Deadly Engagement

by Elle James

  Her body heated.

  Damn it. She didn’t need another smooth-talking man in her life. They were nothing but trouble, and she was still paying for the last one.

  Emma raised her hand and rapped on the window loudly.

  Moby barked, raising a big enough ruckus to wake the dead.

  Creed whipped a pistol from under his shirt and pointed it at the window.

  Emma backed away, her hands in the air, heart hammering, the wind sucked out of her sails.

  As soon as Creed realized it was her, he tossed the gun to the seat beside him, shoved open his door and got out. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “I scared you?” She pointed toward the pistol on his passenger seat. “What the hell are you doing with a gun?”

  “I’m licensed to carry concealed.”

  “I don’t care what you’re licensed to do. You could have shot me.”

  “I’m not trigger happy. I make sure of my targets before I shoot.”

  Still shaken by having a gun pointed at her first thing in the morning, Emma wasn’t ready to let it go. “So you’ve shot a person before?”

  He shoved a hand through his hair and then jammed his hands into his pockets. “Look, I didn’t want to be so far away if you needed me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Moby and I did just fine without you.”

  As if to emphasize Emma’s point, Moby jumped up, planting his paws on Creed’s chest.

  Creed laughed. “I can see that.” He scratched Moby’s ears and shoved him off his chest, glancing out at the lingering haze of fog hovering over the cape, obscuring the view. “Are we still headed out at eight this morning?”

  “The weatherman said this fog will burn off around nine. If you’re there at eight, we can prep the boat and tanks and be on our way out as the fog lifts.” She gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “Are you rested enough to go out?”

  He stretched and tilted his neck to each side as if testing functionality. “I’m good.”

  Oh, she had no doubt he was good. It was the at what she was worried about. “Are you going to run out to the B and B before you head to the marina?”

  “I don’t see a need. I’d rather find breakfast.”

  “That’s what a B and B serves, and you’re paying for it.” She shook her head. “I have eggs in my fridge. If you can cook, you can have breakfast at my house.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered why she’d offered. Spending more time with him wasn’t helping her resolve to stay clear of men.

  He grinned. “I’ve been known to make a mean omelet.”

  “You’re on.” She nodded toward Moby. “I’ll be back this way in fifteen.”

  “I could go with you,” he offered.

  “I prefer to go it alone.” She smiled at Moby. “Well, almost. It gives me a chance to clear my head.”

  “Fair enough. In the meantime, I’ll see about finding a place to wash up.”

  Emma sighed. “You have a perfectly good room at the B and B. You should have stayed there, and you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  He rolled his shoulders. “I’ll have to give the bed at Molly’s a try tonight.”

  “Fine. I’ll be back in ten minutes, and you can use the bathroom in my house.”

  He grinned. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

  “Come on, Moby.” Already hyperactive, the dog leaped forward, practically jerking Emma’s arm out of its socket. At least her overly exuberant dog got her away from Creed before she offered her bed along with breakfast and a shower.

  What had she been thinking? The more time she spent with the man, the more she found to like about him. Then again, the gun was disturbing. What was an insurance adjuster doing carrying a gun and setting up camp down the street from her? Hadn’t she learned what a handsome face could get away with? All the lies and subterfuge. And here she was, falling again.

  Running faster, she couldn’t outrun the truth. She was attracted to the man, and that was bad news all around. She should tell him to get out of her life and stay out. On the other hand, what was it Sun Tzu said in the book The Art of War? Something like “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  Was Creed friend or enemy? Whatever he was, Emma was convinced he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. After Randy had duped her and the hospital, she refused to be gullible, naively expecting the best from everyone, especially handsome men. It might pay to find out just what Creed was up to.

  She glanced down at her watch. Five minutes had passed. Circling in the middle of the street, she turned and ran back the way she’d come, her heartbeat quickening when she rounded the corner to find that the SUV and Creed were gone.

  Disappointment filled her. Maybe Creed had changed his mind and gone back to the B and B. That would be the logical thing to do, considering he was paying for a room and he’d left a duffel bag there.

  At the next corner, she jogged onto Sand Dollar Lane and spotted the SUV in front of her house. Butterflies kicked up a flutter in her empty belly. Creed leaned against the gate to her white picket fence, a backpack at his feet, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. Too darned handsome, by far.

  Sweat beading on her brow and trickling down between her breasts, Emma felt sticky and at a disadvantage. Nothing like a sweaty woman to turn a guy off. She passed close to him, pushed open the gate and released Moby’s leash.

  The dog ran up the steps of the porch and turned circles at the top.

  “There’s only one bathroom in the house.” Emma unlocked the door, and Moby raced inside. “You can have it first, while I feed the dog.”

  “I don’t mind waiting until you’ve had first crack.”

  “You might not mind, but Moby does.” She smiled down at Moby and patted his head.

  Creed carried his backpack down the hallway and ducked into the bathroom.

