by S. M. Butler
He’d chosen the SEALs over her—and now he was choosing the mercenary life over the SEALs?
She sipped the cold water and willed herself not to care.
Calli swept in, her cheeks pinked from being kissed in the kitchen, and set a tray of snack food on the coffee table. Rik followed with two six-packs of beer.
Usually Larken thought her employers were cute in their obvious love for each other. Cute, and alien-like.
Now there was a six-foot something reminder in the room that she’d had a taste of that once, and it wasn’t for her. She hadn’t been for him.
Yes. That did the trick. The older-and-sexier Vince, with his smooth voice and distracting tattoos, was no match for the viper pit of Larken’s memory. He stole the top marksman spot from her, only to dick off to the navy like he didn’t care—about her or the army.
And now he had new selfish reasons for leaving the SEALs behind and joining Rik’s team.
“Just cash for me,” Vince finally answered. She turned around, not wanting to hide from him any longer, and pinned a cold, hard stare on him as he approached the sideboard.
He didn’t back down. He didn’t glare, either. Just held her gaze as if to say, “Get it out of your system.”
Not going to happen.
He knew she held grudges. He needed to go find a cushy job somewhere else. This slice of paradise was hers, and she wasn’t sharing it with him.
“Five hundred enough?” he asked, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He’d changed from his swimsuit into cargo shorts and a black t-shirt that stretched perfectly over his broad shoulders and hung loosely over his narrow hips and waist. He’d been tall when they’d gone through training together. Now he was built. It was deceptive, really, how big he was. From across the room he looked just like your average fit soldier.
But now that he was standing next to her…
Larken was tall. Five foot nine, she barely had to lift her chin to look most men in the eye. The only guy in the room who usually made her feel small was Jackson, and that was because he was a giant.
Now there were two giants in the room.
Maybe it was a good thing that her natural eye-contact point on Vince’s body was the dip at his collarbone. Looking him in the eye might weaken her resolve to sabotage his plans for joining their team.
He’d always had nice eyes.
“Better make it a grand,” she said, even though Jackson had probably only put a couple hundred down. The Browning was worth a grand, though. And a week of her breakfasts…
No. Vince couldn’t win a week in her cottage. That wasn’t happening.
Well, it didn’t matter. Calli and Trent took turns winning, unless there was a full moon or they were distracted.
And they didn’t always play for winner takes all.
“How do we want to do this?” she asked, sliding away from Vince’s side to take her seat at the table.
He took a seat directly opposite.
That was even worse than being right next to him.
She needed a drink.
“Winner takes all sounds good to me,” Calli said with an inappropriately warm smile at her husband. “I wouldn’t mind an early night.”
So that meant that as each person ran out of chips, they’d be done.
Rik went out first, three hands in.
Larken swore under her breath as Calli smiled that stupid little smile that meant she wanted to get laid.
Getting laid was good and all, but Larken really needed her friend to win the damn poker game.
She set her cards down and stood up, ignoring the way her inner thighs warmed at the thought of sex. It had been…too long. And until Vince had shown up, she’d been just fine with her imagination and her fingers.
Larken had very capable fingers, but…
Nope. She wasn’t going there. She stalked over to the coffee table. Grabbing a lime wedge from the bowl set out next to the beer, she jammed it into the neck of a new bottle, and tipped the drink back, taking a long, deep drink.
Trent joined her, yawning as he grabbed a beer of his own.
“No, you can’t be tired,” she said bitterly.
“I was up all night making those pens,” he said with a shrug.
“Pens, plural?”
He grinned. “I made one for each of us. So I don’t really care about staying in the game tonight.”
You bastard. But she couldn’t tell him why that annoyed her so much. Fine. She had a poker game to win, clearly.
At first, her pile of chips grew. Trent bowed out next, going all-in on a hand that only a man who longed for his bed would go all-in on.
Calli hung in, stealing hands from Jackson and Mats, but then Rik got up and rounded the table. He just stood behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders, but Larken didn’t miss how his fingers danced back and forth across the bare skin there, and on the next hand, Calli threw in, losing pathetically to Vince. And then their hosts bid them a good night and scampered upstairs to love each other.
So. Annoying.
Larken refocused her attention on her nemesis across the table.
He looked…like nothing. Maybe he was a card shark. He wasn’t really winning many hands, but he wasn’t making any foolish bets, etc. And he had a wicked poker face.
She was in trouble.
On the next hand, a clearly drunk Mats went in with his few remaining chips.
“Seriously, you know that you can fold, right? Nothing wrong with that.” She glanced at her own hand. Three queens. And there were still two more draws of cards. “I’ll see that.”
Vince frowned at his cards, then pushed a matching number into the center of the table. “See you.”
Jackson scratched his head.
Leave it alone, Larken thought.
Of course he couldn’t do that. This was the weekend where absolutely nothing would go her way. So Jackson grinned and pushed a big stack of chips into the middle of the table. Not quite all-in, but a big dare.
