Teasing Her Seal (Uniformly Hot!)

by Anne Marsh

  Did hot sex really count as good for each other?

  “Fantasy Island also has a reputation for vacation hookups. He didn’t know about the drinks menu until I told him.” Ashley held up a finger when Laney opened her mouth. “And I told him only when he asked me, because apparently you had brought it up.”

  She had. “I wouldn’t have—”

  Come on to him. Told him my secret fantasies.

  “Had sex with him if you’d known he was a SEAL and not a resort employee? Are you sure?” Ashley patted her on the back.

  No. She wasn’t. “Are all of the resort employees military?”

  “No.” Ashley grinned at her. “And that’s where you come in.”

  “I don’t think it’s recruiting day.”

  “Think of it as an opportunity,” Ashley coaxed. “Or an invitation to indulge in your very own SEAL fantasy.”

  Laney shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “If Gray keeps on seeing you, it would help with his cover story. Just in case our target already has eyes on the ground here.”

  “Are you telling me it’s my patriotic duty to sleep with Gray? Because I’m not buying it, but nice try.”

  Ashley grinned and stopped outside Laney’s bungalow. “New tactic. Any chance you have a soldier fantasy?”

  She did, but just for one particular soldier. And didn’t that suck?

  * * *

  SNORKELING BENEATH THE pier was apparently the equivalent of crashing the local fish bar—loads of fish just hanging around the wooden piers. Or maybe the fish were bored and also waiting for the rain to stop. Laney had no idea. Fantasy Island, however, was definitely not living up to its reputation as a sunny retreat. The two days since she’d patched Gray up had passed in a wet blur. Not that resort living was all bad. The five extra pounds on her butt and the permanent aversion to making her own bed were testament to that.

  Rain stung her back and her legs, destroying much of the visibility when she moved out from underneath the pier. Still, she’d spotted an orange-and-white clown fish, so she could check finding Disney fish in the wild off the bucket list. She didn’t particularly want to be snorkeling in a rainstorm, but there were limited land-based activities in the rain, plus, she was avoiding a certain undercover SEAL.

  She hadn’t seen much of him in the past two days. Once or twice, their paths had crossed, but he’d nodded and kept right on walking. She hadn’t even merited a conversation. Which was typical. Have sex, patch a guy up and the fantasy disintegrated. Boom. A slap in the face from reality right there on the spot. Today she’d avoided the massage cabanas as if the huts were an Ebola hotspot. Her new game was walking around the resort, trying to identify undercover SEALs. She’d ruled out the female guests—other than Ashley, who was more an honorary SEAL, anyhow, as far as Laney could tell—but the constant rain wasn’t helping.

  It was perfect sex weather.

  Maybe that was her real problem. She drifted over to check out a particularly colorful clump of coral and considered the possibility. She’d had sex with Gray and it had been fantastic. It had also made her cranky. And horny. And, okay, more than a little bit depressed that what had been the hottest sex of her life apparently didn’t rate so much as a repeat in his orbit. Of course, he was also busy leading a double life and a SEAL team, so possibly he didn’t have time for vacation sex since he wasn’t even on a vacation. Or maybe he was actually taking it easy and babying his gunshot wound and had temporarily crossed hot monkey sex off his to-do list.

  Right. Just the thought made her snort, and that had her sucking in a mouthful of seawater. Popping upright, she treaded water while she emptied out the snorkel and her lungs. When she stuck her face back in the water, movement flashed in her peripheral vision. Whoa. Big fish alert. She turned and came face-to-face with a long, gray tube of a fish sporting a mouthful of teeth that would make a vampire proud. No blood-sucking for her, thank you very much. When it swam straight toward her, she bolted. Heart in her throat, she pretty much flew up the ladder, teetering in her fins when she neared the top. Except she didn’t fall back. A sun-bronzed hand with a familiar dive watch wrapped around her wrist and lifted her up the last few rungs.

  Well...shoot.

  Mr. Fantasy in the flesh.

