Merline Lovelace - The Executive's Valentine Seduction / Valente Must Marry - The Executive's Valentine Seduction

She settled instead on dove-gray slacks and a wide-sleeved cotton tunic in warm tangerine paired with the colorful espadrilles she’d picked up in Tossa de Mar’s open-air market. Winding her hair up into its usual neat twist at the back of her head, she anchored it with a clip. A few swipes of blush and a quick pass with lip gloss and she was done.

She rechecked her zippered conference file for the fifth or sixth time. Satisfied she had everything she needed, she hit the door. With the conference set to kick off at eleven, she’d arranged a breakfast meeting with her GSI focal point to go over last-minute details. Caro and Harry Martin had exchanged dozens of e-mails over the past two months. She’d kept hers brisk and businesslike. His had been so succinct as to be almost indecipherable. A man of few words, Harry Martin.

And, according to Rory’s startling revelations yesterday, he was the man who’d hauled a smart-mouthed kid into an Army recruiter’s office all those years ago and put his life back on track. After what Rory had told her about his senior VP of operations, Caro expected a big, grizzled retired cop.

Martin was definitely big. Six-three or -four at least. He had to stoop to avoid brushing the grapevines that dangled from the arbor leading to the terrace restaurant. Grizzled, he wasn’t. Sleek Ray-Bans shielded his eyes above chiseled cheeks and a serious, unsmiling mouth. His khakis sported a knife-blade crease, and his sky-blue polo shirt stretched across a frame that looked fit and trim. His salt-and-pepper buzz cut gave the only clue to his age.

“Ms. Walters?” He set a notebook on the table and folded her hand in a tough, callused palm. “Harry Martin.”

“Good to finally meet you, Mr. Martin.”

“Harry,” he corrected as he seated himself at the umbrella-shielded table. “Caroline okay with you?”

“Of course. How was your flight from Casablanca?”

She knew he’d flown into Morocco two days ago and from there to Barcelona late last night.

“Fine.”

He helped himself to coffee from a stainless-steel carafe and proceeded to dump five heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. Wondering how the heck he managed to stay so trim, Caro watched with some fascination as he stirred the syrupy goo.

“Sweet tooth,” he said when he caught her gaze.

He downed a long swallow, replaced the cup on the saucer and slid his Ray-Bans down on his nose. There weren’t more than a half dozen other people eating breakfast on the terrace. The faint clink of their silverware and the occasional murmured comment barely carried over the sound of the waves hitting the shore. Still, either from habit or instinct, Martin lowered his voice.

“I talked to Rory when I got in last night.”

Caro felt her spine stiffen and her smile slip a notch or two. Martin noticed both reactions with a flicker of interest but didn’t comment on either.

“Rory says you have everything well in hand.”

She relaxed infinitesimally. “I hope so.”

“I hope so, too. We hate pulling over a hundred of our operatives out of the field at one time, but the world situation is so volatile right now that we had no choice. They need to know what’s going on around them. So we need to make every minute of this conference count.”

“You’ve certainly packed the agenda.”

“It’s about to get more packed.”

Nudging aside his cup, he flipped open his notebook and pulled out a heavily marked-up copy of the schedule. Caro’s heart sank at all the insertions and bold black arrows indicating changes.

“Rory and I went over this again last night. He called in some favors and we now have an expert on Africa flying in to brief us on the situation in Zimbabwe. We want to put him on here, right before the update on Tiblesi.”

“Okay.”

“And we’ve added two additional SITREPS on the latest developments in Tibet and Venezuela. We can squeeze them in before the live fire demo tomorrow. I’m thinking we’ll do one early, during breakfast, and the other at lunch. Make both meals working sessions.”

Caro gulped as her meticulously coordinated meal plans fell apart. She’d have to get with the resort’s caterer—and fast -to make the requested changes. Masking any sign of dismay, she nodded.

“No problem.”

“And speaking of the live fire demo…”

Martin flipped to the agreement signed by Captain Antonio Medina, the officer in charge of the policìa nacional armory in Girona. Acting as a go-between for GSI and Captain Medina, Caro had put hours into translating, compiling and forwarding the necessary forms. GSI’s senior VP of operations now handed her two more.

“See if you can get Medina’s chop on these additions to the demo.”

“Ice shield?” she read. “Paraclete vest? What are they?”

“The first is a negative energy defense system. We’re looking at it for possible deployment to protect high-vis clients when they have to get out among a crowd. The second is a new-generation vest designed to stop armor-piercing bullets. I’ve tracked down a source here in Spain for both and can have them delivered in time for the demo tomorrow.”

He downed a swallow of his syrupy coffee and eyed her over the rims of his Ray-Bans.

“Think you can handle the changes?”

Like she had a choice? Tapping two fingers to her temple, she gave him a brisk salute. “Yes, sir!”

A faint smile softened Martin’s chiseled features. “I have to admit I had my doubts when Rory told me he wanted European Business Services, Incorporated, to handle this conference. I didn’t think your company had the resources or the experience to pull it together on such short notice. So far, you’ve proved me wrong.”

Caro shifted a little in her seat. She couldn’t deny this job would rake in a fat profit for EBS. Still, she resented the way Burke had used it as a pretext to stage a reunion she’d neither anticipated nor wanted.

“Judging by the little exposure I’ve had to your boss,” she said, working hard to keep the acid out of her reply, “I’d say he’s used to getting his way.”

“Well, he is the boss.” Martin toyed with his coffee cup and studied her face with a scrutiny that made Caro distinctly uncomfortable. She suspected those cop’s eyes saw more than most people wanted them to.

“Rory’s a good man,” he said after a moment. “The kind you can trust to do what’s right.”

Depending on your definition of “right, ” she thought cynically.

“I’ll take your word for that.”

She glanced at her watch and swallowed another gulp. “Do you have any other items you want to discuss with me?”

“Not right now.”

“Then I’d better skip breakfast and get to work on these changes.”

“Go.”

After dropping off a USB drive with the revised agenda in the business office, Caro met with the resort’s conference planner in her den. She, in turn, called in the executive chef.

Andreas was not happy about scratching the second day’s elaborate breakfast of fire-grilled Andalucian ham and house specialty torrijas. Frowning, he substituted a simpler sausage-and-egg scramble served with flaky rolls and the region’s signature apricot jam. He was even less thrilled about changing the elegant seafood lunch buffet planned for outside on the terrace to sit-down service in the ballroom.

Caro left him grumbling over the changes and rushed back to the business office. To her relief, the efficient staff had the revised agendas rolling off the high-speed printer and promised to place them on the tables for the kickoff session.

Those two tasks well in hand, Caro tried to reach Captain Medina. As she’d discovered in her previous dealings with the police captain, he tended to set his own schedule. Luckily, she caught him this time and extracted his promise to review the forms she’d faxed over.