Under the Covers

by Roz Lee

  Table of Contents

  Under the Covers

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About The Author

  Red Sage Publishing

  An eRedSage Publishing Publication

  This book is a work of complete fiction. Any names, places, incidents, characters are products of the author’s imagination and creativity or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is fully coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever is forbidden.

  Information:

  Red Sage Publishing, Inc. P.O. Box 4844 Seminole, FL 33775

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  Under the Covers

  An eRed Sage Publication All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2012

  eRedSage is a registered trademark of Red Sage Publishing, Inc.

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  ISBN: 9781603107853; 1603107851 Under the Covers Adobe PDF

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  Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  Under the Covers © 2012 by Roz Lee

  Cover © 2012 by Taylor Wade Graphic Design

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  ebook layout and conversion by jimandzetta.com

  Under the Covers

  ***

  By Roz Lee

  TO MY READERS:

  It’s hard to believe the Lothario is setting sail for the fifth time. My thanks go out to my loyal readers who have encouraged me to keep telling my little stories. Without you, the Lothario would be in dry dock by now!

  I can’t say enough about my editor, Tash, who feeds my ego with lavish praise, right before she scolds me over comma placement and homophones. I’m a better writer because of her, and I bow to her genius.

  Many thanks to some old friends who have offered encouragement, expertise, and in some cases, lent their name to some of my more unsavory characters. I owe you, Karen, Kevin, MVC, and MP.

  Thanks to my wonderful daughters who put the writing idea in my head, and didn’t laugh when I gave it a try. Most of all, I have to thank my husband who after all these years still says I’m the only one, and is always willing to help with my research.

  I hope you enjoy your cruise.

  Bon Voyage!

  READER ALERT!:

  It’s all out war aboard the Lothario. Grab a deck chair, and watch the fireworks as FBI Special Agent Bree Stanton, and former DIA agent Drew Whitcomb try to negotiate a truce – one where Bree walks away with her heart, and Drew walks away without any new scars. Their battles are epic, and explosive, and will leave you smoldering in the Caribbean sun!

  Bon Voyage!

  Chapter One

  Call it women's intuition or a sixth sense. Bree knew without turning that Drew had entered the security office. The way her body reacted every time he came within twenty feet was scary, to say the least. Every nerve ending tingled, and her heart rate sped like an adrenaline junkie on a caffeine binge. If he was here to complain about her watching him judge the breast competition, she might have to kill him. She couldn't go on like this.

  She took a moment to steel herself for the impact of seeing him. It was never easy.

  Wasn't once a day enough of a jolt to the senses? Not half an hour earlier, she'd spied him on deck in all his bare-chested, sun-god glory, judging the competition, and she hadn't been able to take her eyes off him. It just wasn't fair that he looked like that. At the very least, he should be required to wear a shirt. But on the Lothario, where everyone wore what the ship issued, Drew was shirtless.

  Bree sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, all the while silently chanting her new mantra. I won't. I won't. I won't. It was useless protection against throwing herself at him, but it was all she had. The man oozed sex appeal from the top of his close-cropped head to his toes. He walked like a testosterone time bomb, and his slow smile could seduce the panties off a prude. And she was far from a prude. Despite her resolve to stay away from him, and particularly, away from his bed, she was a realist at heart. That meant she was fully aware it wouldn't take much to make her fall off the wagon. Heaven help her, she needed a twelve-step program. DAA—Drew Addicts Anonymous.

  No doubt there were plenty of women aboard the Lothario who needed the group, but she'd be the only one who wanted one. No one else seemed to have a problem with a former Navy SEAL throwing his life away. All the others saw was the sexy bod. They couldn't care less about the brain that was being wasted.

  She clenched her thighs tight, plastered a fake smile on her lips and spun around. "Aren't you supposed to be guarding the owners’ suites?"

  "I checked with Richard and Ryan. They aren't planning to leave their cabins today, so I'm free to move about the ship. I've got one of our security guys sitting by the elevators, just in case."

  She brought up the live feed from the hallway cameras on deck twelve, forward. Sure enough, one of the ship's security team paced in front of the private elevator. The ship's owners and their wives had been onboard ever since the kidnapping and rescue, and few people had seen the four of them outside their suites. As far as she was concerned, they had the right to some privacy, and time to get over what had happened. Candace and Fallon could have been killed, but thanks to Drew's rescue plan, they were alive and well. She should have known he wouldn't take any chances with their safety. He might be many things, but careless wasn't one of them.

  "So… what brings you here? Run out of breasts to ogle?" Oh God. Why had she said that? Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut when Drew was around? Pathetic to bait him.

  He closed the door and leaned against it. "You should have entered. You would have won."

  Of all the contests onboard the Lothario, the breast competition was one she found the most disgusting simply because it required no skill or prowess of any kind. The only requirement for entry was a pair of breasts—the bigger the better. "Which category?" she sneered. Her inner realist told her she didn't have a chance against the kind of competition she'd seen today.

