LITMIR.BIZ

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all the way around it. Better yet, it had only this one protected bay, and only the one beach suitable for landing a boat.

      Everywhere else the thick tropical growth, or rocky cliffs, came right to the water’s edge. The island was too small and bushed in to land a plane on. It would be a nightmare to parachute in to, and it would be a challenge to land a helicopter here. Planes and helicopters gave plenty of warning they were arriving, anyway.

      It was a highly defensible position. Perfect from a soldier’s perspective.

      But from a personal point of view, from a man’s perspective, it couldn’t be much worse. It was a deserted island more amazing than a movie set. The sand was white, fine and flawless, exotic birds filled the night air with music, a tantalizing perfume rode the gentle night breeze. Palm trees swayed in the wind, ferns and flowers abounded.

      At the head of the beach was a cottage, palm-frond roof, screened porch looking out to the sea. It was the kind of retreat people came to on holidays and honeymoons, not to hide out. Which was a good thing. He highly doubted anyone would think to look for the princess here.

      He gave the rope attached to the boat another pull, hauled it further up on the sand until he was satisfied it would be safe, even from the tide, which, according to the tide charts he had purchased at a small seaside village, would come up during the night.

      Only then did he peer back at Aurora, his very own Sleeping Beauty. The princess, worn down from all the unscheduled excitement of her wedding day, was curled up in the bottom of the boat, fast asleep on a bed of life jackets.

      The silver of the moon washed her in magic, though he felt the shock of her shorn head again, followed by a jolt of a different kind—the short hair did nothing but accentuate her loveliness. Right now he was astonished by the length and fullness of her lashes, casting sooty shadows on the roundness of her cheeks. Her lips moved, forming words in her sleep, something in her own language, ret-nuh.

      He’d insisted on a life jacket, but the skirt was riding high up her legs, he caught a glimpse of bridal white panties so pure he could feel a certain dryness in his mouth. He reached out and gave the skirt a tug down, whether to save her embarrassment or to save himself he wasn’t quite sure.

      A deserted island. A beautiful woman. A week. He was no math whiz, but he knew a bad equation when he came across it.

      He’d done plenty of protection duty, and though it wasn’t his favorite assignment, Ronan prided himself on doing his work well. He’d protected heads of states and their families, politicians, royalty, CEOs.

      The person being protected was known amongst the team as the “principal.” The team didn’t even use personal names when they discussed strategy, formulated plans. The cardinal rule, the constant in protection work, was maintaining a completely professional, arm’s-length relationship. Emotional engagement compromised the mission, period.

      But the very circumstances of those other assignments made maintaining professionalism easy. The idea of forming any kind of deeper relationship or even a friendship, with the principal had been unthinkable. There was always a team, never just one person. There was always an environment conducive to maintaining preordained boundaries.

      Ronan was in brand-new territory, and he didn’t like it. So, before he woke her up, he looked to the stars, gathered his strength, reminded himself of the mission, the boundaries, the rules.

      “Hey,” he called softly, finally, “wake up.”

      She stirred but didn’t wake, and he leaned into the boat and nudged her shoulder with his hand. She was slender as a reed, the roundness of her shoulder the epitome of feminine softness.

      “Princess.” It would be infinitely easy to reach in and scoop her up, to carry her across the sand to that cottage, but that brief contact with her shoulder was fair warning it would be better not to add one little bit of physical contact to the already volatile combination.

      A bad time to think of her lips on his cheek earlier in the day, her slight curves pressed hard against him on that motorcycle.

      “Wake up,” he said louder, more roughly.

      She did, blinked—that blank look of one who couldn’t quite place where they were. And then she focused on him and smiled in a way that could melt even the most professional soldier’s dedication to absolute duty.

      She sat up, looked around and then sighed with contentment. She liked being here. She had liked the entire day way too much! He had not been nearly as immune to her laughter and her arms wrapped around him as he had wanted to be, but thankfully she didn’t have to know that!

      She shrugged out of the life jacket and then stretched, pressing the full sensuous roundness of her breasts into the thin fabric of the ill-fitting blouse. Then she stood up. The boat rocked on the sand, and the physical contact he wanted so badly not to happen, happened anyway. He caught her, steadied her as the boat rocked on the uneven ground. She took one more step, the boat pitched, and she would have gone to her knees.

      Except his hands encircled her waist nearly completely, the thumb and index finger of his right hand nearly touching those of his left. He lifted her from the boat, swung her onto the sand, amazed by her slightness. She didn’t weigh any more than a fully loaded combat pack.

      “You’re strong!” she said.

      He withdrew from her swiftly, not allowing himself to preen under her admiration. A week. They had to make it a week.

      “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, hugging herself, apparently oblivious to his discomfort. “I love it here. My grandfather called it Naidina Karobin—it means something like my heart is home.”

      Great.

      “Isn’t that pretty?”

      “Yeah, sure.” Real men didn’t use words like pretty. Except maybe in secret, when they looked at a face like hers, washed in moonlight, alive with discovery. Mission.

      He reached into the boat and grabbed the knapsack. As he followed her across the sand toward the cottage, he noted that the trees in the grove around it were loaded with edible fruits, coconuts, bananas, mangos.

      He’d landed in the Garden of Eden. He only hoped he could resist the apple. Boundaries.

      As they got closer, the princess jacked her skirt up and ran, danced really, across the sand. She looked like some kind of moonlit nymph, her slender legs painted in silver. Rules, duty, professionalism.

      He followed her more slowly, as if he could put off the moment when they set up housekeeping together and everything intensified yet more.

      Becoming part of Excalibur, Ronan’s endurance, physical strength, intellectual assets, ability to cope with stress had all been tested beyond normal limits. One man in twenty who was recruited for that unit made it through the selection process. Membership meant being stronger, faster, tougher in mind and spirit than the average man.

      And yet to share the space of that cottage on this island with a real-live sleeping beauty seemed as if it would test him in ways he had never been tested before.

      Ronan had been in possession of the princess for less than twenty-four hours and he already felt plenty tested!

      He drew a deep breath as he followed her up wide steps to the screen door that he thought had been a screened-in veranda. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of moonlight inside, he saw he had been mistaken.

      It was not a screened porch, but a screened-in house. A summer house, she’d said, obviously designed so that it caught the breeze from every angle on hot summer nights. The huge overhang of the roof would protect it from the rare days of inclement weather these islands experienced.

      White, sheer curtains lifted and fell in the breeze, making the inside of the house enchanting and exotic. The main room had dark, beautiful wooden floors, worn smooth from years of use, moonlight spilling across them. Deeply cushioned, colorful rattan furniture was grouped casually around a coffee table, a space that invited conversation, relaxation.

      Intimacy.

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