Merline Lovelace - Callie's Christmas Wish

“You don’t think getting involved with Joe would provide enough of a change?”

“Yes. Of course it would.” With a determined shrug, she shook off her odd mood. “Assuming, that is, he wants to get involved.”

“Yeah, right,” Kate drawled. “As if you can get more involved than twelve and a half.”

“Maybe not,” Callie agreed, laughing. “We’ll see. In the meantime, we’d better put that coffee on and get back to the guys.”

* * *

As much as Callie hated to admit it, Kate and Dawn were right. She had played the helpless heroine. Worse, she’d been more than willing to let Joe step right into the role of the big, strong protector while she hid out here in DC. It was time to take charge of her life again.

But first, she decided as her gaze rested on the man she’d opened her arms and the quiet corners of her heart to, she needed to find out just where Joe thought things between them might go. That could well color her decision on where to live and what new career paths to explore.

She approached the issue in her characteristically straightforward way. Serene and unruffled on the outside and nervous as all hell inside, she invited Joe to the gatehouse after they’d finished their coffee. The door barely closed before he had her backed against it.

“I like your friends,” he muttered, nuzzling her hair. “But they talk too much.”

“It’s...uh...called conversation.”

Oh, for pity’s sake! All the man had to do was blow in her ear and she stumbled over her own tongue.

“Not where I hail from,” he countered as his lips grazed her cheek.

The gruff reply reminded Callie of her objective. “We need to talk about that, Joe.”

He raised his head. “Where I hail from?”

“Among other things. Your security team dissected my life during the investigation. They checked out my Facebook friends. Where I buy my bagels. I don’t know anything about you.”

The withdrawal was so subtle, so slight. His expression didn’t change. He still pressed hard against her. Yet Callie sensed a few degrees of separation instantly.

“What do you want to know?”

“More than I can absorb with my back up against a door and your mouth three inches from mine.” She edged sideways. “Should I make another pot of coffee? Or would you like a brandy? Dawn left the bar pretty well stocked.”

“I’m good.”

“Okay. Well...”

She led the way into the combination living room, den and study. Like the rest of the gatehouse, it had been furnished with an eye for comfort and color. Periwinkle-blue hydrangeas and lilacs in full flower patterned the overstuffed sofa and easy chair. The sixty-inch TV was mounted at easy viewing level, and a small niche housed a built-in desk with hookups for all the latest electronic gadgets. As a tribute to both the season and the temporary nature of her occupancy, Callie had put up only a three-foot tree decorated with ornaments she and Tommy had made the previous Saturday morning.

Kicking off her ballet flats, Callie sank into the plush sofa cushions and tucked one foot under her. Joe took the opposite corner. She did her best to ignore the hard thighs and broad shoulders showcased to perfection by his jeans and that cloudy blue cashmere.

Joe met her gaze with a steady one of his own. “I can’t tell you much, Callie. Most of the ops I participated in while I was in the military are still classified, and those I work for my clients are confidential.”

“I’m more interested in the basics. Where’s home?”

“Originally? A little town in Texas you never heard of.”

“Try me.”

“Bitter Creek.”

“You’re right. I’ve never heard of it. Did you leave there to go into the marines like Brian? Or was it the air force, like Travis?”

Again, his expression didn’t change. Neither did his inflection. Yet Callie could sense the gap widening.

“Army. Rangers. Then,” he added slowly, reluctantly, “Delta Force.”

She had no idea who or what constituted Delta Force but decided she didn’t really need to know at this point.

“How long were you in uniform?”

“Nine years.”

Longer than she’d spent at the Office of the Child Advocate. Like her, Joe had changed direction in midcareer. More curious than ever, she probed deeper.

“Why did you leave the military?”

“It was time,” he bit out.

Okay. That was obviously not something he wanted to talk about. Well, there was one subject he couldn’t avoid. Raising a hand, she feathered a finger over his still fading scar.

“And this? Where did you get this?”

He froze her out. That’s the only way she could describe it. The icy mask dropped over his face so swiftly, so completely, that she blinked.

“That’s not open to discussion.”

Joe smothered a curse when she reared back looking as though he’d slapped her. Which he pretty much had.

No way he could tell her about Nattat, though, or his desperate, futile attempt to keep her safe. Exerting every ounce of will he possessed, he blanked out the all-too-vivid images of the mountaintop resort in the Caribbean and focused on the woman regarding him with such a bruised look.

“Sorry.”

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.