She should stick to her type: intellectual, cultured, and not so brutally masculine. A little more passive. Beta with a capital B. If a little voice pointed out that that hadn’t exactly worked out for her lately, she pushed it aside.
She wasn’t going to throw the baby out with the bathwater, as her stepfather liked to say. Just because Julien had turned out to be a dud didn’t mean the next guy would be. She wasn’t going to change what she knew was best for herself because she’d had great sex.
Discovering Dan’s Special Forces past had only solidified things in her mind. Their attraction had been off the charts, but now that they’d given in to it, they could move on. She could stop thinking about it.
Which was easier said than done. Knowing what it was like was much worse than speculating about what it would be like.
A SEAL . . . She shook her head. Just perfect.
She had a little more time—the computer terminal slots were for fifteen minutes—so she searched for news of the murders. Most of the stories were versions of a short Reuters article, but there was a longer, more detailed one from the local paper on Lewis.
She gasped, seeing a picture of herself staring back at her from the screen—she definitely needed a new passport picture—along with pictures of Jean Paul, Julien, and Claude. Even though she’d known it was Jean Paul who’d killed the others, seeing the picture of him in the hospital room in Stornoway made her sad all over again. Poor Julien and Claude.
She read through the story quickly, seeing there wasn’t much new information but distressed to read that they’d tried to contact her mother. She logged in to her e-mail and thought about sending her a message, but something held her back. Or rather, someone.
Whatever Dan was involved with, it was serious, and she didn’t want to do anything that would put him in jeopardy after everything he’d done for her. He’d been adamant about the need for secrecy. She would explain everything to her mom in a few days when this was all over. She hoped.
She scrolled down over four days’ worth of e-mail—she hadn’t been checking regularly on Lewis—and stopped when she saw the header from her bank.
After the credit card problem, she’d put a Fraud Alert on her credit file. Opening the e-mail, she realized it didn’t have anything to do with that. Apparently someone had tried to access her bank account from a different computer. It was dated a couple of days ago. Could it have been Julien?
She didn’t know, but she felt the stab of betrayal all over again.
God, how had she not seen it?
Just in case it had been someone else, she went ahead and changed the password after verifying the library computer with her security questions.
Her time was up and someone was waiting, so she quickly cleared her browsing history and logged off.
Thanking the librarian for the dictionary and the book, Annie walked back to the guest house. Now that she had her answers, she was more anxious than ever for this nightmare to be over. She wanted to go home and put it all behind her: Julien; Jean Paul; ecoterrorist plots to blow up drillships; murder charges; and too-sexy, Navy SEAL, Texan ship captains who spoke in hard truths and made her weak. While she still could.
Twenty-three
Dean spent the morning in the water, doing his best to put what had happened earlier out of his mind.
It was easy to see why Tiree was such a popular place for windsurfers. The combination of white sand beaches, temperate weather, consistent waves, and prevailing westerlies made it ideal. He and his rented board had cut across the waves for hours.
It was exhilarating, exhausting, and exactly what he needed. He felt a shitload better dragging the board out of the water than he had going in.
Shaking the water from his hair, he thanked the kid working at the rental hut and retrieved the towel he’d borrowed from the guest house to dry off his chest and back as he walked up the beach.
He was about halfway up when he stopped dead in his tracks.
Ah, hell. The blood drained from his body, and whatever clarity of mind the time on the water had brought him was gone in the instant it had taken him to see Annie standing there in a bikini. As there wasn’t much of it, it didn’t take long.
He gritted his teeth, trying not to look—stare—but Christ Almighty, it wasn’t fair. The small triangles of silky fabric that covered her breasts didn’t leave much to the imagination, revealing the perfectly round shape of the youthful flesh underneath. She was long and lean with the lithe muscles of a dancer and legs that went on—and on.
Shit, stop staring. But a flat stomach, gently curved hips, and all that cocoa-buttery tanned skin were impossible to turn away from.
He hadn’t exactly been in the best position to get a full look at her this morning, but all the details had just been filled in perfectly.
He’d been right. She had a killer body. More swimsuit magazine than PhD scientist, but damn . . .
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
Her question snapped him out of his lust-induced daze. But his synapses weren’t firing all that quickly, and it took him a moment to realize what she meant.
She’d been watching him windsurfing.
He shrugged, oddly embarrassed. He didn’t believe in false modesty, but her obvious admiration made him uncomfortable. Maybe because he liked it. Usually he didn’t care.
When he didn’t answer, she added, “I thought you were going to wipe out on that big wave at the end. You must have been five feet in the air.”
More like ten, but who was counting?
She was shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand, but for some reason he didn’t think he was the only one staring. She was looking at his chest. He could feel her eyes on him, and it was making him crazy. And hot.
