her ankles and folded her hands in her lap.
Had he heard just a hint of censure in her voice? Burke wondered. What had her in a snit? “It is noon, isn’t it?” He chuckled pleasantly. “Are you upset with me for some reason?”
“No, of course not. Why should I be? What you do in your personal life is none of my concern.”
“My personal life?” He grinned broadly. “Ah, I see. You assume my tardiness is due to my having spent the night in some fair damsel’s boudoir, making mad passionate love until dawn.”
He liked the way Callie blushed. Few women blushed these days. But then she had the complexion for it. Pale and creamy, without a hint of a freckle despite her dark auburn hair and smoky gray eyes.
“As I said, it’s none of my—”
“None of your concern.” He finished her sentence.
She nodded.
“I’ve ordered in a meal for us,” he told her. “I’m afraid I must impose on you to help me get an important dinner party planned and then I must ask an enormous favor of you.”
“Doing my job is not imposing on me,” she said. “And please, ask your favor.”
“I’ll need a hostess for this affair. Naturally I’ll pay for your dress and provide the right jewelry and—”
“Isn’t there someone else more suited than I am to serve as your hostess?” she asked, nervously rubbing her hands together. “I’m sure Lady Ashley or Mrs. Odum-Hyde would—”
“Lady Ashley is in Paris visiting her sister, and Mrs. Odum-Hyde has landed herself a Brussels diamond broker and is now wearing a ring the size of an apple.”
Callie giggled. Burke liked her giggle, too. Girlish, yet throaty and seductive. If he were totally honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he liked everything about Callie. She was more than competent at her job. Actually she was the best PA he’d ever had.
But something about her bothered him. Not that he didn’t trust her. He did. Implicitly. Her background check had given him every reason to think highly of her—as a PA and as a person. A master’s degree from the Owen Graduate School of Management at Vanderbilt University and glowing recommendations from her previous employers had been the reasons he’d hired her. That and the fact he had immediately liked her when he’d interviewed her. She’d been nervous, but charming.
She was a bright, hardworking young lady with an impeccable work record. He knew she was unmarried and yet was the mother of a small child. If he remembered correctly, the child was almost two. Although he had never questioned her about anything remotely personal, he couldn’t help wondering about her child’s father. What sort of man could have walked away from a woman such as Callie and deserted his own child?
Not much of a man, Burke thought.
I’ve never been with a real man, only a self-centered boy. The words echoed inside Burke’s mind, but he had no idea who had said them or when. Had some woman he had bedded spoken those words? If so, why couldn’t he remember the woman or the incident? Could it have been that night two years ago? He vaguely remembered drowning his sorrows at the Princess Inn after he’d been told his father had died and the family had turned him away. And occasionally, through the fog of his subconscious, he could almost make out the face of the woman who had gone home with him that night.
“Is something wrong?” Callie asked.
“What? No, nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”
“You had a most peculiar look on your face, as if you were in pain.”
“You can alleviate any pain I might be experiencing if you agree to act as my hostess next week.”
“Of course, I’d be delighted to act as your hostess.”
“Good, then that’s settled.”
When he rose from his desk chair, Callie stood. She was only a wisp of a girl—no, not a girl, he thought. A woman. She was twenty-seven and a mother. Hardly a girl. Size wise, she was just shy of being petite. Short, small-boned, fragile. Round in all the right places, with a slender waist. Not skinny like so many of the young women were today.
His stepfather had often told his mother, “I like a woman with some flesh on her bones.” Mary Kate Lonigan Harmon had been a plump, black-haired beauty, who had passed her striking black Irish looks on to her only son and to her two daughters, Kathleen and Fiona, who had been fathered by Gene Harmon.
And like his stepfather, Burke preferred a woman with some flesh on her bones. Callie fit the description quite nicely. Although he had more sophisticated, more elegant ladies at his disposal, Burke fancied Callie and had since the first day she walked into his office. He couldn’t understand why he was so attracted to her, more so than to any woman he’d ever met.
Knowing better than to mix business with pleasure, he had never become personally involved with any of his employees and usually listened to his common sense. Besides being too old for Callie—a good fifteen years too old—he was a man living a secret life as an agent for SPEAR, which existed in a shadow world of espionage and danger. He had spent most of his adult life in cloak-and-dagger activities, using his cover as an illegal arms dealer to the benefit of whatever the agency required at any given moment.
He couldn’t deny that in many ways he lived the good life. A magnificent home in London. A flat in Paris. A villa in Italy. An apartment in New York. Lonigan’s Imports and Exports afforded him the lifestyle most men only dreamed of having. Expensive clothes purchased on Savile Row. A chauffeured Rolls and a Porsche. And beautiful ladies vying for his attention.
But something was missing in his life. He felt that deep aloneness more and more with each passing year. Was that the reason he couldn’t get Callie Severin out of his mind? Why he found himself fantasizing about her frequently? Did he think one specific woman could fill that void and give meaning to his life on a personal level?
“Mr. Lonigan, you aren’t listening to me,” Callie said. “Your mind seems to be a million miles away today. Are you sure there isn’t something bothering you?”
Dragging his mind away from errant thoughts to concentrate on the present moment, Burke said, “No, no. Nothing’s wrong. Just mentally going over the guest list I have in mind. I’ll want you to handle the invitations. We’ll keep this rather intimate. No more than fifty guests. All business associates.”
Smiling warmly, Callie nodded. “Would you like for us to make the list now?” But what she actually wanted to ask was, Which business associates? The import-export business or the illegal arms business?
Really now, Callie, she cautioned herself. You have no proof that Burke is involved in the illegal arms trade. But you also have no proof that he isn’t, her nagging inner voice warned. Remember the old American adage, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Why would so many persistent rumors abound about Burke’s notorious secret life if there was no truth to the rumors?
“Why don’t you leave the list to me,” he said. “You attend to the caterer, the florists, the musicians and the printer and whatever else needs attending to. I’ll be sure you have the list ready later today, since this affair is to take place Saturday night.”
“Saturday
