Let Them Talk

by Susanna Carr

  She bit her lip. Should she have said ‘ass’? Maybe she should have just kept quiet. She never knew if her words would be taken right or not.

  But the other woman’s appreciative laugh eased her discomfort. Livi set the tray on the table and uncovered it, then stepped back as a dozen people attacked the egg rolls and nachos.

  “Looks as if Roz knew what she was talking about,” the woman remarked, her expression slightly stunned.

  “She always does.” Roz had even told Livi not to bother changing her last name, since the marriage wouldn’t last long enough for the paperwork to get filed.

  “I’m Eden,” the cat said, holding out her hand. “You must be Roz’s niece.”

  Livi blinked, wondering how she’d guessed. Most people didn’t believe them when they were straight-out told, since the only shared trait—physical or personality-wise—between Roz and Livi was their height. Few people knew them both well enough to realize how alike they were, from their taste for green tea to their love of animals.

  Aha.

  “Eden the vet?” Livi asked. “Purveyor of furry addictions and cuddly friends?”

  “Oh, you met Pedro?” Eden exclaimed.

  At ease now, Livi fell into a delighted discussion about her aunt’s new three-legged cat.

  But her nerves still fluttered, like the wings of a nagging butterfly. Not about the crowd. She’d found someone to talk to. Nope, these were sexual nerves. The kind that were inspired by curiosity and fed by desire. The kind she hadn’t felt in, oh, about a million years.

  Unable to resist any longer, sure they’d settle once she assured herself he wasn’t paying any attention to her, Livi looked toward the corner.

  The lair of Super Hottie, the sexiest man in the room.

  She blinked.

  Livi’s butterflies turned into fighter jets, roaring through her system. She locked her knees against the trembling and thanked God that the thick foam of her costume hid her instantly rock-hard nipples.

  Because he was staring.

  At her.

  And he looked as if he liked what he saw.

  Uh-oh.

  * * *

  WELL, WELL. Lt. Commander Mitch Donovan leaned against the wall and watched the gorgeous blonde dressed as a Twinkie talk to Sullivan’s wife. Mitch had never had much of a sweet tooth. But right now he had an intense desire for a taste.

  A mellow grin played over his mouth as his gaze drifted down the length of her golden sponge cake−shaped body. How could a woman covered in that inspire lust at first sight? Then his eyes wandered lower, to where the costume ended at mid-thigh. Those were some damned sexy legs, from what he could see. His eyes lifted to her face again and his lust kicked up a notch.

  As a man who was used to excelling in extremes of all kinds, he appreciated his body’s instant reaction. He just didn’t quite understand the Pavlovian intensity of it.

  She was pretty. Her honey-blond hair was twisted back, leaving her face bare. Dark brows contrasted with the color of her hair and slashed over eyes that seemed to be taking in the entire room at once.

  His gaze narrowed. Her expression was friendly, her body language relaxed. But the hand she’d tucked into the side of her costume clenched and unclenched, her fingers fluttering over the foam.

  Intrigued by the contrast—always curious when confronted with even the hint of a puzzle—he glanced back at her face to search for other signs. Of fear. Of nerves. Of...

  Mitch’s brain went blank.

  He didn’t think it’d ever done that before in his life. But it was blank, so he couldn’t be sure.

  All he could see were those eyes. Huge, filled with so many emotions he didn’t understand. Lashes so lush they cast a shadow around those eyes, giving her the look of a startled doe. A very sexy, very appealing startled doe.

  “Irish.”

  Who was she? He held her gaze, imagining those big eyes staring up at him as he poised over her body. Wondering if she’d keep them open after he’d plunged inside or if she’d close them and ride out the ecstasy.

  “Yo, you want a drink?”

  She blinked, those thick lashes brushing the delicate curve of her cheeks. The move should have broken the spell, but Mitch still couldn’t look away. She wet her lips, the pink tip of her tongue briefly sliding over the full cushion of her bottom lip. He was glad he’d opted for jeans with his costume instead of tights. The zipper didn’t offer much give against his sudden erection, but he was hard enough that he’d have ripped right through a pair of tights, superhero-issue or not.

  What did she taste like? Hot and mysterious? Sweet and tempting? How long would it take before he could find out?

  “Mitch. Donovan. Lt. Commander, dammit.”

  Mitch blinked.

  Frowned.

  What?

  He turned his head, meeting Chief Petty Officer Gabriel Thorne’s impatient stare.

  Damn.

  “That’s Lt. Commander, dammit, sir,” Mitch shot back. “And what’s your problem?”

  “I’ve been talking, but you’re not listening. I’ve gotta tell you, Irish, I’m not used to being ignored.”

  Mitch’s lips twitched. Truer words were never spoken.

  Shirtless, wearing buckskins and a feather behind his ear, Gabriel Thorne—call sign Romeo—was a man who thrived on attention. And he had plenty to thrive on. Mitch had served with the guy for six years off and on, and he’d never once seen him get shot down. Actually, Mitch wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Romeo make the first move. The guy was usually too busy fending off the women to need to.

  “Since I don’t plan to go home with you tonight, I’m not worried about bruising your ego,” he told his friend, happy to gloss right over the temporary and mind-boggling fog of lust. Mitch wouldn’t let himself look toward the blonde again. Not until he’d had a chance to analyze what had happened and figure out how she’d managed to short-circuit his brain.

