Callie's Christmas Wish

He scraped a hand over his jaw and forced Curaçao to the black pit where it belonged. The clean feel of his chin reminded him that he’d shaved after showering. He must have bristled like a hedgehog when he’d hustled Callie into bed earlier, though. Wincing inwardly, he could only imagine the whisker burns he must have left on her tender skin.

Hell! That was the wrong direction to let his thoughts take him. Exerting an iron will, Joe slammed the door on the image of this woman soft and hot and panting under him.

“Look, Callie, you’ll just have to accept there’s a big chunk of my past I can’t talk about. All that matters is what’s between us here and now.”

“Funny you should say that. I was actually wondering about that, too.” Those purple eyes skewered into him. “What is between us, Joe?”

Christ! Where were his alternate escape routes when he needed them? Sweating a little, he reached out. Cupped her chin. Felt a weird lurch under his ribs.

“I can only repeat what I told you earlier. You’re a calm port. A safe harbor.”

“Right.”

She lowered her glance. Her lashes fanned against her cheek, as thick and dark as her shoulder-length hair. Joe had fantasized about that silky mass for the past few weeks. He didn’t have to fantasize now. The sight of the dark locks spilling across the pillow had been even more erotic than he’d imagined. It was a sight he intended—hoped!—to enjoy on a regular and frequent basis.

So when she raised her eyes, her calm announcement came down on him like a collapsing brick wall.

“I’m going back to Rome.”

“What?”

“Carlo texted me last week.” She eased her chin from his hold. “He’s offered me a job.”

The quiet response triggered a welter of savage reactions. Before agreeing to provide Carlo Luigi Francesco di Lorenzo the high-level personal security his government had requested, Joe and his people had thoroughly researched the prince. The man might be short, balding and getting thick around the middle, but he’d descended from one of the oldest houses in Europe. He also commanded Italy’s crack airborne special ops unit.

None of which mattered to Joe at the moment as much as the fact that di Lorenzo had racked up more hours in women’s beds than he had hours in the cockpit of his C-130 Hercules.

“Did you know Carlo sits on the board of several charitable foundations?”

Her question brought a curt response.

“Yeah.”

Grimacing, Joe raked a hand through his hair and fought to temper both his tone and his visceral reaction to the idea of Callie heading back to Italy on her own. Without Dawn or Kate. Or him.

“Di Lorenzo gave me a list of the organizations he’s involved with when I agreed to provide enhanced security,” he told her. “Most of his charitable activities are purely economic, but several...”

Joe caught himself. He’d built a reputation and a multimillion-dollar business based on absolute trust. He wouldn’t breach a client’s confidentiality any more than Callie would the privacy of the children she’d represented in court. Still, he couldn’t hold back a terse warning.

“Several of the agencies he’s involved with have ties to Africa and the Middle East.”

“I know. The job he’s offered is with one of those agencies. International Aid to Displaced Women.”

Joe felt the tendons in his neck cord. Prince or not, if Carlo thought he could involve Callie in the type of activity he himself had needed protection from, the man had another think coming.

“IADW operates a sort of halfway house for female refugees,” she was explaining. “Women who’ve escaped or been driven out their own countries and have either lost their male protectors or been abandoned by them somewhere along the way.”

“That right? And what does Carlo think you can do for them?”

The question carried more of a bite than he’d intended. So it was no surprise when Callie stiffened.

“Despite the impression I’ve obviously given you,” she said coolly, “I’m neither helpless nor unskilled. At the least, I can help these women acquire a rudimentary English vocabulary, which many of them will need before being resettled in English-speaking countries. At best, perhaps I can ease some of the trauma they’ve gone through.”

Cursing his lack of tact, Joe tried to recover. “Sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant was...”

What he meant was that he didn’t like the idea of her working with or for Carlo di Lorenzo. Which was why he committed his second major blunder in as many minutes.

“Look, before you accept his offer, take some time to think about mine.”

Her forehead puckered. “Did I miss something? What offer?”

“About coming home. To you.”

Her jaw sagged. “Is this...is this a proposal?”

Her surprise knocked him back a step. Hell! He’d thought—been certain—she’d understood where this was going.

“Yes, it’s a proposal,” he said gruffly. “What’d you think it was?”

“I didn’t... That is...” She gave her head a quick, disbelieving shake. “Joe, we barely know each other!”

“Not true.”

She’d hit the mark when she’d reminded him that he’d had his people investigate every corner of her life. Joe suspected he’d uncovered a few things about her younger years she wouldn’t want her parents to know. He chalked up those early escapades up to her more lively friends, though. Dawn, especially. The voluptuous redhead had started breaking male hearts while still a teenager. Luckily, she seemed to have met her match in Brian Ellis. As Joe had in this dark-haired, violet-eyed siren.

“I’ve seen your strength and grace under the pressure of threats, Callie. Plus,” he added deliberately, “I’d say we got to know each other pretty well this afternoon.”

“We certainly did,” she agreed, recovering from her astonishment. “And it was wonderful. Off the charts, as Tommy’s friend Addy would say.”

He waited for the but he knew was coming.

“So I hope...I really hope...we can build on that mutual desire.”

“With you taking off for Italy?”

“That’s where we met,” she reminded him, her gaze steady. “Where we can continue to meet. You may not be able to tell me much about your clients, but I gather Carlo’s not the first European you’ve worked with. Nor, I suspect, will he be the last.”

She had that right. Joe had put a number of potential clients on hold while he’d tracked the source of Callie’s emails. He could pretty well choose the continent, the risk level and the degree of personal involvement in his next contract.

“We could see each other as often in Rome as we could in Boston,” she said. “Maybe more often. If you want to make it happen.”

Damned if Joe knew at this point.

He’d been so sure she would appreciate what he had to offer. Mutual respect. Sexual compatibility, which they’d more than proved earlier. Financial security. He knew she’d been living on her savings since she’d quit her job. Had thought she’d appreciate that while he wasn’t the most expressive or demonstrative man in the world, he was rock solid. Unlike a certain Italian prince.

“I still don’t understand. Why go all the way to Rome?”

She chewed on her lower lip. When she answered, Joe sensed she was revealing a part of herself she rarely shared with anyone other than her two friends.