Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  Her watch read twelve twenty-four. Oh, no, she'd lost the entire morning. But she must have been exhausted. She couldn't even remember coming back here to her own room and—

  Oh, Lord! She realized she wasn't in her own room. She was in the prince's bedroom, in the prince's bed. No, not the prince's…Joe's…Joe's bed.

  With a dizzying flash, Veronica remembered Joe pulling her into his arms and kissing her so slowly, so sensuously that every bone in her body seemed to melt. He had rid them of their clothes like a seasoned professional and…

  But... she was still dressed. Right down to her hose, which were twisted and uncomfortable. She'd only dreamed about Joe Catalanotto and his seductive eyes and surprisingly gentle hands.

  The kiss had been real, though; and achingly, shockingly tender. It figured. Joe would know exactly how to kiss her to make her the most vulnerable, to affect her in the strongest possible way.

  She'd expected him to kiss her almost roughly—an echo of the sexual hunger she'd seen in his eyes. She could have han­dled that. She would have known what to say and do.

  Instead, Joe had given her a kiss that was more gentle than passionate, although the passion had been there, indeed. But Veronica was still surprised by the restraint he'd shown, by the sweetness of his mouth against hers, by the slow, lingering sensuality of his lips. She could very well have kissed him that way until the end of time.

  Time. Lord! She'd wasted so much time.

  Veronica swung her legs out of bed.

  She'd told Joe to wake her up. Obviously, he hadn't. In­stead of waking her, he'd carried her here, into his bedroom.

  She found one of her shoes on the floor, and searched to no avail for the other. Perfect. One shoe off and one shoe on, having slept away most of the day, her dignity in shreds, she'd have to go out into the living room where the FInCOM agents were parked. She'd have to endure their knowing smirks.

  She was a wimp. She'd fallen asleep—and stayed asleep for hours—while on the job.

  And Joe... Joe hadn't kept his promise to wake her up.

  She'd been starting to...like him. She'd been attracted from the start, but this was different. She actually, genuinely liked him, despite the fact that he came from an entirely different world, despite the fact that they seemed to argue almost con­stantly. She even liked him despite the fact that he clearly wanted to make their relationship sexual. Despite all that, she'd thought he had been starting to like her, too.

  Her disappointment flashed quickly into anger. How dare he just let her sleep the day away? The bastard...

  Veronica fumed as she tucked her blouse back into the top of her skirt and straightened her jacket, thankful her suit was permanent-press and wrinkle-proof.

  Her hair wasn't quite so easy to fix, but she was determined not to emerge from the bedroom with it down and flowing around her shoulders. It was bad enough that she'd been sleeping in Joe's bed. She didn't want it to look as if he'd been in there with her.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and, single shoe in her hand and head held high, she went into the living room.

  If the FInCOM agents smirked condescendingly, Veronica refused to notice. All she knew was, Joe was not in the room. Good thing, or she might have lost even more of her dignity by throwing her shoe directly at his head.

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said briskly to West and Freeman as she gathered up her briefcase. Ah, good. There was her missing shoe, on the floor in front of the sofa. She slipped them both onto her feet. "Might I ask where the lieutenant has gone?"

  "He's up in the exercise room," one of them answered.

  "Thanks so very much," Veronica said and breezed out the door.

  Joe had already run seven miles on the treadmill when Ve­ronica walked into the hotel's luxuriously equipped exercise room. She looked a whole lot better. She'd showered and changed her clothes. But glory hallelujah, instead of putting on another of those Margaret Thatcher suits, she was wearing a plain blue dress. It was nothing fancy, obviously designed to deemphasize her femininity, yet somehow, on Veronica, it hugged her slender figure and made her look like a million bucks. Her shoes were still on the clunky side, but oh, baby, those legs...

  Joe wiped a trickle of sweat that ran down the side of his face. When had it gotten so hot in here?

  But her greeting to him was anything but warm.

  "I'd like to have a word with you," Veronica said icily, without even a hello to start. "At your convenience, of course."

  "Did you have a good nap?" Joe asked.

  "Will you be much longer?" she asked, staring somewhere off to his left.

