The Executive's Valentine Seduction / Valente Must Marry: The Executive's Valentine Seduction
Merline Lovelace
Maxine Sullivan
The Executive’s Valentine Seduction Merline Lovelace Having learned the truth about his long-ago lover, Caroline Walters, Rory Burke had gone to great lengths to orchestrate a Valentine reunion in sunny Spain. His plan? To lure Caro back into his bed, as his bride. With his powers of persuasion, the high-powered executive was certain he would get his way… Valente Must Marry Maxine Sullivan What would compel millionaire playboy Nick Valente to marry a woman he hadn’t seen in years? Blackmail. To keep his family home, Nick must marry Sasha Blake, a long-ago flame. Sasha had been barely out of her teens, but there had been nothing immature about their desire. The only nagging question in Nick’s mind: what were Sasha’s reasons for agreeing to this marriage?
The Executive’s Valentine by Merline Lovelace
A series of small shocks rippled down her spine. Those eyes.
That deep golden tint. The russet outer ring around the dark iris. Wolf’s eyes, the former librarian in her catalogued automatically, due to the high incidence of that colour in wolves.
Like…Like…
Like the eyes that had haunted her dreams for years. Mocking her. Taunting her to shed her prissy inhibitions. Tempting her to sin.
It couldn’t be him! This high-powered executive couldn’t be the hot stud she’d given her virginity to. The bastard who’d roared out of her life the next morning, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as he approached. Those wolf’s eyes never left her face. “Hello, Caroline. It’s been a long time.”
The Executive’s Valentine Seduction
by
Merline Lovelace
Valente Must Marry
by
Maxine Sullivan
MILLS & BOON®
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)
The Executive’s Valentine Seduction
by
Merline Lovelace
Merline Lovelace, a retired air force officer, served at bases all over the world, including tours in Taiwan, Vietnam and at the Pentagon. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to combine her love of adventure and flair for storytelling, basing many of her tales on her experiences in the service.
Since then, she’s produced more than seventy-five action-packed novels, many of which have made the USA TODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. Over ten million copies of her works are in print in thirty-one countries. Named Oklahoma’s Writer of the Year and the Oklahoma Female Veteran of the Year, Merline is also a recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award.
Check Merline’s website at www.merlinelovelace.com for news, contests and information about forthcoming releases.
Dear Reader,
My husband and I have stumbled across some magical spots during our many years of rambling. Tossa de Mar, on Spain’s Costa Brava, ranks right up near the top of our list. We found it by chance during a jaunt that took us from Madrid to Seville to Barcelona to the Strait of Gibraltar.
When we stopped in Tossa, I fell instantly in love with its sparkling bay, crescent-shaped beach and ancient ruins. What made it even more special is that Al and I celebrated an anniversary there. So when I needed a spot to set the stage for The Executive’s Valentine Seduction, I knew it had to be beautiful Tossa by the Sea.
All my best,
Merline
For my darling, who explored Tossa de Mar with me all those years ago. I can’t wait for all the adventures yet to come!
One
Caroline Walters had no premonition her world was about to implode that balmy February afternoon.
She stood in the lobby of a new, upscale resort in Tossa de Mar, a seaside vacation spot on Spain’s Costa Brava, just an hour north of Barcelona. While Caro breathed in the fragrance of the bloodred gladiolas on the table beside her, she waited for the silver BMW gliding along the palm-lined drive to pull up at the resort’s entrance.
The big moment was finally here. Her first meeting with the client who’d had her and her two partners jumping through hoops for the past month!
She used the final few seconds before he arrived to check the mirror framing the gladiolas. Her honey-brown hair was smooth, with not a single tendril escaping from the heavy twist. Her green eyes gazed back at her with just the right degree of confidence. Her slim, black wool crepe skirt and matching jacket didn’t show a single wrinkle.
Satisfied she looked the part of a coolly competent travel consultant and event coordinator, she flipped through the embossed leather folder she’d prepared for Rory Burke, founder and chief executive of the LA-based firm Global Security, Inc. She wanted to make sure she’d included everything Burke had requested.
Final conference agenda, check.
Resort layout, check.
Diagrams showing room setup for general sessions, check.
Additional diagrams for breakout rooms, check.
Arrival times and room numbers of all attendees, check.
Burke’s hotel preregistration and room key, check.
Reassured everything was in place, Caroline closed the folder. She was primed and ready.
She should be! She and her partners had worked their buns off since this short-notice job dropped in their laps a few days before Christmas. They’d had just a little over a month to scout locations and pull together a conference plan for the hundred-plus security agents flying in from all parts of the world.
January had passed in a blur of frantic prep work. The flurry of e-mails and phone calls with Burke’s people had multiplied exponentially the first week in February. Two days ago Caro had flown to Spain to nail down the final details. In several marathon sessions with the resort’s conference coordinator, she’d reconfirmed menus, special dietary considerations, room setups and audiovisual aids.
She’d also tackled the rather daunting challenge of arranging a demo facility for an assortment of lethal weapons. In a last-minute change to the conference agenda, Global Security’s head honcho had added a hands-on session to test new offensive and defensive weaponry for the protection of their clients.
As its name implied, GSI specialized in providing threat analysis and personal protection for clients ranging from kings and rock stars to newspaper editors who landed on religious fanatics’ hate lists. The company profile indicated its agents were drawn from the ranks of military and law enforcement in twelve different countries.
The company’s CEO was equally fascinating. His bio read like a James Bond novel. U.S. Army Ranger. Special Ops duty in war-torn Bosnia. A short stint with an unspecified government agency. Advisor to the Columbian Presidential Protection Unit. Founder and chief operating officer of GSI. Now fielding highly specialized agents in Iraq, Darfur, Indonesia, Latin America—just about every hot spot on the globe.
Somewhere along the way he’d also managed to complete a bachelor’s degree in law enforcement and a master’s degree in international affairs. Curiously, neither his bio nor his company Web site had included a photo of Burke or any of his operatives. Caro suspected that might have something to do with GSI’s pledge to provide “complete, confidential and anonymous protection.”
As a former librarian, Caroline had read more than her share of action/adventure novels. She could admire real-life James Bond types like Rory Burke. Unfortunately, her one brief walk on the wild side had produced such disastrous consequences that she had zero desire to emulate their exploits.
So she couldn’t help feeling both curious about and just a touch wary of her new client. She didn’t allow either emotion to show, however, as the rental car she’d reserved for him at the Barcelona Airport pulled under the resort’s vine-covered portico. A polite smile firmly in place, she waited while he exited the BMW and strode through the double glass doors.
Her first thought was that Burke certainly fit the mental image she’d constructed in her head. Despite the pinstripes and Italian silk tie, he wasn’t someone she wanted to encounter in a dark alley.
The hand-tailored suit only emphasized his lean, rangy build. He wore his tawny hair cut ruthlessly short. His nose was flattened at the bridge, as if it had taken a direct hit from a club or a gun butt. And when he peeled off his mirrored sunglasses, his amber eyes lasered into Caro.
A series of small shocks rippled down her spine. Those eyes. That deep golden tint. The russet outer ring around the iris. Wolf’s eyes, the former librarian in her cataloged automatically, due to the high incidence of that color in wolves.
Like…Like…
Like the eyes that had haunted her dreams for years. Mocking her. Taunting her to shed her prissy inhibitions. Tempting her to sin.
Her heart stuttered. Her breath sliced like a razor blade inside her throat.
It couldn’t be him! This high-powered executive couldn’t be the young tough whose motorcycle she’d climbed aboard one steamy summer night. The hot stud she gave her virginity to. The bastard who’d roared out of her life the next morning, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think as he approached. Those wolf’s eyes never left her face.
“Hello, Caroline. It’s been a long time.”
Oh God! Oh God, oh God, oh God!
Her mind reeled with disbelief. Everything in her shouted a denial. She gouged her nails deep into her palms and felt her body go ice-cold then blaze white-hot when Burke shot out a hand to grip her upper arm.
“But don’t keel over on me.”
The gruff command triggered the survival instincts Caro had been forced to develop in the aftermath of that long-ago night. She couldn’t quite stop the trembling, but she clamped down on the waves of dizziness and dragged in a breath that cut like jagged glass.
“How…? When…?”
“When did I find out I got you pregnant?” he finished for her. “Three months ago.”
His gaze swept the lobby, came back to her.
“This isn’t the place to discuss the result of our one-night stand. Let’s take it somewhere private. Am I preregistered?”
“I…Uh…” She swiped her tongue over dry lips. “Yes.”
“You have the room key?”
She could only nod this time.
“What’s the room number?”
“Five…” She forced herself to breathe, to think. “Five oh eight.”
He waited to relay the number to the bellman wheeling in his luggage before steering Caro toward the elevators. His hand remained locked around her upper arm. His body crowded hers in the claustrophobic cage.
She didn’t say a word on the way up. She was still numb with shock, still fighting desperately to suppress the emotions that bombarded her.
She’d thought she’d put her past behind her. Was so certain she’d wiped out every remnant of her paralyzing fear when she finally realized she was pregnant, her shame at having to drop out of high school, her despair of being bundled off to a haven for pregnant teens.
She’d never gotten over the heartache of delivering a stillborn, seven-month-old baby, however. That stayed with her always. The experience had molded her into the woman she was today. Quiet. Contained. Careful.
And strong, she reminded herself grimly. Strong enough to survive. Strong enough to endure. Certainly strong enough to deal with Rory Burke.
Rory Burke. The name fit the man he’d become, but in no way could she connect it to the cocky, T-shirted eighteen-year-old who’d worked in her uncle’s garage for a few weeks that long-ago summer.
“I never knew your real name,” she got out through frozen lips as they exited the elevator. “My uncle and cousin always called you Johnny. Or Hoss.”
Short for Stud Hoss, her shamefaced cousin had admitted later. By then it was too late.
