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

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.