Callie's Christmas Wish

“If it gets the shadows out of your eyes, I’ll consider the debt paid.”

His gaze locked on hers. “Your eyes are the damnedest color,” he said after a small pause. “Not purple, not lavender. Sort of halfway between the two. First thing I noticed about you.”

Well, Callie thought with an inner grimace, it wouldn’t have been her ebullient personality or luscious curves. Dawn had the corner on those. And any stray male glances the flamboyant redhead didn’t instantly capture, Kate’s lustrous, sun-streaked blond hair and mile-long legs would.

“Thanks,” she said for lack of a better response.

“I tried to find the right way to describe the color when I gave my folks your vitals,” he said with a rueful grimace. “Couldn’t bring myself to go with hyacinth or heliotrope. Their jaws would’ve smacked their chests.”

Callie’s own jaw almost took a trip south. These were the most words she’d heard Joe string together in one sitting. They were also the most surprising.

“So what did you go with?”

“Pansy.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Lovely.”

“Yeah, they are.”

His hand tightened and tugged her closer. His other hand came up to slide under her hair. His palm felt warm on her nape, the skin hard and ridged in spots. She’d once read that expert marksmen fired thousands of rounds weekly to maintain their skills and developed shooter’s calluses as a result.

Okay. She’d read that just a few weeks ago. When she was trying to weave a more complete picture of Joe Russo from the scant threads of his past that he’d shared with her. She was thinking of the still-gaping holes in that picture when he reclaimed her attention with a gruff admission.

“Those damned emails weren’t the only thing keeping me awake.”

He lowered his head but didn’t swoop in and catch her by surprise, as he had the night before his abrupt departure for Australia. He gave her plenty of time to pull away, to ease out of his loose grip. So much time she was the one who leaned into the kiss.

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a low grunt, he pushed off his stool. She came off hers eagerly. The hand still wrapped around her nape moved up. He tipped her head back for a better angle and used his other arm to fit her against him. She strained even closer while his mouth worked hard, hungry magic on hers.

Within moments, Callie was aching for more. She wanted him out of his shirt. Out of his worsted-wool slacks and his Italian leather boots and...

“Caaal-lee.”

She jerked her back and looked over her shoulder to find Tommy glaring at them with equal parts indignation and accusation. His pup wedged through the door with him and yipped, as if wanting to add his two cents to whatever was going on.

“Mom said you guys were still talking. But you’re not. You’re kissing ’n’ stuff.”

They hadn’t actually gotten to the “stuff” part, but Callie was thinking about it. Thinking hard. So was Joe, judging by the wicked tilt to his mouth.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “we are.”

Scowling, Tommy planted his fists on his hips. “When are you gonna be done?”

Joe slanted Callie a wry look. “How about we finish our...discussion...later? Somewhere private. Inaccessible to kids and dogs.”

“Deal.”

“All right, kid. Get your jacket and your boomerang and we’ll go outside.”

Chapter Two

When Joe stepped outside, he welcomed the clean, sharp bite of a DC winter. December was midsummer in Australia. During his flying visit, Sydney had been sweltering through usually high temperatures. As a result he enjoyed the brisk chill almost as much as he did Tommy the Terrible’s determination to get his boomerang to fly.

Before making the first attempt, though, the boy fingered the fine-grained wood surface and gravely explained its aerodynamic principles to Joe. “See, this is a nonballistic missile.”

“That so?”

“Uh-huh. It’s different from ballistic missiles. They’re, like, spears ’n’ arrows ’n’ bullets ’n’ stuff. When you throw them or shoot them from a gun, they fly up in an arc till gravity pulls them down.”

Which was about as cogent a distillation of ballistics as Joe had ever heard. He hid a grin as he thought of the hours he’d spent on the range as a raw recruit learning to calculate distance, velocity and trajectory.

“But a boomerang’s different,” Tommy continued, his face a study in fierce concentration as he fingered the intricate designs inlaid in the wood. “It’s got this curved shape ’n’ wide surface ’n’ the top is conver...convey...”

“Convex?”

“Yeah, convex. Anyway, Dad says if you throw it right, it’ll defy gravity as long as it has enough speed ’n’ the rotation will bring it right back to you.”