  That good, huh? Something had ticked her off, and Joe was willing to bet that that something was him. He'd let her sleep. Correction—he'd been unable to wake her up. It wasn't his fault, but now he was going to pay.

  "Can you give me five more minutes?" he countered. "I like to do ten miles without stopping."

  Joe wasn't even out of breath. Veronica could see from the computerized numbers lit up on the treadmill's controls, that he'd already run eight miles. But he didn't sound winded.

  He was sweating, though. His shorts were soaking wet. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his smooth, tanned skin was slick as his muscles worked. And, dear Lord, he had so many mus­cles. Beautifully sculpted, perfect muscles. He was gorgeous.

  He was watching her in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that cov­ered the walls of the exercise room. Veronica leaned against the wall near the door and tried not to look at Joe, but everywhere she turned, she saw his reflection. She found herself staring in fascination at the rippling muscles in his back and thighs and arms, and then she started thinking about their kiss. Their fabulous, heart-stoppingly romantic kiss. Despite his noncha­lant attitude, that kiss had been laced with tenderness and laden with emotion. It was unlike any kiss she'd experienced ever be­fore.

  Veronica had been well aware that Joe had been holding back when he kissed her that way. She'd felt his restraint and the power of his control. She had seen the heat of desire in his eyes and known he wanted more than just a simple, gentle kiss.

  Veronica couldn't forget how he'd searched her eyes as he'd leaned toward her and…

  Excellent. Here she was, standing there reliving Joe's kiss while staring at his perfect buttocks. Veronica glanced up to find his amused dark eyes watching her watch his rear end. No doubt he could read her mind. Of course the fact that she'd been nearly drooling made it all the easier for him to know what she'd been thinking.

  She might as well give in, Veronica admitted to herself. She might as well sleep with the man and get it over with. After all, he was so bloody positive that it was going to happen. And af­ter their kiss, despite her best intentions, all Veronica could think about was "When was he going to kiss her again?" Ex­cept he hadn't woken her up, which meant that he probably didn't even like her, and now she was mad as hell at him. Yes, kissing him had been a royal mistake. Although at the time, when she'd said those words, she'd meant another kind of mistake entirely. She'd meant their timing had been wrong.

  She'd meant it had been a mistake to add a romantic distrac­tion to all of the other distractions already driving her half mad.

  Then, of course, he'd said what he'd said, and...

  The fact that Joe saw their growing relationship as one based purely on sex only added to Veronica's confusion. She knew that a man like Joe Catalanotto, a man accustomed to intrigue and high adventure, would never have any kind of long-term interest in a woman who worked her hardest to be steady and responsible and, well, quite frankly, boring. And even if that wasn't the case, even if by some miracle Joe fell madly and permanently in love with her, how on earth would she handle his leaving on dangerous, top-secret missions? How could she simply wave goodbye, knowing she might never again see him alive?

  No, thank you very much.

  So maybe this pure sex thing didn't add to her confusion. Maybe it simplified things. Maybe it took it all down to the simplest, most basic level.


  Lord knew, she was wildly attracted to him. And so what if she was watching him?

  Veronica met Joe's gaze almost defiantly, her chin held high. One couldn't have a body like that and expect people not to look. And watching Joe run was like watching a dancer. He was graceful and surefooted, his motion fluid and effortless. She wondered if he could dance. She wondered—not for the first time—what it would feel like to be held in his arms, dancing with him.

  As Veronica watched, Joe focused on his running, increas­ing his speed, his arms and legs churning, pumping. The treadmill was starting to whine, and just when Veronica was sure Joe was going to start to slow, when she was positive he couldn't keep up the pace a moment longer, he went even fas­ter.

  His teeth were clenched, his face a picture of concentration and stamina. He looked like something savage, something wild. An untamed man-creature from the distant past. A ferocious, barbaric warrior come to shake up the civility of Veronica's carefully polite twentieth-century world.

  "Hoo-yah!" someone called out, and Joe's face broke into a wide smile as he looked up at three men, standing near the weight machine in the corner of the room. As quickly as his smile appeared, the barbarian was gone.

