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

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