The Rome Affair

With a last muffled protest from his conscience, he pulled back, breaking the erotic contact.

Those lush blue eyes were wide with shock and need, her large pupils a ready sign of her arousal. “Now do you see why we can’t do this?”

“That kiss only reinforced my point, darling.”

“Exactly.” She shifted and lay back against her seat. “We’ve got a job to do and we need to keep our heads in the game. Neither of us have worked this hard to throw it away on a few moments of fun.”

She bricked up her personal walls with swift efficiency, her emotions winking out like a light.

And we’re right back to that calm, cool exterior, he couldn’t help thinking before the urge to bait her got the better of him. “Hide behind your work all you want, Kensington. I’m quite good at multitasking when I put my mind to it. And I’ve got absolutely no problem juggling my personal life with my professional one.”

She sat back up at that, the sexual haze in her gaze vanishing as good old-fashioned ire rose up to take its place. “I’m not hiding behind anything.”

“You sure about that? Because I wasn’t just kissing myself.”

“Oh, for God’s sake—enough. We’re grown-ups. We can behave like rational, professional adults.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling.”

“I don’t need to tell myself anything. I get along just fine.”

Jack wasn’t sure what it was—the subtle challenge or just this strange madness that gripped him every time he was in her presence—but he knew he couldn’t back down. He leaned forward on one elbow, his gaze unwavering on hers. “Know this. When we do make love—and believe me, we will—I’m going to strip away every bit of that prim, proper exterior to reveal the woman underneath.”

“This is a ridiculous conversation. Only I choose whom I share my bed with.” Her words were flat but the clear notes of irritation sparked underneath each syllable.

“Then you know damn well the next man you share it with is going to be me.”

Jack lay his head back on his seat, but just before he closed his eyes, he had the satisfaction of seeing her mouth screw up in a small, thin line. He was just petty enough—and aroused as hell—to feel a perverse sense of satisfaction.

Served her right.

Now they’d both spend the damn flight clamped in the shockingly uncomfortable jaws of arousal, the promise of explosive passion winking just out of reach.

* * *

Jack’s words echoed in her thoughts throughout the flight and on their cab ride from the airport. The statement that she’d share his bed as if it were a fait accompli. Or worse, as if she had no choice in the matter.

But do I?

That small, irritating voice that had ridden her thoughts throughout the long, overnight flight chimed in with a mad disclaimer.

And a very real part of her knew it was true.

No matter how she attempted to think her way out of this attraction to Jack, she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t make sense of this raging need to see where things would go between them.

Hell, she didn’t even know the man. How could she possibly think of sleeping with him? Of giving her hormones the upper hand.

The disconcerting thoughts gave way as she finally registered the view out her window. The streets of Rome enveloped them, and it was only when they passed by the Spanish Steps that she began to relax and give herself over to the moment.

Rome.

The Eternal City.

And a personal favorite since she’d been a small child. She, Rowan and her mother had come here when she was twelve for a girls’ weekend, just the three of them. It had been a spontaneous trip, in reaction to a weekend her father, Liam and Campbell took on a campout upstate.

Even after all these years, she could still taste the sweet gelato they’d shared in one of Rome’s many piazzas. Could still remember her mother’s encouragement to lean forward and take a sip from one of the fountains around the city, all which had run with fresh water since the Roman Empire.

And she’d never forget the light gleam in her mother’s eye as they’d walked past a gaggle of Italian men who offered up appreciative stares and comments in their native tongue.

She’d been scandalized at the time, and it was only later, as they crossed the Tiber to visit the Vatican, that her mother had explained how the men competed against each other while also saving face by acknowledging the women around them.

“Sort of like how Liam keeps looking at his muscles in the mirror?” Rowan’s question had her mother’s light laugh floating on the afternoon breeze as they crossed the old bridge.

“It’s a bit like that.” Her mother pulled both of them close. “He thinks we don’t notice when he does it.”

“That’s because he’s stupid. All boys are stupid.” Kensington couldn’t resist offering this tidbit up. It had become her favorite litany, even if she didn’t think all boys were stupid. Especially one in particular who’d caught her eye at school.

“No, sweetie, they’re not. They’re just different from us.”

Kensington shook off images of the young boy who’d caught her attention in math class and focused on making her point. “Like this weekend. Who wants to go sleep in a tent?”

She enjoyed the sounds of the city keeping them company and couldn’t imagine trading this for a night spent under the stars.

Rowan’s argument was swift, winging back within moments. “Hey. I like sleeping outside.”

“You can have it.”

Her mother tugged them both closer for a hug. “Girls. We’re all entitled to like what we like. And your brothers are entitled to the same courtesy. All I’m trying to say is that men see the world differently than we do.”

“Is that bad?” Rowan voiced the question first, and for some reason Kensington was glad she had.