As his low-hung board shorts weren’t going to leave much to the imagination, either, he tore his eyes away.
He noticed a couple of twentysomething surfers sitting nearby and obviously checking her out. His muscles flared a little as he gave them a stare that suggested—rather forcefully—that they think again. They didn’t quite run away, but they weren’t staring any longer.
The unwelcome (and uncharacteristic) possessiveness made his reply come off a little sharper than he intended. “What are you doing here, Annie?”
She dropped her hand and pointed to the spread-out towel that he hadn’t noticed a few feet away. “I was reading. I didn’t know this was the same beach you’d gone to until I realized the rainbow sail guy was you.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I thought real men didn’t do pink.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I figured one stripe wouldn’t do too much lasting damage.” He gave her a long look. “And I’m reconsidering. I think pink might be my new favorite color.”
The drawl was natural; the flirtatiousness was not. But she brought out all kinds of weird shit in him.
She blushed adorably, obviously embarrassed by his appreciation for her bathing suit, but pleased as well.
Remembering that this—them—wasn’t a good idea, he glanced over at the open book resting cover side up on the towel. “That’s a good book. Where did you find it?”
“The library.” She reached down to pick up another one that had been tucked under a bag that must have held her lunch. “I also picked up this.”
It was a Portuguese-to-English dictionary. There was a triumphant grin on her face that told him she’d guessed his motive. He wouldn’t apologize, though. He was just trying to be careful. He didn’t want her to slip. “Annie . . .”
She waved off his concern. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to blow our cover. It still won’t be easy to talk to people, and it forces me to think before I speak. But you can’t expect me not to talk to anyone for days. Speaking of . . . did you get ahold of the person who might be able to help us?”
“Tired of me already?”
She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. I was teasing. And yes, it’s in the works.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Sit back and wait. You can read your book and enjoy the beach.”
She might be able to finish the entire trilogy.
“What are you going to do?”
“Didn’t you hear? I have a competition to get ready for.”
She gave him a look that told him he wasn’t fooling her with the laid-back routine; apparently she already knew him too well. “Sit back” wasn’t in his vernacular. He was going to do a little research on his own on the Ocean Protection Front and North Sea Offshore Drilling. There was something about the whole thing that bugged him. Why kill Julien and Claude? Why not just toss the explosives overboard and go with the robbery angle alone? Murdering one’s compatriots seemed extreme even for an ecoterrorist group. Was there another reason? Something they were missing?
He also wanted to check out what Taylor had found on the rear admiral. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe him; he just had the feeling the LC was still holding back about something.
“There are a few things I need to take care of this afternoon.” He eyed the two surfers who’d been watching her earlier, but they were clearly avoiding looking in their direction. “You okay here by yourself?”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Tex. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
He tried not to jelly at the name, but damn . . . how had she guessed? Although admittedly it wasn’t the most original nickname in the world. But . . . shit.
Oh well, he supposed it was better than Dan.
“Besides,” she said with a wry smile and a nod in the direction of the two guys who were now three. “I think you scared them off. Those guys won’t come near me with a ten-foot pole. I doubt any guy who saw me talking to you will.”
He frowned. He couldn’t tell from her voice whether she was disappointed or not. She wasn’t interested in those bozos, was she? And why did that thought make him feel like cracking a few heads? “I didn’t like the way they were looking at you.”
She waved off his concern. “They’re harmless.”
He wasn’t so sure. She was hot enough to make men stupid. He should know. “I’m not.”
“I think they figured that out. But you don’t need to go to all the trouble; I’m not planning on talking to anyone.”
If that was why she thought he’d done it, he wasn’t going to put her straight. “No trouble,” he said. “But I’m going to make sure they got the message. Come here.”
She might have taken a step back. “Why?”
“I think you know why.”
She eyed him warily. “I thought you said that was a mistake.”
“It was. But I’m about to make another one.”
He closed the distance between them in a long stride and pulled her into his arms. One palm slid over the warm smooth skin of her waist before coming to rest on the silky pink bottoms of the bathing suit he’d admired a few minutes ago. God, that ass. He couldn’t resist squeezing and lifting a little. It was taut and firm and fit perfectly in his hand.
Her hands had looped around his neck almost instinctively. He liked that. But what he really liked was the feel of all that warm, bare skin plastered to his.
She was looking at him with a bemused smile on her face. “You don’t strike me as the PDA type.”
“You do strange things to me.”
“You don’t need to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” He was fucking dying to do this. The next time when he made love to her, he was going to be doing it just like this—facing her.
There wasn’t going to be a next time, he reminded himself.
Right. He was fucking crazy if he thought he could stay away from this . . . from her.
The next moment his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her. He groaned at the contact—at the taste of cherries.
