by Diana Palmer
"The way I look?" she chided.
He reached over and took the pins out of her coiffure,
loosening her hair. His fingers lifted the glasses from their perch atop her head, folded them, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. He reached over again and flicked open the buttons of her blouse all the way down to the cleft between her high breasts.
"Mr. Brettman!" she burst out, pushing at his fingers.
"Stop blushing, call me Jacob, and don't start fighting me in public," he said gruffly. "If you can remember all that, we'll do fine."
"Jacob?" she asked, her fingers abandoning their futile efforts to rebutton her buttons.
"Jacob. Or Dane, my middle name. Whichever you prefer, Gabby."
He made her name sound like bowers of pink roses in bud, like the softness of a spring rain on grass. She stared up at him.
"Jacob, then," she murmured.
He nodded, his dark eyes searching hers. "I'll take care of you, Gabby," he said. "I won't let you get in the line of fire."
"You meant it, didn't you?" she asked. "You're going to try to rescue Martina."
"Of course," he replied calmly. "She and I, we had a tough time as kids. Our father drowned in a bathtub, dead drunk, when we were toddlers. Mama scrubbed floors to keep us in school. As soon as we were old enough, we went to work, to help. But I was barely fifteen when Mama died of a heart attack. I've taken care of Martina ever since, just the way I promised I would. I can't let strangers try to help her. I have to."
"Forgive me," she said gently, "but you're an attorney, not a policeman. What can you do?"
"Wait and see," he told her. His eyes surveyed her quietly, approving her elfin beauty. "I'm not in my dotage yet."
"Yes, sir, I know that," she murmured.
"Jacob," he repeated.
She sighed, searching his dark eyes. "Jacob," she agreed.
That seemed to satisfy him. He glanced past her as the plane started down, and he smiled. "The Eternal City, Gabby," he murmured. "Rome."
She followed his gaze and felt her heart lift as the ancient city came into view below. Already, she was leaping ahead to the time when she could actually see the Colosseum and the Forum and the Pantheon. But as she remembered the reason for their being in Rome, her enthusiasm faded. Of course there wouldn't be time for sightseeing, she reasoned. J.D. was going to be too busy trying to get himself killed.
The drive into Rome was fascinating. They went in on the Viale Trastevere, through the old part of the city, across the wide Tiber on an ancient bridge. The seven hills of Rome were hardly noticeable because of centuries of erosion and new construction, but Gabby was too busy gaping at the ruins they passed to notice or care.
They went right by the Colosseum, and her eyes lingered on it as they proceeded to their hotel.
"We'll find a few minutes to see it," J.D. said quietly, as if he knew how much it meant to her.
Her gaze brushed his hard face and impulsively she touched her fingers to the back of his hand. "It really isn't that kind of a trip," she said softly.
He searched her worried face. His big hand turned,
grasping hers warmly in its callused strength. "We'll ! have to pretend that it is, for a day or so at least," he said.
"What are we going to do?" she asked nervously.
He drew in a slow breath and leaned back against t the seat, handsome and rugged-looking in his vested * suit. It strained against massive muscles, and she tin-gled at the sight. J.D. had always affected her power-fully in a purely physical way. It pleased her eyes to lock at him.
"I'm working on that. But one thing we'll be doing in the hotel," he added slowly, "is sharing a suite. Will that frighten you?"
She shook her head. "I'm not afraid of anything when I'm with you, Jacob," she replied, finding that his given name was more comfortable to her tongue than she'd j expected.
He cocked a heavy eyebrow. "That wasn't the kind of fear I meant, actually," he murmured. "Will you be afraid of me?"
"Why would I be?" she asked, puzzled.
He blew out a harsh breath and looked out the window. "I can't think of a single damned reason," he growled. "I hope Dutch got my message. He's supposed to call me later at the hotel."
"Dutch?" she queried softly.
"A man I know. He's my go-between with Roberto," he replied.
"Roberto and Martina don't live in Rome, do they?" she asked.
