Before We Kiss (Uncharted SEALs Book 6)

by Delilah Devlin

  Guilt layered on guilt. She’d caused him more worry. “Daddy, I’m sorry, but the men you put on my security detail were up for the situation.”

  “I heard one of them took out the bandits with a goddamn blow gun.”

  The identity of the cowboy confirmed, she narrowed her eyes. “Well, it wasn’t like he could have smuggled a gun on board.”

  “Look, you stick to the ship.”

  She bit back a sigh at his tone. “I will.”

  “I’ll have men meet you at the dock in Miami to get you safely to the airport.”

  She would rather have done so under her own steam, but she understood the need. “Yes, sir. I won’t lose my detail.”

  “You all right?”

  His voice had gone from sharp to gruff.

  “Just a couple of scrapes. I’m fine. And I’ll behave. Promise.”

  The call ended abruptly. Something that didn’t bother her. Her father never liked saying goodbye.

  A distant tap sounded, likely someone at her suite door. With her robe hanging on a hook in the bathroom, she decided to ignore the sound. Whoever it was would go away in a minute. She took a bandage from the tin and peeled away the paper. Just as she dangled the strip over her elbow, she heard the sound of a muffled snick. “I don’t need anything right now,” she called out to the room attendant, letting him know she was there.

  Steps drew closer, and she frowned while shaking off the tape sticking two of her fingers together. Giving up, she shot off the bed, darting toward her robe. But before she made it to the bathroom, a large, familiar figure filled the bedroom doorframe. For just a second awareness swept through her—no doubt due to her state of undress and his well-built frame. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The cowboy’s smile was slow but didn’t reach his eyes. “Checking out the accommodations.”

  She frowned, wiping the sticky Band-Aid onto her towel. “Look, you might be here on my dad’s dime, but that does not give you the right to barge into my suite.”

  “Our suite.”

  What? She raised her eyebrows. “I am not sharing this room with you.”

  “Good thing you have two bedrooms, then.” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Wasn’t suggesting we’d share a bed too, and I won’t embarrass you by pointing out the fact that your first assumption is mighty interesting.”

  “But you just did. Embarrass me, that is.” She hated knowing her cheeks were reddening.

  He shook his head. “Yeah, couldn’t help myself. The blush—it’s pretty.”

  Her jaw dropped as more heat rushed from her chest upward to fill her cheeks. “Get out!”

  Again, he shook his head. “Sorry, babe. New orders. As long as you’re aboard, I’m your escort.”

  She took a deeper breath, prepared to blister him with a scathing retort, but as luck would have it, her towel loosened and, before she could catch it, fell to the floor. Shocked, she stood gaping, a shiver running over her skin.

  His gaze did a slow, downward plunge then rose again, locking with hers. His jaw scissored shut. “Yeah, nice blush,” he said, then turned on his heel and left.

  She heard chuckling from the seating area. And what was she doing still standing here? Did she hope he’d pop his head around the door again for a second peek? Poppy shook herself and stepped into the bathroom to quickly don her bathrobe. Before exiting, she checked her appearance in the mirror. God, could her cheeks be any redder? She hated that she’d let him see her distress.

  But there was nothing she could do now but brazen this out. No way were they sharing this stateroom. She seriously doubted her daddy had insisted that the scruffy cowboy room with her. The man was overreaching. And, as soon as she had her blushes and her heart rate under control, she would tell him so. She took deep, calming breaths and fanned her face, all while forcing away thoughts of the spark of interest she’d seen in his gaze as he’d eyed her nude body.

  How unfair that the first time she’d been naked with a man since before Frank had deployed to Afghanistan was an accident! Again, a wash of warmth flooded her cheeks and parts she was better off ignoring. The cowboy probably wasn’t even that cute. She was just flustered. The man who’d come to her rescue could have been as ugly as a pug, and she’d still have thought he was good-looking based on all those delicious muscles pressed against her body. When she faced him again, she’d dissect his every flaw. But the thought of all that muscle, the power in his sturdy frame, only reminded her how long it had been since she’d been loved by a man.

