Wicked Secrets

by Anne Marsh

  She was staring.

  Stop staring.

  “Mia.” There it was—her name in those growly tones again. Now she just had to have her way with him. Reaching out a hand, she traced the cut lines of his abdomen. How was she supposed to stay hands off when he looked like this?

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  She’d always been one of the boys. She loved her feminine side, but she was also an adrenaline junkie. Growing up as a younger sister with a host of older brothers and male cousins, it was either find some girls to play with—or keep up with the boys. She’d chosen option B but, when she was close to Tag like this, she felt impossibly female. They fit together somehow. Or maybe it was just sexual chemistry.

  Honestly, she didn’t really care.

  “Come, play with me.” Was that her voice, all low and throaty? She stood up and backed away, hoping he’d follow.

  He took her up on her offer, his hands skimming up and down her back, the muscles in his thighs bunching as he walked her backward. She had a moment to wonder where he was taking her, then her back met the wall. Naughty. He held her there, or she let him pin her in place. It was all part of the same sexy package as he kissed her and kissed her, his fingers threading through hers.

  Oh, yeah. An animal whuffled softly on the couch. The boxer, she thought through the haze of desire heating her up.

  “Tell me you’re feeling better.” He leaned into her, staring into her eyes like he could read the answer there.

  “Make me feel better.”

  “We shouldn’t do this.” He brushed his mouth over hers, though, so he couldn’t possibly mean the words. Maybe it was a guy thing. Or a Tag thing. She really didn’t care, not now when she ached to have his body on hers. In hers.

  “It can be our secret,” she said urgently, just in case he was feeling gun-shy. Or recalcitrant. Or anything else that would stop them from doing this. “No one has to know.”

  “Mia.” Her name came out part laugh, part moan. He rested his forehead against hers.

  “Are you as good as I remember?” The words flew out of her mouth, and, funny, she didn’t want to take them back. She was actually okay with hooking up with him and letting the whole world know about it. This time, they weren’t both serving in the military where the question of rank—and who outranked who—got in the way. This time, they were alone in his apartment and she was already half-dressed.

  She wanted him. Badly. That was one secret she wouldn’t be keeping. She wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but Tag groaned, low and rough, his mouth devouring hers. His hands gripped her waist and she let him. Hell, her hands were all over him, too, dragging him toward her until she had his big, hard body flush with hers. He groaned again, so she hooked a finger into the waistband of his sweats and inched him closer.

  Perfect. His erection was warm and hard, proof she wasn’t alone in feeling this crazy, intense chemistry. Needing more, she pressed her front against his, rocking slowly, deliciously, against the thick ridge. His heart banged against his ribs, and she could feel each pounding note in her own chest. Having sex with Tag was insane, but he made her feel alive, and maybe that was the real reason she was climbing his big, beautiful body. She’d come too close to dying to not want to live now.

  “How good are you at keeping secrets?”

  She was the best. She’d kept secret the loneliness and the need. The desire for someone to connect with who would not only understand her but would love her. Tag wasn’t offering love, but he was offering the next best thing. He was hot and sexy and, right now, perfectly happy for her to use him.

  “I’m the best you’ll ever have, so kiss me,” she rasped, cupping his face between her hands and pulling his mouth back to hers. She didn’t want words. She wanted action.

  His bark of laughter was muffled by their kiss, but he seemed more than willing to oblige, she thought happily. He also didn’t appear to mind her orders, although he seemed to interpret them his own way. He pushed a leg between hers, and a bright pulse of pleasure shot through her.

  Wanting more, she wrapped a leg around his waist, savoring the intimate angle. When she ran her hands over his chest, his heart pounded beneath her fingertips, their ragged breathing all she heard. He fisted the hem of her T-shirt, the fabric bunching up in his grip as he pulled the cotton up.

  The next moment, he was sliding down her body, taking her bikini bottom with him.

  Play it safe.

