Wicked Nights

by Anne Marsh

  He shifted until he was blocking her path to the dock, unless she crawled over him, which she hadn’t done since she was seven. Or maybe nine. Their competitive moments blurred together. What she did know was that she had no plans for full-body contact with him today.

  Today.

  Whoa. Wrong idea. More clothes would have been good or perhaps a suit of armor. She’d never had the urge to think about Cal naked before. Cal’s family owned half the island, and he was the prodigal son who’d come home six months ago after a glorious stint in the military. He’d fought the battles and had the medals and the scars to prove it. She didn’t doubt his heroism, but his timing was rotten. She’d come back to Discovery Island two years ago herself to do some starting over and having Cal around now wouldn’t make her job any easier. Somehow, she rubbed him the wrong way and he returned the favor. The last thing she needed was his brooding self backseat driving or paying any attention at all to her plans for the dive shop.

  And he would.

  She just knew it.

  He’d never, ever cut her any slack, not since the time they’d met when she was six years old and she’d first come to the island with her family for summer vacations in the cheerfully ramshackle, ocean-side cottage that had belonged to her grandmother. The cottage’s three bedrooms barely afforded enough room for Piper’s parents, her three brothers and herself, but the cozy camping had been part of the appeal. She’d loved those summers. Now the cottage was hers, which was a good thing given how little money she made as a dive instructor. Once she owned Dream Big and Dive outright, however, things would change. She’d be able to expand and to implement some of the ideas she had. All she had to do was win the Fiesta contract so she could convince the bank to loan her the money to buy out her partner.

  Cal had driven her six-year-old self crazy. Twenty years later, he’d just gotten better at doing it. Of course, she also knew how to return that favor.

  It was strange, though, how much he looked like her definition of a hero. He was a big man, pushing more than six feet. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw like he’d had better things to do than shave and didn’t mind living rough. Cal owned the space around him and not merely because he was tall, his wide-legged stance ensuring he easily rode the gentle swell and slap of the marina water against the boat’s hull. He was the kind of man who controlled any situation.

  She stared at him and he watched her right back. She had the sudden feeling he knew exactly what she was going to do, before she did it. When she stepped away from him, however, his hand slid off her neck and he let her go.

  “How are my business plans any of your business?” she replied. Not the politest of questions, but they had a history. He nodded, like she’d just confirmed something he already knew, and she couldn’t help but notice he didn’t smile. The fine lines around his eyes didn’t come from laughter, she realized, but from hours at sea. This man was 100 percent warrior.

  And hot enough that she wanted to take him down to the deck herself...

  He leaned back against the edge of her dive boat. “Because I’m bidding, too.” His dark brown eyes were unnervingly gorgeous. God had definitely not been playing fair the day Cal had been gifted with that feature.

  “Tell me you’re joking.” She kept her voice steady, when she wanted to scream. Unfortunately, she wasn’t surprised. Of course Cal would go after the contract she had her eye on.

  “Afraid not.” He said the two words calmly, as if he hadn’t just dropped the mother of all bombshells on her. She needed the contract. Had to have it or give up her dream of buying out Del, her partner, because every bank she’d approached so far for the loan had made increased cash flow a condition of borrowing the money.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because I run a dive center.” He made it sound so logical.

  “You run a command center,” she countered, going on the offensive. “You handle all the search-and-rescue ops for the sector. Why do you want to run dive trips for a cruise ship?”

  “Look around you,” he said drily. “And then tell me how busy you think I am.”

  “We’ve had one tropical storm this summer.” Which probably only underscored his point. One was singular and nowhere near enough to base a business on. She understood—she just didn’t like it.

  “I want to bring in more former SEALs to lead dive trips, and it was still a free country, last time I checked. In order to hire more divers, I need to increase our revenue. When I win the Fiesta contract, I do exactly that.”

  He said it as if the contract was a sure thing.