Although she had her brothers as ready—and gross—objects of the male species, lately she’d begun to notice that some of the boys at school didn’t seem quite so gross. There was Jonathan from math class, who had caught her attention with his cute smile and his big feet that he never quite tripped over. And Jeremy in gym kept teasing her every time they had to partner up for tennis. And there was Paul, who asked her to dance at the last social.

She didn’t think any of them were gross.

“We’re here.”

Jack’s voice pulled her from her thoughts and it took Kensington a minute to reorient herself. “Already?”

“Already? We’ve been sitting in traffic for the past half hour.” He pointed toward the window. “I thought you looked a million miles away, and you clearly were if you missed the drive.”

“I was actually right here in Rome. My mom, sister and I took a trip here when I was a kid and I was thinking about a conversation we’d had.”

“It must have been a good one if you’re smiling like that.”

“Like what?”

“Memories have misted your eyes to a soft, bluish-gray.”

The compliment pulled her up short and she wasn’t sure what to say beyond a soft, “Oh.”

“It’s lovely.” His dark eyes were inscrutable but it was the husky timbre of his voice that tugged at her.

Not all boys were gross. She’d learned that early and had continued to appreciate the lesson. And with one look at Jack Andrews, she could only concur with her mother’s words of wisdom—some of them grew up into dynamic, interesting men.

Their driver pulled up to their hotel on the Via Veneto, the lush accommodations rising several stories above them as they came to a stop. She grabbed her bag but stopped for a moment, unable to hold back a response. “It was lovely. My mother gave Rowan and me several important lessons about boys that weekend.”

“Anything you’re willing to share?”

The flirtation was as easy as breathing. “Oh, nothing you’re not already aware of. Men like to posture and preen in front of women.”

The puzzled look that filled the hard lines of his face had her immediately thinking of what he must have looked like as a little boy. “You mean that’s some sort of deep, dark secret?”

“It is to twelve-year-old girls who don’t understand why strange Italian men are shouting words of adoration at their mother.”

“Ahhh. The mating ritual of the European male. I can see how that would be an eye-opener.” He paid the driver, and they slid from the car. He reached for her bag before gesturing her forward through the large revolving door that fronted their hotel. “For what it’s worth, I avoid showing my appreciation with whistles, catcalls or anything that can be construed that I spend my days hanging around on street corners.”

She couldn’t resist turning toward him and pushing a bit on the events of their flight. “So sexual innuendo at thirty-six thousand feet is more your style?”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man who takes bold action when required.”

Jack pressed a hand to the base of her spine as he guided her through the lobby toward check-in. The heavy width of his palm had sparks shooting up and down her back, and she couldn’t hide the small, feminine smile, so like her mother’s on that long-ago day.

For all her self-inflicted browbeating in the car, she’d fallen right back into Jack Andrews’s orbit. And damn it if she wasn’t enjoying the ride.

He pulled her to a halt in the lobby, the bustle of mid-day activity crisscrossing all around them. She nearly stumbled at the sudden stop, but Jack held her in place, his hands firm.

That dark, fathomless gaze drank her in as he stared down at her, and she couldn’t shake the very real sense he was going to kiss her again. Her breath caught in her throat for the briefest moment as the muscles in her knees gave way with a light tremble.

But instead of doing the expected, his lips veered off to press against her ear. His warm breath sent shivers coursing through her, but it was the dark, husky words that had heat curling in her belly.

“And I rarely miss an opportunity.”

As they moved determinedly on toward the check-in desk, Kensington could only muster up one thought.

Point, Mr. Andrews.

* * *

Whatever sexual innuendo had threaded through their travel to Rome, all evidence of it had vanished two hours later as she and Jack sat with the head of the Italian Special Forces assigned to the Tierra Kimber case. Dante Ferrero had the swarthy good looks of his countrymen, set off by a blazing pair of blue eyes that, Kensington was quite sure, had set the hearts of his fellow countrywomen on fire since his youth.

Despite the man’s attractive features and intense focus, she couldn’t help comparing him to Jack. Where Dante’s appeal was nearly blinding upon first notice, Jack’s was more subtle. And far more predatory.

He had a masculine grace that was unexpected in a man with such a large frame. And where it would be easy to assume Jack’s power lay in his ability to use blunt force, it was actually his more subtle approach—and shockingly sharp intellect—that were the real weapons in his arsenal.

The man was lethal.

And she suspected far too many enemies had learned that lesson a moment too late.

Pulling herself from her reverie, she flipped once more through the briefing packet Dante had given each of them. She needed to shake off whatever fanciful notions had gripped her and get her damn head in the game. Jack Andrews was just a man. A powerful one, yes, but a man all the same.

So why couldn’t she keep herself from adding up the various attributes that continued to intrigue her beyond measure?

Focusing on work—the age-old remedy for pushing problems to the back of one’s mind—she turned to Dante. “Mr. Ferrero, you and your team continue to maintain Ambassador Pryce is using his position to move diamonds and, based on this dossier, likely drugs, as well. Those are serious charges. I must ask again why you simply don’t have him removed from his position. The Italian government is well within its right to do so.”

