was the emir's sister. A stab of betrayal pierced her. She'd expected the American government to monitor her, but she hadn't expected Harris to be the one doing it.Had danger traveled from Qamsar to find her in America? "Why do you think I'm in danger?" Her nerves tightened in her stomach and exhaustion fled to the corners of her mind."Please trust me. I don't mean you any harm," Harris said. He slid his badge into his pocket and held his hands out, palms facing her. "Let's talk for a few minutes without me shouting through the glass."Laila unlocked the door and allowed Harris inside. "Is my family safe?" Her mother's safety was at the foremost of her thoughts."At the present the data I have on the situation indicates they are not hurt or directly in danger."Which was not the same as saying they were safe. People in public positions during social upheaval were never completely safe. Since her father had died two years ago, her brother Mikhail had taken over as emir, and the shift of power had caused political and social rumblings that had only grown louder with time. "Then why do you think I'm in danger?" Laila asked. She liked Harris. Whenever he'd come to the counter to place his order, he had spoken to her and listened to her responses. His demeanor tonight was different than it had been in weeks past. His shoulders were tight; his carefree, flirtatious smile was missing and tension pulsed off him in waves."We've received intel that someone wants to hurt you," Harris said. The tension she'd sensed was pent up in his words.Laila forced her heart to remain calm. Growing up in Qamsar, political enemies of her father had often threatened her and her family. Threats weren't anything new. "The situation at home isn't good, and someone always gets the bright idea to intimidate my family and me in the heat of emotion. I don't take those threats seriously."His brows drew together and his blue eyes sharpened. "You need to take this one seriously."Laila wouldn't allow an American man—no matter how attracted she was to him—to scare her. Americans didn't understand the Qamsarian culture, and they didn't understand her family. "We can talk about this another time. I'm tired, and I have an early class tomorrow. My uncle will be expecting me, and he'll be worried if I arrive home too late."Harris waited while she locked up and followed her to her car. "Please, Laila. I wouldn't be here if we didn't feel the threats against you were real and pervasive."Laila pulled her car keys from her handbag and pressed the unlock button. The lights on her car flashed."No!"Harris's shout echoed in her ears, followed by the sound of an explosion and the sensation of her body being slammed into gravel. She slid, the backs of her legs and her arms burning. Harris was on top of her, his body covering hers. Laila gasped for air, the heaviness of him stifling. She struggled to sit up. As he rolled to the side, pulling his phone from his pocket, she caught sight of her car. It was now consumed in flames.Her mouth fell open. She hadn't expected this. Not while she was living in America. Car bombings didn't happen in suburban America. People were safe here, weren't they?Who wanted to kill her bad enough to follow her to America?Harris scanned the area, looking for anyone out of place. A bystander who might have seen something or even the bomber lingering to watch the fallout of his attack. No one except law enforcement and the first medical responders were on the scene.Laila sat on the curb in the parking lot, a blanket wrapped around her. He'd had someone on his team call her aunt and uncle to let them know Laila was fine, painting the explosion as a car accident. The truth was more grim: a car bomb had been planted in Laila's car. If Harris hadn't recognized the high frequency whine of an explosive's timer engaging, she would be dead. The intel the FBI had gathered on the situation had predicted Laila and members of the royal family of Qamsar were in danger, though it was difficult to predict how or if an attack might occur.The FBI's list of bombing suspects was short, mostly made up of members of the Holy Light Brotherhood, a terrorist organization that wanted Qamsar to remain isolated from "infidel influences." Those "infidel influences" included America as a whole, and with the emir negotiating a trade agreement, a female member of the royal family studying in America became an obvious target to anyone wanting to send a message.Harris sat on the curb next to Laila. "How are you holding up?"Laila watched him with tired, soulful brown eyes. "I'm in shock. I've read about bombings. I've seen it reported on the news, but nothing like this has ever happened to me."The profile the FBI and CIA had created for Laila indicated she had lived a sheltered life. Living in America with her uncle and aunt, her mother's sister, was the first time Laila had been away from Qamsar and her life as a royal princess. After her father, the former emir, had died, Laila had come to America on a student visa and had enrolled in the University of Colorado in Denver. From what Harris had gathered, her brother was not happy about Laila living in America, but he hadn't outright forbidden it. "We'll make sure nothing like this happens again to you."Harris had connected with Laila from the first day he'd met her. She went about her job quietly and efficiently, and she had intelligent, alert eyes. If she wasn't his assignment, he might have asked her on a date, and gotten a chance to know her better and uncover the passion he saw simmering below the surface. Then again it was better for him to keep his distance. His track record with women was embarrassing, and he wasn't ready to add another name to the list of failed relationships. When he was working a difficult case, those women were targets of his enemies, and none had proven able to handle the pressure or remain loyal when money changed hands.Laila pulled the fleece blanket Harris had given her tighter around her body. Harris read the gesture as less from cold and more from discomfort. Was his presence making her uncomfortable because he was male? He and Laila weren't alone. The parking lot was filled with people: FBI agents and CIA investigators, along with local law enforcement. The FBI and CIA had teamed up to create a joint task force to shut down the Holy Light Brotherhood, starting with the head of the organization, Ahmad Al-Adel. When it became apparent Al-Adel had potential ties to the Qamsarian ruling family, the task force had become interested in Laila and how she could help find Al-Adel.His CIA contacts had told him that, as a Qamsarian woman, Laila had had a conservative upbringing. Not conservative the way an American defined it. Conservative as in limited contact with men, chaperones when appropriate and never being alone or having physical contact with any male apart from family. Harris was doing his best to respect those boundaries, but the extrovert in...