“John—Johnny—is my middle name. I stopped using it when I went into the army. The military isn’t big on calling recruits by their middle names. Or any name except some that can’t be repeated in polite company.” He stopped at a set of double doors. “Five oh eight. This is it.”
She fumbled in the leather folder for the key card. All her careful work—the agenda, the layout, the support setups—went unnoticed as Burke slipped the card into the lock and stood aside for her to precede him.
She’d checked out the lavish four-room suite just a half hour ago. The welcome basket still sat on the slab of polished granite that served as a coffee table. The handwritten note from the resort manager was still propped beside it. The minibar was stocked with single malt scotch, Burke’s reported drink of choice. Yet Caro was too numb to absorb any of the details she’d checked so meticulously.
She dropped the leather folder on the coffee table beside the basket. With her arms wrapped around her waist, she turned to the man she’d never expected to see again.
“You said…”
She stopped, cringing at the ragged edge in her voice. She wasn’t a frightened seventeen-year-old, dammit! She’d survived the angry recriminations her parents had thrown at her. All those lonely weeks at the home. The wrenching loss of her baby.
In the process, she’d discovered a strength she didn’t know she had. That inner core had pushed her to finish high school by correspondence, work her way through college and attend grad school on a full scholarship. During her junior year in college, she met the two women who would become her closest friends and, ultimately, her business partners. She’d built a life for herself. She owed no explanations to anyone, least of all this man.
But he sure as hell owed her one!
“You said you just found out three months ago I got pregnant.”
“That’s right.”
“How?”
He tossed the key card on the coffee table and yanked at the knot of his tie. “I had dinner with a prospective client. Turns out his wife’s from Millburn.”
Millburn, Kansas. Population nine thousand or so. The town where Caro had spent the first seventeen years of her life. The town she’d returned to only once in the years since she’d left—for her father’s funeral.
“The wife’s name is Evelyn Walker,” Burke said as he slid the tie from around his neck with a slither of silk on starched cotton. “Maiden name was Brown. Maybe you remember her?”
“Oh, yes. I remember Evelyn Brown.”
They’d never been friends. They’d rarely talked to each other in the halls at school. But Evelyn had led the chorus of smirks and snide comments when word leaked that prim, prissy Caroline Walters had gotten herself knocked up.
“I asked the woman if she knew you.”
His eyes held hers. Those compelling, dangerous eyes that had made Caro shiver every time he’d looked her over all those years ago.
“She told me you dropped out of high school at the start of your senior year. She also told me why.”
“Schools weren’t as tolerant of teenage pregnancies back then as they are today.”
She could say it without bitterness. She’d never blamed the guidance counselor who’d called her in and told her she had to leave. Never blamed her parents for shipping her off to live with strangers. She was the one who’d tossed aside every principle, every precaution drummed into her by parents, teachers and church pastors to climb aboard a motorcycle that sweltering summer night.
“When I heard what happened, I…”
A brusque knock cut into Burke’s terse explanation. With a muttered oath, he went to let in the porter with his luggage.
Caro grabbed at the interruption with relief. She turned to stare through the doors that gave onto a wide balcony. The spectacular views had mesmerized her when she was scouting locations for the GSI conference last month. Now she barely registered the medieval castle brooding high on a rocky promontory at the far end of a perfect, crescent beach.
Tourists strolled the wide seawall circling the beach, admiring the remnants of a walkway first laid by the Romans when Hispania was one of its farflung provinces. Several fishermen sat beside boats drawn up onto the sandy shore, mending their nets in close proximity to the few hearty sun worshippers stretched out on towels or blankets.
It was a picture-postcard scene, one Caro was in no mood to appreciate. But staring at the endless stretch of sky and sea gave her time to squelch her churning emotions before she faced Burke again.
“So Evelyn told you I was pregnant. Do you want to know what happened to the baby?”
“I know what happened. I ran a check of birth certificates.”
Birth and death. One and the same for the stillborn baby she’d buried; only the sympathetic manager of the home was beside her.
She fought to keep the bleak memory at bay, but Burke must have seen it in her eyes. He crossed the room and stretched out a hand.
Caro’s tight hold on her emotions left no room for touching. She jerked back, and he dropped his arm.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that all alone,” he said quietly. “If I’d known, I would have come back to Millburn.”
That surprised her. Even more surprising was the fact that he didn’t ask if he was the father.
Then again, he knew she was a virgin that night. He had to, given her inexperienced fumbling and surprised yelp when he penetrated her. Then, of course, there was the blood he’d wiped from her thighs with his wadded T-shirt.
“My uncle tried to contact you,” Caroline said stiffly, “but he’d always paid you in cash, under the table. He didn’t know your Social Security number. Or your real name for that matter. We had no way of tracking you down.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
She knew in her heart it wouldn’t have made any difference if he had come back. Chances were she still would have lost the baby. And she still would have had to live with her parents’ bitter disappointment in her.
“I’m sorry, too. I won’t lie to you. The experience changed my life in ways I could never have imagined back then. I was so young, so stupidly naive. But in the end, it made me stronger.”
She lifted her chin. This time it was her gaze that held his, direct and unflinching.
“I’ve put the past behind me. I suggest you do the same.”
“That might be difficult, seeing as it just caught up with me a few months ago.”
“Try,” she snapped. “Try very hard. We’re going to be working together for the next five days. I don’t want to…”
She broke off, her eyes widening.
“Oh God! I didn’t connect the dots until this moment.” Disgusted, she shook her head. “The conference…This job…It dropped in our laps just a little over a month ago. After you found out about me.”
“I checked you out,” he admitted without a trace of apology. “Saw you’d quit your job at the library to launch this business with your two partners. I also saw you sank your entire savings into start-up costs and nationwide advertising. That wasn’t real smart,” he added in an aside, “considering the three of you could have qualified for a small, woman-owned business loan and kept your personal assets intact.”
She brushed over his editorial comment in her outrage over this invasion of her privacy. “How did you get that kind of information?”
“I’m in the security business, remember? I have access to all sorts of databases.”
“You had no right to delve into my personal life or my finances!”
“Wrong.” His mouth took a wry twist. “I’ve broken pretty well every rule in the book over the years, but there are a couple I live by. One, I keep my back to the wall. Two, I pay my debts.”
Caro didn’t think she figured into rule number one. That left number two.
A healthy dose of anger swept through her, scattering the other emotions this man had roused. She wasn’t a shy, uncertain teenager anymore! She hadn’t been for a long, long time. Becoming the butt of so many malicious jokes and whispers had stripped away her natural shyness and fired an inner core of tempered steel.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Burke. You don’t owe me a thing. You didn’t drag me down to the river that night and have your way with me. I went with you willingly.”
Willingly, hell! She’d been so eager, so hungry for the muscled-up kid with the wicked grin and daredevil glint in his eyes that she could hardly think that summer, much less weigh the consequences.
“Whatever price had to be paid for that bit of idiocy I paid long ago. The slate’s clean.”
“Not hardly.”
He reached for her again, giving her no chance to flinch away this time. His fingers tipped her chin. His eyes narrowed as they locked with hers.
“Millburn was just a brief stop on a road that would have landed me in jail sooner or later. I’d probably be behind bars now if I hadn’t gotten crosswise of a cop who grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me to an Army recruiter instead of the police station.”
She’d sensed that in him. The recklessness. The hint of danger. They’d only added to his appeal. Prim, proper Caroline Walters had been seduced as much by the age-old desire to taste forbidden fruit as by a pair of tight jeans.
“You said what you went through changed your life,” he said grimly. “The Army changed mine. Saved it, I guess you could say. In return, I gave everything I had to my platoon every minute I was in uniform. And when I got out, I went back and found the cop who kicked my ass all those years ago. Harry’s now my senior VP of operations.”
His thumb brushed the curve of her chin. His compelling amber eyes telegraphed a message she couldn’t begin to interpret.
“It’s your turn, Caroline. One way or another, I intend to make things right with you.”
Two
Rory could see he’d rocked his consultant back on her heels. No surprise there. He’d taken a few hits himself since learning he’d fathered a child in a single, irresponsibly careless act.
The woman who’d had to live with the consequences of that act frowned up at him now. Her heart-shaped face was a study in distrust and disbelief. Her forest-green eyes reflected her fierce struggle to deal with the shock of his unexpected reappearance in her life.
“I…I need some air. I’ll let you get settled in. We can talk later.”
They’d do more than talk. Rory had already decided that. But he would give her the space she needed to recover before initiating the next phase of his campaign.
“I’m still on U.S. time,” he reminded her. “How about an early dinner? Six o’clock?”
“Okay. Sure. Fine.”
“I’ll meet you in the bar downstairs.”
With a distracted wave, she indicated a leather portfolio on the coffee table. “The conference information is in that folder. I’ll see you later.”
She certainly would. Rory hadn’t spent all those years in the Army without learning to develop contingency plans for just about every situation. He’d put a good deal of time and thought into Operation Caroline Walters.
As the door closed behind her, he tried to reconcile the woman she’d become with the seventeen-year-old she’d been. It took some doing. His memory of that summer was a little hazy around the edges.
With good reason. He’d left home at sixteen after a final, explosive brawl with his drunk of a father. For more than a year he’d drifted across the country on the beat-up Ducati 600 he’d put together from spare parts, picking up odd jobs as he went. Best he could recall, he’d worked for less than a month in the garage owned by Buck Walters. Millburn, Kansas, was too flat, too dusty and way too boring for his taste.
The same couldn’t be said about Walters’s niece. Rory vaguely remembered a shy smile, an embarrassed blush whenever he caught her eye and very shapely legs showing beneath her shorts.
The legs had interested him a whole lot more than her smiles or blushes. He’d been such a horny bastard at that age. Most of the time he’d walked around with a permanent hard-on. So naturally he’d had to strip off his T-shirt whenever the shy brunette came into her uncle’s garage. Had to tease a smile out of her. Had to taunt her into a ride on the Ducati.
