The Executive's Valentine Seduction / Valente Must Marry: The Executive's Valentine Seduction

He’d never really expected her to swing into the saddle behind him the night before he left town. Never dreamed she’d wrap her arms around his waist and lean into his back that hot August evening. And when they’d parked beside the river, he sure as hell had never expected to get lucky.

The next morning, he remembered with a grimace of disgust, he’d left with a casual promise to call the next time he came anywhere close to Kansas. Thirteen years later, he still hadn’t been back.

But he was here. Now. With the woman whose life he’d altered so irrevocably that night.

Her stricken look when she confirmed the pregnancy made Rory want to kick himself all over again for not using a condom. Or maybe he had and the damned thing didn’t work. All he knew for sure was Buck Walters’s niece didn’t sleep around. Not back then, anyway. She’d given him ample proof of that.

He’d covered a lot of miles since that night and been with his share of women. As far as he knew, he’d never left one crying or cursing his name. The fact that he’d given Caroline plenty of reason to do both had scratched at Rory’s conscience, big-time.

He’d begun developing Operation Caroline Walters the day after he’d learned of her pregnancy. His first objective had been to scope out the target. That hadn’t taken long. A few clicks of the keyboard and some poking around in databases he had legal access to—and several he didn’t—had verified the basic facts.

His second objective was to arrange the initial contact. He’d debated whether to approach her on a personal basis or through her business. He’d opted for the business angle for two strategic reasons. One, it gave him a hold over her. She couldn’t just haul off, slug him in the jaw and stalk away. Second, this angle dovetailed nicely with his corporate plans. With so many explosive events happening all around the world, he’d been planning to pull in his key operatives for a face-to-face.

The third objective involved actually making the contact. Rory could now check that item off his plan. The meeting had gone pretty much as he’d scripted. Except…

He’d expected to experience a welter of emotions when he saw her again. Guilt, yes. Regret, certainly. Relief that he’d taken the first steps to making things right for the girl whose life he’d brought crashing down around her ears, for sure.

But he hadn’t expected this tug of interest in the woman that girl had become. He’d shocked the hell out of her; yet she hadn’t folded, hadn’t yielded an inch of ground. This Caroline Walters was tougher than the shy girl he remembered. Tougher than those misty green eyes and soft mouth would lead a man to expect.

Then, of course, there were those smooth, silky legs.

The sudden tightening in his groin had Rory shaking his head in disgust. He wasn’t a horny young stud anymore. He’d learned to control his appetites and harness his lust.

Stick to the plan, man! Keep the final objective firmly in view.

With that stern admonishment, he popped the buttons on his shirt and headed for the shower to sluice off the effects of his transatlantic flight.

Caro wanted out of the resort.

She had to escape the confines of her mini-suite. Had to hit the paved walkway circling the beach and let the stiff sea breeze blow away some of her shock and confusion.

She also needed to contact her partners. She had to advise them of this incredible development and get their take on how the heck she should proceed with Rory Burke. Deciding she could talk and walk, Caro dug her cell phone out of her purse and tucked it in her jacket pocket with her room key.

The salt breeze slapped into her the moment she exited the resort’s lower level. February wasn’t the warmest month on this stretch of Spain’s Costa Brava. That didn’t deter the determined sun worshippers who flocked from more northern climates to soak up the Mediterranean rays, however. Caro picked up snatches of German, Swedish, French and Russian as she set off along the tiled walk first laid by the Romans.

An elderly Spaniard in a sweater vest and black beret hunched on the seawall, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He stared out to sea with eyes narrowed in his weathered face and displayed no interest in the topless bather stretched out on the beach below. Her generously siliconed breasts had certainly attracted the interest of others, though. Caro had to skirt a small crowd of tourists, all male and all avidly clicking away with their cameras.

Caroline found a sheltered spot at the base of the hill leading up to the castle ruins. Perching on the seawall, she pulled out her cell phone. Luckily, both of her partners were currently in Europe so she didn’t have to juggle time zones. Devon McShay had arrived in London just this morning with Cal Logan. The CEO of Logan Aerospace now had her handling all his European connections.

