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  And then what?

  Then they’d be lovers until she got tired of him, or he got tired of her. It would be no different from any of the other relationships he’d had.

  But so far, everything about this was different. Veronica St. John wasn’t some woman he’d met in a bar. She hadn’t approached him, handed him the keys to her car or her motel room and asked if he was busy for the next twenty-four hours. She hadn’t even approached him at all.

  She wasn’t his type. She was too high-strung, too uptight.

  But something he’d seen in her eyes promised a paradise the likes of which he’d never known. Hell, it was a paradise he was probably better off never knowing.

  Because what if he never got tired of her?

  There it was. Right out in the open. The big, ugly question he’d been trying to avoid. What if this noose that had tightened around his chest never went away?

  But that would never happen, right?

  He couldn’t let Veronica’s wealth and high-class manners throw him off. She was just a woman. All those differences he’d imagined were just that—imagined.

  So how come he was standing there like an idiot, staring at the girl? Why was he too damned chicken to touch her, to wake her up, to see her sleepy blue eyes gazing up at him?

  The answer was clear—because even if the impossible happened, and Joe actually did something as idiotically stupid as fall in love with Veronica St. John, she would never, not in a million years, fall in love with him. Sure, she might find him amusing for a few weeks or even months, but eventually she’d come to her senses and trade him in for a more expensive model.

  And somehow the thought of that stung. Even now. Even though there was absolutely nothing between them. Nothing, that is, but one perfect kiss and its promise of paradise.

  “Yo, Ronnie,” Joe said, hoping she’d wake up without him touching her. But she didn’t stir.

  He bent down and spoke directly into her ear. “Coffee’s here. Time to wake up.”

  Nothing.

  He touched her shoulder, shaking her very slightly.

  Nothing.

  He shook her harder, and she stirred, but her eyes stayed tightly shut.

  “Go away,” she mumbled.

  Joe pulled her up into a sitting position. Her head lolled against the back of the couch. “Come on, babe,” he said. “If I don’t wake you up, you’re going to be madder than hell at me.” He gently touched the side of her face. “Come on, Ronnie. Look at me. Open your eyes.”

  She opened them. They were astonishingly blue and very sleepy. “Be a dear, Jules, and ring the office. Tell them I’ll be a few hours late. I’m bushed. Out too late last night.” She smiled and blew a kiss into the air near his face. “Thanks, luv.” Then she tucked her perfect knees primly up underneath her skirt, put her head back down on the seat cushions and tightly closed her eyes.

  Jules?

  Who the hell was Jules?

  “Come on, Veronica,” Joe said almost desperately. He had no right to want to hog-tie this Jules, whoever the hell he was. No right at all. “You wanted me to wake you up. Besides, you can’t sleep on the couch. You’ll wake up with one hell of a backache.”

  She didn’t open her eyes again, didn’t sigh, didn’t move.

  She was fast asleep, and not likely to wake up until she was good and ready.

  Gritting his teeth, Joe picked Veronica up and carried her into the bedroom. He set her gently down on the bed, trying to ignore the way she fit so perfectly in his arms. For half a second, he actually considered climbing in under the covers next to her. But he didn’t have time. He had work to do. Besides, when he got in bed with Veronica St. John, it was going to be at her invitation.

  Joe took off her remaining shoe and put it on the floor, then covered her with the blankets.

  She didn’t move, didn’t wake up again. He didn’t give in to the desire to smooth her hair back from her face. He just stared down at her for another brief moment, knowing that the smart thing to do would be to stay far, far away from this woman. He knew that she was trouble, the likes of which he’d never known.

  He turned away, needing a stiff drink. He settled for black coffee and set to work.

  8

  Veronica sat bolt upright in the bed.

  Dear Lord in heaven, she wasn’t supposed to be asleep, she was supposed to be working and—

  What time was it?

  Her watch read twelve twenty-four. Oh, no, she’d lost the entire morning. But she must have been exhausted. She couldn’t even remember coming back here to her own room and—

  Oh, Lord! She realized she wasn’t in her own room. She was in the prince’s bedroom, in the prince’s bed. No, not the prince’s. Joe’s. Joe’s bed.

  With a dizzying flash, Veronica remembered Joe pulling her into his arms and kissing her so slowly, so sensuously that every bone in her body seemed to melt. He had rid them of their clothes like a seasoned professional and…

  But…she was still dressed. Right down to her hose, which were twisted and uncomfortable. She’d only dreamed about Joe Catalanotto and his seductive eyes and surprisingly gentle hands.

  The kiss had been real, though; and achingly, shockingly tender. It figured. Joe would know exactly how to kiss her to make her the most vulnerable, to affect her in the strongest possible way.

  She’d expected him to kiss her almost roughly—an echo of the sexual hunger she’d seen in his eyes. She could have handled that. She would have known what to say and do.

  Instead, Joe had given her a kiss that was more gentle than passionate, although the passion had been there, indeed. But Veronica was still surprised by the restraint he’d shown, by the sweetness of his mouth against hers, by the slow, lingering sensuality of his lips. She could very well have kissed him that way until the end of time.

  Time. Lord! She’d wasted so much time.

  Veronica swung her legs out of bed.

  She’d told Joe to wake her up. Obviously, he hadn’t. Instead of waking her, he’d carried her here, into his bedroom.

  She found one of her shoes on the floor, and searched to no avail for the other. Perfect. One shoe off and one shoe on, having slept away most of the day, her dignity in shreds, she’d have to go out into the living room where the FInCOM agents were parked. She’d have to endure their knowing smirks.

  She was a wimp. She’d fallen asleep—and stayed asleep for hours—while on the job.

  And Joe…Joe hadn’t kept his promise to wake her up.

  She’d been starting to…like him. She’d been attracted from the start, but this was different. She actually, genuinely liked him, despite the fact that he came from an entirely different world, despite the fact that they seemed to argue almost constantly. She even liked him despite the fact that he clearly wanted to make their relationship sexual. Despite all that, she’d thought he had been starting to like her, too.

  Her disappointment flashed quickly into anger. How dare he just let her sleep the day away? The bastard…

  Veronica fumed as she tucked her blouse back into the top of her skirt and straightened her jacket, thankful her suit was permanent-press and wrinkle-proof.

  Her hair wasn’t quite so easy to fix, but she was determined not to emerge from the bedroom with it down and flowing around her shoulders. It was bad enough that she’d been sleeping in Joe’s bed. She didn’t want it to look as if he’d been in there with her.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and, single shoe in her hand and head held high, she went into the living room.

  If the FInCOM agents smirked condescendingly, Veronica refused to notice. All she knew was, Joe was not in the room. Good thing, or she might have lost even more of her dignity by throwing her shoe directly at his head.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said briskly to West and Freeman as she gathered up her briefcase. Ah, good. There was her missing shoe, on the floor in front of the sofa. She slipped them both onto her feet. “Might I ask where the lieutenant has g