The Executive's Valentine Seduction / Valente Must Marry: The Executive's Valentine Seduction
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“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.