She looked at her cards again. Damn double-damn. “Yep, I’m still in.”
Vince shook his head and set his cards down, bowing out of the hand. They were all pretty evenly matched, chips-wise, but winning it would give her enough of a pot that she could start pressuring them.
Which would have been awesome if she’d won, but five minutes later, as Jackson raked the chips toward him with a hearty laugh, she realized with a sinking feeling that there would be no winning for her.
Not tonight, not this weekend.
She glanced at her small pile of chips and sighed. Three more hands, if she was lucky.
She wasn’t lucky. The next hand, Vince sat up a little straighter, and when Jackson went in, Vince called him on it. And won.
Which made the next hand down to Vince and Larken, and she only had enough chips to make it through one round of betting. It was over.
Vince had won. Or everyone else had lost.
Hardly the United Nations of Bad-assery after all.
Chapter Three
‡
“Nice break, new guy,” Jackson said, holding out his hand. Larken watched in disbelief as Trent brought over the tray of Vince’s winnings.
“I don’t…” Vince started, then trailed off. His jaw flexed before he nodded tersely. “Thanks. I just had some good luck there.”
Larken dragged the rest of her beer down her throat. Nope. There wasn’t enough beer in the world to make sense of why her stomach flip-flopped.
She closed her eyes.
So he was moving into her cottage for a week. He’s only here for the weekend. That didn’t make it better. What if he decided to extend his stay?
What if he didn’t?
She blinked her eyes open and looked across the table, expecting to see a cocky smile.
Instead she found him watching her, his face serious and his eyes on her pressed together, worried lips. “You okay with this?” he asked quietly, and she nodded before she realized what she was doing.
Without looking at him or her two teammates still left sitting at the table, she grabbed her key from the tray and stomped out.
The dark path was illuminated by dim lights dotting the crushed gravel walkway every few feet. She sank into the privacy of the warm, tropical night and wrapped her arms around herself as she hurried toward the privacy of her own room.
But Vince wasn’t going to let that happen, clearly. She heard the slap of the door swinging open, then shut again, and heavy footsteps as he ran to catch up with her.
“Larken, wait,” he called out.
She kept going.
“Hey,” he growled as he closed the gap between them and grabbed the back of her arm, spinning her around to face him on the moonlit path. “I didn’t expect to win.”
“Well, you did. So now we’re roommates for a few days.” She yanked her arm out of his grasp, ignoring how warm his touch was as his fingertips slid down her forearm, lingering on her skin as long as possible.
“I can stay in the main house if you’d rather.”
“No. Don’t make this into a ‘Larken is uncomfortable’ thing.”
“But Larken is uncomfortable,” he said softly, still far too close to her for her to think straight.
“That’s because you’re in my space,” she hissed at him.
“Really? It’s not for any other reason?” His dark eyes glittered down at her, suddenly so familiar. She knew that look. The last time he’d pinned it on her, they’d stolen into a supply closet and he’d been freshly shaved. She could feel the dewy softness of his aftershave under her fingertips.
Now he was stubbled and smelled faintly of saltwater and lime. Of beer and victory and the freedom of a guy who had the world in the palm of his hand.
She whirled away and stalked toward her cottage.
It wasn’t really hers. There were two of them, this one to the west of the main house, the other to the south. That one was still under construction, so most of the team stayed in the main house. But Larken liked the solitude of the cottage, and she’d won it from Mats in a poker game soon after she arrived on the island.
She hadn’t been foolish enough to put it on the line before.
At least she hadn’t actually put up permanent residence. Just a week. Or a weekend. Whatever. Just enough time for her to lose her mind, clearly.
He was right behind her as they closed over the last dozen yards. She could feel him. Her heart beat faster as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, warning her he was about to touch her before he did.
His arms slid around her waist, hauling her against him just in front of her porch. The light was on, as she’d left it, and she wondered if he’d waited until they weren’t in the dark to grab her. “Wait a damn minute, woman.”
“Let go of me.”
His breath puffed hot against her ear, and his voice slid inside her, rough and warm. “I would if I thought for a second that you’d stay still long enough for us to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” God, he felt good. Hard muscles. Strong arms.
“Then what do you want?”
She wanted to not hate him quite so much. “Why are you here, Vince?”
“Because everyone let me win at cards.” His lips were actually brushing against her earlobe now. “Why did they let me win, Larken?”
“I’m a terrible cook. Nobody wants my breakfasts.”
“I’ll cook.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.” She jabbed her elbow back, nailing him in the gut, then spun around and shoved her hands square against the brick wall he called a chest. “Why are you on my island?”
He worked his jaw from side to side and narrowed his gaze as he looked at her. “I need a job with more flexibility than being on the teams.”
“Why?” She yelled the question, shaking with anger now.
“I think the more pressing question is why are you so mad at me? Is this seriously about a shooting competition?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. What else do you want to hear?”
“That is such a stupid boy thing to say. Sorry. Like, oops, I broke your favorite mug while doing dishes. Sorry.”