  She conceded she’d never get her shattered thoughts under control, and she still had a bone to pick with the man responsible for her flustered state. She stomped into the main room only to find him seated in a chair, fingers drumming the arms. Looking bored. “Seriously, you can’t stay.”

  His gaze sliced over her. His expression locked.

  A look she knew well. Her daddy got that look whenever discussions were over. “Be reasonable. I’m not leaving the ship again.” Well, maybe just once. The beach area still needed to be checked out. “Or, if I do, I won’t leave without you and Mike shadowing my steps.”

  “The one being unreasonable is you. Ma’am. You’re not only putting yourself at risk, but also everyone around you every time you exit your room.”

  She jutted her chin. “I have a job to do. In a month, this ship will be welcoming soldiers and sailors with special needs. I’m not letting them down.”

  While his expression didn’t change, his chest rose slowly and then fell. “I’ll make a deal. You stop fussing about the room arrangement, and I’ll give you a little rope.”

  Poppy glared. Not much of a deal.

  The cowboy arched a brow.

  Unfortunately, he looked like he had all the patience in the world to wait for her to concede. She barely resisted the urge to stomp her foot.

  Poppy took another calming breath. “I can’t share this suite with a total stranger.” Who looks even yummier at third glance. Sooty black eyelashes. Black-brown hair that curled at his collar. Lush brown eyes with golden flecks around the pupils. Even his flaw, his slightly bumpy nose, was sexy. It only made him look more stubborn, which for some really strange reason had her clenching her thighs. Could she room with him and not want to crawl right over him?

  Sweet Jesus, I’m in trouble. Her glare wavered. He probably saved strange, horny women all the time. Probably had to fight them off. She wondered if he’d consider her advances as just part of the job.

  Okay, so she was being ridiculous. She knew it. But a terrycloth sash was the only thing standing between her attraction and his very hard, buff body. She had to end this quickly, before she did something stupid. “You’re not changing your mind, are you?”

  “Nope. But this doesn’t have to be uncomfortable—”

  She snorted. “The situation already is. I lost my towel.”

  The corners of his firm mouth twitched. “What towel?”

  The amusement sparkling in his eyes had her narrowing her gaze. “I don’t want everyone aboard to know you’re my bodyguard. Or that I need one.”

  “So, call it a shipboard romance.”

  Lord, he was quick to go there. Was he teasing her? Tapping a finger against her cheek, she pretended to seriously consider his suggestion. “You’ll have to dress for dinner. I’m sitting at the captain’s table tonight.”

  “I’ll have my bags moved. I don’t think I’ll embarrass you.”

  Again, a ghost of a smile curved his mouth. “How will you keep watch when you’re showering?”

  His eyes sparkled. “Might be easier if we showered together, don’t you think?”

  Her brows drew closer together. “The shower’s tiny.”

  “Won’t bother me.”

  His steady gaze dropped to her cheeks, which were growing hot again. Oooh! Just once she’d love to see him squirm half as much as she was now. “Your bedroom is farther from the cabin door than mine.”

  “You’ve got a king. We’ll
make do.”

  All right, she’d admit it. Anger was not the emotion rising to the top. Just the thought of his long frame stretched on the bed beside her made her tummy flutter. She swallowed and took a deep breath. Anything to slow her train of thought.

  But her imagination kept galloping way ahead of her good sense. “If we’re sleeping together,” she said, her voice going husky, “don’t you think I should at least know your name?”

  Wiley was in a world of hurt—the ache centered in his groin. Ever since she’d dropped that damn towel, he’d wondered how the hell he could get her naked again. He’d already been in a pissy mood after calling himself all kinds of stupid for letting her get under his skin—and then she’d stepped out in the robe and he was back to being horny. Poppy was a job. His duty was to keep her safe—even if only from himself, but he’d gone right ahead and goaded her, enjoying watching her blushes and the thoughts her transparent expression couldn’t hide. She was aroused. Which heightened his own attraction. His body was tense, and his balls as hard as stones. If he really did have to sleep beside her now, he’d be in blue-ball hell.

