Alpha Squad. Suzanne Brockmann

me, Lieutenant.” A FInCOM agent by the name of West stood politely to one side.

      Joe looked up, an instant Naval Officer. He sat straighter and even looked as if he was paying attention. Now, why couldn’t Veronica get him to take her that seriously?

      “At Admiral Forrest’s request, Mr. Laughton requires your consultation, sir, in planning the scheduling of the tour, and the strategy for your protection,” West continued. “That is, if you wish to have any input.”

      Joe stood. “Damn straight I do,” he said. “Your security stinks. Fortunately those terrorists took the night off, or I’d already be dead.”

      West stiffened. “The security we’ve provided has been top level—”

      “What I’m saying is your so-called top-level security isn’t good enough, pal,” Joe countered. He looked back at Veronica. “What do you say you go take a nap, Ronnie, and we meet back at…” He glanced at his watch. “How’s eleven-hundred hours? Just over two hours.”

      But Veronica stood, shaking her head. She wanted desperately to sleep, but unless she attended this meeting, the visit to Saint Mary’s would be removed from the tour schedule. She spoke directly to the FInCOM agent. “I’d like to have some input in this meeting, too, Mr. West,” she said coolly. “I’m sure Mr. Laughton—or Admiral Forrest—won’t mind if I sit in.”

      Joe shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

      “Princes don’t shrug, Your Highness,” Veronica reminded him as they followed West out into the corridor and toward the conference room.

      Joe rolled his eyes.

      “And princes don’t roll their eyes,” she said.

      “Sheesh,” he muttered.

      “They don’t swear, either, Your Highness,” Veronica told him. “Not even those thinly veiled words you Americans use in place of the truly nasty ones.”

      “So you’re not an American,” Joe said, walking backward so he could look at her. “Mac Forrest must’ve been mistaken. He told me, despite your fancy accent, that you were.”

      Joe had talked about her with Admiral Forrest. Veronica felt a warm flash of pleasure that she instantly tried to squelch. So what if Joe had talked with the admiral about her. She’d talked to the admiral about Joe, simply to get some perspective on whom she’d be dealing with, who she’d be working closely with for the next few weeks.

      “Oh, I’m American,” Veronica said. “I even say a full variety of those aforementioned nasty words upon occasion.”

      Joe laughed. He had a nice laugh, rich and full. It made her want to smile. “That I won’t believe until I hear it.”

      “Well, you won’t hear it, Your Highness. It wouldn’t be polite or proper.”

      Her shoe caught in the thick carpeting, and she stumbled slightly. Joe caught and held her arm, stopping to make sure she had her balance.

      Veronica looked really beat. She looked ready to fall on her face—which she just about did. Joe could feel the warmth of her arm, even through the sleeve of her jacket and blouse. He didn’t want to let her go, so he didn’t. They stood there in the hotel corridor, and FInCOM Agent West waited impatiently nearby.

      Joe was playing with fire. He knew that he was playing with fire. But, hell. He was a demolitions expert. He was used to handling materials that could blow sky-high at any time.

      Veronica looked down at his hand still on her arm, then lifted enormous blue eyes to his.

      “I’m quite all right, Your Highness,” she said in that Julie Andrews accent.

      “You’re tired as hell,” he countered bluntly. “Go get some sleep.”

      “Believe it or not, I do have some information of importance to add to this scheduling meeting,” she said hotly, the crystal of her eyes turning suddenly to blue flame. “I’d truly appreciate it if you’d unhand me so we could continue on our way, Your Highness.”

      “Wait,” Joe said. “Don’t tell me. A prince never offers a helping hand, is that it? A prince lets a lady fall on her face, right?”

      “A prince doesn’t take advantage of a lady’s misfortune,” Veronica said tightly. “You helped me—thank you. Now let me go. Please. Your Excellency.”

      Joe laughed. This time it was a low, dangerous sound. His hand tightened on her arm and he drew her even closer to him, so that their noses almost touched, so that Veronica could feel his body heat through the thin cotton shirt and dark slacks the tailor had left him with after the early-morning fitting.

      “Babe, if you think this is taking advantage, you’ve never been taken advantage of.” He lowered his voice and dropped his head down so he was speaking directly into her ear. “If you want, I’ll demonstrate the differences. With pleasure.”

      She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck as he waited for her to react. He was expecting her to run, screaming, away from him. He was expecting her to be outraged, upset, angry, offended.

      But all she could think about was how utterly delicious he smelled.

      What would he say, what would he do if she moved her head a fraction of an inch to the right and pressed her cheek against the roughness of his chin. What would he do if she lifted her head to whisper into his ear, “Oh, yes”?

      It wouldn’t be the response he was expecting, that was certain.

      But the truth was, this wasn’t about sex, it was about power. Veronica had played hardball with the big boys long enough to know that.

      It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested—he’d made that more than clear in the way he’d looked at her all night long. But Veronica was willing to bet that right now Joe was bluffing. And while she wasn’t going to call his bluff, she was going to let him know that merely because he was bigger and stronger than she, that didn’t mean he’d automatically win.

      So she lifted her head and, keeping her voice cool, almost chilly, said, “One would think that a Navy SEAL might be aware of the dangers of standing too long in a public corridor, considering someone out there wants Tedric—whom, by the way, you look quite a bit like these days—dead.”

      Joe laughed.

      Not exactly the response she was expecting after her verbal attack. Another man might have been annoyed that his bluff hadn’t worked. Another man might have pouted or glowered. Joe laughed.

      “I don’t know, Ron,” he said, letting her go. His dark eyes were genuinely amused, but there was something else there, too. Could it possibly be respect? “You sound so…proper, but I don’t think you really are, are you? I think it’s all an act. I think you go home from work, and you take off the Margaret Thatcher costume, and let down your hair and put on some little black sequined number with stiletto heels, and you go out and mambo in some Latin nightclub until dawn.”

      Veronica crossed her arms. “You forgot my gigolo,” she said crisply. “I go pick up my current gigolo and then we mambo till dawn.”

      “Let me know when there’s an opening, honey,” Joe said. “I’d love to apply for the job.”

      All humor had gone from his eyes. He was dead serious. Veronica turned away, afraid he’d see just from looking at her how appealing she found the thought of dancing with him until dawn, their bodies clasped together, moving to the pulsing beat of Latin drums.

      “We’d best not keep Mr. Laughton waiting,” she said.

      “Your Excellency.”

      “Damn,” Joe said. “Margaret Thatcher’s back.”

      “Sorry to disappoint you,” Veronica murmured as they went into the secret-service agents’ suite.