"So do you." His eyes flared with that familiar heat as he ran them down and then back up her body.
"This is the way I thought you were going to look—before we met," she said.
A brief shadow flickered across his face. "Yeah, well, I guess I oughta tell you, I can count on my fingers and toes the times I've worn this dress uniform. What you saw when we met is closer to the truth. I usually wear fatigues or jeans. And if I've been working with engines, they're usually covered with grease or dirt."
Why was he telling her this? It seemed almost like a warning. He seemed so serious, Veronica felt compelled to make things lighter. "Are you saying this because you want me to do your laundry?" she teased.
Joe gave her one of his quicksilver grins. Yes, seeing him smile that way, his teeth so very white against his lean, tanned face, Veronica could say that this new haircut definitely suited him. "You want to do my laundry?" he countered.
The casual question suddenly seemed to carry more meaning, as Joe watched her intently. His dark eyes were sharp, almost piercing as he waited for an answer.
Veronica laughed, trying to hide her sudden nervousness. Why were they talking about laundry? "I don't do my own laundry," she said with a shrug. "When do I have time?"
She stepped back, opening the door wider to let him in. "We're standing in the hall," she added. "Won't you come in?"
Joe hesitated. "Maybe we should just go…"
She smiled. "Think if you come inside we'll never leave?"
He touched the side of her face. "I don't just think it, baby, I know it."
She kissed the palm of his hand. "Would that be so terrible?" she whispered, gazing up into the midnight depths of his eyes.
"No." He stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.
Veronica was nervous. Joe could see that she was nervous as she moved out of his grasp and into the room and—
The table was set and covered with a very grand-looking room-service dinner. And the rest of the room... Veronica had pushed all the furniture out of the centre of the living room.
She'd done that before. Back in D.C. Back when he'd climbed up to the balcony and gone in her sliding-glass door and...
Joe looked up to find her watching him. She moistened her lips nervously and smiled. "Dinner and dancing," she explained. "I made room, so that we could dance."
"We?"
Veronica blushed, but she held his gaze. "So I can dance for you," she correctly herself softly. "Although, at some point you will dance with me, too. But maybe we should have dinner first."
The fragrant smell of gourmet food filled the air. Joe knew that he hadn't eaten since lunchtime. He also knew that dinner was the very last thing he wanted right now. Veronica was going to dance for him. She was going to dance the way he'd seen her dance when he'd climbed up to her room. Only this time, she would know right from the start that he was watching. "Maybe we should have dinner later," he said huskily.
As he watched, she crossed to the window and closed the curtains. God, his heart was pounding as if he'd just run a three-minute mile. He could feel his blood surging hotly through his veins with each pulsing beat. She was really going to do this. She knew he wanted her to—he'd asked her to dance for him. But he'd never thought she'd actually do it. He thought he'd asked for too much.
Veronica smiled at him as she crossed back to the dinner table and took a bottle of beer from a small bottle cooler. She opened it, poured it into a glass and carried it to him.
"Thanks," Joe said as she handed him both the glass and the bottle.
"Why don't you sit down?" Veronica murmured, and with a whisper of silk, she moved back to the other side of the room.
Sit down. Yeah, right. Sit down. As Joe lowered himself into a chair, Veronica crossed to the stereo and slipped a tape into the deck.
Joe knew what her dancing meant to her. She'd told him that it was private and intensely personal. It was a way to let off steam, to unwind, to really relax. And she was going to share it with him now. She was going to let her personal, private pleasure become his pleasure.
The fire that was shooting through his veins reached his heart and exploded. Veronica St. John had told him she loved him today. And tonight, by sharing herself with him this way, she was showing him just how much.
The music started—softly, slowly—and Ronnie stood in the middle of the room, head back, eyes closed, arms at her sides. God, she was beautiful. And she was his. All his. Forever, if he had anything to say about it. And he did. He had a lot to say about it. Hell, he could write a book on the subject.