  Emma fed Moby, refreshed his water bowl. By the time she pulled out the skillet, eggs, cheese, onions and peppers, Creed appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

  His face was cleanly shaved, his black hair damp and combed back from his forehead. He wore a T-shirt with the words I’d Rather Be Diving emblazoned below a picture of a scuba diver. But it was the way his muscular arms and chest stretched the shirt that made her stare. He filled the doorway and made the kitchen feel much smaller than a few moments before. Emma swallowed hard to tamp down the urge to drool.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  His words broke her trance, and she spun to face the gas stove. “Everything you need is here.” She didn’t want to face him with her cheeks burning. Her hand bumped the skillet and sent it flying across the stove.

  Creed reached out and snagged it before it fell to the floor. “Relax. I’m only cooking omelets. It’s not like I’m going to attack you.”

  “I didn’t say you were going to attack me.”

  “You’re as skittish as a wild kitten.”

  “I’m not used to having a man in my kitchen.”

  “Seems you’ve had one in your kitchen before me.” In her peripheral vision, she watched Creed thumb the photo she kept stuck to her refrigerator with a magnet.

  “Why is there a big red line through him?” he asked.

  “As a reminder not to lose my perspective when it comes to men.”

  “I take it this was your fiancé that you lost your perspective with,” he said, his voice so close she could practically feel his breath on her neck.

  “You got it.” She faced him, realizing too late that he stood too close. Her hands rose to his chest. Whether to push him away or hold him close was a moot point. Once she touched him, she couldn’t stop.

  “Are you afraid of me, Emma?” He captured her fingers in one of his hands, the ridge beneath
the fly of his cargo shorts pressing into her belly.

  “You do have a big g-gun.” Her heart slamming against her ribs, Emma dared to stare up into his eyes.

  “Are you afraid I’ll kiss you again?” He bent to brush his lips across her forehead. “I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

  Her tongue swept across her suddenly dry lips. “I don’t.”

  His hands squeezed hers for a moment longer and he appeared to hesitate, his gaze burning into hers. Finally, he released her hands and stepped back and winked. “See? No pressure. Now go. I’ll have omelets ready in ten minutes.”

  Emma dove past him and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her before she released the breath she’d been holding. She’d wanted him to kiss her. Hell, she’d wanted him to kiss her more than she’d wanted to breathe.

  Get a grip, girl. The man was only in town for a few days. Then he’d be gone. And good riddance. Creed Thomas was trouble with a capital T.

  Straightening her shoulders, she grabbed a bikini, a pair of shorts and T-shirt from her dresser, and hurried into the bathroom across the corridor.

  The low rumble of Creed’s voice floated down the hallway. The man was singing and talking to Moby. The sound was so natural and warm, it seemed right. And that was wrong! Her house had always been one woman and one dog. When she’d been engaged to Randy, they’d spent their evenings at his condo, snuggling on his couch. Her cottage had been her haven, and he hadn’t ever wanted to spend much time there, claiming he wasn’t a dog lover.

  Part of the problem had been that Moby hadn’t liked Randy from the moment they’d met. Every time the man came to pick up Emma, Moby growled and snarled at Randy. Funny how the dog had been a much better judge of character than Emma had been.

  Emma ducked into the shower, rinsing off the sweat and shampooing her hair. Granted, she’d be diving in salt water soon, so the shampoo was a waste of effort and soap. But that feminine gene in her couldn’t leave her hair sweaty when she would be in the close confines of her kitchen with Creed. No matter how short a time it would be.

  As she soaped her skin and water sluiced over her body, the warmth poured over her breasts and down between her legs. She couldn’t help but think how naked and wet she was when Creed was just a few steps away. Just the thought made her belly tighten, her thighs quiver, and she moaned out loud.

  “Everything okay in there?” Creed’s voice called through the door.

  The bar of soap squirted from between her hands, hit the wall tiles and bounced off her foot before settling close to the drain. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, her foot throbbing from the soap assault.

  “Are you sure?” His voice sounded closer, as if he’d opened the door. “I thought I heard someone moaning.”

  Her body on fire and her face in flames, Emma pressed the shower curtain to her body and peered around it at Creed.

  He stood in the door, a smile teasing the corners of his lips.

  “You must have been hearing things. I’m fine.” She frowned. “Why are you in my bathroom?”

  “I came to tell you the omelets are ready.” He winked. “Need any help scrubbing your back?”

  Her frown deepened, her body on fire with the possibility of Creed rubbing soap over her back. “I do not.”

  He sighed. “Doesn’t hurt to ask. You’re pretty tempting through that practically sheer shower curtain.” His smile spread into a grin, and he ducked back through the door as Emma threw her wet washcloth at him.

  “I should have let the shark have you,” she yelled.

  “Now, now, no need getting all upset,” he said through the door. “You have a hot body. I call it as I see it.”

  Emma turned the water to cold and let the spray chill her skin. By the time she stepped out on the bath mat, she was in control and ready to face him. She was a nurse. She’d seen plenty of naked bodies. Having someone see hers shouldn’t get her into a flap.

  Unless that someone was Creed Thomas, with his smoldering eyes and devilish smile.

  She jammed her legs into the bikini bottoms and pulled them up, then she shimmied into her shorts and finished dressing quickly. All the while, she imagined what it would have been like if she’d taken Creed up on his offer to scrub her back.