He shook his head. "In Palermo. So, for all appearances, we'll be a couple on holiday, and there won't be anything to connect us with the kidnapping."
"Will this man Dutch know if Martina is still in the country?" she asked.
"He'll know," he said with certainty.
He was obviously irritated with her, so she didn't press him with any more questions, contenting herself with staring at every building they passed.
Their hotel was disappointingly modern, but the old-world courtesy of the Italian desk clerk made up for it. He was attentive and outgoing, and Gabby liked him at once. J.D., however, seemed to have misgivings about him. He didn't share them with her, but he stared aggressively at the poor little man.
He had booked them a suite, with two bedrooms. Gabby hadn't expected anything else, but J.D.'s behavior was downright odd. He glared at the elegant sitting room, he glared at her, and he especially glared at the telephone. He paced and smoked, and Gabby felt as if she were going to fly apart, he made her so nervous. She went into her bedroom and unpacked, just to have something to do. The sudden sound of the phone ringing startled her, but she didn't go back into the sitting room; she waited for J.D. to call her. Meanwhile, she changed into jeans and a silky green top, leaving her hair loose and her reading glasses in her purse. She did look like a tourist on holiday. That ought to perk up J.D.
He called to her about five minutes later, and she walked into the room to find him staring blankly out the window. He'd taken off his jacket and vest and opened the top buttons of his shirt. His thick, wavy hair was mussed, and one big, tanned hand was still buried in it. A smoking cigarette was in the other hand, which was leaning on the windowsill.
"Jacob?" she murmured.
He turned. His dark eyes focused on her slender figure, so intent that they missed the shocked pleasure in her own gaze as she took in this sudden and unexpected glimpse of his body. Where the shirt was loose, she could see the olive tan of his chest under curls of dark hair, and rippling muscles that made her hands itch. Her whole body reacted to his sensuality, going rigid with excitement.
"Dutch," he said, nodding toward the phone to indicate who his caller had been. "Martina's out of the country."
She caught her breath. "Where?"
"Guatemala. On a finca—a farm—owned by a revolutionary group."
Her eyes searched his hard face. "Why would they take her there?"
'Terrorism is international, didn't you know? They probably have holdings all over the world, but Guatemala is in such a state of unrest it's a good place to hide a kidnap victim." He laughed bitterly. His jaw tautened. "They'll kill her if they don't get the money. They may do it anyway."
"What are you going to do?"
"I've already done it," he replied. "I've given Dutch a sum of money to buy some things I'll need. I've also had him contact my old comrades. They'll meet us at the Guatemalan finca of a friend of mine."
She cocked her head at him, uncomprehending. "When do we leave?"
'Tomorrow," he said. "As much as I'd like to jump on the next plane, we can't do it that way. I need time to plan. And there's no sense in signaling our every
move. Dutch was going to speak to Roberto for me tonight. I'll need to know the status of his fund-raising before we leave."
"Will we fly into Guatemala?" she asked, feeling
jittery.
"To Mexico," he said in answer. He smiled slowly. "As part of the holiday, of course," he added. "That will be broadcast to the right quarters."
"And now?" she asked. "What do I do?"
Her eyes searched his. "I know you're worried, J.D. If you'd rather stay here..."
He moved closer to her, and the sudden proximity of his big body made her knees go weak. She lifted her face and found his dark eyes intent and unblinking.
"I don't think that's a good idea," he said quietly. He reached out and traced a slow path down her cheek to her throat, where her pulse went suddenly wild. "What would you like to see first?"
She found that her voice wobbled alarmingly. "How about the Forum?"
His dark eyes searched hers for a long moment. His fingers went to her mouth, touching it lightly, as if the feel of it fascinated him. His thumb dragged slowly, sensuously, over it, smearing her lipstick, arousing every nerve ending she had. She gasped, and her lips parted helplessly.
"The Forum?" he murmured.