  Odd, Veronica hadn't noticed the other men before this. She'd been aware of the FInCOM agents lurking near her, but not these three men dressed in workout clothes. They seemed to know Joe. SEALs, Veronica guessed. They had to be the men Joe had asked Admiral Forrest to send.

  Joe slowed at last, returning the treadmill to a walking speed as he caught his breath. He stepped off and grabbed a towel, using it to mop his face as he came toward Veronica.

  "What's up?"

  Joe was steaming. There was literally visible heat rising from his smooth, powerful shoulders. He stopped about six feet away from her, clearly not wanting to offend her by standing too close.

  His friends came and surrounded him, and Veronica was momentarily silenced by three additional pairs of eyes ap­praising her with frank male appreciation. Joe's eyes alone were difficult enough to handle.

  Joe glanced at the other men. "Get lost," he said. "This is a private conversation."

  "Not anymore," said one of them with a Western twang. He was almost as tall as Joe, but probably weighed forty pounds less. He held out his hand to Veronica. "I'm Cowboy, ma'am."

  She shook Cowboy's hand, and he held on to hers far longer than necessary, until Joe gave him a dark look.

  "All right, quick introductions," Joe said. "Lieutenant McCoy, my XO—executive officer—and Ensigns Becker and Jones. Also known as Blue, Harvard and Cowboy. Miss Ve­ronica St. John. For you illiterates, it's spelled Saint and John, two words, but pronounced Sinjin. She's Prince Tedric's me­dia consultant, and she's on the scheduling team for this op."

  Lt. Blue McCoy looked to be about Joe's age—somewhere in his early thirties. He was shorter and smaller than the other men, with the build of a long-distance runner and the blue eyes, wavy, thick blond hair and handsome face of a Hollywood star.

  Harvard—Ensign Becker—was a large black man with steady, intelligent brown eyes and a smoothly shaven head. Cowboy's hair was even longer than Blue McCoy's, and he wore it pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes were green and sparkling, and his smile boyishly win­some. He looked like Kevin Costner's younger brother, and he knew it. He kept winking at her.

  "Pleased to meet you," Veronica said, shaking hands with both Blue and Harvard. She was afraid if she offered Cowboy her hand again, she might never get it back.

  "The pleasure's ail ours, ma'am," Cowboy said. "I love what you've done with the captain's hair."

  "Captain?" Veronica looked at Joe. "I thought you were a Lieutenant."

  "It's a term of endearment, ma'am," Blue said. He,too, had a thick accent, but his was from the Deep South. "Cat's in command, so sometimes he gets called Captain."

  "It's better than some of the other things they call me," Joe said.

  Cat.

  Admiral Forrest had also called Joe by that nickname. Cat. It fit. As Joe ran on the treadmill, he looked like a giant cat, so graceful and fluid. The nickname, while really just a short­ened form of Catalanotto, wasn't too far off.

  "Okay, great," Joe said. "We've made nice. Now you boys get lost. Finish your PT, and let the grown-ups talk."

  Lt. McCoy took the other two men by the arms and pulled them toward weight-lifting equipment. Harvard began to bench-press heavy-looking weights while Cowboy spotted him, one eye still on Joe and Veronica.

  "Now let's try this one more time," Joe said with a smile. "What's up? You look like you want to court-martial me."

  "Only if the punishment for mutiny is still execution," Ve­ronica said, smiling tightly.

  Joe looped his towel around his neck. "Mutiny," he said. "That's a serious charge—especially considering I did my damnedest to wake you up."

  Veronica crossed her arms. "Oh, and I suppose your 'damnedest' included putting me in a nice soft bed, where I'd be sure to sleep away most of the day?" she said. She glanced around, at both the FInCOM agents and the other SEALs, and lowered her voice. "I might also point out that it was hardly proper for me to sleep in your bed. It surely looked bad, and it implied...certain things."

  "Whoa, Ronnie." Joe shook his head. "That wasn't my in­tention. I thought you'd be more comfortable, that's all. I wasn't trying to—"

  "I'm an unmarried woman, Lieutenant," Veronica inter­rupted. "Regardless of what you intended, it is not in my best interests to take a nap in any man's bed."

