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Copyright 2007, Harlequin Enterprises
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 4 1/2 Stars
Romantic Times BOOKreviews |
Exhausted, Sasha would have crashed into bed within minutes of arriving
home, but a broadcast on the 24-hour news network changed all that. It
was actually a re-broadcast, and she realized sheepishly that she’d been
so focused on preparing for, and then attending and being de-briefed
from, the wedding, she had tuned out the rest of the world a bit too
successfully.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed, her attention riveted to the screen,
as Representative Bryan Ellis of Arizona pleaded into the TV camera for
the return of two young girls who had been abducted the prior week.
According to Ellis, both victims had been students at a prestigious
Arizona prep school for girls.
Athena Academy…
Recovering from her shock, and thirsty for information about the status
of her fellow Athenians, Sasha fired up her laptop to check AA.gov, but
the alumni website was strangely silent about the fate of the girls. It
simply parroted what Ellis had already told the media: that the bold and
well-planned abduction had taken place on Athena Academy grounds; the
families had been notified; and the whole country was praying for the
safe return of the students.
“Bullshit,” Sasha muttered. “There’s a lot more than praying going on.
We have women in the FBI, the CIA, NSA – you name it. These creeps are
gonna wish they’d never been born when they come face to face with pure,
unadulterated Athena force.”
Every fiber of her being wanted to call the school and offer to help,
but it was the middle of the night. Plus, she knew that Athena Academy
had alumni much more experienced than she to tap. After all, Sasha’s
function with the FBI was to be a glorified snitch. An asset, not an
agent. It made sense, given the nature of her work, but still it rankled
her, even on a good day. And on a bad night like this, it truly
frustrated her.
Like they’re going to ask a Mafia princess for help on something like
this? she mocked herself.
Immediately, she tensed. The words had taunted her in Jeff Crossman’s
voice, not her own. Apparently he had really gotten under her skin with
his doubts about her reliability. And while she knew it wasn’t totally
his doing – she had her own internal conflicts, especially in regard to
her father – she still cursed Jeff for daring to speak them out loud so
often.
Sleep, or evening resting under the covers, was out of the question. She
would stay up all night if necessary, monitoring the TV and the website
until she was sure the students were safe. Determined to hunker down,
she twisted her hair into a knot that barely fit inside a plastic cap,
then took a quick shower and slipped into a long, silky blue robe before
curling up on the couch with a glass of Pinot Grigio, her laptop, and
the remote control.
She had just taken the first sip of her drink when someone knocked on
the door to her condominium. It was an odd occurrence for multiple
reasons. She rarely had visitors. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night.
And her building had excellent security, which meant she should have
gotten a phone call from the front desk announcing any guest who sought
admittance.
Sliding to her feet, Sasha considered her options carefully. There was
the pistol in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Or a call to the
front desk. Or…
Forget those screw-ups, just call 9-1-1!
But that seemed imprudent, given the nagging sensation in the back of
her tired brain that her visitor was probably Carmine Martino,
determined to collect on his bet.
Which led her to her final option – one she didn’t usually consider. She
could simply kick the crap out of any assailant. Wasn’t that the most
practical part of her Athena Academy legacy?
Smiling at the thought, she walked over to the door and peeped through
the peephole. Then she frowned in confused disbelief.
Jeff?
Without thinking, she threw open the door and demanded, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Can I come in?”
She was literally stunned. This guy never, ever came to her place. She
always went to him, which made sense, since it wouldn’t have been
prudent for an FBI agent to be spotted entering the residence of a Mafia
boss’s daughter. Not prudent for Jeff, and certainly not prudent for
Sasha.
So why was he here?
Stepping aside, she allowed him to enter. Then she asked hesitantly,
“Did you guys apprehend zio Vicenzo?”
“We’re still working on it.” His gaze traveled around her sumptuous
living room. Then he gave a long, appreciative whistle. “Nice place.”
“I financed the down payment through an inheritance from my mother, but
I make the payments with my design work. And every penny in Mom’s trust
fund was from completely legitimate business enterprises. Not that it’s
any of your business.” Sasha felt her temperature rise. “Even if every
inch of this place was financed with mob money, I don’t have to explain
it to you.”
Jeff turned and gave her a patient smile. “All I said was, it’s a nice
place. You look good too, by the way.”
Sasha sucked her breath in so quickly, it made her chest ache. What the
hell was he doing? Being nice to her? Complimenting her?