He’d never really expected her to swing into the saddle behind him the night before he left town. Never dreamed she’d wrap her arms around his waist and lean into his back that hot August evening. And when they’d parked beside the river, he sure as hell had never expected to get lucky.
The next morning, he remembered with a grimace of disgust, he’d left with a casual promise to call the next time he came anywhere close to Kansas. Thirteen years later, he still hadn’t been back.
But he was here. Now. With the woman whose life he’d altered so irrevocably that night.
Her stricken look when she confirmed the pregnancy made Rory want to kick himself all over again for not using a condom. Or maybe he had and the damned thing didn’t work. All he knew for sure was Buck Walters’s niece didn’t sleep around. Not back then, anyway. She’d given him ample proof of that.
He’d covered a lot of miles since that night and been with his share of women. As far as he knew, he’d never left one crying or cursing his name. The fact that he’d given Caroline plenty of reason to do both had scratched at Rory’s conscience, big-time.
He’d begun developing Operation Caroline Walters the day after he’d learned of her pregnancy. His first objective had been to scope out the target. That hadn’t taken long. A few clicks of the keyboard and some poking around in databases he had legal access to—and several he didn’t—had verified the basic facts.
His second objective was to arrange the initial contact. He’d debated whether to approach her on a personal basis or through her business. He’d opted for the business angle for two strategic reasons. One, it gave him a hold over her. She couldn’t just haul off, slug him in the jaw and stalk away. Second, this angle dovetailed nicely with his corporate plans. With so many explosive events happening all around the world, he’d been planning to pull in his key operatives for a face-to-face.
The third objective involved actually making the contact. Rory could now check that item off his plan. The meeting had gone pretty much as he’d scripted. Except…
He’d expected to experience a welter of emotions when he saw her again. Guilt, yes. Regret, certainly. Relief that he’d taken the first steps to making things right for the girl whose life he’d brought crashing down around her ears, for sure.
But he hadn’t expected this tug of interest in the woman that girl had become. He’d shocked the hell out of her; yet she hadn’t folded, hadn’t yielded an inch of ground. This Caroline Walters was tougher than the shy girl he remembered. Tougher than those misty green eyes and soft mouth would lead a man to expect.
Then, of course, there were those smooth, silky legs.
The sudden tightening in his groin had Rory shaking his head in disgust. He wasn’t a horny young stud anymore. He’d learned to control his appetites and harness his lust.
Stick to the plan, man! Keep the final objective firmly in view.
With that stern admonishment, he popped the buttons on his shirt and headed for the shower to sluice off the effects of his transatlantic flight.
Caro wanted out of the resort.
She had to escape the confines of her mini-suite. Had to hit the paved walkway circling the beach and let the stiff sea breeze blow away some of her shock and confusion.
She also needed to contact her partners. She had to advise them of this incredible development and get their take on how the heck she should proceed with Rory Burke. Deciding she could talk and walk, Caro dug her cell phone out of her purse and tucked it in her jacket pocket with her room key.
The salt breeze slapped into her the moment she exited the resort’s lower level. February wasn’t the warmest month on this stretch of Spain’s Costa Brava. That didn’t deter the determined sun worshippers who flocked from more northern climates to soak up the Mediterranean rays, however. Caro picked up snatches of German, Swedish, French and Russian as she set off along the tiled walk first laid by the Romans.
An elderly Spaniard in a sweater vest and black beret hunched on the seawall, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He stared out to sea with eyes narrowed in his weathered face and displayed no interest in the topless bather stretched out on the beach below. Her generously siliconed breasts had certainly attracted the interest of others, though. Caro had to skirt a small crowd of tourists, all male and all avidly clicking away with their cameras.
Caroline found a sheltered spot at the base of the hill leading up to the castle ruins. Perching on the seawall, she pulled out her cell phone. Luckily, both of her partners were currently in Europe so she didn’t have to juggle time zones. Devon McShay had arrived in London just this morning with Cal Logan. The CEO of Logan Aerospace now had her handling all his European connections.
Sabrina Russo was in Rome, busy setting up a satellite office and sorting through an avalanche of potential jobs steered her way by the handsome neurosurgeon she’d fallen for—literally and figuratively!—last month.
Caro speed-dialed Sabrina first and felt her heart lift at just the sound of her friend’s cheerful greeting.
“Hey, girl. Wazzup?”
“Hang on a sec. I want to get Dev on the line for a three-way.”
She hit the button for a conference call and caught Devon in a limo with Cal Logan, on their way to a meeting with British Aerospace.
“Hi, Caro.”
“Hi, Dev. Sabrina’s on the line, too.”
“Great. I need to update you both on my itinerary. But first…Did you get our new client all meeted and greeted?”
“Yes.”
Caro kept her voice even, or thought she did, but the other two women had known her too long. Both picked up on the clipped response.
“Uh-oh. Is there a problem?”
“You could say that.”
She couldn’t think of any way to break the news except to blurt it out.
“Rory Burke, Global Security’s chief exec, is the father of the baby I lost when I was in high school.”
Simultaneous exclamations burst through the phone.
“What!”
“No way!”
“Trust me, you’re not half as flabbergasted as I was. Still am, for that matter. I’m—I’m not sure how to handle this.”
“You don’t have to handle it,” Sabrina shot back. “You pack up, girlfriend. Right now. Catch the next flight home. I’ll zip over from Rome and deliver a hard, swift kick to the bastard’s balls before orchestrating the rest of his friggin’ conference.”
“That’ll bring us a lot of future business,” Caro said on a shaky laugh.
“We don’t need Burke’s business,” Devon added with equal fervor. “I’m with ’Rina. Tell the jerk to take a long walk off a short pier, and get out of there.”
Caro had to put in reluctant protest. “He’s not a total jerk. He didn’t know I was pregnant. I never told him.”
“Because you couldn’t find him!”
Their fierce, unquestioned loyalty eased some of the tightness in Caroline’s chest. Devon and Sabrina were her best friends as well as business partners. The only friends she’d ever opened up to about her past.
She’d met them for the first time at the University of Salzburg, where they’d shared rooms while participating in a Junior Year Abroad Program. Still carrying the emotional scars from high school, Caro had been distant and reserved at first.
The combination of a minuscule apartment, Sabrina’s bubbling personality and Devon’s passionate love of all things historical had gradually penetrated her shield. Looking back, Caro would always zero in on that year in Salzburg as the point where she came fully alive again.
Now the three of them were in business together. Partners in a fledgling company called European Business Services, Inc.—EBS for short. Since EBS launched last year they’d kept busy providing travel, translation and support services for executives doing business in Europe. Caro had thoroughly enjoyed the clients she’d worked with so far.
This one, though, was in a class by himself.
“Thanks for the moral support,” she told her friends with heartfelt sincerity.
“Moral support, hell!” Sabrina grumbled. “I still want to kick some gonads.”
“Hold on to that thought,” Caro said with a faint smile. Talking through her shock and confusion like this had provided just the shot in the arm she needed. “I appreciate your offer to do the dirty for me but…”
Her gaze shifted to the waves rolling in to the beach. They were endless. Relentless. Like time. Like her past. The only way to deal with it, the only way Caro knew to deal with any problem, was to face it head-on.
“If there’s any gonad-kicking to be done,” she told her partners, “I’ll do it myself.”
“You sure you don’t want one of us to fly in?” Devon asked, sounding worried and unconvinced.
“I’m sure. I just needed to talk to you guys and let you know there might be a problem with this contract.”
She managed to inject more confidence into the calm reply than she was feeling. Much more.
“Whatever you decide,” Sabrina reminded her unnecessarily, “Dev and I are behind you two thousand percent. Stay in Spain, don’t stay. Deck the bastard, don’t deck him. Just keep us posted, okay?”
“I will.”
Caro flipped the cell phone shut, feeling a hundred pounds lighter and a hundred years younger. She couldn’t erase the memories of that awful time. She would live with them forever. But she didn’t have to let them cloud her future.
She was in control of her life, she reminded herself sternly. What’s more, she was part owner in a firm with a very lucrative contract on the line.
She would use the hours until dinner to shake off the residual effects of coming face-to-face with her past and figure out a way to smooth over this awkward situation. When she met Rory Burke this evening, she vowed she would be cool, calm and completely professional.
Cool and calm went up in smoke two seconds after Caro spotted her client in the resort’s trendy bar.
He had a drink in front of him—scotch she presumed, since that’s what his administrative assistant had told her to stock his suite with—and was crunching down on an appetizer from the assortment arrayed on the cocktail table.
He must have showered before coming down. Dampness still glistened in his dark blond hair. He was also, Caro saw with a jolt that went through her entire system, wearing a black V-neck sweater and faded jeans. Both items molded a body far more mature and muscled than the one she remembered.
She’d prepped for another meeting with the smooth, polished executive, dammit. She’d rehearsed what she would say, had her conditions for continuing their professional relationship all laid out. Her prepared speech didn’t fit the man who rose and strode over to her.
He was too relaxed, too informal and far too dangerous. She didn’t trust his easy smile. Or her instinctive reaction to it.
“I ordered some tapas.” He gestured to the colorful display on the table. “Care to indulge?”
“When in Spain…” Caro murmured, trying once again to recover her balance. Rory Burke seemed to be making a habit of throwing her off it.
“What would you like to drink?”
“White wine. Godello, if they have it.”
“I’ll bring it to the table.”
Caroline had spent enough time in Spain to identify most of the appetizers on the small cocktail table. Spaniards had a passion for tapas, flavorful bite-size bits that served more as a conduit for socializing in bars and restaurants after work than a source of nourishment.
There were as many variations of tapas as there were cooks. The dozen or so small dishes in front of her held aromatic combinations of chickpeas and spinach, clams in sherry paprika sauce, roasted almonds, fried calamari, olives, red peppers with anchovies, garlic shrimp and what looked like chunks of cod wrapped in grape leaves, all staked with wooden toothpicks for easy nibbling.