Sabrina Russo was in Rome, busy setting up a satellite office and sorting through an avalanche of potential jobs steered her way by the handsome neurosurgeon she’d fallen for—literally and figuratively!—last month.

Caro speed-dialed Sabrina first and felt her heart lift at just the sound of her friend’s cheerful greeting.

“Hey, girl. Wazzup?”

“Hang on a sec. I want to get Dev on the line for a three-way.”

She hit the button for a conference call and caught Devon in a limo with Cal Logan, on their way to a meeting with British Aerospace.

“Hi, Caro.”

“Hi, Dev. Sabrina’s on the line, too.”

“Great. I need to update you both on my itinerary. But first…Did you get our new client all meeted and greeted?”

“Yes.”

Caro kept her voice even, or thought she did, but the other two women had known her too long. Both picked up on the clipped response.

“Uh-oh. Is there a problem?”

“You could say that.”

She couldn’t think of any way to break the news except to blurt it out.

“Rory Burke, Global Security’s chief exec, is the father of the baby I lost when I was in high school.”

Simultaneous exclamations burst through the phone.

“What!”

“No way!”

“Trust me, you’re not half as flabbergasted as I was. Still am, for that matter. I’m—I’m not sure how to handle this.”

“You don’t have to handle it,” Sabrina shot back. “You pack up, girlfriend. Right now. Catch the next flight home. I’ll zip over from Rome and deliver a hard, swift kick to the bastard’s balls before orchestrating the rest of his friggin’ conference.”

“That’ll bring us a lot of future business,” Caro said on a shaky laugh.

“We don’t need Burke’s business,” Devon added with equal fervor. “I’m with ’Rina. Tell the jerk to take a long walk off a short pier, and get out of there.”

Caro had to put in reluctant protest. “He’s not a total jerk. He didn’t know I was pregnant. I never told him.”

“Because you couldn’t find him!”

Their fierce, unquestioned loyalty eased some of the tightness in Caroline’s chest. Devon and Sabrina were her best friends as well as business partners. The only friends she’d ever opened up to about her past.

She’d met them for the first time at the University of Salzburg, where they’d shared rooms while participating in a Junior Year Abroad Program. Still carrying the emotional scars from high school, Caro had been distant and reserved at first.

The combination of a minuscule apartment, Sabrina’s bubbling personality and Devon’s passionate love of all things historical had gradually penetrated her shield. Looking back, Caro would always zero in on that year in Salzburg as the point where she came fully alive again.

Now the three of them were in business together. Partners in a fledgling company called European Business Services, Inc.—EBS for short. Since EBS launched last year they’d kept busy providing travel, translation and support services for executives doing business in Europe. Caro had thoroughly enjoyed the clients she’d worked with so far.

This one, though, was in a class by himself.

“Thanks for the moral support,” she told her friends with heartfelt sincerity.

“Moral support, hell!” Sabrina grumbled. “I still want to kick some gonads.”

“Hold on to that thought,” Caro said with a faint smile. Talking through her shock and confusion like this had provided just the shot in the arm she needed. “I appreciate your offer to do the dirty for me but…”

Her gaze shifted to the waves rolling in to the beach. They were endless. Relentless. Like time. Like her past. The only way to deal with it, the only way Caro knew to deal with any problem, was to face it head-on.

“If there’s any gonad-kicking to be done,” she told her partners, “I’ll do it myself.”

“You sure you don’t want one of us to fly in?” Devon asked, sounding worried and unconvinced.

“I’m sure. I just needed to talk to you guys and let you know there might be a problem with this contract.”

She managed to inject more confidence into the calm reply than she was feeling. Much more.

“Whatever you decide,” Sabrina reminded her unnecessarily, “Dev and I are behind you two thousand percent. Stay in Spain, don’t stay. Deck the bastard, don’t deck him. Just keep us posted, okay?”

“I will.”

Caro flipped the cell phone shut, feeling a hundred pounds lighter and a hundred years younger. She couldn’t erase the memories of that awful time. She would live with them forever. But she didn’t have to let them cloud her future.

She was in control of her life, she reminded herself sternly. What’s more, she was part owner in a firm with a very lucrative contract on the line.