  Maybe it was. He was a veteran and a highly experienced diver. He’d trained U.S. Navy SEALs, the same guys who ensured they did still live in the free country Cal had so mockingly mentioned, and there was no way the executives evaluating the proposals wouldn’t weigh his military service into the equation. Plus, his plan of hiring former veterans was unspeakably nice. Until he’d thrown his name into the ring, she’d seriously had her competition beaten. She narrowed her eyes. Fortunately, she still had a card of her own to play.

  “You’re not the only one who needs to increase revenue.”

  “So, business is down for you.”

  It was, and at the worst possible time, too. She needed a beefed-up balance sheet to get her business loan.

  She gave him an assessing look. “For you, me and everyone else.”

  He shrugged. “I heard several other dive shops had submitted a proposal to Fiesta.”

  “The cruise line has plenty of choices.” Unfortunately. No, she’d think positive. She was good at what she did and she’d win this one.

  The other option wasn’t acceptable.

  “That contract is mine,” she said. She’d visualized nailing each and every dive before she’d climbed the tower in a competition, and she’d do exactly the same here. Cal might be a decorated veteran and combat swimmer, but she was a U.S. national platform-diving champion and a heartbreak story. She didn’t like playing the celebrity card, but she’d do whatever it took to win. After her accident, she’d spent two years in the media spotlight, and her name on a dive roster would make people look twice.

  He shook his head, shoving off the railing. “Again, it’s a free country. You can think what you like.”

  His tone, however, made it perfectly clear he, at least, didn’t think she stood a chance.

  “You bet.”

  Dream Big and Dive was her dream and she wasn’t letting go. She might not have the cash to purchase Del’s interest in the business outright and the banks might have labeled her a poor risk for a business loan, but she’d never gone down without a fight, as Cal knew very well. If she won the Fiesta contract, she won her funding and her shot at making Dream Big and Dive one of the best dive programs for novice divers in California. She’d make it to the final round of bidding, and she’d be in it to win it.

  She never lost. Ever.

  * * *

  PIPER CLARK WAS GORGEOUS. Objectively speaking, Cal knew that. What he admired more, however, was the way she met his stare without flinching or dropping her gaze. She was a fighter to the core and Cal’s instincts said she wouldn’t go down easy. The problem was, she was still his competition for a job he wanted.

  Hell.

  “You won’t win this one,” she warned. She stood there, hands parked on her hips as if she owned this competition, and he was certain she believed she did.

  “I can.” He would, too. His business, Deep Dive, was hands down the best operation in town. Piper, however, clearly believed she had the number-one, go-to place on the island. She also radiated an attractive confidence, which would only help her sell it to the Fiesta executives. Her hair was starting to dry now, dark streaks of wet giving way to lighter brown, and for a woman standing there in a bikini, she looked remarkably sure. He definitely needed to date more—or at all—because he was fairly certain he was staring. And that he’d noticed exactly where her bikini top had left pale white lines on her shoulders. She had
freckles, too, and lots and lots of bare, smooth skin.

  Except for her right knee.

  She took a step, staggered slightly when the wake from a passing boat rocked the deck, then righted herself. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he’d have missed the lightning-fast correction. Her knee was the only part of her that wasn’t tanned perfection. The ridges of scar tissue were nothing gruesome—he’d seen far worse during his military career—and the lines were white. He put a hand out to steady her and then pulled it back. Yeah. The look in her eyes said she didn’t want help. He’d seen the same look on the faces of plenty of soldiers. He understood wanting—no, needing—to do things alone. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his own gremlins riding his back, which was one of many reasons he wanted to bring more veterans and former teammates on board at Deep Dive. Sometimes, a guy needed a job and a place to work through his shit.

  “You can’t stop me,” she said, her hands tightening on her hips.

  He shook his head. “Honey, that’s where you’re wrong.”

  She smiled at him. “I’m going to win.”

  “You’re so certain?”

