Bound by the SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 5)

by Zoe York

  “How long have you known Cara?” he asked, grabbing another chair and spinning it around so he could sit in front of her. Her gaze followed his every movement. She was sharp, this one. Smart, but not that experienced. She had a shitty poker face. She was bristling that he wasn’t tied to his chair, for example. So he couldn’t play good cop and pretend they were just two people having a reasonable conversation.

  “Her entire life,” she finally answered. “We grew up together.”

  “So why couldn’t you ask for her help in this room-by-room search you were doing when I caught you?”

  She pressed her lips together and looked away.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Her head snapped back to center and she fixed him with a firm, unwavering glare. “You don’t know anything.”

  “I know you were skulking around behind your so-called friend’s back. That says everything I need to know about you.” A direct hit. Her eyes flared wide and her lips tightened. Now they were getting somewhere.

  He leaned forward, reminding her that he had freedom of movement and she, alas, did not. But if she gave him more information, maybe she could earn her freedom—or at least a bit of comfort before he handed her over, making her someone else’s problem.

  She licked her lips, a pink swipe across dusky skin. Yep, unbelievably pretty. That probably worked on weaker men.

  “If Cara were here, I’d have talked to her,” she said, her voice cracking. Ooh, a play on his sympathy. Nice touch. “But she wasn’t, and…look, it doesn’t matter. We can just wait.”

  She dropped her head.

  Brayden stared at her. Oh no, pretty girl. You don’t get to set the terms of this conversation. He never did well with the tug-of-war over control, and tonight wasn’t going to be any different.

  He was in charge. Always.

  ~

  Arielle kept her head down even as the SEAL’s gaze bore into her, hot and hard and judging. Screw him. He had no clue what her life was like, and she didn’t care at all if he hated her for the next few hours. That was fine. Then they’d get this sorted out and she’d never have to see him again.

  "Why don't we start with you telling me what you are looking for?”

  She didn’t look up. “That's none of your business.”

  “You don't think so?”

  She studied her knees, and the rope spread carefully across her thighs.

  “Arielle.” Oh boy, he had the commanding tone down pat. It took every ounce of her willpower to fight her naturally submissive instincts. No, he couldn’t demand she look at him just by saying her name.

  “It’s hard to have a snarky response to that since I don’t know your name,” she said, forcing her voice to stay even.

  “Yes, sir works just fine.”

  She snorted. “Never going to happen.”

  “Were you looking for money?”

  “Nope.”

  “Pirate treasure?”

  What the hell? She jerked her head up, not wanting him to miss her roll her eyes. “How cliched do you think we are?”

  He grinned. “Got you to look at me.”

  She growled, but he wanted her to look at him? Fine. She’d glare at him for a good long while.

  “Now, let’s try this again.” He spread his arms wide and she tried like hell not to notice just how broad and well defined his chest was. So what if he was hot. That meant nothing, except he probably had an ego to match the size of his ridiculous biceps. “Maybe the standard practice on your island, sweetheart, is that all property is community property. But I'm not from the islands, and I have a big problem with you breaking into a property I’m protecting when nobody is supposed to be here."

  She practically hissed. What was with this guy and assuming shit about her island ways? “Hello, that's exactly the point—nobody was supposed to be here. I’m not hurting anyone. And it has nothing to do with communal anything. I’m not looking for anything that’s not mine.”

  “So you say.”

  “I am Cara’s best friend. I’m not a thief. I’m a high school teacher! I’m sure you —"

  “No, stop right there. You don’t need to assure me of anything. In the morning we’ll sort all of this out. By the time—”

  “There is nothing to sort out!”

  He laughed. Crap. She’d protested too quickly, too often, and the jig was up. Because there was definitely something for her to find, something right here on the estate. And this giant hulk of a man, with his too-sharp eyes and his annoyingly good rope skills was going to make sure she didn’t find it now. “Okay. Let’s play it that way. So what do you want to do for the next few hours? Should we play Twenty Questions?”

  That didn’t deserve an answer.

  “Or maybe I should call the police.” He said it lazily, but she knew better. He was testing her.

  What time was it? She knew nothing would come of that. Even if the local constable did come out to investigate, she hadn’t done anything wrong, exactly, and there was no way Cara would press charges.

  On the other hand, she didn’t need any gossip about a police investigation, either. Not when she’d worked so hard to distance herself from her father’s life choices.

  She put as much indifference into her response as she could muster. “You know I’m no threat. You have no reason to detain me.”

  “So you keep saying. I see it differently.”

  That fired her up. “And you have no reason to mistrust me, as I keep trying to explain to you. So if you don’t untie me this second I’m going to—”

  “You’re going to do what, Princess?” He snorted, and boy, did that make her see red.

  “I’m nobody’s princess.”

  “But you’re somebody’s problem and it’s not going to be mine. So I’m going to leave you tied to that chair until the authorities arrive.”

  Now it was her to turn to laugh, because the conversation had taken just long enough. “At this time of night? It’s going to be a long night of you watching me, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Petite Ciotat shuts down between ten at night and six in the morning. There’s nobody on duty at the station.”