  "All of them. Well, with the exception of the Most Natural Implants. You don't qualify for that one. But you'd win the others—Firmest, Biggest, Most Beautiful, and my personal favorite, Nipples I Most Want to Taste." His tongue swept his upper lip and his eyebrows danced.

  "Good grief." Bree sighed at his ridiculous behavior. "Isn't judging contests a little out of your job description?"

  Drew shrugged. "I lost a bet with the Cruise Director. Loser has to judge the next three Breast contests."

  Bree rolled her eyes. "Such a hardship. How will you survive?" He pushed away from the door, and the corners of his lips lifted in a smile every sheep knew. It was the one they saw on the wolf's face right before he attacked. Bree took a step back.

  "We need to talk. Dinner tonight?"

  Her thighs bumped against the desk and she curled her fingers beneath the edge. Dinner. Was that all he wanted? And why now? The way they'd been fighting lately, dinner
would probably end up with the two of them wearing their food, and not in a good way. An image popped into her head. Her naked body covered in chocolate, and Drew removing it, one tongue swipe at a time. She shook her head as if that might wipe the image away.

  "Or we could skip dinner and go straight to what we both really want," he offered.

  A coil of heat began at the lump in her throat and spiraled down past her jutting nipples all the way to her core. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as every bit of moisture in her body pooled between her legs. Drew took another step closer and her knees gave way. She reached for her chair, but Drew was faster. One strong arm wrapped around her waist, and the other pulled the chair beneath her.

  "Whoa there. Are you okay?" He went down on one knee in front of her and held her hand in his.

  That wasn't helping a damned thing. She couldn't breathe when he touched her, and she damn well couldn't think. She pulled her hand free. "Yeah, fine." Mortified. Horny. Desperate. Stupid. His concern was genuine, and it made her feel like an ass for all the terrible thoughts she'd had about him. He really was a nice guy beneath all that genetic perfection. "I'm okay, Drew."

  "You're doing too much. When was the last time you took time off for yourself?"

  "I don't…."

  "I know you don't. That's why you're taking the rest of the day off, and then you're having dinner with me."

  "Drew, I can't…."

  "Yes, you can. I'm in charge, so don't argue with me."

  Technically, he wasn't in charge of anything on the ship except the personal security of the owners. The ship's security was her job. She laughed. "Don't argue? That's all we do."

  "Not today. Go on." He stood and moved to one side. "I'll take over for you until Davis comes on duty."

  It was so tempting to argue with him, but he was right. She hadn't taken time off since the kidnapping. "Maybe I'll just go sit on deck for a while, get some fresh air and sun."

  "You do that."

  Bree stood. Drew pulled her into his arms, and before she could protest, he covered her lips with his. She made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but he drew her back and she clung to him like metal shavings to a magnet. His thumb on her chin urged her to open for him. His tongue swept inside and every bit of good sense she had escaped on a moan. Drew tightened his hold on her. A shaft of pure steel pressed into her stomach and sent a lightning bolt of desire straight to her womb. She flexed her fingers against the solid wall of his chest. It felt good to be held again, to know Drew wanted her as much as she wanted him. He took the kiss deeper, demonstrating with his talented lips and tongue all the things he could do to her if she'd give him a chance.

  Snapshots flashed through her mind like billboards in Times Square. The top of Drew's head as he worked his way down her body, one kiss, one lick, one taste at a time. Those brown eyes like smoldering coals peering up at her from between her legs as his tongue swept her swollen skin from the bottom up. The bolt of lust she'd felt when he'd turned his gaze on her sex, then buried his face in her heat.

  He'd taken what he wanted. Gave her everything she'd needed, and just like that, she'd become addicted to Drew Whitcomb.

  It was an addiction she couldn't afford.

  It took everything she had left to flatten her palms against his chest and push. "No."

  "Yes," he insisted as he dipped his head to take what he wanted—again.

  Bree shoved with all her might and he let her go. "We can't, Drew." Damn, it hurt to say those words when all her lady parts were throbbing and begging for another Drew fix.

  "Why not, darlin'?"

  "Don't use that Southern charm on me, Drew Whitcomb. It may work with the silicon babes, but it won't work with me."

  He didn't even have the decency to act innocent. "Can't blame a man for trying," he said without a trace of the smooth Southern drawl she had to work double-time to resist. Interesting how he turned the accent on and off at will. "I want you. You want me. I don't see why we have to like each other to have sex."

  Bree blinked. He smiled, showing a row of perfect blinding-white teeth. Was there nothing wrong with this man?

  "Bend over. Let me do you right here."

