Wicked Secrets

by Anne Marsh

  His hands pinned her in place against him. Her nipples tingled as heat swirled through her. Oh, he was good. Thank God. She’d come back from Afghanistan, determined to live, to enjoy every moment she had. For the soldiers she hadn’t been able to bring back, for the women she’d met there who lived lives she couldn’t begin to comprehend. For herself. So she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his. Meeting his stroke for stroke. Around him, she was out of control and she liked it.

  Behind them, M.J. coughed. “I’ll just open up the house. You two come on in when you’re ready.”

  So much for keeping this thing between them under wraps and their own wicked secret. He’d announced their engagement, and then they’d kissed, and if there weren’t pictures on the island’s Facebook page within the hour, she’d be shocked. And, clearly, not much shocked her these days. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have kissed the daylights out of this man in front of an audience.

  She pulled away from their steamy lip-lock with a sigh of regret. They really, really couldn’t have sex on the front porch, and buying the cottage was only the first hurdle to that particular fantasy. Heat and need darkened his eyes, and his breathing was every bit as ragged as hers. Still, he’d apparently rediscovered his responsible side, because he captured her wrists and gently tugged her hands down.

  “Behave,” he ordered. “We can’t do this.”

  She hoped that was an unspoken here she heard, because he drove her crazy, and he couldn’t kiss her like that and not make good on all his unspoken promises. Half a weekend with Tag had been nowhere near enough time.

  “It takes two.” And he definitely wasn’t helping. With a husky groan, he brushed his mouth over hers one more time in a quick, hard kiss, and then he let her go.

  “Let’s check out your house,” he said and headed for the door. That left her staring at his butt, so she made herself useful and plucked the leaf off his back pocket.

  “Mia.” Her name came out part mutter, part laugh. And she liked it, liked knowing he had no idea what to do with her. Other than the obvious, of course. If she careened out of control around him, well, he was in the same boat.

  She handed him the leaf. “You’re collecting souvenirs, sailor.”

  “Shoot. If I’m wearing spiders, you’re removing those, too.”

  “You’re on your own there.” Then she gave into temptation. Her hand landed on his leafless butt in a gentle smack. His eyes widened, as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d done that. That was fun, but she had a house calling her name. It was safer if she removed her hands from Tag’s too-tempting body and confined her inspection to the rooms. She’d bet the place had a bedroom or two. If he wanted to play fiancé, she could be convinced to let him. Still, she couldn’t resist getting in the last word as she brushed past him into the cottage.

  “When you mentioned keeping secrets, I didn’t know this was what you had in mind.”

  * * *

  HOLY. WOW.

  Mia brushed past him into the house, even though there was plenty of room for her to avoid the full body contact. She was clearly making a point of her own with that possessive little smack. He grinned. He’d return that particular favor at the soonest, most public opportunity possible. She was full of surprises today. He had no idea why she was jonesing to look at houses, but whatever.

  Then, because some things had to be said, he hollered the words after her.

  “Taking your nickname to new levels, Sergeant Dominatrix?”

  After all, he’d just crawled butt-first in front of the woman wearing leaves on his ass. He’d abandoned all claims to dignity somewhere around the point where he’d kissed her holding a kitten and wearing vegetation.

  She paused, her foot on the bottom stair.

  This would be good. He shouldn’t tease her, because the name wasn’t nice, and nicknames could be cruel. Still, she was the one who had smacked his ass. She had some responsibility here. The only question was: Did she have a sense of humor hiding under her crusty exterior?

  “You didn’t want to play house?”

  He heard the words come out of her mouth, but nothing about them computed. He had a bad feeling he blinked at her like a fish out of water.

  “Mommy and Daddy? Doctor? No, wait.” She made a face. “We haven’t done that one yet. Later.”