  “Then I guess we’ll sit here until morning. I’m sure there’s some way we can pass the time with you bound to that chair all pretty-like.”

  “You didn’t just threaten to assault me.”

  “No. Not at all. But if you asked me nice enough, I’d show you just how creative I can get with rope.”

  A shiver ran through her. Had he picked up on her…preferences…somehow? She’d managed to keep that part of her identity even more hidden from the good people of Petite Ciotat than her family’s murky history.

  One of the high school teachers being the daughter of a smuggler was one thing. Her being kinky was another entirely.

  “What’s the matter, pretty girl? Cat got your tongue?”

  He didn’t call her pretty like it was a compliment. Pretty girl. It was a sneer, an insult.

  She wouldn’t let it get under her skin. He thought her attractiveness was something that mattered to her? She liked herself best when she was a hot, sticky, sweaty mess. Rope marks and bruises were a bonus.

  But that was for her to know, and only special people to find out.

  One thing she was quite certain of—there was nothing special about this man. He was rude and crude and entirely ordinary.

  “Sure,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve scared me straight, sir. I’m ever so sorry for the error of my ways, and I’d be so grateful if you could—”

  “Do you always use sarcasm as a defense mechanism?”

  “Do you always completely fail to pick up on hints that someone doesn’t like you or want to talk to you?”

  “Usually.”

  “Yeah, well, ditto.” She flicked her gaze over his shoulder. It took a while. He was ridiculous. All muscles and hulking presence.

  “What?”

  She swallowed hard. “Nothing.”<
br />
  “Okay.” But it wasn’t, because he only hesitated a second before trying again. “You looked like you wanted to say something there.”

  “Really did not.”

  “Huh.” He said it extra-irritatingly.

  “Stop that. Stop trying to goad me into looking at you and saying things. You aren’t Columbo and I’m not a murderer.”

  “So you keep saying. You’re a high school teacher.”

  “Is the world always divided so neatly into right and wrong for you?”

  “No.”

  Her attention flew back to his face, but that hadn’t been a trick to get her to look at him.

  He gave her a rueful look. “Didn’t expect that answer, did you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Look, I get it. You probably had a good reason to be doing whatever you were doing. And at some point, you’ll tell that to Cara, and she’ll help you, and this will just be an unfortunate speed bump in our friendship.”

  She snorted.

  “What? You don’t think you can be friends with someone who ties you up?”

  ~

  The last thing Brayden expected was for Arielle to start giggling—and then for tears to start rolling down her face and hiccups to follow as she tried and failed to regain her composure.

  “It wasn’t that funny,” he muttered as he moved around her, checking her circulation.

  “It’s funny in a weird, long-story kind of way.” She sighed and rolled her head to one side, then the other. “Look. You’re a big guy and you look like you could kick my ass in a million different directions. How about you let me go and I promise not to try to run away?”

  “How about I untie your legs, keep your hands behind your back, and we go upstairs and look for whatever you want to find?” He brushed his fingertips over her wrists. She was pretty loose and relaxed for someone who was being held against her will.

  “My pirate treasure?” Loose, relaxed, and still with a harsh bite to her words. She was made of steel.

  “So that’s a no?”

  “I think it’s probably time to call Cara.”

  He moved back to his seat and pulled out his phone. He hit the speaker button as he placed the call, but it couldn’t connect. “Sorry. Not back yet.”

  All he got in response was a little shrug.

  He frowned and rubbed his jaw as he watched her studiously pretend not to be watching him. Something didn’t add up about Arielle Day.

  The way she sat in the chair—bound, his prisoner—but still regal. Still righteous.

  She was no criminal, he had to admit. Or if she was, she was the best con woman he’d never met, because for all her talk about being morally ambiguous, she was obviously sure she was on the right side of the law—at least in the big ways that really mattered. She acknowledged she didn’t technically have the right to be here, right now, but in general felt confident she wouldn’t be punished too harshly for the infraction.

  Punishment.

  His fingers moved from his jaw to his lower lip. It was his thinking stance. The guys would mock him for it—tugging on his mouth like he wanted good ideas to spill out.

  But it worked. He drifted his gaze over her again, looking at her as he tugged.

  She rolled her head slowly from left to right.

  Her shoulders too, from front to back, then the other direction. Staying limber.

  She can be friends with someone who ties her up.

  It’s funny in a long-story kind of way.

  He made an involuntary grunting sound and she looked at him.

  He looked right back. Really looked at her this time. A high school teacher with something to hide. Something embarrassing but not criminal.

  “So, pretty girl,” he said, rocking his chair onto the two back legs. “What’s upstairs? Something kinky?”

  THREE

  WAS IT BETTER OR WORSE THAT HE NOW THOUGHT SHE WAS SIMPLY A SEXUAL DEVIANT?

  Definitely worse.

  Because that meant…if he somehow knew she was a dirty girl, it had to be based on his own knowledge of filth and delicious depravity.