  He steadied her effortlessly, as if he hadn’t just hauled her not-so-featherweight self up the ladder one-handed. While she stared at him and wondered when he’d become her own personal elevator, he gave her a small smile and let go of her wrist. The powerful lines of his big, hard body were all too evident thanks to the rain and the white linen spa uniform he still wore. She had no idea how she’d ever bought the masseuse line, because he moved like a street fighter, all raw power and leashed menace. Yep. It was official. She could think of a few more fantasies to reenact with him.

  He looked hot. She, on the other hand, looked like a first-class dork. She’d accessorized her practical black two-piece suit with a snorkel, mask and an inflatable snorkel vest because, okay, she panicked when the water got over her head and it wasn’t safe to snorkel alone. Risking drowning to fish-spot was stupid. So was sporting the bright pink snorkel vest. Monster fish had probably taken one look at her bobbing along and decided he’d found himself a floating Twinkie. Gray didn’t seem to mind, though. He held an oversize towel over their heads as if it was their own personal canopy.

  “Fish biting today?” She liked the smile in his eyes as he spoke, even if she had no idea why he was out here. Maybe it was part of the secret SEAL mission to recon the pier for enemy soldiers and errant snorkelers. Lucky her.

  “You have no idea.” She pulled off the mask and started squeezing air out of the vest. “There’s something down there with more teeth than a piranha and it’s way too friendly.”

  Or unfriendly.

  He transferred the towel to her and dropped down onto his haunches, gently tugging on her ankle. Off balance, she rested a hand on his shoulder and lifted obediently so he could slide the first fin off.

  He looked up at her, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “Long fish with dark scales and a little shark-fin thing at the back?”

  He moved his hands apart to indicate size. Close.

  “Keep going. Fantasy Island stocks monster fish.”

  He nodded and pulled the second fin off. “Barracuda. He’ll chase you off. Be a little aggressive because you’re swimming in his territory. Next time you see Mason, ask him about the barracuda that chased him in the Indian Ocean. He never saw it coming until it tried to take a chunk out of his ass. He caught it and barbecued it.”

  Typical. “That fish must be a male.”

  “Do I want to know?” Gray stood up and grabbed her fins. Was that the equivalent of carrying her books home from school? Damn it. She needed an instruction manual or a dating guide. Something.

  Since he’d asked for it, she should tell him. She’d be doing the future women in his life a favor. “He got himself a piece of ass and ran.” She shrugged when Gray stared at her. “What? That fits your story and mine.”

  “Don’t be difficult.” He started walking down the dock, oblivious to the rain. Since she wasn’t about to let him have the last word, she followed him. Plus, he had her fins and she had to return them to the water sports hut.

  “I can be difficult if I want,” she muttered and he shook his head. Maybe it was time for a change of subject. She eyed his wet T-shirt, but couldn’t tell if he was still in pain.

  “How’s the side?”

  “Fine.” He shrugged, but she was a trained professional. She’d dealt with more than her fair share of grown men pretending their injuries were mere scratches.

  “Let me see.”

  He gave her a look. The one that said even if I’m impaled by half the dock, I’m not admitting to any discomfort. Men! “On a scale of one to ten, it’s not even a whole number.”

  “I’m still looking. Welcome to the tropics. A little bacteria, a little sepsis...and boom, you’re dead.”


  Losing Gray would be a waste.

  “Cheerful.” He shook his head. “And things go boom all the time in my line of work.”

  “My room. Your room. A third party, neutral space. Pick a spot, because I’m looking at your side.”

  “Bossy.”

  “Doctor,” she countered. Never mind that she was soaked to the skin, in a bikini and barefoot. Her outfit wasn’t exactly white coat material, but he didn’t seem to mind. There. The towel hut was a little cabana thing with a thatched roof and a wide-open door. It appeared to be mostly shelves of white towels, but there was also a decent overhead light. She could make do and it would be far less depressing than dragging him back to her bungalow and having nothing happen besides a medical checkup. “Pit stop.”

  To her surprise, he let her steer him into the towel hut. Of course, he didn’t seem in any hurry to get naked, which just brought her back to her original problem. They’d done it and now he was done. She swallowed her disappointment, reminding herself that right now it didn’t matter. Even if he didn’t want a lover, he still got the doctor.