  “You like to be in charge.” Her eyes narrowed accusingly as she went off on one of those Piper tangents he’d never been able to follow. Jesus. Yes, of course he did. The expression on her face said she did, too. Which was too bad for her because, not only was he good at it, he held all the cards here. Instead of responding, he shot her a look.

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so, Cal.”

  She said his name with the same tone of mocking disgust his SEAL teammates had used when trash talking each other, except her voice held a note of sincerity. He’d seen her breasts. Hell, he’d touched her skin, even if it was only the brush of his fingers against the back of her neck, so it was okay. She could call him anything she wanted, because names didn’t bother him. Actions mattered. Not words.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Win,” she said so sweetly his teeth hurt. “That’s what I’m going to do, Cal.”

  Not in his lifetime. “I’ve got you seriously outgunned here.”

  “Bet me,” she said in the same tone.

  He observed her cautiously. Trouble had just shown up on this mission. The playful sparkle in her eyes telegraphed the message loud and clear. Since the only thing she had to be happy about was his leaving the field to her, and he had no intention of doing that, she clearly believed she’d come up with an alternative plan.

  “Uh-huh,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in. “What are we betting about?”

  “The outcome of the contract negotiations,” she clarified, smiling up at him.

  “There’s only one possible outcome.” He dismissed her words with a quick nod. “Deep Dive wins.”

  “That’s what you think.” She shrugged casually, clearly baiting her trap.

  He’d play.

  “It’s a fact.” Unexpectedly, he didn’t want to see her get hurt. If she pulled back now, quietly, she could avoid the agony of defeat and all that. Hell, he almost qualified as a gentleman.

  “Then, beat me, fair and square.” She shot him a fierce grin. “I’ll bid. You’ll bid.”

  “I’m not betting you about this.”

  “Why not?” She leaned forward, bracing her arms on either side of him, on the edge of the dive boat. She wasn’t a tall woman and she was careful not to touch him, but somehow she’d turned the tables on him. Again not surprising. Piper had made a career out of shocking him. “Maybe you’re just chicken. Put your money where your mouth is, Brennan. Bet me.”

  “You’re not betting money.” He wouldn’t take her money anyhow. He was almost certain Piper’s cash flow left something to be desired. He wanted to beat her, not bankrupt her.

  She leaned closer. He tried to pretend her bikini-covered breasts weren’t brushing his chest, that her top and his T-shirt were more than enough fabric to keep his imagination from rioting. Piper’s breasts were a sweet handful, curvy tops spilling over the edge of her bikini. When she’d been a platform diver, her swimsuit tops had been engineered to compress and create a smooth, sleek line. This top was something else. Feminine. Tempting. And yet—this was Piper. He didn’t like her, he reminded himself. She didn’t like him, even if she loved pushing his buttons. So where had this chemistry come from?

  “You’re scared.” She sounded smug. “We both know I’m winning this one.”

  And...buttons pushed. “Am not.”

  Great. He’d regressed to being a three-year-old, except for the part of him that was clearly an adult and wanted to show Piper how much he appreciated her bikini top. Which he wasn’t going to do.

  A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He knew that smile. He was in so much trouble here. “Are. Too.” She underscored each word with a not-so-subtle poke in his chest.

  He captured her fingers in his before she could drill holes into his heart. The words flew out of his mouth before he could think about it.

  “Business, Piper. This is strictly business.”

  “Uh-huh.” She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret and—he wasn’t sure, but did she check him out as she pulled away? Getting a read on Piper was frustrating. “You keep telling yourself that.”

  2

  DISCOVERY ISLAND HAD bars for tourists (all with kitschy names like Devil’s Wine and Beer and Skittles) and then there were the places for residents. Diver’s Haven was mostly a local scene since the bar was tucked off the main boardwalk. It wasn’t precisely a hole-in-the-wall, but the place hadn’t exactly earned a prime spot in the local food and wine department, either. It did, however, have cold beer and satellite TV. Tonight, Cal appreciated both. Going head-to-head earlier with Piper had been the icing on a frustrating day of broken equipment, canceled dives and a boat engine leaking enough oil to re-create the Exxon Valdez.