  Only, he wasn’t entirely sure she was just yanking his chain to see how far he’d let this play out before she pulled the rug from under him. She was too breathless, her pupils large and eating up the pretty blue irises. She was imagining that shower that was smaller than a telephone booth—and both of them standing inside it. No way their bodies wouldn’t touch.

  Or was he the only one imagining it, while she plotted her next torture?

  Hard to imagine her being that diabolical, or that good of an actress. Her features were softening right along with her posture. Her mouth was pouted, which drew his gaze downward. Those lips would be soft. Warm. Already he couldn’t wait to taste her.

  Wiley dug his fingers into the upholstered arm of his chair, preparing to make a dash for the door and his luggage. Anything to put space between them, because he was quickly forgetting why he was there.

  A knock tapped on the door.

  Poppy blinked and looked toward the sound.

  He growled and pushed up from the chair. “I’ll see who it is. You might want to get inside your bedroom.”

  “Right.” She dashed for her room and closed the door.

  “Well, hell,” he said, under his breath as he strode across the room. A quick glance through the peephole, and he nearly groaned. He opened the door a few inches. “Joe, sorry. I forgot about drinks.”

  Joe’s eyebrow arched as he pushed past him into the room, followed by an owl-eyed Sly, and Morty, who was whistling.

  “No worries about the drinks. The captain explained everything. Have you seen our room?” His gaze fell to Wiley’s hips and whipped back up. “Damn. Should have said we were interrupting something. Morty, Sly!” He signaled to his buddies.

  “No, don’t go,” Wiley blurted, his cheeks getting hot. He cleared his throat. “We can have drinks here. She’s changing, anyway. We were just going over some…security measures.”

  “Sure, you were,” Joe said, but his gray gaze held a note of laughter.

  Wiley winced and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping his hard-on relaxed quickly.

  Joe chuckled. “Look, the captain invited us to join him at his table, seeing as we’re the heroes of the day.”

  Wiley raised his eyebrows and glanced at Morty and Sly, who both grinned.

  “Also told us our bags were being moved. So, we thought we’d let you know everything’s across the hall.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Thanks, by the way, for the upgrade.”

  Wiley pitched his voice lower. “I’ll be moving in here.”

  “Thought you might,” Joe said with a bland smile. “But we’re still keeping our eyes on you both.”

  Wiley nodded. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  A door lock snicked, and Poppy stepped out into the living area, wearing a midnight blue dress that barely reached her knees. Her blonde hair was twisted in a knot at the back of her head. Her makeup was lightly applied, her lips glossy. His body tightened. God, she was gorgeous. Her blue gaze locked right on Wiley.

  He liked that she’d sought him first. “They’re moving in across the way,” he said, wishing he’d cleared his throat first because he’d sounded a little like he was choking.

  She smiled and nodded. “Captain Lundt’s efficient.” She walked toward Joe and held out her hand. “Thanks for what you did today.”

  “Wasn’t much. This guy,” he said, tilting his head toward Wiley, “did all the dirty work.”

  “Still.” She turned toward Sly and Morty. “Thank you all. Things could have gotten really ugly.”

  Morty stood straighter. “We’re all Marines, ma’am.”

  Again her gaze swept the older gentlemen. “Good to know. I overheard that you’ll be at the captain’s table, too.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re not on the payroll, but we’ve got your six.”

  Her smile was wide and genuine. “I feel safer already.” She glanced at Wiley and arched a brow. “You need to change.”

  He glanced down at his stained clothing. Well, fuck. “Joe?”

  Winking, Joe patted his shoulder. “We won’t let her out of our sight.”

  He flashed a narrowed gaze at Poppy who frowned back. “Don’t let her out of the room.”

  Joe grunted. “Yes, sir.”

