by Anne Marsh
He shoved a mug in her direction. Bonus: whoever had picked the mugs had a sense of humor. His had Adam and Eve on the side. As soon as the two heated up, their fig leaves disappeared. It might be more than Mia wanted to see this early in the morning. “Cream and sugar?”
“Hit me,” she said. “And don’t hold back.”
Huh. He wouldn’t have guessed she had a sweet tooth. The sugar was buried under a stack of invoices and dive-supply catalogs. He nudged the pile out of the way, not entirely sure when his kitchen counter had become an adjunct office. Shoot. Compared to Mount Paperwork on Cal’s desk, his stack was more steep hill than Alpine peak, but something had to change. Finding an office manager needed to be number one on his to-do list.
Maybe there was a solution to Mia’s current dilemma they would both benefit from.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “How about a job, then?”
“You want to hire me? To do what?” Mia latched on to the mug, and he bit back a smile. She might not take handouts, but coffee was apparently an exception they had in common.
“The dive shop needs help.” He pulled a carton of coffee creamer out of the fridge. Damn it. He should go grocery shopping. He had three bottles of beer, the coffee creamer and a well-aged take-out container of hot-and-sour soup. Making her breakfast in bed was so not happening. Instead, he grabbed a few packets of sugar he’d boosted from the corner coffee shop and dropped them on the counter. She came around and reached for the creamer. His kitchen was approximately the size of a coffin, and her hip bumped his.
“Okay. You need more hands on deck. But again, where do I fit in?”
He couldn’t tell if she was seriously considering his offer or not. Cal and Daeg wouldn’t mind. They were swimming in paper when all of them preferred to be out on the water. They needed to be able to focus on what they did best: diving and rescuing. Mia could be a godsend.
“We need an office manager.”
Humor lit her eyes. She took a sip from the mug, curling her hands around the side. “You want to play the boss and the secretary?”
Her mug was black with two rabbits on the front. As the hot coffee did its thing, the mug changed color. Purple with crazed bunnies replicating everywhere. Yeah. He was subtle.
She looked down at the mug. “Nice. I’m glad we used a condom.”
The image of Mia holding a baby was shocking and unexpected. He had no idea where it came from or why it didn’t have him running for the door. “I aim to please.”
“You have good aim.” She grinned at him.
“So, how about it? You want to come work with us?”
She was shaking her head almost before he got the question out. “I’m not planning on sticking around, but thanks. I’ll call Visa and get them to send another card out here. I’ll be out of your hair ASAP.”
“Think about it. Even a temp until we can hire a full-time person would be helpful.”
“We’d kill each other.”
He gave her a bemused look. “I can restrain myself.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tag knew his concern wasn’t something she wanted, but he worried about her. She was pretty much screwed, as far as he could tell. Her purse was somewhere between here and Mexico, and a job could help with her immediate cash flow problem. “You want breakfast? There’s a breakfast burrito place near the dive shop—” Before he could finish the invitation, she was—as usual—two steps ahead of him.
“Go.” She slapped a twenty-dollar bill into his hands. Damn it. He’d bet the bill represented all the cash she had on her at the moment. “Do the hunter-gatherer thing. Food sounds good.”
Somehow, he found himself standing outside his own place. Shoes, check. Pants, check. Hell, he even had a shirt. Which was good, because even the burrito place had standards. He’d go this time because he hadn’t missed the flash of vulnerability in her eyes—right now, she needed to be in charge. He was humoring her. Making sure she felt safe, because she was alone on his island and he owed her.
“Damn, boy.” Mr. Bentley rolled his eyes, limping toward him. “She’s got you coming and going, don’t she?”
Also true.
“You want a burrito?”
* * *
TAG DISPOSED OF and breakfast arranged for, Mia kicked it into high gear. She sent a few quick Skype messages to her cousin, then arranged for new credit cards and an ATM card to be overnighted to her. At the twenty-minute mark, she’d booked a room at Sweet Moon’s. Thank God for the power of PayPal and the internet. Okay, Tag had offered up his couch and his help, but she could do this without him. Unfortunately, her girly bits were all too happy to remind her of the areas where he could help.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him, which was a problem. Hopefully one her Sweet Moon reservation would fix, because no matter how good last night had been, it was time to move on. She’d met more than her fair share of sailors, and she knew how this worked. He’d ship out. She’d stay behind or ship out in the opposite direction. Fantastic sex wouldn’t lead to anything more and she was good with that.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that the calorie content of introspection was nonexistent. Just in case she’d misunderstood the state of Tag’s refrigerator and squandered her last twenty dollars, she made a quick reconnaissance trip into his kitchen. Her search just confirmed her first impressions. The only food in the man’s kitchen was for the four-legged residents, although even the kibble was starting to look like a possibility.
She and the Chihuahua were eyeing the bag when Tag arrived with a paper sack of breakfast burritos. He waved it in front of her, making her mouth water. He definitely had eggs and cilantro in there.
“You don’t want to eat that.”
