Читать книгу: «The Executive's Valentine Seduction / Valente Must Marry», страница 3

“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.”