Alpha Squad. Suzanne Brockmann

left only this basic, almost primitive attraction, this simplest of equations. Man plus woman.

      It would be so easy to simply give in. Veronica felt her body sway toward him as if pulled by the tides, ancient and unquestioning. All she had to do was let go, and there would be only desire, consuming and overpowering. It would surround them, possess them. It would take them on a flight to paradise.

      But that flight was a round trip. When it ended, when they lay spent and exhausted, they’d be right here—right back where they’d started.

      And then reality would return. Veronica would be embarrassed at having been intimate with a man she barely knew. Joe would no doubt be smug.

      And they would have wasted yet another hour or two of their precious preparation time.

      Joe was obviously thinking along the exact same lines. He ran his thumb lightly across her lips. “What do you think, Ronnie?” he asked, his voice husky. “Do you think we could stop after just one kiss?”

      Veronica pulled away, her heart pounding even harder. If he kissed her, she would be lost. “Don’t be foolish,” she said, working hard to keep her voice from shaking.

      “When I make love to you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous and very certain, “I’m going to take my sweet time.”

      She turned to face him with a bravado she didn’t quite feel. “When?” she said. “Of all the macho, he-man audacity! Not if, but when I make love to you…Don’t hold your breath, Lieutenant, because it’s not going to happen.”

      He smiled a very small, very infuriating smile and let his eyes wander down her body. “Yes, it is.”

      “Ever hear the expression ‘cold day in hell’?” Veronica asked sweetly. She crossed the room toward her suitcase, found a sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. She was still perspiring and was still much too warm, but she would have done damn near anything to cover herself from the heat of his gaze.

      He picked up the telephone again. “Look, Ronnie, I need you to call my room and ask to speak to me.”

      “But you’re not there.”

      “That’s the point,” he said. “The boys from FInCOM think I’m napping, nestled all snug in my bed. It’s time to shake them up.”

      Careful to keep her distance, careful not to let their fingers touch, Veronica took the phone from Joe and dialed the number for the royal suite. West picked up the phone.

      “This is Ms. St. John,” she said. “I need to speak to Lieutenant Catalanotto.”

      “I’m sorry, ma’am,” West replied. “He’s asleep.”

      “This is urgent, Mr. West,” she said, glancing up at Joe, who nodded encouragingly. “Please wake him.”

      “Hang on.”

      There was silence on the other end, and then shouting, as if from a distance. Veronica met Joe’s eyes again. “I think they’re shaken up,” she said.

      “Hang up,” he said, and she dropped the receiver into the cradle.

      He picked up the phone then, and dialed. “Do you have a pair of sweats or some jeans to pull on over those shorts?” he asked Veronica.

      “Yes,” she said. “Why?”

      “Because in about thirty seconds, fifty FInCOM agents are going to be pounding on your door—Hello? Yeah. Kevin Laughton, please.” Joe covered the mouthpiece with his hand and looked at Veronica who was standing, staring at him. “Better hurry.” He uncovered the phone. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

      Veronica scrambled for her suitcase, yanking out the one pair of blue jeans she’d packed for this trip.

      “He is?” she heard Joe say into the telephone. “Well, maybe you should interrupt him.”

      She kicked off her sneakers and pulled the jeans on, hopping into them one leg at a time.

      “Why don’t you tell him Joe Catalanotto’s on the line. Catalanotto.” He sighed in exasperation. “Just say Joe Cat, okay? He’ll know who I am.”

      Veronica pulled the jeans up and over her hips, aware that Joe was watching her dress. She buttoned the waistband and drew up the zipper, not daring to look in his direction. When I make love to you…Not if, when. As if their intimate joining were already a given—indisputable and destined to take place.

      “Yo, Laughton,” Joe said into the telephone. “How’s it going, pal?” He laughed. “Yeah, I thought I’d give you a little firsthand demonstration, and identify FInCOM’s security weak spots. How do you like it so far?” He pulled the receiver away from his ear. “That good, huh? Yeah, I went for a little walk down in the gardens.” He met Veronica’s eyes and grinned, clearly amused. “Yeah, I was struck by the beauty of the flowers, so I brought one with me up to Ms. St. John’s room to share with her, and—”

      He looked at the receiver, suddenly gone dead in his hands, and then at Veronica.

      “I guess they’re on their way,” he said.

      Chapter Seven

      “I need more coffee,” Veronica said. How could Joe be so awake? She hadn’t seen him yawn even once as they’d worked through the night. “I think my laryngitis idea might work—after all, we’ve been giving the news media reports that Prince Tedric is ill. You wouldn’t have to speak and—”

      “You know, I’m not a half-bad mimic,” Joe insisted. “If I work on it more, I can do a decent imitation of Prince Tedric.”

      Veronica closed her eyes. “No offense, Joe, but I seriously doubt you can imitate Tedric’s accent just from listening to a tape,” she said. “We have better things to do with your time.”

      Joe stood and Veronica opened her eyes, gazing up at him.

      “I’m getting you that coffee,” he said. “You’re slipping. You just called me ‘Joe.’”

      “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she murmured.

      But he didn’t smile. He just looked down at her, the expression in his eyes unreadable. “I like Joe better,” he finally said.

      “This isn’t going to work, is it?” she asked quietly. She met his eyes steadily, ready to accept defeat.

      Except he wasn’t defeated. Not by any means. He’d been watching videotapes and listening to audiotapes of Prince Tedric in all of his spare moments. It was true that he hadn’t had all that many spare moments, but he was well on his way to understanding the way Tedric moved and spoke.

      “I can do this,” Joe said. “Hell, I look just like the guy. Every time I catch my reflection and see my hair this way, I see Ted looking back at me and it scares me to death. If it can fool me, it can fool everyone else. The tailor’s delivering the clothes he’s altered sometime tomorrow. It’ll be easier for me to pretend I’m Tedric if I’m dressed for the part.”

      Veronica gave him a wan smile. Still, it was a smile. She was so tired, she could barely keep her eyes open. She’d changed out of her jeans and back into her professional clothes hours ago. Her hair was up off her shoulders once again. “We’ve got to work on Tedric’s walk. He’s got this rather peculiar, rolling gait that—”

      “He walks like he’s got a fireplace poker in his pants,” Joe interrupted her.

      Veronica’s musical laughter echoed throughout the quiet room. One of the FInCOM agents glanced up from his position guarding the balcony entrance.

      “Yes,” she said to Joe. “You’re right. He does. Although I doubt anyone’s described it quite that way before.”

      “I can walk that way,” Joe said. He stood, and as Veronica