  Anticipation zinged through her, as if there was a direct connection between the panties he dragged down her legs and other places. His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. If they were having sex—reunion sex, fling sex, sex-up-against-a-wall sex—she was all in. Her bikini bottom hit the ground around her ankles, and she stepped out of it, toeing the fabric away.

  Tag ran his fingers over her thighs. She had no idea how a rescue swimmer acquired such deliciously rough, callused fingertips, but she approved. Wholeheartedly.

  “You sure about this?” He tipped his head back, so he could see her face. On his knees was a good look for him. Although she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was anything but in charge, no matter how much she pretended otherwise. His fingers pushed gently, firmly on her inner thigh.

  “You going to make me wait all night?”

  “Not a chance.” His laugh ended with a groan. “Open for me.”

  Now there was a command she could get behind. She widened her stance, the wall pressing into her back and bare butt. Her new position should have been awkward, but instead it was intensely erotic, as if he couldn’t wait long enough to take her to bed. As if he was every bit as impatient as she was.

  He ran a finger over her center, where she was wet and slick. Oh. She bit her lower lip. So good. She wanted, needed, another bright, hot jolt of pleasure. Threading her fingers through his short, dark hair, she urged him closer.

  “Do it again. Don’t stop.”

  He rubbed a thumb over her clit. Yes. Touch me just like that.

  “We need to talk about this need you have for giving orders.” She felt each word against her core, and she was going to kill him if he didn’t stop talking and start doing. He touched her again, though, his thumb circling her until she dissolved in sensation, her breath coming in small, sharp huffs as the pleasure built.

  He covered her with his mouth, his tongue replacing his thumb. His hands cupped her butt, supporting her as he pulled one leg over his shoulder.

  “Hold on,” he demanded.

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about the order—although she was fairly certain she’d regret her compliance later, much later—but she’d already lost control of the situation and it felt so good. And it was Tag after all. She grabbed his shoulders, doing as he’d demanded, because there was no holding back the tremors building deep inside her. He had to feel each spasm, her body clenching as she fought her way toward the orgasm she needed so badly.

  She was still coming, the tiny after-spasms shaking her body, when he dropped her leg and went away. Then he was back, sliding on a condom before he lifted her butt and drove deep inside her. Oh, yeah. Fresh pleasure rocketed through her as he pinned her back against the wall.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  He pulled out, pushed in again, thrusting deeper with each new, hard stroke. She quivered with each sweet invasion, but it wasn’t enough, not quite.

  “There. No. Higher.” She covered his fingers with hers, moving him to exactly the right spot for her. Some things never changed. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, holding on to him. Breathing him in with each hard, sure stroke.

  “Tag—”

  “Right here with you,” he growled against her throat. He moved faster, lifting her. Finding the perfect angle to drive her crazy. She rocked her hips against him, taking him deeper.
His fingers pressed and twisted, finding the spot she liked so much, and she couldn’t hold on any longer.

  Dimly, she heard the boxer start barking up a storm as she came apart completely in Tag’s arms. Mr. Bentley hollered something back, and none of it mattered. She dug her nails into Tag’s beautiful, bare shoulders, his hands holding her up as he thrust and thrust again. The roof could come down or the door burst wide open. She didn’t care.

  “Jesus,” he bit out. “You’re—”

  She didn’t need to know how he would finish his sentence. She laid two fingers over his exquisite mouth.

  “Take me to bed.”

  And, because his lips quirked up and they were still joined intimately, she added one more word, just to make him happy. “Please.”

  5

  LIKE THE PAST 180 nights since she’d come home—or, more accurately, made it stateside—Mia jerked awake. Her head refused to let her body sleep uninterrupted because bad shit could be coming through the door. Or the window, the roof, or even the wall. She’d seen what a mortar round could do to plaster and rebar. Adrenaline hit her hard, her heart thumping erratically as she jackknifed upright. Breathe. In. Out. Count. Her fingers clenched the pillowcase. One. She was in bed. With Tag.

  See? No enemy hostiles here. Everyone was friendly.