  Oh yeah, there was something wrong with him all right. Bree looked around for her keycard, saw the lanyard attached to it on the desk, and reached for it. For a brief moment, she wondered if the fabric was strong enough to strangle a man. Then she looped it around her fist and headed for the door. "Go to hell, Drew Whitcomb."

  "See you at dinner," he yelled as the door closed automatically behind her.

  Of all the nerve. “Bend over.” The crude son of a bitch. And he still thinks I'm going to have dinner with him. Dream on, lover boy. Not in this lifetime.

  ****

  "That went well," Drew said to the big-screen monitor. What was it about Bree that turned him into a jackass? Ever since they rescued Candace and Fallon, he'd gone out of his way to avoid Bree. That didn't mean he wasn't aware of her. The Lothario was a big ship, but not that big. Since avoidance wasn't really working for him, maybe it was time to try another tack. Indulge in the craving, and get it out of his system. Thus, the dinner invitation, then maybe they could go back to his cabin for some horizontal recreation.

  Then she'd thrown that barb at him about the breast competition. She set herself up for his response, but then she damned near collapsed on him. What was with that?

  No way could he resist a damsel in distress. She'd recovered quickly, and he'd done the gentlemanly thing, offering to cover for her so she could get some rest. If she was so stressed she was likely to collapse, he'd have to make sure she got more time off, and that she was eating right. She was looking kind of thin, now that he thought about it. He flexed his fingers, remembering the feel of her in his hands. She was definitely losing weight. He liked a soft woman, one with something to hold onto.

  When she stood up, she'd swayed a little. That could have been from the natural roll of the ship, but it had given him an excuse to hold her. The kiss wasn't something he'd planned. It just happened. Suddenly, there she was in his arms and those soft lips called his name, or maybe he imagined that part. Kissing her wasn't something he needed to plan. It came naturally when she was that close, her and her full, rosy lips. Anytime she was near, he had the urge to either kiss or throttle her. Sometimes both.

  Today she smelled like tropical flowers, a whole garden full of them, and she tasted like nectar, a combination that set his blood on fire. Despite her protests, she'd enjoyed the kiss too. Her thin cotton sarong hadn't masked those perfect nipples jabbing him in the chest. No, those, along with that sexy-as-hell moan and the way she'd nearly clawed the skin off his chest told him more than she obviously wanted him to know.

  Drew whirled the chair around and sat. He propped his feet on the desk and rubbed a hand across the scratch marks on his torso. Damn. Why did she have to mark him every time he got close to her? The first time she'd done it, he had a devil of a time explaining the bite mark on his shoulder. He'd been trying to convince Celeste he was in love with her, while Bree's mark proved he wasn't. He hadn't thought it funny at the time, given that Celeste had kicked him out of her bed the moment she saw the dental impression on his shoulder. In retrospect, though, it was pretty amusing.

  He glanced at the desktop and a grin split his face. Bree been a wildcat the night. And, she certainly wasn't pushing him away then. Far from it.

  He allowed the memory to play back through his mind. She'd practically attacked him, and he'd responded, taking her right there on the desk. He'd always thought of himself as a tender lover, one who took care with the women he bedded. His mother had drilled into him the ways of a Southern gentleman, and his father had made sure he knew those manners extended to the bedroom as well. That, of course, was the problem. There was no bedroom involved. Only the tiny security office, the glare of video monitors and the cold hard desktop. Maybe the atmosphere had been partly to blame for the way they'd gone at each other,
fucking like animals. Christ, she'd bitten him so hard it took days for the tooth marks to fade. No one had ever bitten him before, and that kind of passion had scared the hell out of him.

  He dropped his feet to the floor and pulled open the desk drawer. He shoved aside pens, markers, sticky notes and condoms. "There's got to be ointment around here someplace," he mumbled as he rifled through the contents of the other drawers. It would be his luck to get an infection from her claw marks and die. Wasn't there something called Cat Scratch Fever? Agent Bree Stanton was a hellcat, but he was beginning to think taming her was going to be a hell of a lot of fun. I he lived long enough.

  ****

  Bree thanked the cabin steward. Her dismay at seeing the handwriting on the note he delivered wasn't his fault. He was just doing his job. She took the three long strides that brought her to the end of her bed and sat. As soon as she got another job, she was going to rent the biggest apartment she could afford. Sure, cruising the Caribbean day-in and day-out sounded glamorous and exciting, but not when you spent most of your days in a tin can below the water line and your nights in a shoebox with a pinhole for light. No wonder she looked like a ghost. Even though all she ever wore was the crew-issue sarongs, she knew she was losing weight. She wasn't getting enough exercise or sunlight. Drew had been right about one thing. She needed more rest. Maybe she should take his advice and spend more time topside.

  She fingered the flap on the envelope, afraid to see what Drew had written. The lead ball in her stomach was a good indication she wasn't going to like it. She sighed, closed her eyes and pulled the single sheet of paper from the envelope.