Paprika seared her palate after one bite of the clams. With her tongue on fire, she reached for the wine Burke brought her with a murmur of fervent thanks. Before she could take a sip, he’d reclaimed his seat and raised his own glass.
“Shall we drink to new beginnings?”
That stopped the wine halfway to Caro’s lips. Her eyes met his across the small table. She couldn’t interpret the message in their amber depths, but common courtesy demanded she at least acknowledge his toast. Her burning tongue made that courtesy a necessity.
“To new beginnings.”
The tangy, light-bodied Godello extinguished the paprika-fueled fire. Able to draw breath again, Caro set down her glass and launched into her prepared spiel.
“Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve spent the time since your arrival trying to decide how best to handle this situation.”
“I expect you have.”
“First, I don’t appreciate the backhanded way you arranged this…this reunion.”
He hooked a brow. “You don’t appreciate that I dropped a fat contract in your lap?”
“You should have been up-front with me. Told me who you were.”
“I didn’t try to hide my identity,” he countered mildly. “My name is on the contract.”
“You knew darn well I would never associate the chief executive officer of GSI with the kid everyone, including my uncle and cousin, called Johnny.”
“Would you have taken the job if I’d spelled it out for you?”
“Probably not. And that brings us to the conditions under which I’ll continue to work this conference for you.”
She edged several of the small dishes aside. Hands clasped loosely on the table, she kept her gaze steady and her tone even.
“I don’t want any further discussion of our previous association. Nothing either of us can say will change what happened, so there’s no need to rehash it. Agreed?”
He toyed with a tooth-picked clam, trailing the succulent morsel through the dark sherry sauce. Caro glanced down to follow the movement and found herself wondering when and how he’d acquired those thin, faded scars webbing across the back of his hand.
“Agreed,” he said after a moment. “As you said, we can’t change what happened.”
“And this notion that you have to make things right with me…Forget it. There’s nothing to make right. I’m content with my life now. Very content. I don’t want you charging into it out of some mistaken sense of obligation.”
“All right. I won’t charge.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. The reply was too amiable, too quick.
“Let me rephrase that. I don’t want you in my life, period.”
“Too late for that,” he said reasonably. “I’m here. You’re here. We’ll be working together for the next four days.”
“Then I want your agreement that’s all we’ll do,” she stated emphatically. “Work.”
The clam made another slow swirl. He contemplated its dark trail for a few seconds before lifting those russet-ringed eyes to hers.
“I can’t promise you that. Who’s to say the heat that flared between us back in Millburn won’t ignite again? But I can promise this,” he added as she went as stiff as a board, “I won’t make the same mistakes I made then. And I won’t make any moves you don’t want me to. You’re safe with me, Caroline. I swear it.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered. “Isn’t that what the big, bad wolf said to Little Red Riding Hood?”
He grinned then, looking so much like the cocky kid she’d mooned over all those years ago that her heart knocked against her ribs.
“Pretty much,” he agreed.
Three
Caroline was up at six-thirty the next morning. Since most of the GSI attendees were coming in from the field, their CEO had specified casual attire. Caro had to walk a fine line as the event coordinator, however. Jeans and jungle boots wouldn’t hack it for her.
She settled instead on dove-gray slacks and a wide-sleeved cotton tunic in warm tangerine paired with the colorful espadrilles she’d picked up in Tossa de Mar’s open-air market. Winding her hair up into its usual neat twist at the back of her head, she anchored it with a clip. A few swipes of blush and a quick pass with lip gloss and she was done.
She rechecked her zippered conference file for the fifth or sixth time. Satisfied she had everything she needed, she hit the door. With the conference set to kick off at eleven, she’d arranged a breakfast meeting with her GSI focal point to go over last-minute details. Caro and Harry Martin had exchanged dozens of e-mails over the past two months. She’d kept hers brisk and businesslike. His had been so succinct as to be almost indecipherable. A man of few words, Harry Martin.
And, according to Rory’s startling revelations yesterday, he was the man who’d hauled a smart-mouthed kid into an Army recruiter’s office all those years ago and put his life back on track. After what Rory had told her about his senior VP of operations, Caro expected a big, grizzled retired cop.
Martin was definitely big. Six-three or -four at least. He had to stoop to avoid brushing the grapevines that dangled from the arbor leading to the terrace restaurant. Grizzled, he wasn’t. Sleek Ray-Bans shielded his eyes above chiseled cheeks and a serious, unsmiling mouth. His khakis sported a knife-blade crease, and his sky-blue polo shirt stretched across a frame that looked fit and trim. His salt-and-pepper buzz cut gave the only clue to his age.
“Ms. Walters?” He set a notebook on the table and folded her hand in a tough, callused palm. “Harry Martin.”
“Good to finally meet you, Mr. Martin.”
“Harry,” he corrected as he seated himself at the umbrella-shielded table. “Caroline okay with you?”
“Of course. How was your flight from Casablanca?”
She knew he’d flown into Morocco two days ago and from there to Barcelona late last night.
“Fine.”
He helped himself to coffee from a stainless-steel carafe and proceeded to dump five heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. Wondering how the heck he managed to stay so trim, Caro watched with some fascination as he stirred the syrupy goo.
“Sweet tooth,” he said when he caught her gaze.
He downed a long swallow, replaced the cup on the saucer and slid his Ray-Bans down on his nose. There weren’t more than a half dozen other people eating breakfast on the terrace. The faint clink of their silverware and the occasional murmured comment barely carried over the sound of the waves hitting the shore. Still, either from habit or instinct, Martin lowered his voice.
“I talked to Rory when I got in last night.”
Caro felt her spine stiffen and her smile slip a notch or two. Martin noticed both reactions with a flicker of interest but didn’t comment on either.
“Rory says you have everything well in hand.”
She relaxed infinitesimally. “I hope so.”
“I hope so, too. We hate pulling over a hundred of our operatives out of the field at one time, but the world situation is so volatile right now that we had no choice. They need to know what’s going on around them. So we need to make every minute of this conference count.”
“You’ve certainly packed the agenda.”
“It’s about to get more packed.”
Nudging aside his cup, he flipped open his notebook and pulled out a heavily marked-up copy of the schedule. Caro’s heart sank at all the insertions and bold black arrows indicating changes.
“Rory and I went over this again last night. He called in some favors and we now have an expert on Africa flying in to brief us on the situation in Zimbabwe. We want to put him on here, right before the update on Tiblesi.”
“Okay.”
“And we’ve added two additional SITREPS on the latest developments in Tibet and Venezuela. We can squeeze them in before the live fire demo tomorrow. I’m thinking we’ll do one early, during breakfast, and the other at lunch. Make both meals working sessions.”
Caro gulped as her meticulously coordinated meal plans fell apart. She’d have to get with the resort’s caterer—and fast-to make the requested changes. Masking any sign of dismay, she nodded.
“No problem.”
“And speaking of the live fire demo…”
Martin flipped to the agreement signed by Captain Antonio Medina, the officer in charge of the policìa nacional armory in Girona. Acting as a go-between for GSI and Captain Medina, Caro had put hours into translating, compiling and forwarding the necessary forms. GSI’s senior VP of operations now handed her two more.
“See if you can get Medina’s chop on these additions to the demo.”
“Ice shield?” she read. “Paraclete vest? What are they?”
“The first is a negative energy defense system. We’re looking at it for possible deployment to protect high-vis clients when they have to get out among a crowd. The second is a new-generation vest designed to stop armor-piercing bullets. I’ve tracked down a source here in Spain for both and can have them delivered in time for the demo tomorrow.”
He downed a swallow of his syrupy coffee and eyed her over the rims of his Ray-Bans.
“Think you can handle the changes?”
Like she had a choice? Tapping two fingers to her temple, she gave him a brisk salute. “Yes, sir!”
A faint smile softened Martin’s chiseled features. “I have to admit I had my doubts when Rory told me he wanted European Business Services, Incorporated, to handle this conference. I didn’t think your company had the resources or the experience to pull it together on such short notice. So far, you’ve proved me wrong.”
Caro shifted a little in her seat. She couldn’t deny this job would rake in a fat profit for EBS. Still, she resented the way Burke had used it as a pretext to stage a reunion she’d neither anticipated nor wanted.
“Judging by the little exposure I’ve had to your boss,” she said, working hard to keep the acid out of her reply, “I’d say he’s used to getting his way.”
“Well, he is the boss.” Martin toyed with his coffee cup and studied her face with a scrutiny that made Caro distinctly uncomfortable. She suspected those cop’s eyes saw more than most people wanted them to.
“Rory’s a good man,” he said after a moment. “The kind you can trust to do what’s right.”
Depending on your definition of “right,” she thought cynically.
“I’ll take your word for that.”
She glanced at her watch and swallowed another gulp. “Do you have any other items you want to discuss with me?”
“Not right now.”
“Then I’d better skip breakfast and get to work on these changes.”
“Go.”
After dropping off a USB drive with the revised agenda in the business office, Caro met with the resort’s conference planner in her den. She, in turn, called in the executive chef.
Andreas was not happy about scratching the second day’s elaborate breakfast of fire-grilled Andalucian ham and house specialty torrijas. Frowning, he substituted a simpler sausage-and-egg scramble served with flaky rolls and the region’s signature apricot jam. He was even less thrilled about changing the elegant seafood lunch buffet planned for outside on the terrace to sit-down service in the ballroom.
Caro left him grumbling over the changes and rushed back to the business office. To her relief, the efficient staff had the revised agendas rolling off the high-speed printer and promised to place them on the tables for the kickoff session.
Those two tasks well in hand, Caro tried to reach Captain Medina. As she’d discovered in her previous dealings with the police captain, he tended to set his own schedule. Luckily, she caught him this time and extracted his promise to review the forms she’d faxed over.