  And he was a jerk. He couldn’t be the only one to see the real her. That would be cruel.

  A citizen’s arrest-loving jerk could not be a fellow kinkster. Not on an island of pure vanilla people. There was no way she could handle him being some kind of backward ally, if only in keeping her secret.

  No, no, never.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie.

  He just shrugged. “Okay. But I’m on to you.”

  She lifted one eyebrow imperiously. “Are you?”

  He grinned from behind his hand. “Yeah. I think I am.”

  “Well, you’ve already thought that…what, a half-dozen times in the last hour? And you’ve been wrong each time. So this guess is probably just as wrong as the others.” Even more so. If they were playing Hotter/Colder, she’d be gleefully cackling that he was getting colder now.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  She wanted to shift under his scrutiny and resisted the urge. Instead, she looked right back. Where before he’d been perilously close to the truth, and she’d wanted to hide from his inspection, now he was clumsily poking around in a space that wasn’t really a lie…but it wasn’t anything to do with her father or the statue, either.

  So she felt safer in a way. And lying to cover up kinky stuff wasn’t really lying. It was self-preservation.

  Besides, now that she wasn’t in immediate fear of being arrested…now that the adrenaline rush had faded…there was a handsome man in front of her.

  Cara’s fiancé had good-looking friends. It wasn’t a hardship for her to use that to her advantage.

  She softened her expression and boldly checked him out.

  His legs, hugged tight by fitted cargo pants, spread wide as he rocked back and forth in the chair. His hands—the same ones that had tied her up with what she was now certain was a non-military professional knowledge of knots—kept playing with his lower lip.

  And his eyes didn’t leave her face, so when her gaze finally slid up his mountain of a body, he was looking right at her.

  She smiled. “What was the question, again?”

  “I didn’t ask one.”

  “Hmm.” She winked. “But you want to now, don’t you?”

  “Tell me a secret,” he said abruptly, standing up.

  She followed him with her gaze, her head lifting to the side as he moved around her. “That wasn’t phrased in the proper form of a question.”

  He laughed. “Come on. Give me something.”

  “Says the man who tied me up against my will and who still hasn’t told me his name.”

  He dropped to one knee and undid the knot behind the chair leg. The rope relaxed and pooled at her feet. “Brayden,” he grunted.

  She forced herself to relax as he moved to her wrists. “Brayden?”

  “Brayden Lucas.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brayden. Glad I have a name I can give the authorities now.”

  Another chuckle. “Come on, pretty girl. Up you get.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She wiggled her arms as she stood. “There’s a secret for you. I don’t like to be called pretty.”

  “Ah.” He reached for her arm, pausing before his big hand circled her wrist. “May I?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  He rubbed her skin briskly, limiting his touch to where his ropes had pressed their marks. Even though he was taking care to be appropriate, she couldn’t help but respond. Devious of him to play it straight and be respectful of her boundaries. That was a dirty trick.

  Mix in the natural appeal of him—the height and breadth, the knowing gaze and laughing mouth—and it was only reasonable that she’d shiver a little when he touched her.

  It meant nothing.

  “You’re cold.” He frowned as he moved his hands up her arms. “How are your legs?”

  “They’re fine.”

 
That didn’t stop him from dropping to his knees in front of her and running his hands up her calves. Her black yoga pants did nothing to shield her skin from the heat of his touch, and when he squeezed above her knees, she gasped.

  “I should check—”

  “It’s not my first time being tied up. I promise you everything is circulating just fine and I don’t have any hot spots.” She took a big step back and bumped into the wall.

  Brayden took his time to rise to his full height.

  Long enough for her to replay her words in her head a few times.

  Not my first time.

  Being tied up.

  Not my first—

  “Arielle.”

  She tried to suck in a deep breath but failed miserably. Her chest was rising and falling like she was breathing, but the air wasn’t getting into her lungs. Not really. Shallow, weak, ineffectual breaths…oh, good Lord, what had she done.

  He stepped closer. “Arielle. Take a deep breath.”

  I’m trying, she thought in her head. I’m trying and failing and oh no, he knows. “You know.”

  “Well, I knew a few minutes ago when I realized you were kinky, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m not.”

  He chuckled as he slowly braced his arms on either side of her face and leaned in, brushing his forehead against hers. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I’m a high school teacher,” she whispered. “We’re not supposed to be deceptive.”

  “I know,” he whispered back. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

  FOUR

  “NOBODY KNOWS. YOU CAN’T TELL ANYONE.”

  That much was obvious. Brayden stared down into dark, glittering, fearful eyes and something inside his chest cracked a little. They needed to rewind the entire evening and start over again, because he wasn’t the type of man to threaten a woman. And definitely not over whatever she liked to do in the bedroom.

  “Not a problem. Your secrets are safe with me.” He said it softly, like he would to a frightened child. Brayden knew all about fear. How it could paralyze someone. Spike anxiety and glue them to the spot. He’d seen it more times than he could count. Trained men to overcome it when it would rise inside, unexpected and vicious.