  Breathe out. Two. His bedding smelled good, like Tide and dryer sheets. Had he picked the stuff out himself or had he just grabbed the first box he saw at the store? Three. At some point during the night, the sheet had tangled around her bare legs. The room was silent except for the soft in and out of the man breathing next to her. Breathing was good. Her brain skipped over that intel, not wanting to deal with the memories of other companions who hadn’t been breathing.

  Four. Her breathing leveled out. The room was empty of threats. See? She could lie back down like a normal person and go to sleep. More breathing sounds came from somewhere too close. A whuffling, snoring sigh—a cat? Twisting, she spotted Tag’s geriatric cat curled up on the pillows between their heads like the feline owned the place.

  The Army psychologist she’d seen under much duress had suggested counting. A little yoga breathing and things would look better. Right. Tag’s big, solid presence on the other side of the bed, on the other hand, seemed to be her anchor in the semidarkness tonight. She’d learned not to question what made her heartbeat slow to a nice, steady pace. If it worked, good enough for her. Interesting, though, how her head had decided Tag was some kind of lifeline. Maybe it was the whole rescue-swimmer thing. Maybe he gave off some kind of white-knight vibe.

  Or maybe it was just Tag.

  She needed to move. The bedroom door was at her five o’clock. Two windows lay at her nine o’clock. Unless a Stinger missile launcher blew a hole in Tag’s roof—unlikely—those were the only routes in and out of the room. His room was clear. She slid out of bed silently and then checked the door and the windows. Just to make certain. The courtyard was empty. Good. Part of her had expected to find Mr. Bentley parked there, ready to opine about what she and Tag had gotten up to last night.

  She blew out a breath as she scanned her surroundings one more time. Early morning light seeped into the room. Apparently, Discovery Island actually had birds, because they were making a ruckus outside. Apache. Chinook. Black Hawk. Her bird identifying skills didn’t extend further than the standard Army fare. And roosters. She could do roosters, too, but thankfully none of those appeared to be parked outside Tag’s place. She moved around the bed and positioned herself where she could see Tag’s wrist and his dive watch. It was six in the morning—civilized enough for her. Had she noticed how sexy his wrists were when she’d picked him up at the Star Bar? Because they were, strong and sprinkled with dark hairs. Even all relaxed as he slept, something about him read powerful. She had no idea why she was staring at his wrist, for crying out loud.

  Okay, she knew. God. He was gorgeous.

  Fall back.

  They had some kind of weird power-struggle dynamic thing going on. The sexual tension between them was amazing and scary as hell at the same time. She really wasn’t the kind of woman who did one-night stands, and yet Tag made her want to break those rules, again and again. He was her one and only exception.

  She eyed her side of the bed. The sheets were probably cooling down, just the way she liked, and the pillow was punched down. No. See, that was what was wrong with this picture. She didn’t have a side of the bed. She wasn’t staying. He’d offered a place for the night. Nothing more.

  It had to be her naked state making her think about hopping onto the bed and waking Tag up with a hand beneath the sheets. Morning sex was even better than good-night sex. Stop it. She needed her clothes. Before she could second-guess herself and get back in bed, she padded out into the hallway to recon where her stuff had ended up.

  After all, since her luggage was currently headed to Mexico, she couldn’t afford to lose the clothes she’d arrived with. Discovery Island didn’t seem like the kind of place to have a Walmart. Fortunately, her clothes were exactly where she remembered parting company with them. More or less. They’d dropped her borrowed T-shirt on the living room floor, while her bikini bottoms were on the kitchen floor. Oh, boy. She had no idea how that had happened, although she had some mighty fine memories of Tag pressing her up against the wall and then working his way down... Yeah. He was the best cure ever for insomnia.

  She took stock. Her assets at the moment consisted of a cell phone, a pair of shorts, a hoodie, two flip-flops, a T-shirt and twenty bucks. If she’d been former Spec Ops, she probably could have constructed an airplane out of the lot and flown back to the cruise ship. Since she wasn’t, however, she’d need to come up with an alternative plan. For instance, she could phone her brothers and one of them would be here in half a day.