“Sounds like you’ve got the theory down. Want to put in practice?”

“Yes!”

Thankfully, Joe’s Aussie contact had directed him to an indigenous arts and crafts store with a very accommodating owner. The man had hooked a Closed sign in his shop window and taken his customer to the soccer field just a half block from his store. It took patient coaching and several attempts before Joe eventually got the damned boomerang to return.

The Ellises’ backyard wasn’t anywhere near as large as a soccer field, but Joe figured it was adequate for Tommy’s strength and throwing ability. Hunkering down on his heels, he shared his recently acquired knowledge.

“Okay, hold it in a two-fingered pistol grip.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry. Hold it here with your thumb and two fingers. Tuck the other fingers into your fist. Good. Now lift the boomerang vertical to your shoulder. A little higher. Okay. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to throw this. Just bring your arm back and hurl it forward.”

Tommy’s first attempt sent the boomerang plowing straight down into the snow-dusted grass. The second whizzed past the pup’s nose. The third actually flew off to the right, whirled and started to return before it ran out of speed.

“Joe! It was coming back!”

“I saw.”

Thrilled with his throw, Tommy almost tripped over his pet in his eagerness to retrieve the boomerang. Joe figured he’d pretty well exhausted his expertise and leaned against the garden wall to let the boy enjoy himself.

He was a good kid. Make that a great kid.

Looking back, Joe could admit he’d harbored more than a few doubts when he’d heard Brian Ellis had brought his young son to Italy. At the time, Ellis, USAF Major Travis Westbrook and the playboy prince Joe and his team were providing special security for were in the final test phase of a highly classified NATO special ops aircraft modification. The mod had been designed by Ellis Aeronautical Systems, however, and the company’s CEO was a widower who included his son and the boy’s nanny on extended trips abroad whenever he could. Unfortunately, the nanny tripped and broke her ankle in the final and most critical phase of the test.

Joe didn’t believe in luck. Not many men and women in his profession did. You considered every possible contingency, devised backup plans, worked out alternate escape routes and relied on training and instinct to get you out of tight situations. He was living proof that the formula worked...most of the time. When he looked in the mirror, however, he saw a graphic reminder of Curaçao and the one time his instincts were dead wrong.

Yet even he had to admit that chance or luck or whatever the hell you wanted to call it had played out in Italy. Kate and Travis Westbrook had hooked up again. Fiery-haired Dawn McGill had stepped in as Tommy’s temporary nanny. And Joe had met Callie Langston.

It hadn’t been love at first sight. Not even, Joe recalled, instant lust. Callie would be the first to admit that most male glances slid right past her to snag on long-legged, tawny-haired Kate or laughing, flirtatious, extremely stacked Dawn.

Joe had experienced the same initial testosterone spike when introduced to the other two women. Right up until Callie had turned her head and nailed him with those purple eyes. But it wasn’t until he saw her trying to disguise her reaction to those emails that she snagged more than a casual interest.

At first it was the cop in him. The military-trained investigator turned covert operator turned personal security expert. Then it was her insistence she could handle the problem herself. Then...

“Didja see that one, Joe? Didja?”

“I did. Good job, kid.”

Then, Joe remembered, it was Brian and Dawn setting sparks off each other. And Kate and Travis getting back together. And the playboy prince putting the moves on Callie.

Carlo’s heavy-handed seduction attempts had pissed Joe off more than they should have. They also got him thinking about things he hadn’t allowed himself think about since Curaçao. Like someone to come home to. Hell, a home to come home to. And maybe, just maybe, a son like Tommy.

Suddenly impatient, Joe pushed away from the garden wall. “A couple more throws, kid.”

“Not yet. I’m just gettin’ good.”

“Yes, yet. I want to finish talking to Callie. Besides,” he added, taking a cue from Dawn’s devious tactics, “your dad should be home soon. You don’t want to wear out your arm before you show him your moves.”

“’Kay. Four more.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“This one,” Joe said in a tone that brooked no further argument, “and one more.”

* * *

Inside the kitchen warmed by the dancing flames from a brick fireplace, Dawn and Callie cradled cups of steaming cappuccino and watched the action through frost-rimmed bay windows.