“I need your reply as soon as possible,” she begged in the Spanish she’d studied in high school and college. She was almost as fluent in it as in the German she’d mastered during her year in Salzburg with Devon and Sabrina. “Por favor, capitán.”
“Sí, sí, le llamaré.”
Forced to be content with his promise to call, she headed for the ballroom to make sure everything was set for the general session. To her relief, the audiovisual technicians had their equipment up and running. She also confirmed there was plenty of coffee, tea, water and soft drinks available for the attendees who were starting to trickle in. Snatches of conversation caught her ear as she made a last check of the seating arrangements.
“Ramieriz, you old bastard!”
A brawny redhead in a safari shirt with at least a dozen pockets punched the arm of a bearded Latino.
“Heard you got snakebit on that job down in Panama.”
They were joined by a slender Asian in a dragon-red dress slit on one side. A head shorter than the two men, she got their instant respect and an eager demand for the details on the Yang Su kidnapping.
Caro ducked out of the ballroom and into the ladies’ room to check her hair and lip gloss. Then she drew in a deep breath, pasted on a smile and reentered the ballroom.
It had filled considerably in her brief absence. Those present were predominantly male, although she picked out several of the dozen or so women slated to attend. Rory was easily identifiable as he moved among the crowd. He’d dressed for the kickoff session in loafers, black slacks and a pale yellow oxford shirt open at the collar. Caro watched from the corner of one eye while he shook hands and thumped backs in that age-old male ritual.
At least one of Rory’s crew got a kiss instead of a back thump. Or more correctly, she kissed him. On the cheek, although it was obvious to Caro that the tall, striking blonde would have preferred a fullfrontal lip-lock.
For reasons she didn’t have time to analyze, Caro formed an instant dislike for the woman. That lasted only until Rory caught sight of his conference coordinator and brought the blonde over for an introduction.
“I want you to meet Sondra Jennings. She’s head of GSI’s European division, based in Copenhagen. Sondra, this is Caroline Walters, with European Business Services.”
The blonde returned Caro’s handshake with a friendly smile. “So you’re the one who pulled this confab together. Harry Martin was talking about you when we had coffee together a little while ago.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Knowing Harry, I’m sure he’s kept you hopping.”
“Pretty much,” Caro admitted.
“I’ve worked with several clients who might be interested in the type of services EBS provides. I’ll contact them when I get back to Denmark and spread the word.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“We girls gotta stick together.” Her gaze snagged on the man just entering the ballroom. “There’s Abdul-Hamid! I haven’t seen him since we tracked the source of those death threats against the author of Inside the Mujahideen. ’Scuse me, you two.”
She hurried to the door and enveloped the newcomer in a monster hug. He returned it with such obvious delight that Caro was forced to revise her initial impression.
“She’s very gregarious.”
“When she wants to be,” Rory drawled. “Ready to get this show under way?”
She swept a final glance over the tables and now-milling crowd. “I am if you are.”
“Let’s do it.”
“I’ll be at the back of the room. Just signal if you need anything.”
“That won’t work.” Shaking his head, he caught her elbow and steered her toward a round table near the podium. “I want you up front, with me.”
“But…”
“It’ll be easier for us to communicate this way.”
After seating her beside Harry Martin, he pinned the mobile mike to his shirt. His voice boomed through the speakers.
“All right, team. Time to get to work.”
He waited for the general shuffle of chairs to die down before asking Caroline to stand.
“For those of you who haven’t met her yet, this is Caroline Walters. She and Harry are running this show. Any complaints, tell him. Any and all kudos go to her.”
Rory held the stage for the next hour. Caroline listened in mounting amazement as he discussed worldwide trends in violence against VIPs, quoting specific facts and figures without once referring to the prepared script. It was obvious even to an outsider like her that he had every facet of his dangerous profession down cold.
His message was grim, and the slides that flashed up on the screen were appalling. They depicted, in graphic detail, a blindfolded French ambassador with a gun barrel to his head. The bullet-riddled body of a candidate for prime minister in Indonesia. The terrified wife of a police captain in Colombia, explosives strapped to her chest, just seconds before drug runners blew her apart as a message to everyone who cooperated with law enforcement officials.
Caroline was ready for a break by the time Rory finished. More than ready. She didn’t view the world through rose-colored glasses by any means, but Rory’s grim assessment had brought home just how dangerous it could be.
Particularly for the kind of high-powered executives her company catered to. Neither she nor Devon nor Sabrina had fully considered that aspect of their business. The realization sobered Caro and made her anxious to impart some of this information to her partners.
“We’ll take a short break so they can set up for lunch,” Rory told his people. “Harry will go over the latest State Department alerts while we eat.”
With palpable relief, Caro signaled the servers to bring in the paella extravaganza she’d arranged for the kickoff luncheon. Most of the ingredients had been precooked in the resort’s kitchen, but four chefs in tall white hats provided the finishing touch. Positioned before waist-high stands supporting huge black frying pans, they sizzled the rice, chopped vegetables and cooked seafood morsels over open flames.
The tantalizing aromas soon drew the attendees back into the ballroom. Caro didn’t relax until everyone had filled their plates with heaping servings. At Rory’s insistence, she brought her plate back to his table.
“You need to listen to Harry’s update on State Department alerts,” GSI’s chief executive advised. “They could play into your business.”
“I was thinking that same thing during your briefing. That was pretty scary information you put out.”
“It’s a scary world.”
Nodding, she speared a morsel of calamari and tuned in to Harry Martin’s succinct recap.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of country briefings and individual case rundowns. Caro had to duck out to take a call from Captain Medina. She returned with the welcome news that he’d approved the additions to the live fire demo.
The conferees broke for the day at six o’clock. Dinner was scheduled for seven. Since many of the GSI operatives would be feeling a delayed jet lag, Harry had requested Caro keep the meal short and simple. She’d ordered a selection of tapas served in a roped-off section of the bar that gave a magnificent view of the bay, followed by salad and chargrilled kebabs. Dessert was a melt-in-your mouth flan with its top seared to a sugary crunch and drizzled with caramel sauce.
A number of the GSI folks folded their tents immediately after dinner. The rest congregated in groups, exchanging war stories that ranged from the ridiculous to the downright gruesome. Caro tried to move unobtrusively between groups to make sure they had everything they needed, but Sondra Jennings drew her into one enclave, Rory into another. By ten o’clock that evening, the colorful espadrilles pinched her toes and she couldn’t wait to get them off her feet.
Finally she said good-night and left the last diehards crammed knee-to-knee around a cocktail table. Rory’s gaze followed her as she wound through the lounge. Caro could feel it, and the awareness annoyed her no end.
She’d made a determined effort to keep their past out of her head all day. It wasn’t that difficult, given how much Rory had changed. She’d watched a stranger kick off the conference today. Informed, incisive, every inch the boss. She didn’t know him, any more than he knew her.
Which didn’t explain the prickly feeling between her shoulder blades as she left the bar.
Frowning, Caro stepped out onto the tiled veranda. She fully intended to go up to her room, zing off a quick e-mail to Devon and Sabrina and fall into bed. The full moon hanging over the Mediterranean sabotaged those intentions.
She paused, mesmerized by the path the moon had painted across an incandescent sea. The thought of wading into that liquid silver was too much for someone who’d spent half of her life in landlocked Kansas.
The resort sat only a few short yards from the wide seawall encircling the bay. A quick walk brought her to the stone stairs that led down to the sandy shore. Kicking off the espadrilles, Caroline scooped them up in one hand and crossed the hardpacked sand to the water’s edge.
The sea breeze carried a damp chill that made her wish she’d gone back to her room for the colorful Spanish shawl she’d purchased at the same time as the espadrilles. Shivering a little, she curled her toes into the sand. The waves washed out, luring her a little farther, and returned with an unexpected wallop.
“Yikes!”
The water was frigid, far colder than she’d anticipated. And much more powerful. The first wave swirled around her ankles. The second hit before she could retreat and soaked her to her knees.
She leaped backward but couldn’t escape the undertow. Like a giant vacuum, it sucked the sand right out from under her bare feet and pulled her in. Thrown off balance, Caro stumbled. She saw the next wave roll toward her and floundered backward for one futile step before she went down with an ignominious splash.
The surf boiled up, soaking her. Salt burned her eyes. Cursing, she let go of the espadrilles and slapped the waves. She made a clumsy attempt to get her feet under her, but the sucking undercurrent had her firmly in its grip.
Great! Perfect! At this rate, she’d wash up on the coast of Libya. Thoroughly disgusted, she dug a heel into the shifting ocean bed beneath her.
She’d just found a toehold when a hand clamped around her wrist. The next second, she was jerked to her feet and landed with a thump against a solid wall of chest.
“Caroline! You okay?”
She flipped strands of wet hair out of her eyes and looked up into Rory’s taut face.
“I’m fine. Now.”
“I almost had a heart attack when I saw you go under. What the hell were you thinking, wading out this far?”
His grip tightened, anchoring her against the next wave. Frigid seawater swirled around her thighs and floated up the hem of her cotton tunic.
“In answer to your question,” she said when the swirl subsided, “I didn’t intend to wade this far. The undertow got me.”
“Jesus!”
Almost as wet as she was, he helped her to the shallows. His pale yellow shirt was plastered against his chest and shoulders. His drenched khakis molded his thighs.
“You scared the crap out of me, woman.” Softening both his tone and his grip, he raked her with a swift once-over. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
And mortified, now that the initial scare had passed. Getting dragged up on the beach like a half-drowned harbor seal didn’t do a whole lot for Caroline’s image as a cool, with-it professional.
“Thanks,” she added on a grudging afterthought.
“You’re welcome.” He grinned at her reluctant gratitude. “Rescuing beautiful women is just one of the many services GSI provides. The charge for this particular service is pretty steep, though.”
“Send me an invoice. I’ll deduct it from the final amount we bill GSI.”
“I have a better idea.”
