Prince Joe. Suzanne Brockmann

risks they took were financial or psychological, never physical. Not a single one would ever put himself into any real physical danger. A paper cut was the worst they could expect, and that usually required a great deal of hand-holding.

      Most men looked softer, less imposing when asleep, but not Joe. His body may have been relaxed, but his jaw was tightly clenched, his lips pulled back in what was almost a snarl. Underneath his lids, his eyes jerked back and forth in REM sleep.

      He slept ferociously, almost as if these five minutes of rest were all he’d get for the next few days.

      It was strange. It was very strange. And it was stranger still when Veronica sighed.

      It wasn’t a particularly weighty sigh, just a little one, really. Not even very loud.

      Still, Joe’s eyes flew open and he sat up straight. He was instantly alert, without a hint of fatigue on his lean face.

      He took a sip directly from a can of soda that was sitting on the glass-topped end table and looked at Veronica steadily, as if he hadn’t been fast asleep mere seconds earlier. “Time for the tailor?” he said.

      She was fascinated. “How do you do that?” she asked, leaning forward slightly, searching his eyes for any sign of grogginess. “Wake up so quickly, I mean.”

      Joe blinked and then smiled, clearly surprised at her interest. His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes and making the laugh lines around them deepen. Lord, he was even more attractive when he smiled that way. Veronica found herself smiling back, hypnotized by the warmth of his eyes.

      “Training.” He leaned back in his chair and watched her. “SEALs take classes to study sleep patterns. We learn to catch catnaps whenever we can.”

      “Really?” Joe could see the amusement in her eyes, the barely restrained laughter curving the corners of her mouth. Her natural expression was a smile, he realized. But she’d taught herself to put on that serious, businesslike facade she wore most of the time. “Classes to learn how to sleep and wake up?” she asked, letting a laugh slip out.

      Was she laughing at him or with him? He honestly couldn’t tell, and he felt his own smile fade. Damn, what was it about this particular girl that he found so intimidating? With any other woman, he’d assume the joke was shared, and he’d feel glad that he was making her smile. But this one…

      There was attraction in her eyes, all right. Genuine animal attraction. He saw it there every time she glanced in his direction. But there was also wariness. Maybe even fear. She didn’t want to be attracted to him.

      She probably didn’t think he was good enough for her.

      Damn it, he was a Navy SEAL. There was nobody better. If she wanted to ignore the fire that was ready to ignite between them, then so be it. Her loss.

      He would find plenty of women to distract him during this way-too-simple operation, and—

      With a hiss of silk, she crossed her long legs. Joe had to look away.

      Her loss. It was her loss. Except every cell in his body was screaming that the loss was his.

      Okay. So he’d seduce her. He’d ply her with wine—no, make that expensive champagne—and he’d wait until the heat he saw in her eyes started to burn out of control. It would be that easy. And then…Oh, baby. It didn’t take much to imagine his hands in her soft red hair, then sweeping up underneath the delicate silk of her blouse, finding the soft, sweet fullness of her breasts. He could picture one of those sexy legs wrapped around one of his legs, as she pressed herself tightly against him, her fingers reaching for the buckle of his belt as he plundered her beautiful mouth with his tongue and…

      Sure, it might be that easy.

      But then again, it might not.

      He had no reason on earth to believe that a woman like this one would want anything to do with him. From the way she dressed and acted, Joe was willing to bet big bucks that she wouldn’t want any kind of permanent thing with a guy like him.

      Veronica St. John—“Sinjin,” she pronounced it with that richer-than-God accent—could probably trace her bloodline back to Henry the Eighth. And Joe, he didn’t even know who the hell his father was. And wouldn’t that just make dicey dinner conversation. “Catalanotto…Italian name, isn’t it? Where exactly is your father from, Lieutenant?”

      “Well, gee, I don’t know, Ronnie.” He wondered if anyone had ever called her Ronnie, probably not. “Mom says he was some sailor in port for a day or two. Catalanotto is her name. And where she came from is anyone’s guess. So is it really any wonder Mom drank as much as she did?”

      Yeah, that would go over real well.

      But he wasn’t talking about marriage here. He wasn’t talking about much more than quenching that sharp thirst he felt whenever he looked into Veronica St. John’s eyes. He was talking about one night, maybe two or three or four, depending on how long this operation lasted. He was talking short-term fling, hot affair—not a lot of conversation required.

      It was true, he didn’t have a lot of experience with debutantes, but hell, her money and power were only on the surface. Peel the outer trappings away, and Veronica St. John was a woman. And Joe knew women. He knew what they liked, how to catch their eye, how to make them smile.

      Usually women came to him. It had been a long while since he’d actively pursued one.

      This could be fun.

      “We trained to learn how to drop instantly into rapid-eye-movement sleep,” Joe said, evenly meeting the crystal blueness of Veronica’s eyes. “It comes in handy in a combat situation, or a covert op where there may be only brief stretches of time safe enough to catch some rest. It’s kept more than one SEAL alive on more than one occasion.”

      “What else do SEALs learn how to do?” Veronica asked.

      Oh, baby, what you don’t know…

      “You name it, honey,” Joe said, “we can do it.”

      “My name,” she declared in her cool English accent, sitting back in her chair and gazing at him steadily, “is Veronica St. John. Not honey. Not babe. Veronica. St. John. Please refrain from using terms of endearment. I don’t care for them.”

      She was trying to look as chilly as her words sounded, but Joe saw heat when he looked into her eyes. She was trying to hide it, but it was back there. He knew, with a sudden odd certainty, that when they made love, it was going to be a near religious experience. Not if they made love, When. It was going to happen.

      “It’s a habit that’s gonna be hard to break,” he said.

      Veronica stood, briefcase in hand. “I’m sure you have a number of habits that will be a challenge to break,” she said. “So I suggest we not keep the tailor waiting a minute longer. We have plenty of work to do before we can get some sleep.”

      But Joe didn’t move. “So what am I supposed to call you?” he asked. “Ronnie?”

      Veronica looked up to find a glint of mischief in his dark eyes. He knew perfectly well that calling her “Ronnie” would not suit. He was smiling, and she was struck by the even whiteness of his teeth. He may have chipped one at one time, but the others were straight and well taken care of.

      “I think Ms. St. John will do quite well, thank you,” she said. “That is how the prince addresses me.”

      “I see,” Joe murmured, clearly amused.

      “Shall we?” she prompted.

      “Oh, yes, please,” Joe said overenthusiastically, then tried to look disappointed. “Oh…you mean shall we leave? I thought you meant…” But he was only pretending that he misunderstood. He couldn’t keep a smile from slipping out.

      Veronica shook her head in exasperation. “Two days, Lieutenant,” she said. “We have two days to create a miracle, and you’re wasting time with sophomoric humor.”