  She pointed to his T-shirt. Despite his best attempts to shield them with the towel, Gray was soaked, which was not ideal. Bullet wounds liked to stay dry. “Off.”

  With a sigh, he stripped off his shirt. Mother Nature liked him, too. Water drops trickled down his taut abdomen and just begged her to lick him clean. Or dirty. She really wasn’t picky when it came to Gray.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Sam’s been checking me out.”

  “I went to med school for approximately a thousand years to do this. I’m better.” Carefully, she peeled back the dressing. There were no signs of infection, and he actually hadn’t ripped out his stitches. Which was probably a miracle, because she doubted Mr. SEAL had really been taking it easy.

  “You’re also mad at me,” he pointed out drolly. “I’m not sure that guarantees a sympathetic bedside manner.”

  “Two words. Hippocratic Oath.”

  “Good to know.”

  His side looked good. Since he was undoubtedly doing macho manly SEAL things, rather than engaging in bed rest, that was a small miracle. And damn it, she had to stop thinking of beds and Gray at the same time.

  “Is Mason really a cook?” she asked, to take her mind off sex.

  Gray grinned. “He’s cooking. Does that count?”

  She thought about that for a minute.

  “The rain means no seaplanes are flying,” he continued, his smile fading. “The visibility is too low. I’d prefer to get you off the island. Get you somewhere safe.”

  Gray obviously hadn’t gotten the memo on Ashley’s cover story plan. “My reservation has a few nights left to go. I’m not planning on sleeping on the beach.”

  She was tired of throwing in the towel and running. She’d run when Harlan’s affair had come to light, and she didn’t like herself for that. Gray might be a SEAL and he might be here on an undercover op, but she had a right to be here, too. Plus, she found his insistence on keeping her safe sweet. Which was ridiculous. She was grasping at straws. He was a decent guy and a SEAL. Protecting her came with the territory. He could hardly insist on putting her in danger.

  “Do I pass inspection?” he asked, dropping the subject of her departure. She had a feeling the subject wasn’t closed, however.

  “Um. Yeah.” She pressed the bandage back in place.

  “Good.” He pulled her upright and swung her around. “Because I want a shot. Any objections?”

  He braced her against the wall, flattening his palm beside her head as his inner caveman came out to play. Unfortunately, her inner cavewoman was in full agreement.

  “At...?” She really needed clarification here.

  “A second night. A second fantasy.”

  “I’m your doctor.”

  “Temporarily and by accident,” he pointed out.

  “Sex between us isn’t appropriate. It’s also a really, really bad idea.”

  “You don’t want to do your patriotic duty?” Hell. The line sounded cheesy, even to him, and Gray had never won awards for his smooth-talking charm. That was Levi’s area of expertise. Blow shit up. Charm the panties off the ladies. Levi was a pro.

  “You’re under doctor’s orders.” She eyed him gleefully. “You have to do what I say.”

  Military doctors on two continents hadn’t been able to compel him to follow orders. He grinned up at her. He liked looking at Laney, even when he was actually staring at the top of her head while her cool hands examined the gunshot wound in his side. He’d been lucky. The bullet had taken a shortcut across his side, but it hadn’t gone through. He’d be fine. Hell, he’d had worse.

  “Come by tonight and I’ll change the bandage.” Her head was close enough to his bare skin that he felt her words against it, the tiny puff of air as she exhaled. Knowing Laney, she was likely irritated or pissed off.

  “Laney.” Her name was a start. Unfortunately, he had absolutely no idea what to say next.

  “Ashley said I could help you with your cover story,” she said, veering off on a tangent.

  “She did?” He needed to kill Ashley. Slowly. He appreciated her concern for his sex life—not—but she had to stop meddling. Maybe she was bored or liked the fireworks. He had no idea, but being near Laney was torturing him, and he didn’t need any more encouragement.