  Joe laughed. "I think maybe you're overreacting just a teeny little bit. This isn't the 1890s. I don't see how your reputation could be tarnished simply from napping in my bed. If I were in there with you, it'd be an entirely different matter. But if you want to know the truth, I'd be willing to bet no one even no­ticed where you were sleeping this morning, or even that you were asleep. And if they did, that's their problem."

  "No, it's my problem," Veronica said sharply, her temper flaring. "Tell me, Lieutenant, are there many women in the SEALs?"

  "No," Joe said. "There're none. We don't allow women in the units."

  "Aha," Veronica retorted. "In other words, you're not fa­miliar with sexual discrimination, because your organization is based on sexual discrimination. That's just perfect."

  "Look, if you want to preach feminism, fine," Joe said, his patience disintegrating, "but do me a favor—hand me a pam­phlet to read on the subject and be done with it. Right now, I'm going to take a shower."

  By now they had the full, unconcealed attention of the three other SEALs and the FInCOM agents, but Veronica was long past caring. She was angry—angry that he had let her sleep, angry that he was so macho, angry that he had kissed her—and particularly angry that she had liked his kiss so damn much.

  She blocked Joe's way, stabbing at his broad chest with one finger. "Don't you dare run away from me, Lieutenant," she said, her voice rising with each word. "You're operating in my world now, and I will not have you jeopardizing my career through your own stupid ignorance."

  He flinched as if she'd slapped him in the face and turned away, but not before she saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. Hurt that was rapidly replaced by anger.

  "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Joe said through clenched teeth. "I was only trying to be nice. I thought sleeping on the couch would screw up your back, but forget it. From now on, I won't bother, okay? From now on, we'll go by the book."

  He pushed past her and went into the locker room. The FInCOM agents and the three other SEALs followed, leaving Veronica alone in the exercise room. Her reflection gazed back at her from all angles.

  Perfect. She'd handled that just perfectly.

  Veronica had come down here to find out why he'd let her sleep so long, and wound up in a fierce argument about sexual discrimination and her pristine reputation. That wasn't the real issue at all. It had just been something to shout about, be­cause Lord knew she couldn't walk up to him and shout that h
is kiss had turned her entire world upside down and now she was totally, utterly and quite thoroughly off-balance.

  Instead, she had called him names. Stupid. Ignorant. Words that had clearly cut deep, despite the fact that he was anything but stupid and far from ignorant.

  What Veronica had done was take out all her anger and frustration on the man.

  But if anyone was to blame here, it was herself. After all, she was the one foolish enough to have fallen asleep in the first place.

  "Hey, Cat!" Cowboy called loudly as he showered in the locker room. "Tell me more about fair Veronica 'Sinjin.'"

  "There's nothing to tell," Joe answered evenly. He glanced up to find Blue watching him.

  Damn. Blue could read his mind. Joe's connection to Blue was so tight, there were few thoughts that appeared in Joe's head that Blue wasn't instantly aware of. But what would Blue make of the thoughts Joe was having right now? What would he make of the sick, nauseous feeling Joe had in the pit of his stomach?

  Stupid. Ignorant.

  Well, that about summed it all up, didn't it? Joe certainly knew now exactly what Veronica St. John thought of him, didn't he? He certainly knew why she'd thought that kiss was a mistake.

  Cowboy shut off the water. Dripping, he came out of the stall and into the room. "You sure there's nothing you can tell us about Veronica, Cat? Oh, come on, buddy, I can think of a thing or two,” he said, taking a towel from a pile of clean ones and giving himself a perfunctory swipe. "Like, are you and she doing the nightly naked two-step?"

  "No," Joe replied flatly, pulling on his pants.

  "You planning on it?" Cowboy asked. He slipped into one of the plush hotel robes that were hanging on the wall.

  "Back off, Jones," Blue said warningly.

  "No." Joe answered Cowboy tersely as he yanked his T-shirt over his head and thrust his arms into the sleeves of his shirt.

  "Cool," Cowboy said. "Then you don't mind if I give her a try…"

  Joe spun and grabbed the younger man by the lapels of his robe, slamming him up against a row of metal lockers with a crash. "Stay the hell away from her," he snapped. He let go of Cowboy, and turned to include Blue and Harvard in his glare. "All of you. Is that clear?"