“Not particularly,” she said agreeably, now that people food was on the horizon. Before he could launch into twenty questions, she swiped the bag from him and dove in. Twenty bucks apparently went a long way on Discovery Island, or Tag had kicked in more. The bag yielded four tinfoil-wrapped, positively enormous burritos, along with a dozen little containers of green salsa and something suspiciously like refried beans. Pass.
“Is the Army coming over for breakfast, too?”
He shrugged. “You sounded hungry.”
True. She hadn’t realized he’d noticed.
“Someone’s going to swing by later with some clothes for you to borrow,” he continued.
“I can buy my own clothes.” She didn’t need a Tag-sponsored Pretty Woman moment. Plus, since she’d never seen the man in anything but T-shirts, she had her doubts about his abilities to moonlight as a stylist.
Another droll look from Tag. “Sure. If you want your wardrobe to consist of velvet sweatpants with rhinestones and flip-flops. Dani has better taste.”
Okay. So he had a point there, but she didn’t want to wear his girlfriend’s stuff. Oh, God. Did he have a girlfriend? She mentally ran through the cheater’s checklist she’d discovered in her latest issue of Cosmopolitan. He kept no girly stuff in the bathroom and she’d spotted no obvious signs of a female presence.
So screw it. She’d ask. “Who’s Dani?”
“My partner’s fiancée.” He grinned at her. “He rescued her from a tropical storm we had a few months ago and she stuck around. Her grandparents run Sweet Moon’s. Come on.”
Grabbing their food and a fistful of paper napkins, he headed into the living room. Since he didn’t own a dining room table, he tossed a few pillows onto the floor around a coffee table.
“Japanese style,” he announced. “When the landlord said the place was furnished, I didn’t ask enough questions.”
She picked a pillow, thinking he wouldn’t have cared if all his rent bought him was four walls, a door and a bed.
“I’ve booked a cabin at Sweet Moon’s, so I’ll be out of your hair soon. FedEx sh
ould deliver my new cards on Tuesday.”
“You don’t have to leave. My sofa is your sofa.”
She really, really did. It was a chivalrous offer, but they both knew where it would lead—right back to his big bed and the two of them going at it like sex-deprived maniacs. While she contemplated saying yes, please! to that particular fantasy, he leaned in and swiped her last salsa.
“Sweet Moon’s seems perfectly lovely.”
“I’m lovely.” He rolled on to his back, balling up the wrapper and tossing it to the trash. Naturally, he made it. “Three point shot.”
“Two. You had a straight shot at the basket, which is easier.”
“I’d like to see you do better.”
Of course he would. She’d always loved a challenge. Sitting up straighter, she took aim.
“Nuh-uh. From here.” He patted the floor beside him. “It’s only fair.”
She could play by his rule. As she lined up her shot, however, he slid behind her and wrapped his big arms around her waist.
“You’re not playing fair,” she observed.
He brushed his mouth over her throat. “I’m using my resources.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Because she could come up with other words—like seductive and sexy as hell.
Her jaw flexed. She wasn’t going to miss, no matter what he did. She’d dropped her Apache the equivalent of four stories once without interrupting the coordinates she was feeding back to the dispatcher. If she could do that, she could certainly handle one badly behaved rescue swimmer.
Except...he reeeeeally didn’t play fair. He slid a hand up into her hair, pulling her ponytail free. The man had a fascination with her hair she just didn’t get. His mouth, however, was busy doing things she really understood. Sexy, mouthwateringly good things.
Kisses.
Small kisses. Soft, sliding kisses that made her shiver in the best possible way as he covered the exposed curve of her neck with his mouth. Kisses that made concentrating seem a whole lot less fun than turning around and returning a few kisses of her own.
First, however, she needed to beat his ass at basketball. It was the principle of the thing. She settled back against him with a wiggle. If he wasn’t playing fair, she didn’t have to, either. His erection promised good times when they finished this little competition of theirs.
“Mia—”
She loved the growl in his voice. “Watch this.”
The hand around her waist crept higher, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast. Lucky him—she hadn’t worn a bra, since she was currently braless and luggageless. He knew it, too. He might have said something, but his words were lost against her skin.
She lobbed the bag into the open trash can, going for gold. “Four points for me.”
“There’s no four point shot in basketball.” His thumb moved higher, stroking gently over her nipple. Definitely a point for him.
“Three points for the shot, one for the distraction.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t play fair.” He sounded amused, not irritated. She probably deserved another bonus point for his good humor. She knew she was too take-charge, too fond of giving orders. Part of that was the military, but the rest of it was all her. “Next time, you should explain the rules before you get started.” Turning, she slapped a hand against his chest and pushed him gently down. He didn’t resist. Good man. The muscles in his abdomen flexed as he went, watching her face, a smile curving his mouth. Thank God for willing men.
She shouldn’t do this but...she wanted to.
His back hit the floor, and he popped right up on his elbows. He was still wearing the smile—and far too many clothes. She needed to work on that.