Still grinning, he brushed back a wet strand and hooked it behind her ear. His voice dropped to a teasing, all-too-familiar taunt.
“How about I just take it out in trade?”
The situation was so absurd, his touch so unexpected, that Caro didn’t have time to block the sudden onslaught of memories.
In a flash, she was seventeen again, hopelessly infatuated, helplessly captivated. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her pulse shot off the charts. All she could do was stare up in breathless fascination as Burke curled a knuckle under her chin and tipped her head back.
“This is just the first installment,” he warned before he swooped down to cover her mouth with his.
Four
Rory initiated the kiss with a clearly defined set of goals.
He wasn’t a perpetually aroused young tiger on the prowl anymore. He could control his appetites, harness his primitive instincts. His intention was simply to show Caroline she could trust him. Now.
Then her mouth opened under his, and his intentions were shot all to hell. She tasted of salt and just a hint of sweet, sugary caramel. Through the wet shield of her clothes, he could feel her breasts, hips and belly against his. The ocean thundered in his ears, or maybe it was the sound of her breathing.
He found her tongue with his, and his world shifted, almost tilting him off his feet. Belatedly, Rory realized it was the damned sand. The powerful undercurrent was siphoning it out from under him.
He raised his head and allowed himself a brief stab of pleasure at the sight of her. Her hair had straggled free of the tight twist. Water spiked her lashes and made them glisten in the moonlight. Her eyes were huge—and rapidly filling with a welter of emotions that included dismay and unmistakable disgust.
With a chuckle, Rory tried to head off the storm he saw coming. “Sucks you in, doesn’t it?”
The double entendre was completely unintentional but not lost on either of them. Her breath hissed out, and he backtracked immediately.
“The sand, I mean. I can feel it giving way. Unless you want to rescue me, we’d better head for shore.”
The water was only ankle high, but the pull was so insistent that he had to wrap an arm around her waist to help her get to dry land. The moment they gained the beach, she jerked away from him.
He could see her fighting for control, struggling with the raw emotions he saw in her face. Rory expected her to lay into him. Was sure she’d deny that second or two when her mouth opened and her tongue danced with his. To his surprise, she took aim at herself.
“What was I thinking? Why wasn’t I thinking?”
She sounded so appalled, so dismayed, that he had to suppress a wince.
“I never let myself go like that,” she said with a break in her voice. “Never!”
Rory’s brows soared. “Are you telling me you don’t…That you’ve never…”
His incredulity snapped her out of her miasma of dismay and disgust.
“Never been with anyone but you?” she finished, her chin angling. “Don’t flatter yourself, Burke.”
But he had been the first. The memory of that night beside the river hit Rory hard, low in his belly, as Caroline raised her chin another inch.
“I don’t blame you for that…that bit of idiocy. I blame myself. Trust me. It won’t happen again.”
The hell it wouldn’t. Now that he’d had a taste of her, Rory intended to make some revisions to his op plan. Objectives five and six needed considerable adjustments.
He was reworking them in his mind when Caroline whirled and marched all of two yards up the beach before coming to a dead stop. He heard her gasp and followed her line of sight to a set of lighted, floor-to-ceiling windows.
Well, hell! They were there. Harry. Sondra. Abdul-Hamid. The rest of the crew who’d hung around the bar after dinner. All crowded close to the windows, all watching the scene with avid interest. They’d had ringside seats to the entire episode.
“Oh, no,” Caroline moaned, more to herself than to him. “How am I supposed to face them in the morning?”
He didn’t even try to tell her it was no big deal. Rory could take the flak from his frolic in the surf. It would hit Caroline hard, he guessed, and not just because of the professional image she worked so hard to project. The past had left her all too vulnerable to whispers and sidelong glances. He was damned if she would be subject to them again because of him.
“I’ll do damage control with my people. You don’t have to worry about facing them tomorrow—or any other day.”
His flat assurance quelled some of Caro’s rioting emotions. He sounded so confident, so matter-of-fact. As if wading into the Mediterranean and getting chest-to-chest with a dripping female was no big deal.
Which it probably wasn’t. To him. She, on the other hand, could still taste him on her lips.
They parted just inside the foyer. Caroline punched the button for the elevator and refused to look over her shoulder as Rory peeled off toward the bar. Only after she’d gained the safety of her room did she let loose with the torrent churning up inside her.
“Stupid! Stupid! STU-PID!”
She wanted to burst into tears. Pound the sofa pillows. Scream or kick or haul off and slug someone. Anything to erase the agonizing embarrassment of the past ten minutes.
She was forced to settle for stalking into the bathroom and yanking her wet sweater over her head. Slinging it at the wall gave her a small measure of satisfaction. The sopping cotton hit the tiles with a loud whap. Her slacks and underwear followed in short order.
She stared at the soggy pile, everything inside her cringing with self-disgust. Everything, that is, except a tiny, rebellious corner of her mind that sparked with a life of its own. A nasty little corner that wanted to relive every second of that kiss, to taste the sizzle, feel the heat.
She hadn’t lied to Burke. There had been other men. Two, to be exact. The first she’d dated for almost six months before she’d let down the barriers enough to go to bed with him. Unfortunately, the sex hadn’t been worth the wait.
Her friend Devon had introduced her to the second. A biologist Dev had met at some Let’s Go Green function. Ernie was serious about his work but what made him so endearing was his hopeless addiction to old Dean Martin records and any stray cat that happened across his path.
Caro had wanted to love him. She really had. He was so right for her. So gentle and considerate in bed.
Too gentle and considerate. Try as she might, she couldn’t help comparing Ernie’s cautious lovemaking to the wild explosion of delight she’d experienced that night beside the river with Rory.
The same wild delight she’d tasted again tonight.
The thrill of it crouched in that forbidden corner of her mind. The excitement was like a fever, swift and all-consuming, straining to break free of Caro’s rigid restraints and fire her blood.
Disgusted all over again, she padded on sandy, seaweedy feet to the walk-in shower and twisted the taps to full blast. Face turned to the pounding spray, she let a frustrated groan rip from deep in her throat.
When in hell would she learn!
The next morning, she walked into the room set up for the GSI breakfast with a cool smile and her chin high.
She’d had all night to prepare for the smirks and knowing smiles but soon realized that whatever Rory had said to his people must have sunk in. Other than a sideways glance from the male operative with the red hair and a more speculative one from Sondra, everyone was friendly and polite. Gradually, Caroline relaxed.
She snapped wire-tight again the moment Rory appeared. All she had to do was catch a glimpse of him as he strode in and her stomach went into a fast roll. She turned away before he saw her, swallowing a curse when her china coffee cup rattled on its saucer.
She had herself under control by the time he made his way to her side. Exercising iron will, she refused to let either his smile or the faint, tangy scent of his aftershave get to her.
“Morning.”
“Good morning.”
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Fine.”
The clipped response didn’t seem to faze him. Or keep his glance from drifting downward toward her lips for a few seconds.
“No aftereffects from your late-night swim?”
“Not a one.”
The mocking glint that came into his eyes told her he recognized that for the lie it was. Thankfully, Harry Martin came over before he could challenge her on it.
“I’ve got that situation brief on Venezuela ready to go, boss.”
“Let me grab a cup of coffee, and then we’ll get started.”
As she had the day before, Caroline tried to hang back so she could oversee the meal service. As he had the day before, Rory sabotaged her plans.
“After you, Caroline.”
The command was politely worded but definitely a command. She thought about saying no for all of three or four seconds. Then she shrugged and accompanied Rory to their designated table.
After the general session detailing the somewhat scary situation in Venezuela, the attendees broke into smaller groups for regional updates. Sondra took charge of the European sessions. Abdul-Hamid orchestrated a series of briefings dealing with the Middle East and Africa. The Asian expert turned out to be a ruddy-faced Englishman with what Caroline could only describe as a seriously warped sense of humor.
Intrigued by roars of laughter emanating from his session, she slipped into the back of the room in time to hear him describe attempts by pirates to hijack a luxury, oceangoing yacht owned by a GSI client.
“They came in under our radar during the night and got close enough to fire their rocket-propelled grenades. Lucky for us the buggers didn’t know how to activate the built-in lock-and-launch radar. Bloody grenades came close enough to tighten my knickers, though.”
One of the men in the room gave a loud hoot. “Since when do you wear knickers, Basil?”
“It was merely a figure of speech, old chap. Back to our nocturnal visitors…I sincerely wish I could have seen their faces when we whipped the cover off the M61 mounted in the stern, but it was too bloody dark.”
Caroline had no idea what an M61 was, but she gathered from the murmurs of approval that it was a powerful weapon. The speaker confirmed that a moment later with his cheerful claim to have blown the buggers right out of the water.
Amazed all over again by the danger Rory’s people apparently faced on a daily basis, she slipped out to check on preparations for lunch and finalize transportation to the policía nacional armory in Girona.
She had two buses lined up and waiting when the conferees broke after lunch. A truck loaded with sealed crates idled patiently behind the buses. Two of Rory’s men had accompanied the crates from the airport and stayed with them for the short trip to Girona.
Caroline had prepped as best she could for the excursion and knew that the ancient city of Girona had been inhabited in turn by Iberians, Romans, Visigoths, Moors and the armies of Napoleon. It had also served as a major center for Kabbalah studies until the Jews were driven out of Spain in 1492. In recent years, Girona had once again become a center of learning for the Jewish faith.
Following directions faxed by Captain Medina, Caroline directed their small convoy to the police armory on the outskirts of town. Antonio Medina strolled out to meet them on their arrival and greeted Caroline in English heavily flavored by his native Catalan roots.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Walters.”
“Good afternoon, Captain. Allow me to introduce Rory Burke, president and CEO of Global Security, Incorporated.”
Medina thrust out his hand. “I have heard much of you, Mr. Burke. You took part in the international task force that investigated 3/11, yes?”
“I did.”