  “My ego is Teflon,” Gabriel assured him, his black eyes dancing with amusement aimed at the both of them. Native American blood ran strong in Thorne, from the hint of blue in his close-cut hair to the gold of his skin and razor-sharp cheekbones. “Besides, it’s not just the ladies who pay close attention, my friend. I knock, the enemy listens.”

  “Might have a little to do with the IED you’re aiming their way,” Mitch pointed out with a grin. A demolitions expert, Thorne could make a grenade dance around a corner, scurry down a hall or chase a man up a mountain. “But don’t let me rain all over your fantasy with my boring reality.”

  “Bro, my reality is most guys’ fantasy.” Gabriel winked. “But then, so is yours. Navy SEAL, fast-tracking your way through the ranks with enough medals and commendations to cover a wall. And you’re not bad-looking, so you don’t scare away the ladies when they’re hitting on me. All in all, I’d say we’re a damned good team.”

  “Yep,” Mitch agreed, draining his beer. Gabriel liked to say he kept Mitch around as a wingman because most guys couldn’t handle his success with the ladies.

  Mitch knew better, but it didn’t bother him enough to correct his friend.

  “So you wanna fill me in?”

  “Not really.” Mitch didn’t have to ask what Gabriel meant. He’d known his little trip into the lusty fog wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  “She came in with the brunette with the broken halo. They’re not connected with any of the team, so I figure Roz sent them. Either that or they’re enemy infiltrators, here to deliver food and steal our Halloween secrets.”

  Impressed, Mitch grinned and shook his head. It was hard to be irritated with the guy’s uncanny insights when they were always delivered with a laugh.

  “What? You don’t have her name? A detailed dossier on her likes and dislikes, contact information and bra size?”
>
  “Hey, I’m in explosives, not intelligence.”

  “Ahh,” Mitch said, drawing the word out.

  In true Romeo fashion, the other man arched one brow and nodded. Challenge accepted.

  “Five,” Gabriel said, referring to the number of minutes he guaranteed it’d take him to win the challenge.

  “Bet,” Mitch confirmed, agreeing to their usual terms.

  Five minutes was enough time to make sure he had control over his reactions—both north and south of his belt.

  Gabriel stood, grabbed their empty beer bottles and sauntered across the room. He didn’t head for the blonde, though. Instead he lost himself in the crowd around the pool table.

  Less than a minute later he was back with four beers, a slight frown and the brunette with the broken halo and a body made to tempt Satan.

  “Mitch, this is Tessa. She was nice enough to bring our food since my hands are full.”

  Mitch arched a brow. He’d had to resort to a lame excuse like that to get the woman over? Romeo was losing his touch.

  Ignoring Mitch’s grin, Gabriel took the plate of egg rolls.

  “These are great. But you’re too gorgeous to be with catering,” Gabriel said, leaning back on his heels and giving the angel an assessing look. “How’d you get roped into playing waitress?”

  The brunette matched him look for look, then shrugged.

  “Roz asked, so Livi and I delivered.”

  Mitch glanced at his watch.

  “Livi? Isn’t that Roz’s niece?”

  Mitch almost rolled his eyes. Damned if the man didn’t belong in intelligence. Of course, the only way he’d be any good there was if the US needed to infiltrate a harem guarded by women on an all-female island. But that was beside the point.

  “You’re wanting to meet Livi?” the brunette said slowly, giving Gabriel a long look before turning those assessing eyes on Mitch. He was pretty sure those baby blues garnered as much info on him in that single look as the Pentagon had in their last security check. The military had approved his clearance. He wasn’t so sure the angel would.

  No big deal. It wasn’t like he needed a wingman—or in this case wingman and winged woman—to get the girl. Before Mitch could brush off the sultry angel, she turned and gave a low whistle, waving her friend over.

  While she did, Gabriel lifted his wrist to show he was on minute three of five.

  But Mitch wasn’t paying attention.

  His focus was the Twinkie, who after a moment’s hesitation crossed the room to join them.

  Mitch knew there were words being said.

  He was sure he was missing out on the fun of watching Romeo strike out.

  But the closer the blonde came, the deeper into that fog of lust Mitch fell.

  Brown. Her eyes were the color of melted milk chocolate. Rich, warm and inviting. Up close her face was even more striking in its delicacy. Especially the contrast of those dark eyes and brows against her pale skin and golden hair.

  Those rich, hypnotic eyes met his.

  Mitch could see interest there. And heat. Oh, yeah. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. He recognized that heat.

  He opened his mouth to introduce himself. Before he could, Romeo snapped his fingers.

  “Olivia Kane.”

  The blonde blinked, frowned and pulled her gaze away from Mitch to look at Gabriel.

  “Yes?”

  Mitch grimaced. He didn’t have to look at his watch to know it had been just under five minutes.

  “I’m a big fan. I’d love to talk about your training programs. Excuse me just one second, though.” Gabriel glanced at Mitch and grinned. “Thirty-six bravo, and out.”

  Copyright © 2015 by Tawny Weber

  ISBN-13: 9781460349830

  Let Them Talk

  Copyright © 2015 by Jasmine Communications, LLC

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com