  No. No how, no way.

  She wasn’t ten, and calling her family wasn’t an option. Not only would she never live it down, she didn’t need to. She had this situation under control. As long as you stay out of Tag’s bed, a little voice whispered. Because you don’t have any control around that man. Decision made, she bent over and grabbed the top.

  “Do it again.” Tag said, low and rough, from the shadows behind her.

  * * *

  MIA BENT OVER and naked in his living room was an excellent way to wake up. Far better than waking up alone and lined up on the left side of his bed, as if his head had been making room for her while he slept. And she’d stood him up. Whatever her reasons for abandoning the bedroom, the sound of his voice had her going all rigid. She turned around and there it was...the Mia glare he knew so well. Yeah, he was in trouble again, but it wasn’t his fault she was all long legs and sun-kissed skin. Beneath the prickly exterior, she was real pretty, and what he’d seen when she reached down for her top ranked right up there in the category of world’s sexiest sights. Her butt was all sweet curves and lower...

  “So that’s a no?” A man could hope.

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on me.” She yanked the T-shirt over her head. Since she still had yesterday’s swimsuit in her hands, she was naked underneath. Possibilities tempted him. He had the day off, and she’d already missed the boat. Literally. They could go back to bed together. He could think of plenty of things to do to pass the time until she was ready to figure out a game plan.

  Was she blushing? He inspected her face more closely. Sure enough, a pink flush painted her cheeks.

  “Are you embarrassed?” Imagining his take-charge master sergeant—emphasis on master—being self-conscious was a stretch, even if he did have an excellent imagination.

  “I have a million things to do.” The way she eyed his body—the lower half of his body—had him wondering what exactly was on her mental itinerary. Last night had been fantastic. She probably did have things to do, however. Things completely unrelated to his taking her back to bed. Mia alway
s seemed to have a plan. She’d certainly organized yesterday’s bridal group with frightening efficiency.

  “For example?” He propped a shoulder against his kitchen wall and eyed the swimsuit in her hand. Mostly naked was a good start on his own personal agenda for the day.

  “I need to call for new credit cards.” She ticked her to-do’s off on her fingers. “I need to let my cousin know my plans and make arrangements for my luggage to be forwarded from the cruise. Then I need to find the ferry schedule and book a hotel room until the cards can arrive. Is there a Western Union?”

  She was almost out of fingers. “If you need money, I’m good for it.”

  Smooth, Johnson. Real smooth. She huffed out a breath. Did she think he was offering to pay her for last night? The idea rankled. Truth was, he’d make the offer of cash to any of his friends. She was in a tight spot and he could help. And...when had Sergeant Dominatrix become a friend? Or, rather, when had he developed friendly feelings toward her? Lust, absolutely. But friendship? A dangerous notion. “I’m happy to help,” he said, meaning it.

  She stared at him suspiciously, foot tapping. Somehow, she managed to look take-charge even though all she was wearing was his T-shirt. That shirt was his new favorite.

  “I don’t need a handout.”

  “Okay.” He understood...because he’d feel the same way. And right now, he needed coffee. His head simply wasn’t capable of getting into the game without a healthy dose of caffeine. He loaded up the Mr. Coffee, doubling the proportions. Scooping grounds he could do. Making the woman standing in his living room happy was a whole different proposition. Last night had been fantastic. Amazing. He had a feeling he was sporting a stupid grin. She, on the other hand, was making to-do lists.

  Reaching up, he grabbed two mugs from the kitchen cupboard. His temporary place had come fully furnished, which meant he had a grand total of two mugs and two glasses. Two plates, two bowls and two sets of silverware. His kitchen was a veritable Noah’s ark. At least they wouldn’t have to share. Or drink straight from the pot, although he’d certainly done worse. For coffee, he had no reservations. He’d do whatever it took.