They’d just placed several calls. The first to Dawn’s husband, Brian, to break the news that Joe had ID’d the originator of the emails. Another to the remaining member of their female triumvirate.

Kate had whooped with joy and relief and insisted they celebrate. Tonight. Before Joe disappeared again on one of his bodyguard gigs for some rock star or South American dictator. She and Travis would bring the champagne and sparkling cider. Dawn and Callie could take care of the eats.

They accomplished their assigned task by calling in a to-go order for tapas and paella at Paoli, a top-rated Mediterranean restaurant just a few blocks from the house. Which left them plenty of time to sip their cappuccinos and watch the outside activities.

“Joe’s really good with Tommy,” Dawn commented casually.

Too casually. Callie recognized that okay-whatever-I’m-just-saying tone. She buried her nose in the frothy brew and waited. Sure enough, Dawn plunked her own cup down and cut to the chase.

“C’mon, Cal. Give. To paraphrase my precocious little imp, what was with all that kissing ’n’ stuff?”

Callie lowered her cup and met her friend’s eager gaze. Her own, she knew, no doubt mirrored the welter of confusing emotions Joe Russo roused in her.

“I’m not sure. It’s just... Well... Look, you’ve known Joe as long as I have.”

“But not as well, obviously.”

The drawled retort raised a smile, followed by a rueful grimace.

“The truth is, I don’t know him as well as it might have appeared. Aside from the fact he can’t—or won’t—talk about his past, he’s not exactly loquacious.”

“No kidding. But back to that kiss. It wasn’t the first, was it?”

“No.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, sister. You might come across as all demure and innocent to outsiders, but Kate and I were peeking through the blinds when you sweet-talked Pimple Face Hendricks into dropping his drawers and showing off his prized possession.”

“For pity’s sake! We were, what? Eight or nine years old?”

“Old enough to know Pimple Face didn’t have much to brag about. So spill it. Do you want Joe to deliver a repeat performance?”

There was only one answer to that. “Yes.”

“Hallelujah! It’s about time you took the plunge.”

“Wait! I’m not exactly plunging into any—”

“The heck you’re not. I can’t count the number of studs Kate and I have fixed you up with in the past few years. After every date you’ve smiled your enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and sent them on their way. Joe’s the first male you’ve invited back for seconds.”

“Dawn,” Callie protested, half laughing and half embarrassed at how close that barb had hit to home. “It was only a kiss. Although...”

“Although what, Langston?”

She played with her half-empty cup. She couldn’t understand her reluctance to share her silly wish with Dawn. God knows, they’d shared everything else in their lives. She hesitated another few seconds before yielding her secret.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Remember when the three of us tossed coins in the Trevi Fountain that first time?”

“Of course I do. But you, Miss Priss and Boots, wouldn’t make a wish. You insisted that just throwing in a coin satisfied tradition and we’d all return to Rome someday.”

“Actually, I did make a wish.”

“Which,” Dawn guessed instantly, “involved Joe Russo.”

“How could it? We didn’t meet him until a week later, in Venice.”

“Okay, okay. If you didn’t wish for steamy, totally deviant sex with Mr. Macho out there, what was it? Please tell me it was something equally kinky.”

“Since when are any of us into kink?”

When Dawn wagged her brows, Callie gave a rueful laugh. “All right. The wish was a little...fanciful.”

“Are we talking satin sheets fanciful? Or whipped cream and melted chocolate? Or ice cubes and...”

“Dawn!”

“Ha! Do not go all prune-faced and prudish on me, missy. Just remember who advised Kate on the best brand of vibrator to buy when she and Travis separated.”

“It was the same brand you recommend to me.”

“Please stop annoying me with all these pesky details. Just tell me. What did you wish for?”

“Not what. Who. Louis Jourdan.”

Dawn understood the reference instantly. She should, since she and Callie and Kate had drooled over the stunningly handsome ’50s and ’60s–era star during several all-night movie marathons as teens.

“God,” Dawn breathed. “Do you remember him in Gigi? So suave and sophisticated and hot. The man made me want to jump straight from twelve to twenty.”

“I think he was better in Three Coins in the Fountain,” Callie mused.

She remembered the first time they’d watched the old classic. So many years ago. So many dreams ago.