Using his Summit voice on her in person, when he surely knew it was
meant solely for electronic communications over safe distances?
But there he was, sounding strong and safe and sexy. Combined with his
deep green eyes and gentle smile, the effect was lethal. Yet she knew it
was false – this guy thought she was a crime waiting to happen! – so she
steadied herself, then demanded, “Why are you here, Agent Crossman?”
“Sorry, I know it’s late. I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted
earlier.”
Sasha moistened her lips. “Pardon?”
“You did a great job today. And I gave you a rough time. I’m sorry.”
“You always give me a rough time,” she reminded him. “What’s so
different about today? Anyway, don’t give it another thought. I’m used
to it.”
“That’s my point. I’ve been wrong. I admit it.”
She would have been shaken by the sentiment had she not noticed his gaze
slip, just for a moment, from her face to her body, which probably
looked fairly good in this particular robe. “Oh. My. God. Don’t even
think about it. Just go home and sleep it off.”
He gave her a pained smile. “It’s not that either. Although like I said,
you look great. You’re amazing, actually. If we land Vincent the Butcher
because of you – well –”
“So? You came here – at eleven o’clock at night – to apologize for
calling me a spoiled Mafia princess? Fine. Apology accepted. Now go
home.”
Jeff frowned. “I never called you that. At least…”
“Not to my face? Yeah, you’re a classy guy. No doubt about that.”
Stepping close to him, she raised her chin defiantly. “You know what
really bugs me about you, Crossman? All these months, you’ve been
accusing me of having divided loyalties and crappy motivation because of
my so-called vendetta against my father. But you know what? I think
you’re the one with a vendetta. Against me.”
“That’s not true,” he assured her, using his Summit voice again.
“Isn’t it?” She smiled grimly. “You’ve seen all my advantages – fancy
houses, elite prep schools, zillion dollar weddings and colorful
relatives. And then there’s you. So drenched in normalness you can’t
possibly relate to all that. So you denigrate it.”
A smile played on his lips. “How am I drenched in normalness? If that’s
even a word, which I doubt.”
Sasha bit her lip, regretting the display of temper. Wasn’t she just
feeding the stereotype? The hot-blooded Italian female? Plus, he was
right about normalness. It wasn’t a word per se, but it fit him sooo
well.
Except for his body, which was anything but normal. And his face was
superior too. And his voice. And to be fair, winning the Heisman Trophy
in his junior year at Princeton was nothing to sneeze at, especially
since her father – Big Frankie – had reportedly made a bundle on a
related bet.
Jeff flashed a lopsided grin. “Did I mention how great you look?”
“Oh no.” Sasha felt a telltale shiver run down her spine. “You need to
go home before…”
“Before what?” He stepped into her, resting his hands on her hips.
Oh my God…
She tried to squirm away, but her squirming muscles were apparently not
working. “Doesn’t this violate … well, stuff?”
“Yeah. All kinds of stuff,” he agreed in a Summit voice so obscene, she
was sure even that was against federal regulations. Then he lowered his
mouth to hers.
Countless fantasies, some from earlier in her life, some from the day
she first met this frustrating, judgmental hunk, flooded her body with
heat and excitement. Not that she needed it. He was supplying more than
enough juice with his hot, appreciative kiss.
Then he pulled her against himself, and she gasped at the hard-body feel
of him. In an instant his tongue was sparring with hers, his hand roving
under her robe, his breathing growing ragged and needy—
And then – as if to rescue them from themselves – there was another,
more demanding knock on the front door.
“Damn.” Jeff realigned Sasha so that her cheek was nestled against his
chest. “Are you expecting someone?”
She loved the explosive, erratic way his heart was pounding, mostly
because it offered proof that he was as excited as she. Not that other
proof hadn’t been pressed against her, but that was just physical. Just
a guy thing. This breathless lack of control was something else.
Emotion. Confusion.
All the things Sasha was experiencing.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone. Especially not you,” she told him.
Jeff chuckled. “Yeah. Me either.”
She pulled free and tried not to smile too widely. “It’s probably
Carmine Martino. Here to collect on his bet.”
Jeff’s amorous expression rearranged itself instantly. “He can collect
on my fist, the asshole.”
From the book Charade by Kate Donovan
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The edition published by Harlequin Books S.A.,
Copyright © 2007
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