  Yeah. Like he had a frame of reference for that. He’d been one of those boys growing up, the kind who was a magnet for trouble. He’d created makeshift swords and lances from whatever he found. Sticks, the cardboard tubes from the Christmas wrapping paper—anything long and remotely straight. Duct tape had been his best friend, and he’d spent hours feinting and parrying. Since the window had closed on being a medieval warrior—unless he hauled his butt out to Vegas and joined the dinner show circuit at Excalibur—and there weren’t any job openings for ninjas, either, he’d decided when he was twelve that he would become a Marine. Or a Navy SEAL. A Green Beret. Israeli Special Forces. His twelve-year-old self had been fuzzy on national identity, but long on fighting for a good cause.

  “Is that what we were doing?”

  “Hey, you proposed to me. I was just getting into the spirit of things.”

  “You smacked my butt,” he growled, because he couldn’t think about actually being married to this woman right now. He should have explained to her that he’d blurted out an excuse, that there was nothing real about their engagement except...it didn’t feel fake. It felt right.

  “Baby, just wait until tonight.” Her grin lit up her face. “I expect you to come bearing gifts.” She waggled her ring finger at him. Ah, yes. He’d just called her his fiancée in front of the island’s biggest gossip. There was no chance in hell the Realtor wasn’t tweeting her big scoop from one of the upstairs bedrooms. If he was lucky, she hadn’t snapped a picture of their kiss.

  Mia turned and disappeared into what had once been the dining room. The only recognizable part of its former eatery status was a dust-wreathed chandelier dripping those diamond-like crystal thingies. It was certainly sparkly, tossing sunlight around the room. As far as he was concerned, it was just a room, but Mia wandered in with a look of rapture on her face. A look pretty damn close to the one she wore when she came for him. Imagine that. He’d been put in his place by a chandelier.

  Time to check on his rescues. He fell back to the front porch and the cat carrier, whose occupants were happily taking a nap. Scooping out a kitten, he lifted the squirming bundle. Definitely a boy and a kindred soul. “We’re in so much trouble here, buddy.”

  With typical feline indifference, the kitten mewed and wriggled, wanting down or possibly even teleportation out of his hand and back under the porch. Damned if he knew what it wanted, which also seemed to be his usual state of affairs around Mia. The kitten he could fix. He popped it into the carrier with its companions.

  Announcing their engagement had been an impulse. He had no idea where those words had come from, but he’d better do some damage control.

  Need to give you a heads up, he texted Cal. He’d be seeing the other man soon, but texting seemed simpler than face-to-face conversation.

  Hit me.

  He could imagine Cal kicked back on the boat or in his own fixer-upper house he was so in love with. The man relished knocking down walls and rehabbing.

  I just asked Mia Brandt to marry me.

  Okay. So he’d told her. There had been absolutely no asking involved. If they’d been genuinely engaged, she’d have held it over his head for the next fifty years or so, and he wouldn’t have blamed her.

  Cal’s next text was short and pithy: Wow.

  Yeah. That, too. The thing was, Mia was more than a convenient coconspirator. Sure, she was a good sport about his surprise announcement, and sleeping with her was flat-out incredible. In fact, if he was being honest with himself, Mia herself was pretty incredible. S
he was tough and funny, and he loved the way she was determined to live her life.

  Fast work. You sure about this?

  Yep. He’d pretty much lost his mind.

  Sure? Not in a million years.

  In it for the long haul? That wasn’t him.

  He’d also never looked for the easy out before. Becoming a rescue swimmer hadn’t been a walk in the park. He’d had to try twice before he’d succeeded. Some men got it in one; others tried three and four times and still didn’t make it to the end of the course. While he hadn’t rung out, he’d failed. So he’d picked himself up and tried again.

  Piper wants to know if you set a date. And if you got down on one knee.