“Are we done competing?” He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and melted her insides. He was never in a rush, was just content to be in the moment and enjoy. In twenty or thirty years, when she was nothing more than a distant memory, he’d wear those smile lines on his face for everyone to see, and he’d be even more gorgeous than he was now.
She opted for honesty. “If you admit I won.”
He gave a bark of laughter that ended abruptly when she scooted down his thighs, savoring the raw power of him between her legs. She was strong. She trained hard. They both knew, however, she couldn’t hold him if he really wanted to get away. Not without hurting him and getting hurt in return.
“Mia—”
“You know what?” She ran a hand down his chest and the T-shirt with the Navy insignia on the front. “This offends me. Take it off.”
He gave her The Look. The one that said he’d play any game she wanted, but it would be his turn to choose the next one. She could work with that. Muscles flexing and bunching, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it over his head toward the couch. His chest was a masterpiece, sun-kissed and cut. He still wore his dog tags, a visible reminder he was headed back to service and she wasn’t. She had hers, but tucked away in a pocket of her duffel bag. The military part of her life was over.
“Better?” There it was—the rough growl she couldn’t get enough of. Tag was so smooth and put together. She relished getting under his skin. Getting to him.
Oh. He had no idea.
“One night wasn’t enough, was it?” he asked. Okay. She might have fantasized about having him again. Once or twice. A month.
“Not even close.” He pressed his mouth against her throat and the pulse that told him exactly how she felt about him at the moment. They both wanted this, so why not?
She loved the feel of his thighs pressed beneath hers, all hard, rough power. Tag was a fighter and a soldier, but he also had a sweet side he hid from the world. He was nice in ways she absolutely wasn’t. The man had an apartment full of rescued animals, for crying out loud.
And he’d added her to his collection.
She dragged her fingertips over his stomach and up his chest where his heart beat steady. When she hit the metal of his dog tags, she tugged lightly.
“You’re sure you’re not staying long-term on the island?”
“They’re not a leash,” he said dryly.
The heat that flashed through her was ridiculous. She needed a distraction because even though she knew there was no tying up—or tying down—a man like Tag, she had all these fantasies running through her head. So she slipped a finger beneath the band of his boxes, her fingertips bumping against the hot head of his erection.
“Hello.” She grinned, popping the buttons on his jeans and doing some creative rearranging until she had him free and bare. She rubbed him with her palm, delighting in the way his head bumped demandingly against her hand.
“You like that,” she said, as if she could tell him how to feel. Her skin felt too tight for her body, and she could hear her breathing picking up. Touching him turned her on. Lucky her. She stroked lightly up and down his shaft, taking her time because he felt so good and it had been a long time since she’d had this. Up, down, then back up again. Drawing small circles around the tip until the ragged sound of his breathing drowned out her own.
He pressed his thigh up, unerringly finding the place where she was hot and wet. For him. For her Navy man. Pleasure shuddered through her, and she froze. So good. So sweet and hot and absolutely what she needed right now. He cupped her jaw with his hand, urging her head up so he could see her face even as she curved her palm around him and rotated.
His eyes met hers in fierce demand. “I want a turn.”
Of course he did. “You had one. Last night.”
Her attraction to him was off the scale. For one moment, she panicked and considered beating a quick retreat. Because she was drawn to more than just his body. She liked the man himself. His teasing smile and easy good humor. He was tough as nails underneath the charm, but he didn’t need to one-up or
bulldoze over her. In fact, he didn’t seem to mind when she took charge as long he got his turn.
“This is my reward,” she whispered.
Moving down, she sucked the tip of him into her mouth. With a muttered curse, he shoved his jeans and boxers down. She helped because getting him naked was suddenly her first priority. He tasted salty and sweet. Essence of Tag, she thought, fighting back a smile as she ran her tongue over the swollen crown. She teased him, and he groaned, a harsh, needing sound.
Got you.
She kept her eyes open because she didn’t want to miss a moment. This was worth waiting for, was a good reason to have spent all those years fighting to come home. Sunlight had started to fill up the room, and he really needed to buy some curtains that weren’t sheer. She hoped like hell no one walked by in the next half hour or so. Giving Mr. Bentley a heart attack wasn’t part of her master plan. She took more of Tag into her mouth, letting him push deeper. Licking and sucking every inch she could reach.
“I’d be happy to reciprocate.” In response, she flicked a glance up at him. His face was strained, but his eyes were open, too. They had that much in common—they were both watchers. He threaded his fingers through her hair, stroking her shoulders, her arms. The little touches set her on fire. Rough-gentle and warm, the small caresses built the intimate connection between them.
She released him briefly, wrapping her fingers around him. “What are the odds someone walks by?”
While he calculated, she swept her hand up and down his shaft, her thumb and forefinger forming a tight O. She leaned forward and gave him a little lick.
“Pretty low.” He tugged gingerly on her hair. “You could turn around. Give me something to do with my mouth. We could have our turns at the same time.”
