Joe stood there, like an idiot, staring into eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea. Her gaze flickered down to his lips and then farther, to the pin he wore in his lapel—the pin that concealed the microphone that would broadcast everything they said to the surveillance truck, the FInCOM agents and the SEALs.
Joe heard only silence over his earphone, and he knew they were all listening. All of them. Listening intently.
“How are you, Your Highness?” Veronica asked, her voice cool and controlled.
Joe found his own voice. “I’m well, thanks,” he said. Damn, he sounded hoarse, and not an awful lot like Prince Tedric. He cleared his throat, then moistened his dry lips, and realized that Veronica’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue. God, was it possible that she wanted to kiss him…?
Her eyes met his, and something flamed—something hot, something molten, something that seared him to his very soul, something that made his already dry mouth turn into something resembling the floor of Death Valley.
Veronica gently disengaged her hand from his and reached to take one of the glasses of ginger ale from the bar. “Have you met my friend Talandra?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” Joe said, catching himself and correcting himself by saying, “Yes. Yes, I have.” He concentrated on doing the Ustanzian accent. But as he watched, she took a delicate sip of her soda and all he could think about were her lips. And the soft curves of her creamy skin, and of her breasts, exposed by the fabulous design of that dress. “She seems…nice.”
Their eyes met, and again, he was hit by a wave of heat so powerful it nearly knocked him over.
Veronica nodded politely. “Yes, she is.”
What kind of game was this?
She turned to watch the dancers, and her arm brushed against his. She smiled an apology and moved slightly away. But when it happened again, Joe knew damn well it was no accident. At least he hoped it was no accident. His pulse began to race with the implications.
“I love to dance,” she said, glancing at him.
Oh yeah, he knew that. He’d seen her dance. It hadn’t been like this—all stiff and polite and formal. When she’d danced, she’d moved with a sensuality and abandon that would’ve shocked the hell out of half of the people in this room.
Veronica tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and Joe’s heart began to pound.
She was coming on to him.
Not in any way that the video cameras and microphones could pick up, but she was coming on to him. It all made sense. The dress, the shoes, the fire she was letting him see in her eyes…
He couldn’t figure out why the sudden change of heart.
Joe opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. What could he ask her? What could he say? Certainly nothing that he wanted broadcast over the entire security network.
Instead, he put his hand over hers, covering her cool fingers with his. He gently stroked her smooth skin with his thumb.
Veronica turned to look up at him, and Joe could see her desire in her eyes. No doubt about it—she was letting him see it. She wanted him, and she wanted him to know it.
She smiled then—a beautiful, tremulous smile that brought his heart up into his throat. He wanted to kiss her so badly, he had to clench his teeth to keep from leaning toward her and caressing her lips with his own.
“Your Highness,” she said very softly, as if she couldn’t find the air to do more than whisper, “may I have this dance?”
He could have her in his arms, right here, right now. Damn, wouldn’t that be heaven?
But then, from across the room, came an earsplitting crash.
Joe reacted, pulling Veronica into his arms and shielding her with his body. What the hell was he thinking? What was he doing, standing here next to her like this, as if he weren’t the target of assassins? She was close enough so that bullets meant for him could end her life in the beat of a heart.
“It’s all right, Cat.” He heard Blue’s voice over his earphone. “It’s cool. Someone dropped a glass. We do not have a situation. Repeat, there is no situation.”
Joe pulled Veronica in even closer for a second, closing his eyes and pressing her tightly against him before he released her. Adrenaline was flooding his system and his entire body seemed to vibrate. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he’d never been so scared….
Veronica touched his arm. “I guess we’re all on edge,” she said with a small smile. “Are you all right?”
Joe looked wound tighter than a drum. There was a wildness in his eyes she’d never seen before and his hand actually trembled as he pushed his hair back, off his face.
“No,” he said curtly, not bothering to disguise his voice with Tedric’s odd accent. “No, I’m not all right. Ronnie, I need you to stay the hell away from me.”
