Merline Lovelace – Callie's Christmas Wish (страница 8)

Joe felt the tendons in his neck cord. Prince or not, if Carlo thought he could involve Callie in the type of activity he himself had needed protection from, the man had another think coming.

“IADW operates a sort of halfway house for female refugees,” she was explaining. “Women who’ve escaped or been driven out their own countries and have either lost their male protectors or been abandoned by them somewhere along the way.”

“That right? And what does Carlo think you can do for them?”

The question carried more of a bite than he’d intended. So it was no surprise when Callie stiffened.

“Despite the impression I’ve obviously given you,” she said coolly, “I’m neither helpless nor unskilled. At the least, I can help these women acquire a rudimentary English vocabulary, which many of them will need before being resettled in English-speaking countries. At best, perhaps I can ease some of the trauma they’ve gone through.”

Cursing his lack of tact, Joe tried to recover. “Sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant was...”

What he meant was that he didn’t like the idea of her working with or for Carlo di Lorenzo. Which was why he committed his second major blunder in as many minutes.

“Look, before you accept his offer, take some time to think about mine.”

Her forehead puckered. “Did I miss something? What offer?”

“About coming home. To you.”

Her jaw sagged. “Is this...is this a proposal?”

Her surprise knocked him back a step. Hell! He’d thought—been certain—she’d understood where this was going.

“Yes, it’s a proposal,” he said gruffly. “What’d you think it was?”

“I didn’t... That is...” She gave her head a quick, disbelieving shake. “Joe, we barely know each other!”

“Not true.”

She’d hit the mark when she’d reminded him that he’d had his people investigate every corner of her life. Joe suspected he’d uncovered a few things about her younger years she wouldn’t want her parents to know. He chalked up those early escapades up to her more lively friends, though. Dawn, especially. The voluptuous redhead had started breaking male hearts while still a teenager. Luckily, she seemed to have met her match in Brian Ellis. As Joe had in this dark-haired, violet-eyed siren.

“I’ve seen your strength and grace under the pressure of threats, Callie. Plus,” he added deliberately, “I’d say we got to know each other pretty well this afternoon.”

“We certainly did,” she agreed, recovering from her astonishment. “And it was wonderful. Off the charts, as Tommy’s friend Addy would say.”

He waited for the but he knew was coming.

“So I hope...I really hope...we can build on that mutual desire.”

“With you taking off for Italy?”

“That’s where we met,” she reminded him, her gaze steady. “Where we can continue to meet. You may not be able to tell me much about your clients, but I gather Carlo’s not the first European you’ve worked with. Nor, I suspect, will he be the last.”

She had that right. Joe had put a number of potential clients on hold while he’d tracked the source of Callie’s emails. He could pretty well choose the continent, the risk level and the degree of personal involvement in his next contract.

“We could see each other as often in Rome as we could in Boston,” she said. “Maybe more often. If you want to make it happen.”

Damned if Joe knew at this point.

He’d been so sure she would appreciate what he had to offer. Mutual respect. Sexual compatibility, which they’d more than proved earlier. Financial security. He knew she’d been living on her savings since she’d quit her job. Had thought she’d appreciate that while he wasn’t the most expressive or demonstrative man in the world, he was rock solid. Unlike a certain Italian prince.

“I still don’t understand. Why go all the way to Rome?”

She chewed on her lower lip. When she answered, Joe sensed she was revealing a part of herself she rarely shared with anyone other than her two friends.

“Your job takes you all over the world. But I grew up, went to school and have worked all my adult life within a ninety-mile radius of Boston. Aside from family vacations and a jaunt to Cancún with Kate and Dawn during one spring break, Italy was my first real adventure. I loved the color, the food, the people. And Rome...!”

A full-blown smile came out, so warm and radiant it slammed into his gut like a rifle butt.

“Oh, Joe! Dawn and Kate and I spent only a few days in Rome. I want more time to explore its rich history and culture. On my own...and with you whenever possible.”