  Hell no. It’s a fake engagement Gets M.J.’s granny off my back, he texted back. He felt the grin tug at his mouth. Getting down on his knees in front of Mia would be a mistake. She might be bossy and stubborn, but she also got to him in ways he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just her sexy outside—although he definitely loved looking at her. Nope. It was something about the woman inside. Of course, she also spouted orders better than any drill sergeant he’d ever had, and that was a problem because he didn’t do orders. Or edicts, suggestions or direct commands.

  And, if they both needed to be in charge, he didn’t know where that left them.

  8

  AN HOUR LATER, Mia was officially in love. The cottage was absolutely perfect, other than a few minor cosmetic issues. And a desperate need for a new roof. On a scale of one to ten, where one was move-in ready and ten was a total tear-down, the cottage scored closer to ten than she liked, but the place was worth it. It felt...right.

  She turned to the Realtor. “Can you give us a few minutes alone?”

  M.J. beamed, clearly scenting blood in the water. Or her six and a half percent commission. “Sure,” she said. “Flip the lock on your way out and take all the time you want. When you’re ready to make an offer, you’ve got my card. I could start the paperwork now even, and then you could swing by later this afternoon and sign it. Just give me a yes.”

  As soon as Mia had landed stateside after her last tour, she’d shipped right back out. She was the last person who knew anything about sticking. About permanency. And yet she knew she wanted this. This cottage. This life in this place.

  “It seems to be my day to say yes.” She elbowed Tag, and he grunted.

  M.J. left with a chipper wave, stopping to coo at the kittens in their carrier. Apparently, she wasn’t able to resist all the furry cuteness. Mia felt marginally better about her own momentary weakness.

  She pointed to the departing agent. “You’ve got new home number one right there, if you close the sale.”

  “I’m not worried about the kittens. M.J. will definitely take one, and I’ll find homes for the rest.” He stamped on the floor in front of the fireplace. “The wood’s soft here.”

  She eyed the spot he was pointing to, but it looked normal enough. The hardwood was a warm honey color, streaked and pitted with all the living that had happened in the cottage. Leaded glass fronted the bookcases flanking the fireplace, and a big picture window looked out toward the ocean. Despite the gazillion trees between the house and the water, she could just spot a sliver of blue. She’d get two armchairs and put them right there. She didn’t need two chairs, seeing as how she was a party of one, but it would look nice. She could sit and stare at the waves. Almost.

  “You really want to make an offer on this place?” He poked a windowsill, and his finger sank through the soft, pliant wood.

  She really did, although admitting the truth out loud seemed like a guaranteed jinx. Instead, she went for the deflection. “What’s up with this engagement of ours?”

  “Surprised you, huh?

  She arched a brow. They both knew he hadn’t genuinely meant what he’d said. And it didn’t matter if a little flicker of happiness had shot through her thinking about the two of them as a long-term couple. It was just he’d hit on her weakness. She wanted a normal relationship, one not broken up by tours of duty and temporary base housing.

  “I—” He scrubbed a hand over his head, clearly at a loss for words.

  Yeah. She’d bet it was hard explaining why you’d announced your engagement to a near-stranger without asking the fiancée first.

  “Just tell me,” she suggested. “Don’t try to dress it up. I’m hard to offend.”

  “It’s just that everyone on the island has been trying to fix me up since I got here. It gets old fast, saying no all the time.”

  “Poor baby, all those women chasing you.”

  He looked offended. “That didn’t come out right. Yes, there were women.”

  “Did they bring you casseroles?”

  “What? No.” He grinned. “Although hot dishes could have been nice.”

  “Now I know the way to your heart,” she teased. “Bring food. But your dating woes don’t explain our engagement.”

  “Cal and Daeg know the truth. They also know what a pain in the butt Mrs. Damiano is. Hell, the whole island wants to fix me up.”

  “Let me introduce you to a phrase—just say no.”

  He leaned back against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “I tried. I ended up with two dates in a week—and there aren’t even that many women on the island.”

  Tag’s problem was that he was too nice to say no. Fortunately for him, she wasn’t nice at all. In fact, she’d made being a bitch a bit of a specialty. “Not a marrying man?”