“Did you ever notice how much Joe looks like him?”

That was met with a moment of startled silence.

“Now that you mention it,” her friend said, recovering, “I can see the resemblance. Aside from that fact that Joe’s eyes are gray, not brown, and he’s probably four inches taller and considerably more muscled than our boy Louis, they’re dead ringers.”

“All right, I may be projecting a bit.”

“Ya think? But, hey. Project away, girl. It’s so romantic.”

And so out of character. Despite the incident with Pimple Face Hendricks, Callie had always been the sensible, bookish one of the three. More into reading than boys in junior high. An honor student in high school. On scholarships all through college and her master’s program.

Majoring in psychology had given her great insight into the vagaries of human behavior. Unfortunately, it had also reinforced her natural tendency to stand off to the side and observe. Six years at the child advocate’s office, where she was sworn to protect her young clients’ rights and privacy, had only added to her natural reticence. The often heartbreaking cases she’d worked had taught her to wall off her own emotions. Except, of course, from Kate and Dawn.

And now Joe.

He’d pierced her shell in Italy when he’d convinced her to tell him about the emails. He’d taken another whack at it with that kiss before he’d zipped down to Australia. The one he’d laid on her just a few moments ago had pretty well completed the conquest. Watching him now, coaching Tommy in the fine art of boomeranging, Callie could almost feel her outer barriers trembling like the fabled walls of Jericho.

“Well,” Dawn commented in an obvious effort to validate Callie’s wish at the fountain, “Joe certainly has what it takes to star in a few movies. They’d probably be more shoot-’em-up action flicks than romances, though.” She hesitated a few moments. “It doesn’t bother you, what he does?”

“It might, if I could pry more than the most superficial details about his clients out of him.”

“Brian says Joe and his people were prepared to take a bullet for Carlo in Italy. Evidently the prince led a special ops raid that rescued some UN workers in Afghanistan. Or maybe it was Africa. Anyway, the group’s leader put a bounty on Carlo’s head. That’s why he required beefed-up security when we first met him in Italy.”

“Kate told me a little about that raid. Travis took part in it, too.”

Dawn nodded. “I know I don’t have to remind you that the constant fear and uncertainty, the never knowing where Travis was or how long he’d be gone or who was shooting at him, almost broke up Kate’s marriage.”

“No, you don’t have to remind me.”

Callie had been right there. She and Dawn both. Lending support and shoulders to cry on when Kate made the agonizing decision to end her marriage to the man she’d loved since high school. They’d been there, too, when Travis refused to let her go, insisting nothing else mattered if he didn’t have her.

“Joe and I are nowhere near that stage,” Callie said. “Or any stage, really.”

“Tell that to your action hero.” Dawn tilted her head in the direction of the window. “He looks like he has more than a kiss in mind.”

Callie followed her nod and caught Joe’s glance through the wide windows. He and Tommy and the pooch had finished and were heading in. When he jerked his chin in the direction of the gatehouse, she slid off the counter stool with more haste than grace.

“Kate said she’ll leave work early,” Callie reminded Dawn. “She and Travis should be here by six or six thirty.”

“Brian’s leaving early, too.”

“Buzz me when they get here.”

“You sure you want to be disturbed?”

Ignoring her friend’s salacious grin, Callie met the three males at the back door. The pup danced around her while she dutifully praised Tommy’s skills. Then Dawn lured her two boys into the main house with an offer of hot chocolate and whipped cream.

“Lots of whipped cream,” she said with a wicked glance in Callie’s direction.

Joe caught the less than subtle byplay. “Something going on I should know about?”

“Nothing important,” she said as she led the way along the covered flagstone path to the gatehouse. Escaping the chill December air, she ushered him inside. “Here, let me take your coat.”

She hung it beside hers on an empty hook. The well-worn bomber jacket carried his scent, she thought as she took a discreet sniff. Sharp and clean and leathery. It felt like him, too. Tough and resilient.

Oh, Lord! She had it worse than she thought if she was standing here smelling his jacket. Hoping to heck he hadn’t witnessed the sniff test, she turned. Thankfully, he was looking around with interest.

“This is nice.”

