This isn’t the 1890s. I don’t see how your reputation could be tarnished simply from napping in my bed. If I were in there with you, it’d be an entirely different matter. But if you want to know the truth, I’d be willing to bet no one even noticed where you were sleeping this morning, or even that you were asleep. And if they did, that’s their problem.”
“No, it’s my problem,” Veronica said sharply, her temper flaring. “Tell me, Lieutenant, are there many women in the SEALs?”
“No,” Joe said. “There’re none. We don’t allow women in the units.”
“Aha,” Veronica retorted. “In other words, you’re not familiar with sexual discrimination, because your organization is based on sexual discrimination. That’s just perfect.”
“Look, if you want to preach feminism, fine,” Joe said, his patience disintegrating, “but do me a favor—hand me a pamphlet to read on the subject and be done with it. Right now, I’m going to take a shower.”
By now they had the full, unconcealed attention of the three other SEALs and the FInCOM agents, but Veronica was long past caring. She was angry—angry that he had let her sleep, angry that he was so macho, angry that he had kissed her—and particularly angry that she had liked his kiss so damn much.
She blocked Joe’s way, stabbing at his broad chest with one finger. “Don’t you dare run away from me, Lieutenant,” she said, her voice rising with each word. “You’re operating in my world now, and I will not have you jeopardizing my career through your own stupid ignorance.”
He flinched as if she’d slapped him in the face and turned away, but not before she saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. Hurt that was rapidly replaced by anger.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Joe said through clenched teeth. “I was only trying to be nice. I thought sleeping on the couch would screw up your back, but forget it. From now on, I won’t bother, okay? From now on, we’ll go by the book.”
He pushed past her and went into the locker room. The FInCOM agents and the three other SEALs followed, leaving Veronica alone in the exercise room. Her reflection gazed back at her from all angles.
Perfect. She’d handled that just perfectly.
Veronica had come down here to find out why he’d let her sleep so long, and wound up in a fierce argument about sexual discrimination and her pristine reputation. That wasn’t the real issue at all. It had just been something to shout about, because Lord knew she couldn’t walk up to him and shout that his kiss had turned her entire world upside down and now she was totally, utterly and quite thoroughly off-balance.
Instead, she had called him names. Stupid. Ignorant. Words that had clearly cut deep, despite the fact that he was anything but stupid and far from ignorant.
What Veronica had done was take out all her anger and frustration on the man.
But if anyone was to blame here, it was herself. After all, she was the one foolish enough to have fallen asleep in the first place.
“Hey, Cat!” Cowboy called loudly as he showered in the locker room. “Tell me more about fair Veronica ‘Sinjin.’”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Joe answered evenly. He glanced up to find Blue watching him.
Damn. Blue could read his mind. Joe’s connection to Blue was so tight, there were few thoughts that appeared in Joe’s head that Blue wasn’t instantly aware of. But what would Blue make of the thoughts Joe was having right now? What would he make of the sick, nauseous feeling Joe had in the pit of his stomach?
Stupid. Ignorant.
Well, that about summed it all up, didn’t it? Joe certainly knew now exactly what Veronica St. John thought of him, didn’t he? He certainly knew why she’d thought that kiss was a mistake.
Cowboy shut off the water. Dripping, he came out of the stall and into the room. “You sure there’s nothing you can tell us about Veronica, Cat? Oh, come on, buddy, I can think of a thing or two,” he said, taking a towel from a pile of clean ones and giving himself a perfunctory swipe. “Like, are you and she doing the nightly naked two-step?”
“No,” Joe replied flatly, pulling on his pants.
“You planning on it?” Cowboy asked. He slipped into one of the plush hotel robes that were hanging on the wall.
“Back off, Jones,” Blue said warningly.
“No.” Joe answered Cowboy tersely as he yanked his T-shirt over his head and thrust his arms into the sleeves of his shirt.
“Cool,” Cowboy said. “Then you don’t mind if I give her a try—”
Joe spun and grabbed the younger man by the lapels of his robe, slamming him up against a row of metal lockers with a crash. “Stay the hell away from her,” he snapped. He let go of Cowboy, and turned to include Blue and Harvard in his glare. “All of you. Is that clear?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
The noise echoed as Cowboy stared at Harvard and Blue.
“Shoot,” he finally said. “Anybody have any idea what the hell’s going on?”
Chapter Nine
Room service arrived at the royal suite before Joe did.
“Set it out on the table, please,” Veronica instructed the waiter.
She’d ordered a full-course meal, from appetizers to dessert, complete with three different wines.
This afternoon’s lesson was food—or more precisely, eating food. There was a hundred-dollar-a-plate charity luncheon in Boston, Massachusetts, that had been left on the prince’s tour schedule. Both the location and the visibility of the event were right for a possible assassination attempt, but it was more than a hi-and-bye appearance. It would involve more than Joe’s ability to stand and wave as if he were Prince Tedric.
The hotel-suite door opened, and Joe came inside, followed by three FInCOM agents. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his T-shirt underneath, and he met Veronica’s eyes only briefly before turning to the laden dining table. It was quite clear that he was still upset with her.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“This is practice for the Boston charity luncheon,” Veronica replied. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Joe stared at the table. It was loaded with dishes covered with plate-warmers. It was set for two, with a full array of cutlery and three different wineglasses at each setting. What, didn’t Miss High-and-Mighty think he knew how to eat with a fork? Didn’t she know he dined with admirals and four-star generals at the Officers’ Club?
Stupid. Ignorant.
Joe nodded slowly, wishing he was still pissed off, wishing he was still nursing the slow burn he’d felt upstairs in the exercise room. But he wasn’t. He was too tired to be angry now. He was too tired to feel anything but disappointment