  “I’m Navy. I ship out. Leaving doesn’t seem like a good foundation for a long-term partnership.”

  “So I’m a red herring.” She’d been worse, done worse.

  “You’re a miracle worker.” He nodded at the real estate flyer she held. “Although I thought you were leaving. Instead, you’re contemplating becoming a real estate maven.”

  “Plans change.” Not hers, ever. She’d always had a six-month plan—plus a two-year, five-year and ten-year plan. The simple fact, though, was that she was here on Discovery Island and strangely planless. The minute the cruise ship had sailed, her itinerary had flown out the window. It should have been scary as hell. Instead, it was liberating.

  He hesitated. “Do you want me to set M.J. straight?”

  Being engaged to Tag was normal, right? Kind of a dry run for whenever she did meet the guy of her dreams and settle down for good. Practice couldn’t hurt, because, yeah, her social skills were beyond rusty. Plus...

  “Are you going to put out?”

  He didn’t respond, just gave her the crooked grin that tugged on her insides. She’d borrow him, she decided. He was out of here soon anyway.

  “Fine. Okay. I’ll be your loaner fiancée for the next six weeks or so.”

  A halo of sunshine poured in the window, lighting him up. Tag Johnson was no saint, however, and they both knew it.

  He took a step toward her, and she honestly had no idea if he planned to hug her. Kiss her. Shake her hand. Anything was a possibility. “Thank you,” he said.

  He did, however, have mighty fine manners.

  “Be careful. Now I can sue you for breach of promise.” She winked at him and moved into the kitchen. A new coat of white paint and the room would be gorgeous. Afternoon light flooded over the subway tile on the floor and lit up the little crystal knobs on the cupboards.

  “I appreciate your restraint,” he said dryly on her heels. “You ever live in a small town?”

  “If base counts, I’ll go with yes.”

  He thought about her words for a moment. “Soldiers gossip. I’ll give you that.”

  “Tattle, complain, whine, bitch and share far too much,” she agreed. “You can take your pick. I swear, my unit was better than Twitter. M.J. seems like she’s cut from the same cloth. All of Discovery Island is going to hear about our engagement
by tonight.”

  “Or sooner. Last chance to head her off at the pass. Are you truly okay with it?”

  Surprisingly, yes, she was.

  9

  THREE DAYS AFTER making an offer on the cottage, Mia tapped the Call End button on her phone, the less-than-happy news from her mortgage broker ringing in her ears. If Mother Nature had been playing along, there would be sound effects. Thunder and lightning or perhaps—if her life was a movie—the Jaws theme song playing in the background. Instead, all she got was another perfect day on Discovery Island.

  Perfect weather-wise, at least.

  Since her house buying had hit a definite snag, she wasn’t in the mood to admire the sky or lie out on the beach.

  If she wanted a loan, she needed a job. She got that. On the other hand, she had cash in the bank, enough to cover the modest price of the cottage. Not wanting to burn through it all, however, she’d planned on funding half the cottage and then using the rest of her savings for much-needed repairs. Her mortgage broker had other ideas. So she either bought a fixer-upper and then did no fixing, or...she found a job.

  Working wasn’t the problem. She was fairly certain Tag had meant his offer of employment, and she was desperate enough to do some arm-twisting if she had to. Unfortunately, Tag was more likely to demand other things from her. Things involving words like begging and groveling. She would have, if she’d been in his place. So she had a plan—she just didn’t like it.

  She eyed Deep Dive, but Tag’s place looked like your typical dive shop and not one of the seven circles of hell. It was a few minutes past noon, and the morning divers had just returned, hauling their tanks up from the boat and washing out wet suits and gear in the tank in front of the shop. Their post-dive wrap-up managed to be both cheerful and loud. Even lurking on the sidewalk, she could hear divers swapping Did you see the... stories as they one-upped each other with fish tales.