She would use the hours until dinner to shake off the residual effects of coming face-to-face with her past and figure out a way to smooth over this awkward situation. When she met Rory Burke this evening, she vowed she would be cool, calm and completely professional.

Cool and calm went up in smoke two seconds after Caro spotted her client in the resort’s trendy bar.

He had a drink in front of him—scotch she presumed, since that’s what his administrative assistant had told her to stock his suite with—and was crunching down on an appetizer from the assortment arrayed on the cocktail table.

He must have showered before coming down. Dampness still glistened in his dark blond hair. He was also, Caro saw with a jolt that went through her entire system, wearing a black V-neck sweater and faded jeans. Both items molded a body far more mature and muscled than the one she remembered.

She’d prepped for another meeting with the smooth, polished executive, dammit. She’d rehearsed what she would say, had her conditions for continuing their professional relationship all laid out. Her prepared speech didn’t fit the man who rose and strode over to her.

He was too relaxed, too informal and far too dangerous. She didn’t trust his easy smile. Or her instinctive reaction to it.

“I ordered some tapas.” He gestured to the colorful display on the table. “Care to indulge?”

“When in Spain…” Caro murmured, trying once again to recover her balance. Rory Burke seemed to be making a habit of throwing her off it.

“What would you like to drink?”

“White wine. Godello, if they have it.”

“I’ll bring it to the table.”

Caroline had spent enough time in Spain to identify most of the appetizers on the small cocktail table. Spaniards had a passion for tapas, flavorful bite-size bits that served more as a conduit for socializing in bars and restaurants after work than a source of nourishment.

There were as many variations of tapas as there were cooks. The dozen or so small dishes in front of her held aromatic combinations of chickpeas and spinach, clams in sherry paprika sauce, roasted almonds, fried calamari, olives, red peppers with anchovies, garlic shrimp and what looked like chunks of cod wrapped in grape leaves, all staked with wooden toothpicks for easy nibbling.

Paprika seared her palate after one bite of the clams. With her tongue on fire, she reached for the wine Burke brought her with a murmur of fervent thanks. Before she could take a sip, he’d reclaimed his seat and raised his own glass.

“Shall we drink to new beginnings?”

That stopped the wine halfway to Caro’s lips. Her eyes met his across the small table. She couldn’t interpret the message in their amber depths, but common courtesy demanded she at least acknowledge his toast. Her burning tongue made that courtesy a necessity.

“To new beginnings.”

The tangy, light-bodied Godello extinguished the paprika-fueled fire. Able to draw breath again, Caro set down her glass and launched into her prepared spiel.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve spent the time since your arrival trying to decide how best to handle this situation.”

“I expect you have.”

“First, I don’t appreciate the backhanded way you arranged this…this reunion.”

He hooked a brow. “You don’t appreciate that I dropped a fat contract in your lap?”

“You should have been up-front with me. Told me who you were.”

“I didn’t try to hide my identity,” he countered mildly. “My name is on the contract.”

“You knew darn well I would never associate the chief executive officer of GSI with the kid everyone, including my uncle and cousin, called Johnny.”

“Would you have taken the job if I’d spelled it out for you?”

“Probably not. And that brings us to the conditions under which I’ll continue to work this conference for you.”

She edged several of the small dishes aside. Hands clasped loosely on the table, she kept her gaze steady and her tone even.

“I don’t want any further discussion of our previous association. Nothing either of us can say will change what happened, so there’s no need to rehash it. Agreed?”

He toyed with a tooth-picked clam, trailing the succulent morsel through the dark sherry sauce. Caro glanced down to follow the movement and found herself wondering when and how he’d acquired those thin, faded scars webbing across the back of his hand.

“Agreed,” he said after a moment. “As you said, we can’t change what happened.”

“And this notion that you have to make things right with me…Forget it. There’s nothing to make right. I’m content with my life now. Very content. I don’t want you charging into it out of some mistaken sense of obligation.”

“All right. I won’t charge.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. The reply was too amiable, too quick.

“Let me rephrase that. I don’t want you in my life, period.”

“Too late for that,” he said reasonably. “I’m here. You’re here. We’ll be working together for the next four days.”