It took Caroline a few moments to make the connection. Nine-eleven was indelibly ingrained on the consciousness of all Americans. Similar horrific attacks had occurred in Spain on March 11, 2004. Close to two hundred people had died in coordinated commuter train bombings. Almost two thousand more were injured.
She’d had no idea Rory had been part of the multinational task force investigating the bombings. It certainly hadn’t been mentioned in his company profile. Then again, maybe that was the kind of expertise you didn’t want the bad guys to know you possessed.
It did explain, however, Captain Medina’s patience while Caroline had slogged through the reams of paperwork to permit GSI access to his outdoor firing range.
The range was situated in an open field several kilometers from the armory buildings. Medina invited Rory to ride out with him in his vehicle. The rest of the team followed in the buses. Once on the range, the captain, Rory and Harry Martin conferred with the range supervisor. A sense of unreality gripped Caroline as she listened to them discussing laser-directed smallarms fire, armor-piercing bullets and high-impact detonations while swallows chirped merrily in the trees and the bright Catalonian sun warmed the earth.
The first crack of a high-powered, laser-guided sniper rifle sent the swallows flapping. Caro stood well back from the firing line, her ears shielded by cushioned protectors, and felt her jaw drop when a spotter more than a mile and a half downrange signaled back a direct hit.
Even more astonishing was the so-called ice shield. Caro never did grasp the physics involved. Somehow the device activated an intense negative ion field around the target. The hyperactive ions sucked the velocity from most of the bullets fired at the target from various distances. Enough got through, however, for Rory to admit with a wry grin that the device required further testing before being fielded.
After Harry demonstrated the paraclete vest, the GSI agents took turns at the firing line testing an assortment of handguns and ammo. Caroline had no idea she would be included in the live fire exercise until they took a break and Rory beckoned her forward.
“Ever fired one of these?”
She glanced at the blue-steel subcompact nestled in his palm and shook her head. “Nothing that small. I went quail hunting with my father a few times. His double-barrel shotgun just about knocked me flat.”
“Given the high-profile clients your firm caters to, a working knowledge of handguns might come in handy.”
“I sincerely hope not!”
“We’ll start with the basics,” he said, calmly brushing aside her objections. “This is the safety. Always check to make sure it’s on before handling your weapon.”
Fifteen minutes later, Caroline found herself standing between Sondra and Abdul-Hamid on the firing line, peering through shatterproof goggles at a paper target strung from a wire twenty yards away. A borrowed ball cap blocked the sun’s glare. Heavyduty protectors shielded her ears.
Rory stood directly behind her, his body leaning into hers as he corrected her stance. “Don’t square off and face the target like that. You won’t get good front-to-back balance. You want to form a pyramid, with your power leg forward.”
“Which one is my power leg?”
“You’re right-handed. You’ll naturally favor your right leg. Now angle your pelvis at forty-five degrees to the target. A little more.”
Oh, sure! Like she could think pyramids and angles with his hands on her hips and her rear jammed against the fly of his jeans.
“With an automatic, you want to use what we call a ‘crush’ grip. The harder you hold the weapon, the less it will kick.”
“A tight grip also lessens the chance some sleazebag can knock it out of your hand,” Sondra volunteered.
Caroline diverted her attention long enough to see that a circle of interested observers had gathered to watch the lesson. Then Rory reached around her to steady her arms, and every nerve in her body snapped back to the task at hand.
“Use your thumb to release the safety. That’s it. Now tuck your thumb and focus on the front sight. You want to pull the trigger straight back. Squeeze it or roll it. Don’t jerk it. All set?”
“I think so.”
He dropped his arms and stepped back. “Fire when ready.”
Her first shot went wide of the target and kicked her arms up. The second wasn’t much better. With cordite stinging her nostrils, Caroline scowled, tightened her grip and squinted through the front sight.
The next three shots peppered the edges of the target silhouette. The sixth and seventh hit dead center. Cheers and hoots erupted from the observers as Caro lowered the weapon and engaged the safety.
“You’re a natural,” Rory said after he’d taken charge of the automatic.
“Beginner’s luck.”
“Trust me. Not all beginners can find a target.”
His smile of approval stayed with Caro all the way back to the resort. She felt it almost as much as the disturbing aftereffects of her close encounter with his zipper.
It took Caroline the rest of the evening and most of the night to comprehend her inexplicable reaction every time Rory got within striking distance. When she padded into the bathroom just before seven the next morning and braced her hands on the marble sink, she had it all figured out.
“It’s simple,” she told the tangled-haired woman in the mirror. “The man represents temptation. Danger. Forbidden desire. Everything you’ve gone out of your way to avoid in the years since high school.”
She’d worked so hard to suppress her past. With deliberate intent, she’d chosen a nice, safe profession. Dated nice, safe men. Established a nice, safe routine. Not until she’d gotten together with Sabrina and Devon last year and taken a hard look at her life did Caro realize she’d mortgaged her future to her past.
Quitting her job and joining forces with her friends to launch EBS had been a major step in a new direction. Admitting that Rory Burke still turned her on after all these years was another.
“There,” she threw at the face in the mirror, “you’ve acknowledged it. You want his touch.”
She wanted more than that. With brutal honesty, she could admit she wanted his mouth and hands and lean, hard body all over hers. The realization shook her right down to her core. It also made her turn to the two friends she’d come to depend on for support and advice.
Whirling, Caro stalked back into the bedroom and flipped up the lid of her laptop. She caught her business partners at their computers, checking morning e-mail. A few clicks later, she had their faces displayed side by side. Devon’s hair lit up the laptop’s screen in a blaze of dark red. Sabrina raked a hand through her tumble of blond curls and demanded an instant update.
“So what’s happening with Burke? Have you hauled off and decked him yet?”
“Not exactly.”
“I’m still available to do the job for you. So is Marco, by the way.”
“And Cal,” Devon put in.
Oh, sure. That’s all Caroline needed. Their two bristling males confronting a former Army ranger and all-around tough guy.
“The situation has, uh, changed a little.”
“Changed how?”
She tapped a nail on the laptop keyboard. How to explain this insidious heat, this growing hunger, to friends who had watched her put her emotions on total lockdown for so many years?
“The thing is, I’m…er…sort of…attracted to Rory.”
Talk about understatements, Caro thought ruefully as the two faces on the laptop screen took on looks of almost identical astonishment. While they were still struggling to recover, she told them about the kiss that followed her dip in the ocean and the itchy feelings that had almost consumed her at the firing range yesterday.
“The conference wraps up tomorrow morning,” she said. “Part of me wants to just crawl in a hole until Rory leaves for the airport in the afternoon. But there’s this other confused, completely idiotic part that doesn’t want him to go.”
“Well,” Sabrina said after a long silence, “sounds like there’s something between you and this guy Burke. Call it unfinished business or chemistry or plain old-fashioned lust, the fact that it revved to life after more than a decade says something.”
“I know! But what?”
“Beats me. Dev, what do you think?”
Devon pursed her mouth to one side. Like Caro and Sabrina, she’d made her share of mistakes, most notably the brief marriage to her jerk of an ex. She hadn’t expected to tumble into love with Cal Logan, EBS’s first big client. Dev still pinched herself every day to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Caroline suspected that’s why she took her time before slowly replying.
“I think…I think Sabrina may be right. This unexpected reunion has stirred emotions you’ve tried to repress for years. Maybe you should get them out of your system once and for all. Or more precisely get Burke out of your system.”
“Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
“Look, you said you’re still attracted to him. I suspect in your mind you still see the young stud who fed your adolescent fantasies. The man he is now may not live up to those fantasies, but there’s only one way to find out.”
“Hot, mindless sex.”
“If that’s what your instincts are telling you. Go with them, Caro. See where they take you.”
“We all know where they took her last time,” Sabrina protested.
“She was seventeen and a virgin. She’s a lot older this time around.”
“Thanks,” Caroline drawled.
“You know what I mean.”
That was just it. She did.
“One thing is for sure,” she vowed. “Whatever happens between Rory and me will not include unprotected sex. I’m still on the pill, thank God.”
She’d never gone off it after nice, safe Ernie. Even then she’d insisted they use condoms. Nothing like a healthy dose of paranoia to flavor a relationship.
“So,” Sabrina mused, “the real question is whether whatever happens between you and Burke will include any kind of sex.”
Caro blew out a sigh. “At this point, your guess is as good as mine.”
Five
Rory initiated the next phase of Operation Caroline Walters early on the third day of the conference.
This particular objective required that he get her alone. Away from all distractions. Out from under the curious eyes of his people. He’d planned a private dinner in his suite to “discuss” conference business, but the phone call he received that morning from a potential client in Barcelona provided a much better target of opportunity.
Snapping his cell phone shut, he went looking for Caroline and Harry Martin. He found them together, conferring over yet another addition to the schedule. The kick to his gut when he noted the silky tendril that had escaped her neat twist and curled at her nape resolved any doubts about his course of action.
Harry looked up at his approach and sensed instantly that something was up. The man knew him too well, Rory thought wryly.
“Hey, boss. Need something?”
“Yeah, I do. Check out a guy named Juan Casteel for me. He owns a shipping company based in Barcelona.”
“Juan Casteel.” He jotted down the name. “What’s his angle?”
“He says he needs more protection.”
“Who doesn’t?” Harry muttered.
“Casteel found out I’m in Spain and wants to meet with me. I’ve set up an appointment at his office for three this afternoon.”
“I’ll get on him.”
“Caroline, I need you to go with me. Casteel’s English is pretty heavily accented. I’d like a second set of ears to make sure I understand him.”
Rory ignored the quick glance Harry shot his way. “Pack an overnight bag,” he instructed his surprised conference coordinator. “Casteel said something about dinner at his place, so I could meet his wife and see the layout of his house. If they eat as late as most Spaniards, it’ll be too late to drive back tonight.”
Dinner or no dinner, Rory had already determined he and Caroline would not hit the road again tonight.