She hardly heard him. Her eyes were held by his. Her body was reacting to the closeness of his in a new and frightening way. She could smell the musky cologne he wore and it made her head spin.
Her hands went to his chest in a small gesture of protest, but the feel of all that bare skin and matted hair made her jerk back.
He glanced down at her recoiling fingers with an odd expression. "It's only skin," he said quietly. "Are you afraid to touch me?"
"I've never touched anybody that way," she blurted out.
He tipped her face up to his and studied it with an odd smile. "Haven't you? Why?"
What an interesting question, she thought. What a pity she didn't have an answer.
"Don't tell me you haven't had the opportunity, Gabby," he said softly. "I wouldn't believe it."
"Mama said that it wasn't wise to do things like that to men," she told him doggedly, her chin thrust out. "She said they were hard enough to manage even when it didn't go beyond kissing."
"So there," he added for her with a faint smile. "She was right. Men get excited easily when they want a woman."
She felt the blush go up into her hairline, setting fire to her face. And he laughed, the horrible man!
She pulled away from him with a hard glare. "That was unkind," she grumbled.
"And you're delightfully repressed," he told her, but the look in his eyes was all tenderness. "You'd be pure sweet hell to initiate, Gabby."
"I don't want to be initiated," she said primly. "I want to see the Forum."
"All right, coward, hide your head in the sand," he taunted, holding the door open for her.
"It's safer that way, around you," she mumbled.
He caught her arm as she started past him, and she felt the warmth of his body like a drug. "I'll never hurt you," he said unexpectedly, drawing her stunned gaze to his face. It was hard and solemn. Almost grim. "You trust me in every other way. I want you to trust me physically as well."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because if I take you with me to Central America, I'll want you with me all the time. Especially at night," he added. "The men we'll be working with aren't particularly gentle. For all intents and purposes, you'll be my possession."
"To protect me from them?" she asked.
He nodded. "That means, in case you haven't worked it out, that you'll be sleeping in my bed."
She tingled from head to toe at the thought of lying in J.D.'s arms. It was something she'd contemplated in her own mind for a long time, and hearing it from his lips almost made her gasp. As it was, her flush told him everything anyway.
"In my bed," he repeated, searching her eyes. "In my arms. And I won't touch you in any way that I shouldn't Even when we're back home and Martina is safe, and you're at your computer again, there won't be anything you'd be ashamed to tell your mother. All right?"
She couldn't find the words to express what she was feeling. J.D. felt protective of her. It was something she'd never expected. And uncharacteristically, she was disappointed. Did it mean that he didn't want her?
"All right, Jacob," she whispered softly.
His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed down at her. The hand holding her arm tightened until it hurt. "We'd
better get out of here," he said gruffly. He let her go, turning away as if it took some effort.
Rome was the most exciting place Gabby had ever been. All of it seemed to be interspersed with history and crumbling ruins and romance. J.D. told her that the Colosseum, the Forum, the Ninfeo di Nerone—Nero's Sanctuary of the Nymphs—and the ruins of Nero's House of Gold residence were all near the Caelian, Cap-itolene, and Palatine hills. They decided to concentrate on that area of the city.
There was so much to see that Gabby's mind seemed to overload. They wandered around the ruins of the Forum first, and she just stared and stared like the eternal tourist.
"Just imagine," she whispered, as if afraid the ghosts might hear and take offense, "all those centuries ago Romans walked here just as we're walking today, with the same dreams and hopes and fears we feel. I wonder if they ever thought about how the world would be in the future?"
"I'm sure they did." J.D. stuck his hands in his pockets, and the wind ran like loving fingers through his crisp, dark hair. With his head thrown back like that, his profile in relief, he could have been one of the early Romans himself.
"Have you ever read The Annals of Imperial Rome by Tacitus?" she asked.
His head jerked around. "Yes. Have you?"
She grinned. "I was always a nut about Roman history. And Greek history. I loved Herodotus, even though he's been bad-mouthed a lot for some of his revelations."
