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  A man wearing all black was standing just inside her balcony doorway, leaning against the wall, watching her dance.

  Veronica leaped backward, her body reacting to the unannounced presence of a large intruder before her brain registered the fact that it was Joe Catalanotto.

  Heart pounding, chest heaving, she tried to catch her breath as she stared at him. How in God’s name had Joe gotten into her room?

  Joe stared, too, caught in the ocean-blueness of Veronica’s eyes as the music pounded around them. She looked frightened, like a wild animal, uncertain whether to freeze or flee.

  Turning suddenly, she reached for the stereo and switched the music off. The silence was abrupt and jarring.

  Her red curls swung and bounced around her shoulders as she turned rapidly back to look at him again. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Proving a point,” he replied. His voice sounded strained and hoarse to his own ears. There was no mystery as to why that was. Seeing her like this had made his blood pressure rise, as well as other things.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face, searching for an answer. “How did you get in? My door was locked.”

  Joe gestured to the sliding door that led to the balcony. “No, it wasn’t. In fact, it was open. Warm night. If you breathe deeply, you can almost smell the cherry blossoms.”

  Veronica was staring at him, struggling to reconcile his words with the truth as she knew it. This room was on the tenth floor. Ten stories up, off the ground. Visitors didn’t simply stroll in through the balcony door.

  Joe couldn’t keep his gaze from sliding down her body. Man, she was one hot package. In those skintight purple-and-turquoise patterned shorts and that tight, black, racer-backed top that exposed a firm, creamy midriff, with all those beautiful red curls loose around her pale shoulders, she looked positively steamy. She was slender, but not skinny as he’d thought. Her waist was small, her stomach flat, flaring out to softly curving hips and a firm, round rear end. Her legs were incredible, but he’d already known that. Still, in those tight shorts, her shapely legs seemed to go on and on and on forever, leading his eyes to her derriere. Her breasts were full, every curve, every detail intimately outlined by the stretchy fabric of her top.

  And, God, the way she’d been dancing when he’d first climbed onto the balcony had exuded a raw sensuality, a barely contained passion. He’d been right about her. She had been hiding something underneath those boxy, conservative suits and that cool, distant attitude. Who would have guessed she would spend her personal time dancing like some vision on MTV?

  She was still breathing hard from dancing. Or maybe—and more likely—she was breathing hard from the sudden shock he’d given her. He’d actually been standing inside the balcony door for about ten minutes before she looked up. He’d been in no hurry to interrupt. He could have stayed there, quite happily, and watched her dance all night.

  Well, maybe not all night…

  Veronica took a step back, away from him, as if she could see his every thought in his eyes. Her own eyes were very wide and incredibly, brilliantly blue. “You came in…from the balcony?”

  Joe nodded and held something out to her. It was a flower, Veronica realized. He was holding a rather tired and bruised purple-and-gold pansy, its petals curled up for the night. She’d seen flowers just like it growing in flower beds outside the hotel.

  “First I climbed down to the ground and got this,” Joe said, his husky voice soft and seductive, warmly intimate. “It’s proof I was actually there.”

  He was still holding the flower out to her, but Veronica couldn’t move, her mind barely registering the words he spoke. A black band was across his forehead, holding his long hair in place. He was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved black turtleneck, with some kind of equipment vest over it, even though the spring night was quite warm. Oddly enough, his feet were bare. He wasn’t smiling, and his face looked harsh and unforgiving. And dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

  Veronica gazed at him, her heart in her throat. As he stepped closer and pressed the flower into her hand, she was pulled into the depths of his eyes. The fire she saw there became molten. His mouth was hard and hungry as his gaze raked her body.

  And then his meaning cut through.

  He’d climbed down to the ground…? And back up again? Ten stories?

  “You climbed up the outside of the hotel and no one stopped you?” Veronica looked down at the flower, hoping he wouldn’t notice the trembling in her voice.

  He crossed to the sliding door and pulled the curtain shut. Was that for safety’s sake, or for privacy? Veronica wondered as she turned away. She was afraid he might see his unconcealed desire echoed in her own eyes.

  Desire? What was wrong with her? It was true, Joe Catalanotto was outrageously good-looking. But despite his obvious physical attributes, he was rude, tactless and disrespectful, rough in his manners and appearance. In fact, he was about as far from being a prince as any man she’d ever known. They’d barely even exchanged a civil conversation. All they did was fight. So why on earth could she think of nothing but the touch of his hands on her skin, his lips on hers, his body…?

  “No one saw me climbing down or up,” Joe said, his voice surrounding her like soft, rich velvet. “There are no guards posted on this side of the building. The FInCOM agents don’t see the balcony for what it is—a back door. An accessible and obvious back door.”

  “It’s so far from the ground,” she countered in disbelief.

  “It was an easy climb. Under an hour.”

  Under an hour. This is what he’d been doing with his time, Veronica realized suddenly. He should have been working with her, learning how to act like Tedric, and instead he was climbing up and down the outside of the hotel like some misguided superhero. Anger flooded through her.

  Joe took a step forward, closing the small gap between them. The urge to touch her hair, to skim the softness of her cheek with his knuckle, was overpowering.

  This was not the scenario he’d imagined when he’d climbed up the side of the hotel and onto her balcony. He’d expected to find Veronica hard at work, scribbling furiously away on the legal pad she always carried, or typing frantically into her laptop computer. He’d expected her to be wearing something that hid her curves and disguised her femininity. He’d expected her hair to be pinned up off her neck. He’d expected her to look up at him, gasping in startled surprise, as he walked into the room.

  And, yeah, he’d expected her to be impressed when he told her he’d scaled the side of the hotel in order to prove that FInCOM’s security stank.

  Instead, finally over her initial shock at seeing him there, Veronica folded her arms across her delicious-looking breasts and glared at him. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I’m supposed to be teaching you how to fool the bloody world into thinking you’re Prince Tedric and you’re off playing commando games and climbing ten stories up the outside of this hotel?”

  “I’m not a commando, I’m a SEAL,” Joe said, feeling his own temper rise. “There’s a difference. And I’m not playing games. FInCOM’s security stinks.”

  “The President of the United States hasn’t had any qualms about FInCOM’s ability to protect him,” Veronica said tersely.

  “The President of the United States is followed around by fifteen Finks, ready to jump into the line of fire and take a bullet for him if necessary,” Joe countered. He broke away, pulling off the headband and running his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “Look, Ronnie, I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

  “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

  It wasn’t, and she knew it as well as he did. “No.”

  Veronica laughed in disbelief at his blunt candor. “No,” she repeated. “Of course not. Silly me. Whatever could I have been thinking?”

  “I can’t apologize,” Joe said tightly. “Because I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You’ve