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man, John Wilde.”
    “The hell I am.”
    “You are. Alden always talked about how great you were.”
    “He did?”
    “Darned right, he did. He was crazy about you.”
    He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She smiled; he smiled back.
    “Hey,” he said, “how about we get something to eat?”
    “Thank you, but I don’t want to go to your father’s party.”
    John grinned. “That makes it unanimous.” He tucked her hand into the curve of his
     arm. “Let’s go to Annie’s. I haven’t had one of her giant if-you-can-finish-it-you-don’t-have-to
     pay-for-it steaks in years.”
    Connie laughed. “Nobody can finish one of Annie’s steaks.”
    “Says you.”
    “Wanna bet?”
    Her expression changed. “Bet what?” she whispered.
    Then, she was in his arms.
    He didn’t think. Neither did she. She snaked her hands under his shirt. He tore hers
     open. Yanked down her shorts as she fumbled at his fly.
    A second later, he was inside her, holding her up in his arms, her hands clasping
     his shoulders, her mouth locked to his.
    He came hard and fast; she cried out as he did.
    Still deep inside her, he took her down to the grass with him, knelt between her thighs
     and drove into her again.
    Her nails clawed his back; she arched against him and as her orgasm tore through her,
     he came again.
    Spent, he collapsed against her.
    They lay holding each other for long minutes.
    Then he helped her to her feet.
    She crossed her arms over her breasts.
    “Don’t,” he said softly.
    She shook her head. “I’m so embarrassed…”
    He took her hands and kissed them. Then he dressed her, zipped his fly and put his
     arm around her waist.
    “Come on.”
    “No. It’s OK. I’ll walk back to my car myself.”
    John clasped her chin, leaned in and kissed her again.
    “We’re going to my car,” he said firmly, “and then to the Magnolia Inn.” He put his arms around her.
     “And we’re going to do this the right way.”
    “John…”
    “Or do you really want the mosquitoes to make a meal out of our butts?”
    She smiled, as he’d hoped she would. Then she giggled and, finally, she laughed.
    Half an hour later, after a quick stop at a drugstore for condoms, she was in his
     arms again, this time in a queen-size bed.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    C ould you fall in love with a country?
    Yes, Johnny decided, yes, you could.
    Italy was spectacular. He loved everything about it. The cities, the towns, the ruins,
     the food, the wine, the people.
    The women.
    Man , the women! Bellissima !
    Johnny’s boss, Brigadier General Pete Halvorson, thought so, too.
    Halvorson had translators on his staff, but he made it clear that he saw himself as
     part of the “new” army. That turned out to mean that Halvorson, a short, overweight
     bachelor, saw the benefits of having a tall, good-looking, charming military aide
     beside him, rather than a run-of-the-mill translator, at the endless cocktail parties
     he attended as part of his job
    Simply put, General Halvorson liked the ladies. The ladies liked catching the attention
     of a general, but they adored catching the interest of Second Lieutenant John Hamilton
     Wilde.
    Not a problem.
    There were more than enough beautiful women to go around.
    Not that it was all fun and games.
    Halvorson had a job to do, and he was good at it.
    Days were filled with meetings; John was responsible for making sure his boss had
     whatever facts he needed at his fingertips.
    To that end, he read the seemingly endless reports and documents that came in over
     Halvorson’s fax machine and by diplomatic pouch, researched whatever had to be researched,
     and turned it all into comprehensive and comprehensible notes.
    He studied Halvorson closely, absorbed the intricacies of behavior that went with
     being part soldier and part diplomat.
    Best of all, he made contacts that would prove to be invaluable.
    By the end of his first year as Halvorson’s side, John was a first lieutenant.
    By the end of his