She was killing him. But what a fucking way to go. He threaded his fingers through her hair to clasp the back of her head and bring her mouth more fully against his. He filled it with his tongue, taking long, deep strokes until the fire in his blood started to pound in his ears.
For a moment he forgot where he was. All he could see was stars. But his cock was thickening by the instant. If he didn’t want everyone on the beach to know exactly how much he wanted her—although that was probably pretty damned obvious from the kiss—he’d better pull away.
He released her. She stood staring up at him, gasping for a moment before looking around sheepishly. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten where they were for the moment.
The huskiness in her voice nearly did him in again. “I think they got the message that time.”
He hoped so. Because he sure as hell did.
• • •
After that strange episode on the beach, Annie wasn’t sure what to expect. But when Dan met her in the room later, it wasn’t nearly as awkward as she feared. They went to dinner and talked the same way they had the night before.
He told her a little more about his past. It sounded pretty messed up. His alcoholic mother and abusive deadbeat father certainly weren’t going to win Mom and Dad of the Year. Reading between the lines, she realized that the military had been a stabilizing force in his life, taking the place of the family who had left him to fend for himself. She asked a little about his time in the navy, but it was clear the subject was off-limits. Not wanting to ruin the night, she didn’t voice her suspicions about his being a SEAL.
Maybe she didn’t want confirmation.
It wasn’t until they’d finished getting ready for bed that the air in the room grew thick with tension.
She was already under the covers when he came back from the bathroom. He was wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt, which she suspected were for her benefit.
“I can sleep on the floor,” he said, holding her gaze, his jaw tight.
In other words, he was leaving the decision up to her. They both knew what would happen if he got into bed next to her again.
The air practically crackled with heated anticipation as he waited for her to make up her mind. It should have taken much longer than it did. But she wanted to be with him again. This morning had been amazing, but it had just been a taste. A wicked, delicious taste, perhaps, but she knew there was much more.
Just because she’d never done casual didn’t mean she couldn’t do it.
Was it a good idea? Probably not. She already liked him too much and had become strangely attached. But she took that to be largely due to their circumstances, and she wasn’t going to waste the chance to experience what she expected was going to be phenomenal, mind-blowing, no-holds-barred sex.
She met his gaze unhesitatingly. “I don’t want you to sleep on the floor.”
The clear invitation didn’t lessen the tautness in his body any; he seemed to be holding himself by a very tight rope.
Did he have any idea how attractive he was right now? She couldn’t take her eyes off the dark, chiseled lines of his face, the hard line of his jaw, and the silvery blue of his eyes.
Tough guy. Hard as nails. Too blunt. But hot. Really, really hot.
“I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings,” he said. “I can’t offer you anything more.”
“I’m not asking for anything more.”
He put one knee on the bed and pulled off his shirt.
Holy shit, that wasn’t fair. His body was . . . built, incredible, insane. Pick your extraordinary adjective. She wanted to run her finger down all those lines and ridges.
Or maybe her tongue.
Unaware that he’d just turned her body into a pool of liquid heat, he still seemed hesitant. “Casual, right?”
“Very casual.”
All-
night-long casual, she hoped.
“You sure?”
She shook her head. “Do you always give a girl this many times to change her mind?”
He smiled—that not-quite-half smile that she loved. “Maybe not. But this feels”—he shrugged—“I don’t know—different.”
She told her heart not to catch at that.
It didn’t listen.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He leaned down and smoothed a lock of hair back from her cheek, but his hand stayed and he caressed the curve with his thumb.
The gesture was so gentle and sweet—so opposite everything she thought of him—her already caught heart tightened a little more.
Don’t flip. Please don’t flip.
Too late.
She didn’t want him to hurt her, either. But she wanted him on the floor even less. No tenderness, she reminded herself. Physical. Make it physical.
“You won’t.” She pulled him down on top of her. “But I want you to make me very, very sore.”
He muffled a curse and groan as his mouth covered hers, his good-guy efforts finally giving way. All the hesitation was gone as he came down hard on top of her.
The weight of all those muscles should be crushing, but it wasn’t. It just turned her on even more. She loved the solid feel of him. The hardness of his body on top of hers. It made her feel vulnerable and small, but protected at the same time.
She was a strong woman. Confident. Independent. Capable and happy to take care of herself. She’d told herself she’d never need a man to protect her. But there was some tiny primitive instinct buried deep inside her that responded to his strength. To his sheer physicality and blatant masculinity. And it was weeping with pleasure right now.
She would have muffled a protest when he rolled slightly off her, but her mouth was too busy sliding against his tongue—she would never taste cinnamon again without thinking of him, thanks to that toothpaste—and then she realized he’d only done it so that his hand could have free roam over her body.
No protest necessary. His touch set her aflame. She was on fire. Hotter for him than she’d ever been in her life.
Going Dark Page 23