  The bar propping him up was made from salvaged driftwood, an artistic touch he’d always suspected had been Big Petey, the bar’s owner, being cheap rather than fashion-forward, given the booths with cracked vinyl seats. Neon lights in the window advertised brands Big Petey had no intention of stocking and the jukebox worked intermittently, rather like its owner. Big Petey also extended credit to anyone and everyone and had more dishwashers than he did bar glasses because he was incapable of turning down a job seeker. Big Petey was a good man, and he’d never seemed to mind Cal wasn’t much of a drinker.

  Cal had a one-beer limit. Alcohol wasn’t advisable when training, and he wanted his head back in the game. Plus, he’d seen more than one good soldier lose himself inside a bar. So, for the moment, he settled for just sitting at the bar, empty bottle in front of him. The game played on the big screen, and the clack of balls from the pool tables in the back competed with the occasional groan as a batter struck out. Tag and Daeg, fellow former rescue swimmers and current co-owners of Deep Dive, had moved on to the backroom and a game of pool and talking trash. More words flew than balls when those two played, only proving that nothing much had changed since their last tour of duty together. He still thanked his lucky stars every day that he’d been able to convince them to move up here from San Diego and join him rather than reenlisting.

  Big Petey looked over at him when a commercial came on. “You ready for another?”

  He didn’t want to put the man out of business. “If you make it a cola.”

  Big Petey also didn’t stock any name-brand sodas. Local gossip alternately claimed he’d outspent his account with both major distributors or referenced the man’s legendary cheapness. Since the stuff Big Petey poured was no better or worse than what Cal had drunk in dozens of overseas ports, and had bubbles, Cal didn’t care which version of the story was true.

  Big Petey grabbed the dirty glass and stowed it somewhere beneath the bar. “You’re making me a rich man, Brennan.”

  At least he’d merited a clean glass. Maybe. After all, he couldn’t see exactly where the new glass Big
Petey slapped down on the bar had come from. It was possible his original glass had simply round-tripped. Big Petey aimed the soda gun in the glass’s general direction and squeezed.

  “Drinks taste a whole heck of a lot better with rum.” Big Petey did not have a personal one-beer limit, and Cal’s choice of beverage was a constant source of amusement for the other man.

  “Big Petey makes an excellent point.” The scent of apples and something floral surrounded him as Piper slid onto the empty barstool beside him, resting her bare arms on the counter.

  A big grin creased Big Petey’s face. “If it isn’t our world champion.”

  Piper made a face. “I didn’t compete.”

  Big Petey grabbed another glass—from the shelf behind him, so definitely clean—and carefully set it down on a cocktail napkin in front of Piper. Piper also merited a bowl of peanuts. If Cal hadn’t already known the other man had been nursing a soft spot for Piper, he now had all the proof he needed.

  “You’ll always be my champion,” Big Petey said gruffly. “I’d have been sitting here in the bar, watching you win gold, if you’d gone to the world championships.”

  Piper smiled and mimed blowing kisses while admiring an imaginary medal. Cal bet it was indeed gold in her imagination. Piper had never settled for being anything but the best. He had no idea how she could handle the constant references to her almost-successes, but she always had a smile when her spot on the team was mentioned, even if she usually changed the topic immediately. She’d had to drop out after the accident because, as superhumanly competitive as Piper was, even she couldn’t force her knee to heal fast enough for the world championships.

  Sure enough, she pointed to Cal’s glass and deflected Big Petey’s interest in her diving dreams. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  Big Petey huffed. “Jack and cola. Coming right up.”

  Piper snagged a handful of peanuts. “Cal here is predictable. He’s downing straight-up soda, and we all know it.”