“I…I broke your mug?”
Well, when he said it out loud it was stupid. Which made her want to throw things at him. Which really pointed to the real source of the problem. But she hadn’t want to throw anything yesterday or the day before. “No. But now that you’re here, you’re…” She waved her hands in the air. “You know. Bringing up a lot of stuff.”
He moved closer again, undeterred by her flailing arms or irrational anger.
“Stop it,” she whispered.
“Stop what?” he asked, his voice quiet now, almost a whisper, too. But he didn’t sound scared and small, like she did. He sounded…intent. “You’ve been running from me all day. How about we stop running? Stop fighting for half a second, and try something else?”
She shook her head and huffed a quiet laugh. “Fine. Well, we’re here, so no more running. Just bed. We can try to be friends tomorrow.”
Turning again, she moved toward the porch, but didn’t get very far. Vince had grabbed the back of her skirt.
Frozen, Larken stood stock-still as he reeled himself closer to her, gathering her dress in his hands as he closed the gap between their bodies again.
Fisting the fabric in a bunch high on her left thigh, he trailed his other hand over the skinny right strap on her shoulder. “Nice dress.”
“We’re in the Caribbean. It’s hot.”
“Very.” His mouth followed the same path his fingers had just traveled, over her shoulder and onto her neck. He slid his hand over her throat and up to her jaw, twisting her face so her gaze met his. “Wear another one tomorrow.”
“I only have one,” she admitted, her voice cracking. And she’d worn it to look pretty for him. To show him…something. This was an unintended side effect.
“That’s what I thought,” he growled, crashing his lips against hers.
Damn him. Her arms fluttered in the air as he spun her entire body, then she found his shoulders—why did his muscles feel that good to stroke?—and he had her anyway, she could have been flying through the air and it wouldn’t matter. He banded his arms around her, holding her against him as his mouth punished her for all the yelling and screaming and glowering. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, then his tongue ruthlessly pressed inside, demanding more of her than she’d given to anyone in a long time.
Because kissing him back wasn’t an option—he didn’t leave any room for her to move. He was in charge of this embrace and that was probably for the best. Even as her breasts grew heavy against his chest and her legs ached to wrap around him, she was still tired and angry and wanted…
But she couldn’t remember what she thought she’d wanted before he kissed her. At that exact moment, she really just wanted more of his sure tongue stroking against her trembling one. More of his hands, strong and confident on her back. More of his forehead pressed against hers as he broke off long enough to make eye contact with her, making sure she wanted this—and she did, even as she hated the repercussions of it. She wanted his hands on her body and his tongue back in her mouth.
This kiss was too good not to want.
Which meant she’d want more.
And she was back to being mad.
“No…” The protest somehow made it to Vince—he may have swallowed it—and he instantly pulled back. Like, an inch. He was still holding her tight against him, still fisting her skirt practically up at her waist, and now that she could think a little bit and take better stock of their situation, she realized his erection throbbed against her bare thigh.
All of that had to change. Immediately.
“Let go of my dress,” she said quie
tly. He did, and the soft fabric dropped against where their legs pressed together. Where he was still hard.
She closed her eyes, and his lips brushed against her cheek.
“It’s late,” he rumbled. “You should go to bed.”
“And there’s the patronizing asshole I was expecting,” she sighed without any fire as his lips ghosted higher, over her eyelids and her brow.
“Your tantrum-ing witch routine brings out the patronizing asshole in me, what can I say?”
“This is a mistake.”
“Let’s kiss on it again in the morning and see where you stand.”
“I don’t mean the kiss. I mean you being here. All of it.”
“You’ve leapt to a million conclusions,” he murmured, his lips against hers again, having completed an entire tour of her face. “Which is my fault for how I acted when I got off the boat.”
Laughing, she snapped her teeth lightly at him as she fluttered her eyes open again. “You mean when you hit on the anonymous blonde in the bikini who was pointing a gun at you?”
“She was hot.”
“That was not the impression you were supposed to have.” But it made her kind of achy and breathless all over again that while he enjoyed her in a dress, he’d liked her in her natural state, too.
“Just what did you think was going to happen?” He’d closed the gap between them again, and his hands were running up and down her sides. One thigh had slipped between her legs, and when his palms hit her hips, he rocked her forward.
She gasped as her swollen clit rubbed against the heavy cotton of his shorts and heat bloomed through her pelvis and up her torso. “I wasn’t thinking anything,” she ground out. “Just… Damn you, Vince.”
“Something wrong?” he murmured, jerked her higher up his leg.
It was a real shame his hair wasn’t long enough to pull. She slid one hand around the nape of neck instead and wrapped the opposite leg around his waist, shifting the center of her body against the hardest part of his.
“That’s what I was thinking this morning on the dock,” she whispered before swiping his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. “I saw you and thought… Damn you for coming here, where I’ve found this haven of people who get me and like me. Damn you for being so fucking cool when my life is a hot mess.”
