Passionate Calanettis. Cara Colter

gone and done something really stupid,” Connor whispered into his phone.

      “Huh? Who is this?”

      “Justin, it’s me.”

      “Connor?”

      “Yeah.”

      “What the hell is going on?”

      “There’s this girl.”

      Something relaxed in Justin’s tone. “This better be good—it’s two o’clock in the morning here.”

      Connor contemplated that. Was there one rational thing left in him? No, that’s why he was consulting his friend. That’s what SEALs did when they were in a pickle, they relied on each other.

      “She’s not really a girl. A woman.”

      “Uh-huh?”

      “I asked her out.”

      “That sounds like it’s worthy of a two a.m. phone call.”

      “The thing is, I didn’t really ask her out for me. I asked her out for her. She’s a widow. She married really young. She’s missed a lot. She’s never been on a real date before.”

      Silence.

      Connor sighed. “I’m the wrong guy for this, aren’t I?”

      Silence.

      “I mean, I’m just the wrong guy to try and show her how it can be.”

      “How what can be?”

      “You know.”

      “You’ll have to spell it out for me. I’m having that two-o’clock-in-the-morning brain fart.”

      “How it can be, uh, when two people like each other. A lot.”

      “You mean falling in love?” Justin asked. He sounded wide-awake now.

      “No!” Connor had to backtrack. He was sorry he had admitted liking her. A lot. His mission was one of altruism, and he wanted to make Justin understand that.

      “I mean maybe falling in love,” Connor said carefully, “just not with me. I just want to show her life can be fun. I want to show her she’s missed something, and not to be afraid to embrace it. That it is not too late for her.”

      “From the embracer of all things romantic,” Justin said wryly.

      “You’re not helping! I guess I want to show her what she should be looking for in a guy. Not me. I mean, I’m leaving. I’m here for the short term only. But if I could just give her an idea how a date should feel.”

      “Very altruistic.”

      “Are you being sarcastic?”

      Justin sighed. “Okay. Ask me a specific question, and I will try to help you with it.”

      “What should I do with her on a date? I was thinking dinner and a movie.”

      “So, basically the same thing you’ve done on every single date you’ve ever been on?”

      “Yes.”

      “Hmm.”

      “What does that mean?” Connor demanded. “I hate it when you say hmm like that.”

      “It just seems to me if you’re trying to show her life is good, and trying to encourage her to embrace the great adventure, and trying to show her what a good date would feel like, you should put a bit more thought into it.”

      “I’ve been thinking of nothing else!”

      “Just a sec.” Connor could hear Justin talking to someone, the sound muffled as if he had stuck the phone under his pillow. Connor was pretty sure the other voice was feminine. He strained his ears. Justin came back on a moment later.

      “Be original. A picnic in the moonlight. Something like that.”

      “That is the hokiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

      “Well, then, don’t ask.”

      “Okay, I won’t.” And Connor contemplated the fact that Justin was with someone. Justin really was getting on with his life. It occurred to Connor that the wheelchair Justin used was holding Connor back more than it was his friend.

      “Don’t hang up, Connor. The red line is going off.”

      The red line. That was the dedicated line for emergencies for their company.

      Justin came back on the phone. His voice was completely different, the sleep stripped from it. This voice, crisp, take-charge and take-no-prisoners, was a voice Connor recognized. He was a warrior now, and Connor shifted into that role easily, aware he was far more at ease with this than the places of the heart that he had very nearly gone to.

      “How long would it take you to get back to Azerbaijan?”

      Connor was already opening a different screen on his phone, looking up flights. “I could be in Baku in under six hours if I can make the connections.”

      “A vulture has landed. Go.”

      A vulture had landed. It was their code for a bad guy, known to them. In a similar code, Justin and whoever was on the ground in Azerbaijan would text the details to Connor’s phone as they had them. Connor was aware as he threw things in his bag that he felt a sense of purpose and mission. This was the world he moved in with absolute ease. This was where he belonged.

      He scrawled a note for Isabella, sent a quick text to Nico and slipped out the door, back into the comfort of all that was familiar.

      It was ironic just how safe danger made Connor Benson feel.

      * * *

      Isabella was aware, as soon as she woke up the next morning, that Connor was gone. She could feel his absence in the house, as if some energy that was necessary to life was gone.

      She found his note on the kitchen table but was not comforted by it. Was it convenient that he was suddenly called away at the same time things were taking a turn between them? Was he deliberately cooling things off?

      Isabella nursed the hope that he would call, and it increased her tension when he did not. He was cooling things off.

      Still, she could not believe it was possible to miss Connor so much. In the short time he had been part of her life, his presence had made a big impact on her household without her really realizing it at the time. There was something about having a man in her house—even though they had mostly avoided each other—that made her feel safe. That in itself was not really rational—he had attacked her the very first day.

      So, no, her acute sense of missing him had very little to do with a sense of safety. Maybe even the opposite. There was a sense that very unsafe things could unfold between them. And that made each day have a delicious sense of anticipation.

      She looked at his note, over and over, trying to glean any emotion from it, trying to discern which way the compass was swinging. His handwriting was no surprise, strong and bold. The message was to the point: “Called away on business. Will pay for my room for days I am not here. Please hold for my return.”

      Given their middle-of-the-street conversation of the night before he had written that note—given his invitation to go on a date—it seemed very impersonal and businesslike. He had signed it only with his first name, no term of endearment.

      What would she expect? Love, Connor. No, definitely not that. Hugs? That was laughable. How about best wishes? Or can’t wait to see you again?

      Despite all her misgivings, Isabella could feel herself anticipating his return like a child anticipating Christmas, even though she chided herself not to.

      He had asked her on a date. If he followed through, she wondered what he had in mind. She felt excited about it, when really, that was the most unsafe thing