“Then I want your agreement that’s all we’ll do,” she stated emphatically. “Work.”

The clam made another slow swirl. He contemplated its dark trail for a few seconds before lifting those russet-ringed eyes to hers.

“I can’t promise you that. Who’s to say the heat that flared between us back in Millburn won’t ignite again? But I can promise this,” he added as she went as stiff as a board, “I won’t make the same mistakes I made then. And I won’t make any moves you don’t want me to. You’re safe with me, Caroline. I swear it.”

“Yeah, right,” she muttered. “Isn’t that what the big, bad wolf said to Little Red Riding Hood?”

He grinned then, looking so much like the cocky kid she’d mooned over all those years ago that her heart knocked against her ribs.

“Pretty much,” he agreed.

Three

Caroline was up at six-thirty the next morning. Since most of the GSI attendees were coming in from the field, their CEO had specified casual attire. Caro had to walk a fine line as the event coordinator, however. Jeans and jungle boots wouldn’t hack it for her.

She settled instead on dove-gray slacks and a wide-sleeved cotton tunic in warm tangerine paired with the colorful espadrilles she’d picked up in Tossa de Mar’s open-air market. Winding her hair up into its usual neat twist at the back of her head, she anchored it with a clip. A few swipes of blush and a quick pass with lip gloss and she was done.

She rechecked her zippered conference file for the fifth or sixth time. Satisfied she had everything she needed, she hit the door. With the conference set to kick off at eleven, she’d arranged a breakfast meeting with her GSI focal point to go over last-minute details. Caro and Harry Martin had exchanged dozens of e-mails over the past two months. She’d kept hers brisk and businesslike. His had been so succinct as to be almost indecipherable. A man of few words, Harry Martin.

And, according to Rory’s startling revelations yesterday, he was the man who’d hauled a smart-mouthed kid into an Army recruiter’s office all those years ago and put his life back on track. After what Rory had told her about his senior VP of operations, Caro expected a big, grizzled retired cop.

Martin was definitely big. Six-three or -four at least. He had to stoop to avoid brushing the grapevines that dangled from the arbor leading to the terrace restaurant. Grizzled, he wasn’t. Sleek Ray-Bans shielded his eyes above chiseled cheeks and a serious, unsmiling mouth. His khakis sported a knife-blade crease, and his sky-blue polo shirt stretched across a frame that looked fit and trim. His salt-and-pepper buzz cut gave the only clue to his age.

“Ms. Walters?” He set a notebook on the table and folded her hand in a tough, callused palm. “Harry Martin.”

“Good to finally meet you, Mr. Martin.”

“Harry,” he corrected as he seated himself at the umbrella-shielded table. “Caroline okay with you?”

“Of course. How was your flight from Casablanca?”

She knew he’d flown into Morocco two days ago and from there to Barcelona late last night.

“Fine.”

He helped himself to coffee from a stainless-steel carafe and proceeded to dump five heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. Wondering how the heck he managed to stay so trim, Caro watched with some fascination as he stirred the syrupy goo.

“Sweet tooth,” he said when he caught her gaze.

He downed a long swallow, replaced the cup on the saucer and slid his Ray-Bans down on his nose. There weren’t more than a half dozen other people eating breakfast on the terrace. The faint clink of their silverware and the occasional murmured comment barely carried over the sound of the waves hitting the shore. Still, either from habit or instinct, Martin lowered his voice.

“I talked to Rory when I got in last night.”

Caro felt her spine stiffen and her smile slip a notch or two. Martin noticed both reactions with a flicker of interest but didn’t comment on either.

“Rory says you have everything well in hand.”

She relaxed infinitesimally. “I hope so.”

“I hope so, too. We hate pulling over a hundred of our operatives out of the field at one time, but the world situation is so volatile right now that we had no choice. They need to know what’s going on around them. So we need to make every minute of this conference count.”

“You’ve certainly packed the agenda.”

“It’s about to get more packed.”

Nudging aside his cup, he flipped open his notebook and pulled out a heavily marked-up copy of the schedule. Caro’s heart sank at all the insertions and bold black arrows indicating changes.