The music changed with a sudden burst of volume, and Veronica brought her hands up sharply, into the air.
And then she began to move.
She was graceful, fluid, and her dress seemed an extension of her body, moving with her. Her eyes were still closed, but then she opened them and looked directly at Joe.
She blushed, and his heart burned even hotter. She was such a contradiction. The slightest thing could make her blush—until passion overcame her. And when that happened, she was amazingly uninhibited. Joe had never had a lover like Veronica St. John. One moment she was seemingly prim and proper, and the next she was wild, giving him pleasure in ways he'd only dreamed of, and telling him—quite specifically, in no uncertain terms—exactly what he could and should do to please her.
As Joe watched, Veronica closed her eyes again, and again the music changed, the rhythm getting stronger, faster, more insistent. Her dancing, too, became less careful, less contained. Her movements were freer, broader, more powerful.
More passionate.
She reached up with both hands and with one swift motion, removed the pins that were holding her hair. It tumbled down around her shoulders, an avalanche of red gold curls.
Joe's mouth was dry, and he took a sip of the beer she'd given him.
Veronica kicked off her high heels, and, as Joe watched, she became the music. She moved to the funky, bluesy instrumental piece, visually capturing every nuance, every musical phrase with her body.
Her body.
They hadn't been lovers for long, but Joe already knew every inch of Veronica's beautiful body intimately. But seeing her body in motion this way was an entirely new experience. Her dress barely restrained her breasts and they moved with and against the forces of gravity. The black silk slid across her abdomen and thighs, allowing glimpses of the firm muscles and flesh underneath when occasionally it clung for a second or two.
Veronica made a twisting, writhing motion that was pure sex, pure abandon.
The long skirt of her dress was no longer moving with her— it was getting in her way.
This time when she opened her eyes and looked at Joe, she didn't blush. She smiled—a sweet, hot, sexy smile—and reached behind her for the zipper of her dress. In less than a heartbeat, the dress pooled around her feet, and she was naked—save for a pair of black silk panties. She kicked the dress aside, still dancing, still moving and spinning.
A thong. She was wearing thong panties, black silk against her skin so creamy and white.
And still she danced.
For him.
I've died, Joe thought, and gone to heaven.
She moved closer to him, smiling at the look he knew damn well was on his face. He was hypnotized. Stupefied. Totally overcome. And extremely aroused.
Still moving, she held out her hands to him. "Dance with me."
It was not an invitation he needed to hear twice. He set his beer on the nearest end table and rose to his feet. And then, God, she was in his arms, moving with him and against him to that bluesy melody.
Her skin was so smooth, so silky beneath his hands. He touched her everywhere. Her softly rounded bottom, her full breasts, her flat stomach, her long, willowy arms. He was still in his uniform and she was nearly naked, and he had never, never been so turned on in his entire life. They were dancing so close, their legs were intertwined. He could feel the heat between her legs against his thigh
. She could surely feel his arousal—she pressed against him, her slow, sexy movement driving him crazy, and the sight of her, nearly naked in his arms, making him throb with need.
"Ronnie..."
Somehow she knew that he'd had nearly all he could take. She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him. Joe heard himself groan. He couldn't get enough of her.
He felt her fingers unbuckling his belt and swiftly unfastening his pants. And then he was in her hands. It was good, but it wasn't good enough.
"Ronnie, I need-"
"I know."
She covered him with a condom she'd procured from God-knew-where, and slipped out of her panties as she kissed him again.
"Lift me up," Veronica murmured.
"Yes," he breathed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he ensheathed himself in her wonderful, smooth heat. "Oh, baby..."
She moved on top of him, against him, with him. She was in his arms, in his heart, in his very soul. This passionate, fiery woman, who could be blazing hot one moment and gently sweet the next, this woman with the sharp sense of humour and quiet touch that hid a will of steel—a will that was ruled by the kindest heart he'd ever known—this was the one woman he'd been waiting for all his life. All the love he'd made, all the women he'd known before, had meant nothing to him. No one had moved him. No one had even come close to holding him. He'd always been able to close the door and walk away from a woman without looking back.
