Blogger Bundle Volume VIII: SBTB's Harlequins That Hooked You

by Jennifer Crusie

  “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 already 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 light-headed.

  “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.

  16

  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.

  Veronica closed her eyes. She didn’t have the strength to back away. “Don’t, Joe,” she said quietly.

  “You think I didn’t want to dance with you at that party?” Joe asked. He didn’t give her a chance to answer. He touched her, gently cupping her shoulders, and her eyes opened. He slid his hands down to her elbows in the sweetest of caresses. “Lady, tonight I would have sold my soul for one kiss, let alone a chance to hold you in my arms.” Gently, he pulled her even closer, clasping her hand in a dance hold. “Like this.”

  Slowly, he began to dance with her, moving in time to the soft ballad playing over the radio.

  Veronica was trapped. She was caught both by his powerful arms and by the heat in his eyes. Her heart was pounding. She’d wanted him to touch her, to hold her, to dance with her, but not this way. Not because he pitied her…

  “But I would’ve sold my soul. Not yours.” Joe’s voice was a husky whisper in her ear as he pulled her even closer. “Never yours, baby. I wasn’t about to risk your life for a dance.”

  Veronica felt her pounding heart miss a beat. What was he saying? She pulled back to look into his eyes, searching for answers.

  “You were in danger just standing next to me,” Joe explained. “I should’ve told you to get lost the minute you walked into that room.”

  Was he saying that he hadn’t wanted to dance with her because he feared for her safety? Dear Lord, if so, then she’d misunderstood his sharp words of warning for a brush-off, for a rejection. When in reality…

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” Joe said, then shook his head.

  In reality, maybe he’d wanted her as badly as she’d wanted him. Veronica felt a burst of hope and happiness so intense, she almost laughed out loud.

  “Hell, I wasn’t thinking,” Joe added. “I was… I don’t know what I was.”

  “Stunned?” Veronica supplied. She could smile again, and she smiled almost shyly up at him.

  Joe’s slow smile turned into a grin. “Yeah. You bet. ‘Stunned’ about says it all. When you walked into the party, I was totally blown away. And I was thinking with a part of my anatomy that has nothing to do with my brain.”

  Veronica had to laugh at that. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. His smile grew softer, his eyes gentler. “My heart.”

  And then he kissed her.

  She saw it coming. She saw him lean toward her, felt him lift
her chin to meet his mouth. She knew he was going to kiss her. She expected it—she wanted it. But still, the softness of his lips took her by surprise, and the sweetness of his mouth on hers took her breath away.

  It was dizzying. The earth seemed to lose all its gravity as he pulled her even closer to him, as he slowly, sensuously, languidly explored her lips with his, as she opened her mouth to him, deepening the kiss.

  And still they danced, the thin wool covering his thighs brushing the silk of her dress. The softness of her stomach pressed intimately against the hardness of his unmistakable desire. Her breasts were tight against his powerful chest.

  It was heaven. Giving in to her passion, giving up trying to fight it was such an enormous relief. Maybe this was a mistake, but Veronica wasn’t going to think about it anymore. At least not right now, not tonight. She was simply going to kiss Joe Catalanotto, and dance with him, and savor every last moment. Every delicious, wonderful, magnificent second.

  “Yo, Ronnie?” Joe whispered, breaking the kiss.

  “Yo, Joe?” she said, still breathless.

  He laughed. And kissed her again.

  This time it was hotter, harder, stronger. It was still as sweet, but it was laced with a volcanic heat. Veronica knew without a doubt that tonight she was in for the time of her life.

  Joe pulled back, breathing hard. “Whoa,” he said, freeing one hand to push his hair back, out of his face. He closed his eyes briefly, took in a deep breath then forced it quickly out. “Ronnie, if you want me to leave, I should go now, because if—”

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  He looked into her eyes. Really looked. As if he were searching for the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

  Veronica could see his sharp intelligence, his raw, almost brutal strength, and his gentle tenderness all mixed together in his beautiful deep brown eyes.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a ragged whisper.

  Veronica smiled. And kissed him. Lord knew, she’d found the answers to all of her questions in his eyes.