Damn it, she would do a good job. For Aliz, for everyone who’d believed in her. Just as soon as she had some time alone, as soon as she collected herself and felt more normal, she was calling Signor Zarella. It was time to press him for a commitment, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She had to accomplish something positive or she would go mad.
She went into her bedroom and stripped out of her clothes. A shower and a fresh outfit would do her good. When she finished, she stepped from the shower and dried herself vigorously. Then she wrapped the towel around her body and went back into her bedroom to find a different outfit.
She came up short, her heart rocketing as she realized she wasn’t alone. But then she saw who it was. She put a hand over her chest, felt the pounding of her heart. “Martine. You scared me.”
“I’m sorry, Miss St. Germaine.” Tears flowed down Martine’s cheeks.
“What’s the matter, Martine?” Veronica said, taking a step toward her secretary.
Veronica stopped when Martine shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said again, her hand lifting, her arm stiff and straight.
It took Veronica only a split second to realize what was wrong.
Martine had a gun.
RAJ had just climbed into the car that would take him back to the airport when his phone buzzed. Dread settled in his stomach like a lead ball as he listened to the man on the other end.
Then he was yelling at the driver to stop and shoving open the car door at the same time.
If something happened to Veronica, he would never forgive himself.
His staff was already making their way to her office, he knew, but he broke into a run anyway. When he reached the ornate office, it was empty. Worse, the outer office where her secretary sat was also empty.
He made a hard dash to her private residence. Two of his men were already there, knocking on the door.
Raj pushed past them and into the interior of Veronica’s apartment. The gaudy living area was quiet. Just then, a muffled thump and a cry came from the direction of the bedroom. Raj sprinted, drawing the concealed weapon he carried, and kicked open the double doors.
Veronica was naked in the center of the room, a gun hanging limply from her hand. She swayed on her feet, her eyes wide. Another woman lay on the floor, curled in a ball, sobbing. Veronica looked up at him with glassy eyes.
He went and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She was trembling. He took the gun from her fingers and unloaded it with one hand before tossing it onto the bed. Belatedly, he remembered her state of undress. He retrieved the towel lying on the floor, draped it around her. It was damp and cool, but it was all he had.
His men came to lift up Martine and take her away.
“Don’t hurt her,” Veronica said as Martine screamed.
“They won’t, I promise you.”
The room was quiet once Martine and the bodyguards were gone. Veronica lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed. It tore him apart. She reached out as if to touch his face, let her hand drop when she thought better of it.
Despair tore into his gut. He’d done that to her. He’d made her wary of him, and he hated it.
“I’m sorry, Veronica,” he said.
She sucked in a shaky breath. Clung to him.
As much as he knew he should set her away, should put distance between them, he couldn’t do it. He loved the feel of her in his arms. He wanted to hold her for as long as he could.
His arms tightened around her. He’d almost lost her.
“Martine’s mother …” she said.
“I know. I just found out.”
“Madame Brun was behind it all,” she said. “She probably talked the police chief into doing what he did.”
“Some people don’t deal well with the loss of power.” In this case, it was the wife rather than the husband, who, though disappointed in the outcome of the election, was a true politician.
“She threatened to take away Martine’s mother’s pension if Martine didn’t do what she wanted. Martine spied on me, Raj. She told Madame Brun about the baby, and she pasted together the letter and put the doll in my bed.”
“I know. I just got the report. Her mother worked for the Bruns for many years, and lives in an old-age home paid for by the pension she earned from them. If it were taken away, she’d be homeless. Or worse, with the economic situation in Aliz.”
Veronica looked fierce for a moment. “I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen if she’d only come to me! I’d have taken her mother in, paid the pension, whatever it took. Martine was my secretary for two years! I thought she knew me better than that.”
“I imagine she was just scared. And I doubt she ever believed Madame Brun would ask her to …” He looked at the gun lying on the bed, so dark and deadly and gleaming blue in the light. He couldn’t speak the words he was thinking. To kill you. “How did you get the gun?”
“All I had was the towel,” Veronica said. “I reacted without thinking. I threw it at her.”
Ice formed in his veins. She’d thrown a towel at an armed woman.
“You were lucky.”
She nodded, her arms tightening around his waist. “I couldn’t let it end like this. Not after everything.”
My God, she was brave. And incredible. In another life, he’d have probably hired her to work for him. With training, she’d have made a hell of a security professional. Except that he couldn’t bear the thought of her in danger.
Raj tipped her head back so he could see into her eyes. She was frightened, but not to the point of shock. Not yet anyway.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. And, damn, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her. Softly, sweetly. He needed to know she was real, that she was still here and still capable of responding. That he wasn’t imagining it. That he hadn’t actually walked in on something much worse and started to hallucinate that she was unharmed.
Her mouth opened, her tongue tangling with his as she moaned softly. And then she was arching her body into his and he was pulling her closer, pressing her against the evidence of his need for her.
She broke the kiss first, her body stiffening in his embrace. He could tell the moment everything changed, and he let her go. His heart, his body, cried out in protest, but he loosened his grip and she stepped out of it.
Brave, brave Veronica.
She held the edges of her damp towel, her dignity not damaged in the least, and gazed up at him. “It’s no good, Raj,” she said. “We could fall into bed together now, but you’d still walk out in the end. I’m not putting myself through that again.”
“I do want you,” he said in despair. “I want to be with you.” He shoved a hand through his hair, blew out a harsh breath. He felt tight inside, coiled, as if he had to do something or explode. Maybe they could work it out. He could try. For her, he would try.
“I’ll come to Aliz when I can. You’ll be traveling, too—we’ll meet in different places, take it a day at a time.”
She shook her head sadly. Her hair was starting to dry, curling over her shoulders and down her back. She was as wild and untamed as Goa, as beautiful as the sea. He wanted to possess her, ached to possess her.
Frustration arced