Veronica felt her smile fade. “I thought we were going to…dance.”
Joe let out a short burst of exasperated air. “No way,” he said. “Absolutely not. No dancing.”
She looked down at the floor. “I see.”
As Joe watched, Veronica turned and started to walk away, unable to disguise the flash of hurt in her eyes. My God. She thought he was rejecting her. He tried to catch her arm, to stop her, but she was moving faster now.
“No, you don’t see,” he called after her in a low voice.
But she didn’t stop walking. Joe started to follow.
Damn! Short of breaking into a sprint, there was no way he could catch her. And although shouting “Yo, Ronnie!” was something Joe Catalanotto might not have hesitated to do even at a posh society party, Prince Tedric was not prone to raising his voice in public.
When Joe rounded the corner into the front hall, Veronica was nowhere in sight. Damn! Double damn! How could he follow her if he didn’t know where she went?
He headed toward the living room and the spacious kitchen beyond, hearing the unmistakable sound of Talandra’s laughter from that direction.
But Talandra stood near a large stone fireplace, sipping champagne and talking with a group of elegantly dressed women—none of whom were Veronica. “Oh, here’s the prince now,” Talandra said, smiling at Joe.
There was nothing he could do but go and greet the group of ladies as Talandra made introductions.
“Code Red,” came Cowboy’s voice, loud and clear over Joe’s earphone. “We have an open window on the third floor! Repeat, open window, third floor. Possible break-in. Joe, get the hell out of here. Double time! This is not a drill. Repeat. This is not a drill!”
Everything switched into slow motion.
Joe had to get out of here. He had to get away from these ladies—God help them all if a terrorist burst into the room firing a submachine gun.
“Get down!” he shouted at the women. “Get to cover!”
Talandra was the first to react. Of course, she’d probably been warned about an assassination attempt. She led the entire group of ladies down a hallway to the back of the house.
God, all it would take was one man and one weapon and—Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Ronnie was somewhere in this house.
“Blue, where’s Ronnie?” Joe said into his mike, heading for the kitchen door as he pulled out the sidearm he kept hidden under his jacket. FInCOM had ordered he remain unarmed. He’d smiled and said nothing. He was damn glad now that he’d ignored that order. If someone was going to start shooting at him, damn it, he was going to shoot back. “Blue, I need you to find Ronnie!”
“I don’t see her, Cat,” his XO reported, his gentle drawl replaced by a staccato stream of nearly accentless words. “But I’m looking. Get your own butt under cover!”
“Not till I know she’s safe,” Joe retorted as he burst through the kitchen door. A man in a chef’s hat looked up at him in shock, his eyes glued to the weapon. “Get down,” Joe ordered him. “Or get out. We’ve got trouble.”
The chef scurried for the back door.
A new voice came over the earphone. It was Kevin Laughton, the FInCOM chief. “Veronica St. John’s alread
y in a limo, heading back to the hotel. Proceed to the emergency escape vehicle, Lieutenant,” he ordered.
“Double-check that info, Alpha Squad,” Joe said as he pushed open the pantry door, hard, and went inside, sidearm first. The small storage room was empty.
“Information verified,” Harvard’s calm voice reported. “Ronnie has left the building. Suggest you do the same, Cat.”
Joe was filled with relief. Ronnie was safe. The relief mingled with adrenaline and made him almost lightheaded.
“Kitchen’s empty and clear,” he announced over his mike.
“Move it out, Cat,” Cowboy said. “We got this situation under control.”
“Are you kidding?” Joe said into his microphone, pushing the door to the living room open an inch. “And leave all the fun to you guys?”
Joe could see about ten FInCOM agents heading toward him. He swore under his breath and stepped back as they came through the door. They surrounded him instantly. West and Freeman were on either side of him, shielding him with their own bodies as they moved him toward the back door.