  Sweet Jesus, she was headed down a very slippery path.

  When she entered the kitchen, she’d plastered on her best poker face.

  The omelet was delicious, and sitting across the table from Creed was a mix of comfortable and nerve-racking. She’d be glad when he left town. Then she could get back to her calm, normal, everyday...boring life.

  In the meantime, she only had two days left to find the Anna Maria. With Creed occupying too many of her brain cells, she’d almost forgotten her determination to save the Children’s Wing Project.

  With renewed focus, she gathered her gear and stood on her front porch, staring out over the cape as the sun burned through the clouds. “Ready?”

  Creed’s gaze was on the large, gleaming white yacht anchored offshore. “I hope so.” He turned to her. “You sure you want to dive today? Couldn’t you take a day off?”

  “No way. I have too much riding on this dive.” She frowned. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that shark will be there. It could be really dangerous. I have a bad feeling about it.”

  “Well, Nervous Nelly, keep that bad feeling to yourself. I’ve dived with sharks before, and I have too much seafloor to cover to waste time worrying. Are you coming?”

  * * *

  Creed offered to drive them to the marina, but Emma insisted on taking her Jeep, claiming she had errands to run after their dive.

  Dave was on the Reel Dive sorting tanks and equipment and readying the boat for their dive. “Morning,” he said as he latched a tank in place. “Probably only gonna get one dive in this morning.”

  “Why’s that?” Emma asked.

  “Looks good right now, but there’s a storm brewing off the coast. If it doesn’t rain, it’ll stir up the waves so much you won’t be able to get close to the point later on today.”

  “Then we’ll have to make good use of the time we have.” Emma tossed her duffel into the boat and climbed aboard. “At least the fog lifted earlier than predicted.”

  Creed joined Emma on the deck.

  “Same place as yesterday?” Dave asked.

  Emma nodded. “Same.”

  Dave started the engine and revved the throttle in Neutral.

  Creed and Emma untied the ropes from the dock, and the Reel Dive slipped away from the marina and out into the cape.

  While Emma climbed up to the helm to discuss their dive with Dave, Creed pulled a camera with a telephoto lens from his bag and extended it as far as it would go. He adjusted the viewfinder to zoom in on the yacht.

  Several men stood on the deck, pointing toward their dive boat. One lifted a set of binoculars. From the distance, Creed couldn’t make out whether or not any of the men was Phillip Macias. He took several photographs. Perhaps the folks back at SOS headquarters could identify the men.

  “Thinking of selling insurance to them?” Emma slipped up beside him.

  “Never pass up an opportunity to make a buck,” he quipped, and stowed the camera in the waterproof compartment of his duffel and set it beneath the bench in the cabin.

  Emma followed him inside and set her bag on one of the seats. “We’ll be there in ten. We should suit up.”

  As they pulled on their wet suits, booties and hoods, Creed couldn’t help noticing how trim and fit she was. Not a spare ounce of flesh, but curves in all the right places. The bikini suited her body, displaying gently rounded hips and generous, if not overly large, breasts. It was a shame the water in these parts was so cold she had to wear a wet suit to cover all that.

  H
e turned away, jamming his feet into his own wet suit and pulling it up his legs, reminding himself how important it was to maintain body heat to avoid hypothermia. He concentrated on the science of diving, not his dive buddy’s beautiful body. Focus kept a SEAL alive.

  When he turned back to her, he noted how comfortable Emma was with all the gear that went along with diving. “What made you become a diver?” he asked.

  She ran the zipper of her wet suit up from the elastic waistband of her bikini bottom to just below her breasts.

  Creed’s groin tightened. If anything, the wet suit only emphasized her curves and made her even more attractive. How did she do that?

  “My father got me started when I was fifteen. I loved the weightlessness, seeing the fish and colorful anemones and swimming among the seals. Now, after working at a hospital full of people, noises and smells, I can escape into another world so completely different from the one I live in.” Her gaze softened as she looked out across the water. “Down below, all I hear are the soft bubbles and the sound of my own breathing.”

  Creed understood what she was seeing and hearing in her mind. He felt the same.

  Emma turned to him. “When was your first dive?”

  “BUD/S.”

  “Buds?” She tipped her head to the side inquiringly.

  “Basic underwater demolition training for SEALs.”

  “I understand that’s pretty difficult.”

  He shrugged. “Hardest, best thing I’ve ever done for myself.”

  “That kind of training makes an impression on a man.” She added softly, “I bet it hurt to be kicked out.”

  The pain in his chest from being kicked off the team had dulled over time, but had never quite gone away. “We’re almost there.”

  Emma’s gaze followed him, making him feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. Hell yes, it had hurt to lose the one place on earth he’d felt worth a damn, like he had a purpose in life. SEAL Team 6 had been the only real family he’d ever known. To lose them cut so deeply he’d almost ended it all. Then Royce had come along and given him purpose, a sense of belonging similar to his old team. Worthwhile missions, camaraderie and a new family brought him back from the edge of his own self-destruction.