But there was no way he'd ever be able to walk away from Veronica. Not without leaving his heart behind—ripped from his chest.
He clung to her, holding her as tightly as she held him, plunging himself deeply into her again and again.
He loved her. He wanted to tell her, but the words—those three simple little words—didn't come easily. The truth was, saying them scared him to death. Now, wasn't that funny? He was a SEAL. He'd faced platoons of enemy soldiers, he'd looked death in the teeth without batting an eye more times than he could count, yet the thought of uttering one very simple sentence made him sweat.
Ronnie's fingers were in his hair. Her mouth was covering his face and lips with kisses.
"Joe," she breathed, "Joe. I want more—" He moved, backing her up against the wall to anchor her in place, and she tipped back her head. "Yes..."
Her release was incredible. She cried out as he drove himself into her, giving her all she'd asked for. Her arms tightened around his neck, her fingers clutched him.
"I love you," Veronica cried. "Oh, Joe, I love you!"
Her words pushed him over the edge. She loved him. She really did. He exploded in a blinding white burst of pleasure so exquisite, so pure that the world seem to disintegrate around him.
Baby, I love you, too.
Chapter 19
Joe slowly became aware of his surroundings.
Ronnie's head was resting on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. His own forehead leaned against the wall. And his knees were damned shaky.
He could feel Veronica's heart beating, hear her soft sigh.
He didn't want to move. He'd never made love quite like this in his life, and he didn't want it to end. Of course, it had ended, but as long as they stayed right here, in this same position, these remarkable feelings could linger on.
It was, needless to say, incredibly exhilarating. His future looked so different, so much brighter, with Ronnie in the picture. For the first time in his life, Joe found himself actually considering the possibility of having children. Not for a good long time, of course. He wanted Ronnie all to himself for years and years and years. But down the road, making a baby, creating a new life would be exciting in a way he'd never imagined before. Fifty percent him and fifty percent her, with two hundred percent of their love...
The jeweller's box he carried in his pocket dug into his ribs and Joe had to laugh. He hadn't even asked Ronnie to marry him yet, and here he was, practically naming their kids.
"You didn't have to say that, you know," she whispered.
She lifted her head and lowered herself to the floor. The spell was broken. Or was it? Joe still felt an incredible warmth in his chest. He used to think it felt like a noose, he realized, but now it was a good feeling, a warmth surrounding his heart, giving him an amazing sense of peace and belonging.
"Didn't have to say what?" he asked.
Veronica moved away from him slightly, giving him room to adjust his clothes. She was still naked, but she seemed unaware of that as she gazed at him, concern darkening her blue eyes.
"You didn't have to say that you love me, too," she said.
Joe froze, hands stilled on the buckle of his belt. Had he actually spoken those words out loud?
"I'd rather that you be honest with me," she continued. "Don't say things you don't mean. Please?"
Veronica turned away, unable to continue looking into Joe's eyes, unable to keep up the brave front. But, bloody hell, here she'd just spoken of being honest.
"The truth is, Joe," she said, her voice shaking slightly, "I'm going to miss you terribly when you're gone, and—"
Joe drew her into his arms, moving with her so they sat on the sofa, Veronica on his lap. "Who says I'm going anywhere?" he asked softly, smoothing her hair back from her face and kissing her gently on the lips.
Veronica felt her eyes fill with tears. Damn! She blinked them back. "Tomorrow I'm flying to Seattle and you're—"
He interrupted her with another gentle kiss. "And who says when I said...what I said, that I wasn't being honest?" He ran his free hand down the curve of her hip and back up again, then cupped her breast. It was impossible not to touch her.
"You love me." Her disbelief was evident in her voice.
"Is that really so hard to believe?"