“Better make hotel reservations,” he told her. “We’ll take my rental car. I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon.”
She waffled, clearly uncertain and wary. He didn’t give her time to recover.
“Let me know what you dig up on Casteel, Harry.”
His deputy gave him a hard look before nodding. “Will do.”
Harry delivered a background dossier on Juan Casteel to Rory’s suite forty-five minutes later. The Spanish shipping magnate didn’t top the list of his priorities, however.
“Let’s have it, boss. What the hell are you up to with Caroline?”
Rory paused in the act of stuffing his shaving kit into his carryall. “What makes you think I’m up to anything?”
“Don’t give me that bull. I’m the one who kept your ass out of jail, remember?”
“How could I forget? You remind me at least once a month.”
Never one to mince words, the retired cop set his jaw. “Caroline’s a good kid, but she’s not in your league. You hurt her again, and you’ll answer to me.”
“Again?” Rory echoed softly.
“You think I’m getting senile or something?”
Disgusted, Harry tossed the background dossier to the bed beside the leather carryall.
“I knew there had to be some reason behind your insistence that her company handle this conference. I did a little digging. Didn’t take long to figure out you were the one who knocked her up.”
Wincing at the blunt assessment, Rory yanked on the zipper of his carryall. “Does it make any difference that I didn’t know I’d knocked her up?”
“Not to me. Or to her, I suspect. What’s your game?”
“It’s no game, Harry. I intend to atone for past sins.”
“How?”
He couldn’t lie to the man who’d become his conscience. “My first plan was a cash settlement. I know money wouldn’t make up for what she went through, but it could ease the future for her. If she wouldn’t accept it outright, I planned to disguise it by steering business her way. Now…”
Now all he could think of was how Caroline had looked in the moonlight. How she’d tasted, so warm and salty. How much he wanted to taste her again.
“I’m thinking maybe a more permanent arrangement.”
“Like marriage?”
“Maybe.”
“Little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Better late than never. Besides, we both know I would have made a rotten husband back then. I was too young and too much of a wiseass.”
“You won’t get any argument from me on that. I’m curious, though. Why do you think you’ll make a better husband now? You haven’t spent more than a few weeks in that empty barn you call home in the past year. Then there’s the little matter of your line of work.”
With a jerk of his chin, Harry indicated the scars webbing the back of Rory’s hand.
“Think you can bust in car windows and haul clients out of burning vehicles indefinitely?”
“Yeah, well, that’s part of my rationale.”
Rory glanced down and made a fist. He hadn’t been able to perform that simple act for months after the job in Seattle went sour.
“We both know the odds, Harry. The higher the profile of our clients, the greater the chances we’ll take a hit along with them. Conversely, the greater the risk, the greater the reward. I’ve got more money in the bank than I can spend in two lifetimes.”
“And no one to leave it to,” his longtime friend and mentor guessed shrewdly, “except the half dozen charities that hit you up on a regular basis. So you’re going to make Caroline a rich widow.”
“Not anytime soon, hopefully. But one way or another, she’ll be set for life.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Harry said, “what makes you so sure Caroline will have you?”
“I’m not sure at all. But there’s something between us that just won’t die. A spark. A flame. Whatever. It’s been smoldering all these years.”
“Yeah, I noticed you out there on the beach the other night, fanning the fire.” He palmed his salt-and-pepper buzz cut and eyed Rory thoughtfully. “Have you told her about your plans for her future?”
“Not yet.”
“When are you planning to spring them on her?”
“I’m not sure. Tonight, maybe, in Barcelona.”
Harry nodded once, slowly. “I repeat, kid. Hurt that girl again and you’ll answer to me.”
“Understood. Now give me a quick recap of what you dug up on this guy Casteel.”
Caroline decided the meeting with Rory’s high-powered prospective client required more professional attire than the semicasual outfits she’d worn at the conference. She changed into black pumps, her slim black skirt with its matching jacket worn over an aqua silk tank.
She was glad she’d made the switch when Rory met her in the lobby. He, too, had changed and was once again the consummate executive in a hand-tailored charcoal-gray suit and silk tie. He looked almost like a stranger again until his amber eyes met hers and a frisson of unsettling sensation rippled down her spine.
“Ready?”
At her nod, he took her overnight bag and carried it with his to the silver BMW waiting at the front entrance. The smiling valet opened the door for her. It closed with a well-mannered thud, shutting her and Rory in a cage of cloud-soft leather and high-performance engineering.
Caroline said little during the drive into the city. As they sped along the A7 Autopista, snippets from her early-morning colloquy with Devon and Sabrina kept replaying inside her head.
Time’s running out.
Do I go with my instincts or play it smart and safe this time?
Her fingers tightened on the directions Señor Casteel had provided to his downtown office. She slanted a glance at the man beside her and found only traces of the teenager she’d hungered for in his rugged profile.
This Rory Burke was so different and so dangerously compelling. The square chin, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the nose with the flattened bridge—each of the parts added up to a whole that made Caroline’s adolescent desire pale by comparison to the hunger he roused in her now.
It hit her again, a hot rush of desire that made her belly clench and anticipation whip through her like wildfire. They had tonight, she thought. Alone. In a city made for lovers.
Go with your instincts.
See where they take you.
He turned then and met her gaze. Those wolf’s eyes seemed to burn right through her. “Is this it?”
“Wh-What?”
“C-33.” He tipped his head toward the green highway sign flashing by. “Isn’t this where we cut off?”
“Oh. Right. C-33.”
Jerked back to her self-appointed navigator duties, Caroline consulted the handwritten directions. Barcelona’s sprawling suburbs soon engulfed them, with accompanying traffic and noise.
“C-33 turns into Avenue Meridiana about a mile ahead. We stay on that until we hit Avenue Diagonal.” A brown sign snagged her attention. “The Diagonal takes us right past the Sagrada Familia.”
“The what?”
“The Sagrada Familia, Barcelona’s famous unfinished cathedral. It’s one of Antoni Gaudí’s masterpieces, along with La Pedrera and Casa Batlló.”
She clicked her tongue at his blank look.
“You said you’ve visited Barcelona twice before. Didn’t you see any of Gaudí’s work?”
“Not unless he built the bar where I spent the better part of a three-day pass.” His grin was quick and unrepentant. “I was still in the Army then. The next time I hit the city, I was on business. Landed at noon, left at seven that night. No time for sightseeing.”
“What a shame. Barcelona holds some of the world’s greatest architectural treasures. Maybe we can squeeze in a side trip or two while we’re here.”
“Maybe,” he agreed with a look she couldn’t quite interpret. “Looks like we’re coming up on Avenue Meridiana.”
In Caroline’s considered opinion, Barcelona was a world-class mecca for art lovers of all persuasions. On previous trips she’d spent hours in the Picasso Museum. One whole afternoon was occupied by wandering Montjuic, site of the 1929 World’s Fair and now filled with the wild and wonderful sculptures by Spain’s great Joan Miró. But Gaudí’s unfinished cathedral had truly left an indelible imprint on her.
Its towers appeared in the distance soon after they turned onto Avenue Diagonal, spearing into the blue sky with the soaring power of the apostles they were intended to represent. Eight additional towers were still under construction. Huge cranes had been an integral feature of the cathedral landscape since its foundation was laid in 1882.
Vowing to get Rory in for a closer look, Caroline directed him down Avenue Diagonal, then onto the city’s fashionable north-south artery, Paseo de Gracia.
“There’s the fountain Señor Casteel said to look for.” She pointed to the five-tiered sculpture shooting jets of silvery water high into the air. “His office building should be on the next block.”
Following the directions, Rory turned into an underground parking lot and pulled into the spot that had been reserved for him next to the elevators. Moments later, he ushered Caroline into an eighth-floor corridor flooded with light and stopped dead.
“What the hell is that? A giant chess set?”
She followed his startled gaze to the window at the end of the corridor. The sparkling glass gave a clear view of the rooftop of the building across the street.
“Those are chimneys and air vents!”
Thrilled, Caroline dragged him to the window for a closer look at the dozens of fanciful figures sprouting from the wavy roof. Below the modernistic sculptures was an art-deco-style apartment complex decorated with undulating wrought-iron balconies.
“That’s La Pedrera. A series of residences Gaudí designed for the Mila family in the early 1900s. He described the roof sculptures as sentinels in the sky.”
“Weird,” Rory muttered, fascinated despite himself.
“Ha! If you think those are weird, wait until you see his Casa Batlló. The balconies all look like skulls.”
“And you like this kind of architecture?”
“I love it.”
“No accounting for tastes,” he said with one of his quicksilver grins.
Caroline knew then she was in trouble. Major trouble. All the man had to do was flash that killer grin and she went gooey inside.
Just like last time, a voice in her head shouted. All those years ago. When he’d glance up, catch her watching him. One corner of his mouth would lift in a sardonic, knowing smile, and she would fall apart.
She’d ached for him then with a schoolgirl’s passion. There wasn’t anything the least girlish about the desire that now tightened Caroline’s nipples under the silk tank top and stirred a damp heat between her thighs.
Some of that wild hunger must have shown in her face. Rory’s smile lost its cocky tilt. The tanned skin stretched tight across his cheeks. He leaned in, his gaze holding hers, and brushed a knuckle over her cheek.
“Let’s go take care of business. All of a sudden I’ve got an uncontrollable urge to see more of this guy Gaudí’s crazy architecture.”
Architecture was the last thing on Rory’s mind as he escorted Caroline up the steps of Juan Casteel’s palatial town house later that evening.
He’d spent a good four hours in the shipping magnate’s office, pumping him for precise details regarding his business, his lifestyle, his current security arrangements and the threats that had prompted him to consider additional expertise.
Now, with the night breeze stirring the soft tendrils that had escaped Caroline’s smooth twist and her scent teasing his nostrils, he was seriously regretting that he’d agreed to mix business with pleasure for another few hours.
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