It was. Bright and cheerful, with floral chintzes and bay windows that invited the outside in. The gatehouse had provided Callie a cozy safe haven for almost two months now. She hated the idea of leaving but knew she had to pick up the threads of her life again.

The problem was, she had no desire to return to Boston or to her former career. Despite all the courses and training and advice to the contrary, she’d let too much of the heartache experienced by her young, helpless and too often abused clients get to her. Even before the emails, she’d decided to quit. Now all she had to do was figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

She had no idea how much Joe might play in that. If at all. The thought made her uncharacteristically nervous. To cover it, she responded to his comment with a lively patter.

“The Ellises had the whole gatehouse gutted and redone for Tommy’s former nanny, Mrs. Wells. The one who broke her ankle in Venice. I don’t think you met her.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Dawn’s totally conflicted over that. She’d never wish anyone harm, but she wouldn’t have met Brian and Tommy otherwise.”

“And I wouldn’t have met you.”

Ohh-kay, Callie thought as he curled a knuckle under her chin. So much for small talk.

He tipped her face to his. “As I was saying before I got dragooned into boomerang duty, it wasn’t just those damned emails keeping me awake these past weeks.”

His voice got lower and huskier with each word. Combined with the brush of his thumb along her jaw, he managed to get every one of her nerves bucking.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The compliment touched a secret place deep inside her. She didn’t lack confidence in herself or her abilities, but she’d spent a lifetime in Kate’s and Dawn’s more flamboyant shadows.

“When did you have your last eye exam?”

“I’m not talking the externals. I’m talking about what’s inside. The quiet self-assurance. The serenity.”

The happy glow faded a bit.

“I haven’t felt all that self-assured or serene in the past few months.”

“You hid it well, even from your best friends.”

“There was so much happening in their lives. I didn’t want to add to it.”

“So you drew on your own inner strength, Callie. I admire that.” His thumb made another pass. “You’re the kind of woman I’ve been looking for. The kind I could come home to.”

She didn’t know why that doused the glow completely, but it did. She pulled back and searched his face. The scar didn’t so much as enter into her thought process as she tried to interpret his expression.

It hit her a second later. Affection. That’s what she was seeing. Admiration tinged with warm, genuine affection. Humiliatingly similar to what she saw on Dawn’s and Brian’s faces when they played with their son’s pup. The fact that Joe’s was spiced with an unmistakable dollop of desire didn’t soothe the swift, lancing hurt. Concealing her dismay, she eased out of his arms.

“Sorry, but I’m not sure I understand. What, exactly, do you mean by ‘come home to’?”

“Well...” He paused, obviously searching for the right words and opted for a demonstration instead. “How about I just show you?”

He reached for her again and drew her closer. When his head lowered, Callie hesitated for just a moment before meeting him halfway. Her lips molded his. Her palms found his shoulders, circled his neck. It wasn’t just affection, she told herself. She could taste his hunger, sense it in the arms that tightened around her waist.

When he widened his stance and positioned her between his thighs, she couldn’t quite stifle a groan. She could feel him against her belly. A minor distraction at first. Then a hard, rampant bulge that shot heat from her midsection to every other part of her. She wanted this man. Ached for him. Would take him any way she could have him.

And when he scooped her into arms, she didn’t hold back before responding to his gruff, “Which way to the bedroom?”

* * *

He undressed her with a skill that might have given Callie pause if she hadn’t been so intent on matching him button for button, tug for tug. Her heart melted when he took time to sheathe himself. If she hadn’t already been a little in love with him, his determination to protect her even in this most intimate act would’ve done the trick. That, and the fact that he drove her to sensual heights she’d never experienced before.

Every stroke, every kiss, every scrape of his late-afternoon bristles on her breasts and belly and thighs pushed her higher. She was panting when he parted her legs. Almost mindless with need when he entered her. Just enough sanity remained for her to take him along on the wild ride.

Her belly tight, she locked her calves around his. Her muscles contracted. Every muscle! She thrust her hips against his again, once more, and gave herself up to the roaring tide of sensation.

When they untangled, she came within a hair of succumbing to his offer of tomorrow and forever. Most likely would have, if he hadn’t tucked her against him and stroked her hair. Slowly. Lazily. Again, with the same absent affection Dawn or Brian might stroke their son’s puppy.