Veronica touched the side of his face. "You're so sweet," she said. At the mock flare of indignation in his eyes, she added quickly, "I know you don't think so, but you are. You're incredibly kind, Joe. And I know you have...feelings for me, but you don't have to pretend that they're more than—" She stared down in silence at the small black velvet box Joe pulled from his pocket and held out to her. "What's this?"
"Open it," he said. His face looked so serious, so hard. His eyes were so intense.
"I'm afraid to."
Joe smiled, and it softened his face. "It's not a grenade," he said. "Just open it, Ron, will ya?"
Slowly, she took it from him. It was small and square and black and furry. It looked an awful lot like a jeweller's box. What was he giving her? She couldn't even begin to imagine the possibilities. Her heart was pounding, she realized. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Then, gazing into Joe's beautiful eyes, looking for some sort of clue as to what was inside, she opened the box.
She glanced down and her heart stopped. It was a ring. It was an enormous, beautiful, glittering diamond ring.
"Marry me," Joe said huskily.
"Dear Lord!" Veronica breathed.
As she stared up into his eyes, her expression of shock made Joe smile. "I guess you weren't expecting this, huh?"
She shook her head.
"Neither was I," he told her honestly. "But that ring's not pretend, Ronnie. And neither is what I feel. I...you know...love you—" God, he'd said it and he wasn't struck by lightning. "And I want to make this thing we have permanent. You follow?"
She was silent. Her eyes were as large as dinner plates as she gazed at him. She was still naked, and he couldn't have kept from touching her, from stroking her soft skin, if his life depended on it. She was lovely, and he was already uncomfortably aroused again. God, he'd just had the best sex of his life, and already he wanted her again. He couldn't get enough of her. He never would.
But why wouldn't she answer? Why wouldn't she tell him that she wanted to marry him, too?
"Say something, baby." Joe tried to disguise his insecurity, but knew that he'd failed miserably. It showed in his eyes, in his voice. "The suspense is killing me. Tell me what you think. Good idea? Bad ide
a? Have I gone crazy, here?"
Veronica was dumbfounded. Joe Catalanotto—Lt. Joe Catalanotto of the U.S. Navy SEALs—wanted to marry her. He'd meant it when he'd said that he loved her. He loved her.
He loved her, and dear Lord, she should be ecstatic. She should be hearing wedding bells and picturing herself in a gorgeous white wedding dress, walking down the aisle of a church to meet this man at the altar. The one man that she truly loved.
But she couldn't picture herself at a wedding. She could only see herself at a funeral. Joe's funeral.
"When..." she started, then cleared her throat. She shivered slightly, suddenly aware of the chill of the air-conditioning against her bare skin. Joe ran his hand up and down her arm, trying to warm her. "When are you planning to retire?"
He stared at her blankly. "What?"
"From the SEALs," she explained. "When are you going to retire from active duty?"
Veronica could see that he didn't get how this pertained to his wedding proposal, but he shrugged and answered her anyway. "Not for a long time," he said. "I don't know. Not for another fifteen years. Twenty if I can manage it."
Her heart sank. Fifteen or twenty years. Two decades of watching the man she loved leave on countless high-risk missions. Two decades of not knowing whether or not he would return. Two decades of sheer hell. If he lived that long...
"I'm career navy, Ronnie," Joe said quietly. "I know I'm no prince, but I am an officer and—"
"You are a prince." Veronica kissed him swiftly on the lips. "I've never met anyone even half as princely as you are."
He was embarrassed. So of course, he tried to turn it into a joke. "Well, damn," he said. "All the naked women tell me that whenever I get them on my lap."
Veronica had to smile. "I am naked," she said. "Aren't I?"
"I noticed," he said, lightly touching her breast.
"Do you want me to put on some clothes?"
"I was thinking more along the lines that I should get rid of mine," Joe murmured, bringing his lips to where his hand had just been. But he only kissed her gently before lifting his head again. "Try it on."
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