“The benefit of getting to the bottom of the corruption outweighs the potential political embarrassment.” Dante paused briefly, as if weighing his words, before adding, “The highest leaders of the Republic are in accord on this matter.”

“But what if he’s innocent?”

Dante smiled, but the gesture never reached the icy blue of his eyes. “Ever the optimist, Miss Steele?”

“I prefer to think of myself as practical and pragmatic. I rarely have reason to be optimistic in my line of work.”

The smile broadened and she sensed an underlying approval in his response. “As Mr. Andrews and I discussed yesterday before your trip to Italy, we’ve let the ambassador know you both will be joining his security detail. He has no reason to think this is anything beyond routine.”

“And he asked no questions?”

“Your reputations precede you both. Ambassador Pryce is delighted to make your acquaintance.” Dante nodded slightly. “Yours in particular, Ms. Steele.”

Jack’s grip on the papers tightened before he leaned forward. “The ambassador does understand we’re there as hired employees.”

“Of course. But Ms. Steele’s reputation is quite...distinguished.”

“As an expert in her field, no doubt.”

Jack’s ready defense opened another soft spot and Kensington fought to keep the discussion on point. “If Pryce knows what my firm is capable of, he must be curious as to why we’ve been hired, too. Especially as it’s really Mr. Andrews who’s been given the job.”

“Not at all. As I said, the ambassador and his staff have been informed the matter is routine and that senior-level intelligence is being added to his security detail. I think you would call it a ‘special assignment.’” Dante hesitated—if she’d not been watching him so closely she’d have missed it. “Again, I must stress, he is delighted you will be there, Miss Steele. Your grandfather’s reputation in international circles is well-known and well respected. Further, the details of your beauty have not been exaggerated. Pryce will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Although she suspected Dante believed he was delivering a compliment, Kensington fought the urge to leap across the desk and throttle him. “I’m hardly here as an escort to the ambassador, Mr. Ferrero. Rather, I’m a paid operative who can either save his ass or put it in a sling. I understand the latter option’s not been made clear to the ambassador, but I certainly I hope it’s crystal clear to you.”

Dante nodded. “As clear as the waters of Lake Como.”

“Excellent. I’m glad we understand each other.”

While the flash of male posturing—and the clear frustration lingering in the tight lines of Dante’s mouth—wasn’t lost on her, she’d learned early how to make a hasty retreat. She suspected the good inspector wasn’t immune to concern for his team member, so she’d start there. “How is Marco? We’d like to speak with him if we may.”

“It can be arranged but it’s possible you won’t get many details at this point. As of this morning, his medical team has confirmed that he continues to lapse in and out of consciousness.”

“Have you accounted for the ambassador’s whereabouts on the morning of the attack?” Jack waved the slender file Dante had shared. “Nothing’s been updated here since late last week.”

“Yes.” Dante pulled another piece of paper from a slim folder on his desk. “We also have been monitoring both him and his key staff members for the past three months.”

“Is that why the assignment’s changed since your original outreach?”

Dante’s eyes widened at the question. “I’m sorry, Miss Steele. I don’t understand your meaning.”

“The request you put to both my firm and Mr. Andrews’s firm was to provide security detail to a high-ranking diplomat. Yet here we are, tasked to find intelligence on the same diplomat. None of that was in your original request.”

“Are you suggesting there is a problem?” The clipped tones were cold. Why was this the piece that pushed him over the edge? Any hint of politeness had vanished from both his tone and manner.

Deliberately ignoring the censure, Kensington pressed on. “I’m suggesting you purposely withheld information as our firms bid on the project. I’d like to understand why.”

Dante sat back, the dismissive move screaming his meaning far louder than his words. “Perhaps Mr. Andrews hasn’t found the proper partner for this assignment.”

Before she could respond, Jack stood. “I’ve found the right partner. No need to worry about that.”

Dante never moved from his seat. “Are you sure, Mr. Andrews?”

“Quite. What I’m not sure is why your organization thinks that an outside firm is the way to handle this problem. It implies you can’t police your own.”

Dante’s blue eyes flashed with cold fire and he leaned forward at the taunt. “We can handle our problems just fine.”

“Yet you’ve sought my help, and by extension, Miss Steele’s, to provide plausible deniability when this eventually blows up.”

Whatever else he might be, Dante Ferrero was a cop and it was that trait that ultimately won out. “One of my men is in the hospital, struggling in and out of consciousness and fighting for his life. I want nothing more than to get the bastard who did it, but it seems my government has overruled my eager need for justice. Your firm’s investigation adds a certain legitimacy to my concerns about the ambassador.”

“And if things do blow up and Pryce is guilty of what you suspect?”

“Then you and Miss Steele have my full blessing to take him down.”

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