“Rory and I went over this again last night. He called in some favors and we now have an expert on Africa flying in to brief us on the situation in Zimbabwe. We want to put him on here, right before the update on Tiblesi.”

“Okay.”

“And we’ve added two additional SITREPS on the latest developments in Tibet and Venezuela. We can squeeze them in before the live fire demo tomorrow. I’m thinking we’ll do one early, during breakfast, and the other at lunch. Make both meals working sessions.”

Caro gulped as her meticulously coordinated meal plans fell apart. She’d have to get with the resort’s caterer—and fast-to make the requested changes. Masking any sign of dismay, she nodded.

“No problem.”

“And speaking of the live fire demo…”

Martin flipped to the agreement signed by Captain Antonio Medina, the officer in charge of the policìa nacional armory in Girona. Acting as a go-between for GSI and Captain Medina, Caro had put hours into translating, compiling and forwarding the necessary forms. GSI’s senior VP of operations now handed her two more.

“See if you can get Medina’s chop on these additions to the demo.”

“Ice shield?” she read. “Paraclete vest? What are they?”

“The first is a negative energy defense system. We’re looking at it for possible deployment to protect high-vis clients when they have to get out among a crowd. The second is a new-generation vest designed to stop armor-piercing bullets. I’ve tracked down a source here in Spain for both and can have them delivered in time for the demo tomorrow.”

He downed a swallow of his syrupy coffee and eyed her over the rims of his Ray-Bans.

“Think you can handle the changes?”

Like she had a choice? Tapping two fingers to her temple, she gave him a brisk salute. “Yes, sir!”

A faint smile softened Martin’s chiseled features. “I have to admit I had my doubts when Rory told me he wanted European Business Services, Incorporated, to handle this conference. I didn’t think your company had the resources or the experience to pull it together on such short notice. So far, you’ve proved me wrong.”

Caro shifted a little in her seat. She couldn’t deny this job would rake in a fat profit for EBS. Still, she resented the way Burke had used it as a pretext to stage a reunion she’d neither anticipated nor wanted.

“Judging by the little exposure I’ve had to your boss,” she said, working hard to keep the acid out of her reply, “I’d say he’s used to getting his way.”

“Well, he is the boss.” Martin toyed with his coffee cup and studied her face with a scrutiny that made Caro distinctly uncomfortable. She suspected those cop’s eyes saw more than most people wanted them to.

“Rory’s a good man,” he said after a moment. “The kind you can trust to do what’s right.”

Depending on your definition of “right,” she thought cynically.

“I’ll take your word for that.”

She glanced at her watch and swallowed another gulp. “Do you have any other items you want to discuss with me?”

“Not right now.”

“Then I’d better skip breakfast and get to work on these changes.”

“Go.”

After dropping off a USB drive with the revised agenda in the business office, Caro met with the resort’s conference planner in her den. She, in turn, called in the executive chef.

Andreas was not happy about scratching the second day’s elaborate breakfast of fire-grilled Andalucian ham and house specialty torrijas. Frowning, he substituted a simpler sausage-and-egg scramble served with flaky rolls and the region’s signature apricot jam. He was even less thrilled about changing the elegant seafood lunch buffet planned for outside on the terrace to sit-down service in the ballroom.

Caro left him grumbling over the changes and rushed back to the business office. To her relief, the efficient staff had the revised agendas rolling off the high-speed printer and promised to place them on the tables for the kickoff session.

Those two tasks well in hand, Caro tried to reach Captain Medina. As she’d discovered in her previous dealings with the police captain, he tended to set his own schedule. Luckily, she caught him this time and extracted his promise to review the forms she’d faxed over.

“I need your reply as soon as possible,” she begged in the Spanish she’d studied in high school and college. She was almost as fluent in it as in the German she’d mastered during her year in Salzburg with Devon and Sabrina. “Por favor, capitán.”

“Sí, sí, le llamaré.”

Forced to be content with his promise to call, she headed for the ballroom to make sure everything was set for the general session. To her relief, the audiovisual technicians had their equipment up and running. She also confirmed there was plenty of coffee, tea, water and soft drinks available for the attendees who were starting to trickle in. Snatches of conversation caught her ear as she made a last check of the seating arrangements.