"He was repeating what he'd heard or was told," he
said. "But it's fascinating reading, nevertheless." He smiled amusedly. "Well, well, a historian. And I never suspected. I thought your knowledge of other countries was limited to those sweet little romance novels you read."
She glared at him. "I learn a lot about the world from those books," she said, defending herself. "And about other things too."
He cocked a dark eyebrow. "What other things?"
She looked away. "Never mind."
"We can go and see the catacombs later, if you like. They're south of here."
"Where the early Christians were buried?" She shuddered. "Oh, no, I don't think so. It's kind of an invasion of privacy. I'm sure I wouldn't want someone walking through my grave."
"I suppose it depends on your point of view," he conceded. "Well, we'll drive up to the Colosseum then."
"What was the other thing you mentioned, the Ninfeo di Nerone?"
He looked down at her with dark, indulgent eyes. "The Sanctuary of the Nymphs. You'd have fit right in, with your long, dark hair and mysterious eyes."
"I wouldn't have liked the debauchery," she said with certainty, her green eyes flashing. "The morals in Rome in Nero's time were decadent. I read that he had his wife Octavia killed, in a horrible way, after some prodding by his mistress."
"That was in Tacitus," he recalled. "A lot of terrible things happened here in the early days. But if you think about it, honey, terrible things are still happening. Like Martina's kidnapping."
"The world hasn't really changed very much, has
it?" she asked sadly, watching the disturbance in his features at the thought of Martina and what she might be going through. She reached out and touched his arm |gently. "They won't hurt her, Jacob," she said quietly. "Not until they get the money. Will they?"
"I don't know." He caught her arms and jerked her against his hard body, holding her there and staring intently into her eyes. "Frightened?" he asked on a husky note. "No," she lied.
His dark eyes held hers. "We're supposed to be lovers on a holiday," he reminded her. "Just in case anyone is watching us..."
His head started to bend, and she caught her breath. Her eyes dropped to his chiseled mouth and she suddenly became breathless.
"Haven't you ever wondered?" he asked tautly, hesitating when he saw the shock on her young face.
Her eyes fluttered up to
his fierce ones and back down again. "How it would be to...to kiss you?" she whispered. "Yes."
Her lips parted on a rush of breath. She felt her breasts pressed softly against his shirtfront and was aware of the hardness of warm muscles against their hardening tips. She felt trembly all over just at the touch of his body.
His hands slid up her arms, over her shoulders, and up her throat to cup her face and look at it with searching eyes.
"For the record," he murmured quietly, "is it a distasteful thought?"
That did shock her. She couldn't imagine any woman finding him distasteful.
"It's not that at all," she said. Her fingers flattened against his shirtfront, feeling the warm strength of his body. "I'm afraid that you'll be disappointed."
His eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
She moved restlessly. "I haven't kissed a lot of people. Well, you keep me too busy," she added defensively when his eyes twinkled.
"So your education has been neglected?" He laughed softly. "I'll teach you how to kiss, Gabby. It isn't hard at all. Just close your eyes and I'll do the rest."
She did, and the first contact with that hard, persuasive mouth made her breath catch. He lifted his head, studying her.
"What was that wild little gasp about?" he asked gently.
Her wide eyes searched his. "You're my boss...."
That seemed to anger him. "For today, I'm a man." His thumbs under her chin coaxed her face up still farther. His head bent, his mouth hovering just above hers. "Relax, will you?" he whispered. "I can hear your bones straining."
She laughed nervously. "I'm trying. You make me feel.. .stiff. I'm sorry, I'm kind of new at this."
"Stiff how?" He pounced on that, his expression giving nothing away, his eyes narrow and unblinking.
Her lips parted. Her fingers contracted on his shirtfront, her nails biting unconsciously into his chest, and he stiffened. "Now you're doing it too," she whispered.
His face relaxed, and there was a wild kind of relief in his dark eyes. He brushed his mouth over her forehead, her closed eyes. His hands slid behind her head and into the thick hair at her nape, cradling it.