  Feeling relieved for a little privacy, Wiley fled the room.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Dinner could have been awkward, but Poppy found she enjoyed being surrounded by her cowboy’s gruff old friends. They’d acted as buffers between her and Wiley and kept the conversation flowing.

  Joe told her the cowboy’s name. And he’d smacked Wiley in the belly with the back of his hand for the oversight when he returned dressed for dinner. Just like a grandfather might—only he wasn’t. Wiley and Joe had only met for the first time that day on the bus, which was amazing, seeing how comfortably they acted around each other, speaking in military shorthand, or in gestures or looks—as though they’d known each other for ages. But she guessed that was simply because the two came from the same background. They’d both earned their knocks in the military. They’d been tested by battle. She wondered how Frank might have interacted with them, or whether the fact he hadn’t returned home whole, a complete man—by his description—would have made it impossible for him to relate.

  Poppy straightened, recognizing this moment as the first time since she’d dropped her towel that she’d thought about her fiancé. It was all his fault—Wiley Coyote’s. She shook her head. William Coyote. “Wiley Coyote is ridiculous,” she’d said to Joe back in her room.

  “It’s his handle, ma’am. The name his buddies call him.”

  “But Wiley Coyote isn’t the hero of the cartoon.”

  Joe smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “But he is known for his ingenuity.”

  Poppy remembered the blow gun Wiley had used to stun-dart the banditos. “I see what you mean.” She really did. Now his duffel was parked inside her stateroom. Who else could have managed that feat?

  A hand settled at the back of her neck. Fingers played with the tendrils of hair that escaped the clip she’d used to secure her up-do. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Wiley shifted in his chair, moving closer toward her, while maintaining his conversation with Captain Lundt regarding his training and the ships he’d commanded before being hired by the Countess line. Polite conversation, but his questions were intelligent. All the while, he touched her lightly, keeping her in that state of awareness that had continued unabated since he’d dragged her to the ground outside the bus. Was this attentiveness all part of the act? Ensuring the other passengers and the crew, not in her father’s pocket, believed a romance had been struck between them? And they’d believe it. He’d lost his hat, his scruffy beard. Tonight, he wore a white button-down shirt and dark slacks—looking as handsome as a man straight out of a romance novel. The breathy sighs and interested
stares from the women seated at the tables around them said they were buying the story, hook, line and sinker.

  Poppy had no doubt where this was leading. Him in bed with her. That was inevitable, but was that result because he wanted to be there, or because he wanted to insert himself into her life aboard ship to keep her safe—and amenable to his care?

  She wished she knew. She really did. But she admitted to herself the truth wouldn’t change the outcome. Once they returned to her suite, clothes would drop. Period. Needs she’d denied for too long would be addressed. At the thought of his naked body hovering above hers, desire tugged at her belly. She resettled in her chair and pressed her thighs together. She had no doubt he’d be well able to see to her pleasure. The man exuded confidence. Every seemingly innocent touch ignited her senses.

  Again, he shifted. His warm breath brushed across her cheek. “Have you seen enough?”

  She knew what he meant. The meal, served in courses, had been splendid. The menu plentiful and varied. The service itself had been impeccable, and the dining room beautifully appointed. The lighting was perfect, but subdued. Music played in the background, but nothing that would draw passengers’ attention from the conversation at their tables. “Yes. This has been nice.” She smiled at the three older gentlemen who weren’t very good at pretending that they weren’t tracking Wiley’s every gesture. They each fought knowing smiles. She cleared her throat. “I suppose we could excuse ourselves,” she whispered, angling her face to meet Wiley’s gaze directly.

  His dark eyes studied her expression. His mouth tightened. “Then let’s make our farewells.” He moved away, pushed back his chair, then stood to help her from hers.

  The other men at the table rose, the captain’s eyebrow rising as his glance shot to Wiley.

  But since she wasn’t looking at the man whose hand rested possessively at the small of her back, she didn’t know what his expression might have conveyed. Instead of worrying, she took the time to shake the old Marines’ hands and wish them a good night.