There was a car idling outside the kitchen, waiting for exactly this type of emergency. The car door was thrown open, and West climbed into the back seat first, pulling Joe behind him. Freeman followed, and before the door was even closed, the driver took off, peeling out down the narrow alleyway and onto the dark city streets.
West and Freeman were breathing hard as they both holstered their weapons. They watched without much surprise as Joe rested his own on his lap.
“You’re not supposed to be carrying,” West commented.
“Kevin Laughton would throw a hissy fit if he knew,” Freeman said. “’Course, he doesn’t have to know.”
“Imagine Kevin’s shock,” Joe said, “if he knew that I’ve got another in my boot and a knife hidden in my belt.”
“And probably another weapon hidden somewhere else that you’re not telling us about,” West said blandly.
“Probably,” Joe agreed.
The car was moving faster now, catching green lights at all of the intersections as it headed downtown. Joe took out his earphone—they were out of range. He leaned forward and asked the driver, “Any word on the radio? What’s happening back there? Any action?” He hated running away from his squad like this.
The driver shook his head. “The word is it’s mostly all clear,” he said. “It’s an alleged false alarm. One of the party guests claims she opened the window in the third-floor bathroom because she was feeling faint.”
Joe sat back in his seat. False alarm. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the nervous energy from his system. His guys were safe. Ronnie was safe. He was safe. He holstered his weapon and looked from Freeman to West. “You know, I had no idea you guys were willing to lay it on the line for me.”
West looked out one window, Freeman looked out the other. “Just doing our job, sir,” West said, sounding bored.
Joe knew better. It was odd, sitting here between two relative strangers—strangers who would have died for him today if they’d had to. It was odd, knowing that they cared.
With a sudden flash, Joe remembered a pair of crystal blue eyes looking at him with enough heat to ignite a rocket engine.
West and Freeman weren’t the only ones who cared.
Veronica St. John cared, too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VERONICA STOOD AT the window, looking out over downtown Boston. With all the city lights reflected in the Charles River, it was lovely. She could see the Esplanade and the Hatch Shell, where the Boston Pops played free concerts in the summer. She could see Back Bay and the Boston Common. And somewhere, down there, hidden by the trees of the common was Beacon Hill, where Talandra lived, and where there was a party going on right this very moment—without her.
She took another sip of her rum and cola, feeling the sweet warmth of the rum spreading through her.
Well, she’d certainly made a fool of herself tonight. Again. Veronica could see her wavery reflection in the window. She looked like someone else in this dress. Someone seductive and sexy. Someone who could snap her fingers and have dozens of men come running. Someone who wouldn’t give a damn if some sailor didn’t want her near him.
She laughed aloud at her foolishness, but her laughter sounded harsh in the empty hotel suite. She’d gone to this party with every intention of seducing Joe Catalanotto. She’d planned it so perfectly. She’d wear this incredible dress. He would be stunned. They’d dance. She’d dance really close. He would be even more stunned. He would follow her back to the hotel. She’d ask him into her room under the pretense of briefing him for tomorrow. But he’d know better. He’d ask the FInCOM agents to wait outside, and once the hotel-room door closed, he would pull her into his arms and…
It was perfect—except that she’d forgotten one small detail. Her plan would work only if Joe wanted her, too.
She had thought she’d seen desire in his eyes when he looked at her tonight, but obviously, she’d been mistaken.
Veronica took another sip of her drink and turned from the window, unable to bear the silence another minute.
There was a radio attached to the television, and she turned it on. It was set to a soft-rock station—not her favorite kind of music, but she didn’t care. Just as long as there was something to fill the deadly silence.
She knew she ought to change out of her dress. It was only helping to remind her what a total imbecile she’d been. She looked at herself again in the mirror that hung on the hotel-room wall. The dress was practically indecent. The silky fabric clung to her breasts, broadcasting the fact that she was wearing no bra, and the cut of the dress showed off all kinds of cleavage and skin and curves. Good grief, she might as well have gone topless. Whatever had possessed her to buy this dress, anyway? It was like wearing a nightgown in public.
