Prince Joe. Suzanne Brockmann
She posed no threat.
Joe turned his head, looking back into the mirror, waiting for the rush of relief, for the relaxation of the tension in his shoulders.
But it never came. Instead of relaxing, he felt as if all of his senses had gone on alert. As if he’d suddenly woken up. It was as if he were about to go into a combat situation. The colors in the wallpaper seemed sharper, clearer. The sounds of the hairdresser behind him seemed louder. And his sense of smell heightened to the point where he caught a whiff of Veronica St. John’s subtle perfume from all the way across the room.
“Good God,” she said in her crisp, faintly British-accented voice. “You look…amazing.”
“Well, thank you, sweetheart. You’re not so bad yourself.”
She’d moved to where he could see her behind him in the mirror, and he glanced up, briefly meeting her gaze.
Blue eyes. Oh, baby, those eyes were blue. Electric blue. Electric-shock blue.
Joe looked up at her again and realized that the current of awareness and attraction that had shot through him had gone through her, as well. She looked as surprised as he felt. Surprised, no doubt, that a guy from his side of the tracks could catch her eye.
Except he didn’t look like himself anymore. He looked like Prince Tedric.
It figured.
“I see you had the opportunity to take a shower,” she said, no longer meeting his eyes. “Did your clothes get taken down to the laundry?”
“I think so,” he said. “They were gone when I got out of the bathroom. I found this hotel robe…. I’d appreciate it if you could ask Admiral Forrest to send over a uniform in the morning. And maybe some socks and shorts…?”
Veronica felt her cheeks start to heat. Lord, what was wrong with her? Since when did the mention of men’s underwear make her face turn as red as a schoolgirl’s?
Or maybe it wasn’t the mention of unmentionables that was making her blush. Maybe it was the thought that this very large, very charismatic, very handsome, and very, very dangerous man was sitting here, with absolutely nothing on underneath his white terry-cloth robe.
From the glint in his dark brown eyes, it was clear that he was able to read her mind.
She used every ounce of her British schooling to keep her voice sounding cool and detached. “There’s no need, Your Highness,” she said. “We go from here to your suite. A tailor will be arriving soon. He’ll provide you with all of the clothing you’ll need for the course of the next few weeks.”
“Whoa,” Joe said. “Whoa, whoa! Back up a sec, will ya?”
“A tailor,” Veronica repeated. “We’ll be meeting with him shortly. I realize it’s late, but if we don’t get started with—”
“No, no,” Joe said. “Before that. Did you just call me ‘Your Highness’?”
“I’m done here,” the hairdresser said. In a monotone, he quickly ran down a quick list of things Joe could and could not do with the extensions in his hair. “Swim—yes. Shower—yes. Run a comb through your hair—no. You have to be careful to comb only above and below the attachment.” He turned to Veronica. “You have my card if you need me again.”
“Find Mr. Laughton on your way out,” Veronica said as Joe stood and helped the man fold up his portable chair. “He’ll see that you get paid.”
She watched, waiting until the hairdresser had closed the hotel-room door tightly behind him. Then she turned back to Joe.
“Your Highness,” she said again. “And Your Excellency. You’ll have to get used to it. This is the way you’re going to be addressed.”
“Even by you?” Joe stood very still, his arms folded across his chest. It was as if he were afraid to touch anything. But that was ridiculous. From the little information Veronica had gleaned from Admiral Forrest, Joe Catalanotto, or Joe Cat as the admiral had called him, wasn’t afraid of anything.
She crossed the room and sat down in one of the easy chairs by the windows. “Yes, even by me.” Veronica gestured for him to sit across from her. “If we intend to pull off this charade—”
“You’re right,” Joe said, sitting down. “You’re absolutely right. We need to go the full distance or the shooters will smell that something’s not right.” He smiled wryly. “It’s just, after years of ‘Hey, you!’ or ‘Yo, paesan!’ ‘Your Highness’ is a little disconcerting.”
Veronica’s eyebrows moved upward a fraction of an inch. It figured she’d be surprised. She probably thought he didn’t know any four-syllable words.
Damn, what was it about her? She wasn’t pretty, but…at the same time, she was. Her hair was gorgeous—the kind of soft curls he loved to run his fingers through. Joe found his eyes drawn to her face, to her delicate, almost-pointed nose, and her beautifully shaped lips. And those eyes…
His gaze slid lower, to the dark blue blazer that covered her shoulders, tapering down to her slender waist. She wore a matching navy skirt that ended a few inches above her knees, yet still managed to scream of propriety. Her politely crossed legs were something else entirely. Not even the sturdy pumps she wore on her feet could hide the fact that her legs were long and graceful and sexy as hell—the kind of legs a man dreams about. This man, anyway.
Joe knew that she was well aware he was studying her. But she had turned away, pretending to look for something in her briefcase, purposely ignoring the attraction he knew was mutual.
And then the phone rang—a sudden shrill noise that broke the quiet.
“Excuse me for a moment, please,” Veronica said, gracefully standing and crossing the room to answer it.
“Hello?” she said, glancing back at Joe. As she watched, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Thank goodness. He couldn’t undress her any further with eyes that were closed. And with his eyes closed, she didn’t have to be afraid that the warmth that spread throughout her entire body at his unmasked interest would somehow show. Heaven help her if this man got the idea that he could make her heart beat harder with a single look. She had enough to worry about without having to fight off some sailor’s amorous advances.
“The tailor has arrived,” one of Tedric’s aides told her. “May I ask how much longer you’ll be?”
“We’ll be up shortly,” Veronica said. “Please arrange to have coffee available. And something to eat. Doughnuts. Chocolate ones.” Lt. Joe Catalanotto looked the chocolate-doughnut type. They could all certainly use some extra sugar to keep them awake.
She hung up the phone and crossed back to Joe. His head was still back, and his eyes were closed. He’d slumped down in the chair as if he had no bones in his entire body.
He was totally, absolutely and quite soundly asleep.
Veronica sat down across from him and leaned forward, studying his face. He’d shaved and somehow managed to get all of the grease and dirt off in the shower. Even his hands were free of grime. His hair was clean and now, with the extensions, quite long. To the average eye, he might have looked quite a bit like Prince Tedric, but Veronica knew better.
Tedric had never been—and never would be—this handsome.
There was an edge to Joe Catalanotto’s good looks. A sharpness, a definition, an honesty that Tedric didn’t have. There was something vibrant about Joe. He was so very alive, so vital, as if he took each moment and lived it to its very fullest. Veronica had never met anyone quite like him before.
Imagine taking a squad of seven men deep behind enemy lines, she thought, with bombs falling, no less. Imagine having the courage and the confidence to risk not just one’s own life, but six other lives, as well. And then imagine actually enjoying the danger.