  “She said that it was possible your target had eyes on the ground and that you all needed to stay in character until you complete your mission.” She shrugged. She was close enough that the move had her breasts brushing against his chest. Her thin bikini top was nowhere near enough fabric. Her nipples were hard little points raking his chest. Was she cold—or aroused? Did she want to pick up where they’d left off the other night? Because his dirty fantasy count definitely exceeded one. When he didn’t say anything, Laney rushed to fill in the awkward silence.

  “She said Fantasy Island has a certain reputation.”

  He needed to tread carefully. Laney’s claim was more explosive than an ambush with claymores. “It’s an exotic island getaway. It’s supposed to be fun.”

  Laney elbowed him. Hard. Gray was almost certain she deliberately went for his good side. “For the drinks menu,” she said. “People come here, they share their fantasies and...”

  Boom.

  Her blush was cute. Her face resembled a sunburned tomato, which he found amusing. She’d do it, but she wouldn’t say it? They’d have to work on her vocabulary.

  “We shared a fantasy.” Pointing out the truth was the honest thing to do.

  “I know.” She glared at him. “One fantasy.”

  “Is the problem with the quantity or the quality?” Her hair was drying into little wayward ringlets. She had a cowlick, too, the piece sticking straight out at an impossible angle. His fingers itched to reach out and smooth the wayward strands into place. Laney was mussed up, and he definitely had an issue with the quantity of his fantasies because he had plural fantasies. As in, more than one and more than once. He didn’t do long-term. Hell, he rarely went back for seconds, and he’d be the first to admit that made him a dick.

  “Ashley thinks we should keep pretending to have a relationship.”

  Huh. Ashley actually had a point.

  “Ashley wants us to pretend to have sex.”

  “I don’t think pretend was what she had in mind. Ashley’s open-minded.”

  And then some. Ashley had a one-night rule herself. Levi had bitched about it more than once.

  “I’m not pretending to have sex with you.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Thanks for the confidence booster.”

  Was that hurt in her eyes? Because he wasn’t that much of a dick. Not intentionally. “I definitely want to have sex with you. Real sex,” he added softly, when she didn’t say anything. This was why one-nighters were simpler. More sex, less talking.

  She pursed her lips. “Ashley made this sound easy.”

  There wasn’t a single easy thing about them. He
knew that. And so did she.

  “It would bolster my cover story,” he said helpfully. Honestly, he had no idea if Marcos had spies on Fantasy Island. If he did, it seemed even more far-fetched that said spies would be less inclined to spot Gray for what and who he was if he was having sex with one of the resort guests. However, he was still selfish. And he wanted Laney Parker. So...he’d run with it. “If you pretended to be my vacation hookup.”

  She nodded. “Pretend relationship. Real sex. I can work with that, but just for the record, I still think having sex with you is a bad idea.”

  “But?”

  “But I’m going to do it, anyhow.” She sighed.

  “Tonight. My place.” He forced himself to step away from her, before he did something really stupid, like gather her up in his arms in the towel hut. Her soft protest followed him as he left.

  “Wait. We should set a time.”

  He wasn’t scheduling sex with her. He wanted to be more than another to-do in her phone. “When you want me, come and find me,” he said and slipped out into the rain.

  11

  LANEY STEPPED ONTO the path leading to the resort’s employee housing. This was crazy. She should turn around and go back to her bungalow. But anticipation fizzed through her, and she knew she wasn’t going anywhere but forward. To Gray. The sun had set and the lights lining the path had come on. Since he had refused to pick a time for their date—and she’d decided to call it a date rather than casual vacation sex hookup—she’d waited until night fell. Fantasy sex and darkness seemed to go together.

  In addition to being unsure of the time, she wasn’t sure of the dress code for an early-evening sex date. In the end, she’d gone with a red-and white-striped sundress. The dress tied around her neck with two delicate strings that ended in tiny brass beads and brushed against the bare skin of her back. It made her feel sexy, and sexy was good. Heels weren’t happening with the resort’s gravel path, plus, she clumped ungracefully in anything other than flats, so she’d settled on a pair of cute sandals. And she’d gone all out and added lip gloss. Woo-hoo. Her feminine arsenal definitely needed restocking. As a newbie surgeon working eighty-hour weeks, she hadn’t had time for date clothes.