Veronica stared at herself in the mirror. She knew why she had bought the dress. It was to be an unspoken message to Joe. Here I am. I’m all yours. Come and sweep me off my feet.
To which he’d responded quite clearly. Stay the hell away from me.
She sighed, fighting the tears ready to spring into her eyes. She should change into something more sensible—her flannel nightie, perhaps—instead of standing here, feeling sorry for herself. She wasn’t here, in Boston, to be either sexy or romantic. She was here to do her job. She wasn’t looking for sex or romance or even friendship, with Joe Catalanotto. She was simply looking to get a job done well. Period, the end.
“You are such a bloody liar,” Veronica said aloud to her reflection, her voice thick with disgust.
“You’re not talking to me, I hope.”
Veronica spun around, nearly spilling her rum and cola down the front of her dress.
Joe.
He was standing no more than three feet away from her, leaning against the wall next to the mirror. He stepped forward and took the drink from her hand.
Veronica’s heart was pounding. “What are you doing here?” she gasped. “How did you get in?”
There was no balcony this time. And she was positive that the room’s single door had been securely locked. But of course, he had told her he was an expert at picking locks.
Joe just smiled.
He was still wearing his party clothes. He wore a navy blue military-style jacket that buttoned up both sides of his chest and ended at his trim waist. His pants were made of a khaki-colored fabric that looked soft to the touch. They fit him like a second skin, clinging to his muscular thighs and perfect derriere. They were tucked into a pair of shiny black, knee-high boots. He wore a red sash around his waist, and the splash of color completed the princely picture.
He looked devastatingly, heart-breakingly handsome. Veronica’s stomach flip-flopped. Lord, the way he was smiling at her…But whatever he was doing here, it wasn’t personal, she told herself. Joe had made it clear at the party that he wanted her to stay away from him.
As she watched, he set her drink down on the end table
next to the sofa and crossed to the windows. He pulled the curtains shut. “I’ve been wearing my bull’s-eye long enough for one day,” he said.
Veronica glanced at her watch. It was only nine-thirty. “The Perraults’ party was supposed to last until midnight or one o’clock,” she said, unable to keep her surprise from sounding in her voice. “You were supposed to stay until at least eleven.”
Joe shrugged. “We had a little incident.”
Veronica took an involuntary step forward, fear propelling her toward him. An incident? “Are you all right?”
“It was a false alarm,” he said with another of his easy smiles.
He was standing in front of her, relaxed and smiling, absolutely at ease—or so he wanted her to believe. But she knew better. Beneath his feigned calm, he was tense and tight and ready to burst at the seams. He was upset—or he’d been upset.
“Tell me what happened,” she said quietly.
He shook his head, no. “I came to get my dance.”
She didn’t understand. His words didn’t seem to make sense. “Your…what?” She looked around the room. This was the first time he’d been in her room at the Boston hotel—how could he have left something behind?
“You asked me to dance,” Joe said.
All at once, Veronica understood. He’d come here, to her room, to dance with her. She felt her face flush with embarrassment. “You don’t have to do this,” she said tightly. “I suppose I got a little silly, and—”
“When I told you to stay away from me—”
“It’s okay that you didn’t want—”
“I didn’t want to dance with you, because you’re not wearing a bulletproof vest under that dress,” Joe said.
Veronica glanced down at her barely covered chest and felt her blush grow even stronger. “Well,” she said, trying to sound brisk and businesslike. “Obviously not.”
Joe laughed, and she looked up, startled, into the warmth of his eyes.
“God, Ron,” he said, holding her gaze. “I didn’t even get a chance to tell you how…perfect you look tonight.” The warmth turned to pure fire. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, moving closer to her, one step at a time.
Tall, Dark and Dangerous Vol 1: Tall, Dark and FearlessTall, Dark and Devastating Page 18