Okay. So maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Wandering through the Forum with her. Sharing a bottle of chianti at the tiny trattoria he’d discovered a few blocks from the Spanish Steps. Making love in a hotel room with a view of the old city walls.

They could take the train up to the Lake District for a weekend at some opulent resort. Maybe zip over to Portofino, Italy’s answer to the French Riviera. Now that the first shock had passed, Joe could see himself laying all Europe at her feet.

“I guess I can understand where you’re coming from,” he conceded. “I have one suggestion, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I think we should...”

He caught himself just in time. Dammit, he had to do this right. Had to appeal to this unexpectedly adventurous side of her personality. And that would necessitate a little more planning and execution on his part.

“I think we should sleep on it,” he temporized. “See how we feel in the morning.”

A gleam of laughter leaped into her eyes, but she answered with a solemn nod. “By all means, Mr. Russo, let’s sleep on it. Your place or mine?”

His DC hotel room was modern and efficient but held none of the comforts of the gatehouse. Callie’s smiling invitation to share it with him kicked his pulse into overdrive. It was hammering hard and fast when he tumbled her back onto the sofa cushions.

“Yours, Ms. Langston. Yours.”

* * *

His internal alarm went off at its usual 5:00 a.m. He came instantly alert but had learned long ago to give no indication he was awake. That skill had saved his life several times, most recently in Curaçao.

Slamming the door on that memory, he kept his eyes closed and concentrated on recording sensory signals. He heard Callie beside him. Her breathy intake, her snuffling exhale. Not quite a snore but close enough to make him smile inwardly. He could feel her, too. Soft and pliant and warm against his side. Her scent filled his nostrils. The lemony tang of her shampoo. The faint, yeasty residue of their lovemaking. One whiff and he felt himself hardening. Only his self-discipline and years of brutal training kept him from rolling her over and burying himself in her hot, tight depths.

He lay quiet, mulling over everything they’d talked about last night. Callie wanted to expand her world. He could understand that. He’d explored damned near every corner of it himself, both in the military and out. Before she went traipsing off to Rome, though, he intended to make sure she wore his brand.

He disciplined himself to wait an hour. It was close to six before he eased out of bed. No sign of the December sun poked through the bedroom shutters as he dragged on his clothes. He needed coffee in the worst way but decided not to wake Callie. Instead, he jotted a quick note and propped it on the kitchen counter.

* * *

He hit a Starbucks drive-through and infused the caffeine as he negotiated the still-light traffic in the southeast corner of DC. As early as it was, he knew Frank Harden would be at his desk.

He and Harden had served in Delta Force together before going their separate ways—Joe as a mercenary for some years before starting his own protective services agency, Frank as a civilian analyst with the Defense Intelligence Agency specializing in African affairs. Whip-smart and not shy about voicing his opinion, Harden had progressed steadily up the ranks at the DIA. His current senior executive service rank equated to that of a major general, but neither he nor Joe let that get in the way of the friendship they’d forged all those years ago.

Joe called Harden’s private extension when he was almost to the sprawling complex now known as Joint Base Anacostia–Bolling. The base had been formed a few years back by cobbling together the Anacostia Naval Support Facility and Bolling Air Force Base. Since the two installations sat side by side and ate up a big chunk of this corner of DC, Joe guessed the consolidation made sense.

As he’d anticipated, his workaholic pal picked up on the first ring.

“Russo, you mangy dog,” Harden drawled in that laconic, down-home Mississippi twang that disguised his needle-sharp instincts and encyclopedic knowledge of all things African. “Where the hell are you, boy?”

“About two blocks away.”

“Hot damn! I’ll call down to gate B and clear you in.”

As promised, Harden got him cleared through the main gate leading to the massive complex that housed DIA headquarters and a slew of other intel activities, like the headquarters of the National Intelligence University and the Joint Functional Component Command for Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance.

Harden had an underling waiting to escort his guest into the inner sanctum. Joe surrendered the lightweight Ruger LCR-357 that nested in his ankle holster, accepted a signed receipt for it, clipped on a visitors’ badge and passed through the metal detector.