by Tawny Weber
Nonplussed, Blake stared. And saw the sympathy in her eyes. As if she’d seen into his soul and wanted to soothe the pain there.
God, he was a mess. When had he lost it? Blake had been captured by the enemy once. They’d been furious with his implacable refusal to show emotion or reveal information. But tonight all it took was three beers, and a sexy redhead could read his secrets?
He figured he had three options. Say goodbye and walk away before she delved any deeper. Open up and share the confused emotions tangled in his gut. Or distract her.
But he never gave up, and he wasn’t into sharing. So option three was it.
“Which category do you fall into?” he asked, giving in to the need that’d been gnawing at him since that afternoon and reaching out to touch her. Just the ends of her hair, like silken heat between the tips of his fingers.
“I don’t think I can be categorized,” she murmured. “It’s too easy to be dismissed once a label’s been posted, isn’t it?”
Beautiful, sexy and smart? She might as well be wearing a sign proclaiming her dangerous territory.
A woman this perceptive was better to hustle along as quickly as possible. When a man’s defenses were down, it was smart to keep the threats to a minimum. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Cade and a group of SEALs saunter into the club. Now that his teammates were here, she’d find out he was navy soon enough. Still, Blake figured it was better to hurry her along before he was tempted to do something stupid.
“Everyone can be categorized. The only question is, are you in the catch-and-release group?” he asked quietly. “Or are you looking for a keeper? And if it’s not the uniform that gets your attention, what’s a guy got to show? His bank statement?”
There. That should piss her off. Blake sipped his beer with only a little regret that he was driving away what could have been the most incredible encounter of his life.
3
HER TEMPER WAS A WORK OF ART. First Alexia’s eyes flashed dark fire. Then they narrowed as if she was contemplating where she wanted to punch him. Blake didn’t bother to steel his core. He deserved the hit, and he’d take it full on. After all, that’d been a cheap shot.
“C’mon,” she said, tilting her head toward the exit.
Not sure he’d heard her right, Blake frowned in confusion as she wriggled between him, the bar stool and the three guys blocking her way.
Blake’s groan was lost in the noise of the club. With her in heels, her lips were within kissing distance of his. Her breasts, full and soft under that flowy dress, skimmed, just barely, his chest. He knew it wasn’t deliberate. He’d been hit on enough to tell. But it was the sexiest move he’d ever felt.
“C’mon,” she said again, this time waving her fingers in a let’s-go gesture.
Still baffled, but with the rational side of his brain sputtering due to the feel of her breasts sliding like white heat against his chest, Blake followed. His eyes on the sway of her hips as he headed for the door, he didn’t lose sight of her even as he took a short side trip to where his friends were waiting.
“I’m outta here,” he said, tilting his head toward Alexia’s back.
Cade followed his gesture, gave an impressed arch of his brows and a thumbs-up.
“Glad to see you’re using your time wisely,” he said with a grin before heading toward the heart of the club noise to party it up in his usual style.
Blake didn’t worry about blowing off his buddy. And given that the lieutenant commander was wearing a T-shirt that claimed Navy SEALs Don’t Make Deals, he didn’t feel bad about not making introductions, either.
He did, briefly, think joining Cade and the rest of the guys might be smarter than following Alexia outside. Those guys were trained to have his back. But some missions just had to be done solo.
Stepping out the club doors into the warm night air, he gave himself a second to adjust to the lack of noise. Nothing better than silence, with a little ocean music, to set a chewing-out to.
Alexia stood toward the end of the building, where the wooden walkway curved toward the ocean. Hands fisted at her hips, she sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, her eyes flashing fire.
“You sure you want to tear me down for the insult privately?” he asked before she could say anything. He flashed his most charming smile to indicate that he knew he had it coming and wouldn’t protest her angry retaliation. “Don’t you want witnesses?”
“Actually, I figured you needed a little air. You know, to clear the testosterone idiocy out of your head before you said anything even stupider.” Then, the fury clearing from her eyes, she laughed.
Laughed? Where had the anger gone? She was like mercury, changing so fast he could barely keep up.
Damned if that wasn’t tempting. She was sexy and fun, with so much energy he felt alive again. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to, though. Maybe it’d be smarter to turn heel and go back into the club. Or, he fingered the keys in his pocket, hop in his truck and drive away.
“Not that you don’t deserve a little teardown,” she continued with a shrug that highlighted well-toned shoulders and the golden glow she’d got at the beach that morning. “But I figure a guy smart enough to know he’s made an asinine comment is smart enough to not make it without a reason.”
Huh? Blake rocked back on his heels, trying to figure that one out.
“I got too close, right?” she guessed. “You’re upset about something and here I come, a total stranger, poking and prodding like I have the right to peek into your privacy. So you slapped me back. That’s natural.”
“Are you for real?”
“Why? Because I didn’t have a hissy fit?” She tilted her head to one side, her curls bouncing around her face. “Do you think women are that easily categorized?”
“I think this is where I got in trouble,” Blake mused. He still wasn’t buying the no-games line. But he was intrigued enough to want to see if she could change his mind. “Want to walk?”
She gave him a narrow look, then glanced at the tiny boardwalk leading to the beach. Smart women didn’t wander off with strangers, so he didn’t take offense. But since there was a party going on along the beach, it looked like a wedding or something, she must have decided there were enough numbers for safety.
She gave him a considering look. As if she was debating something beyond safety. For a second she looked as though she might think he had the potential to haul an ax out of his back pocket. Then she lifted her chin and offered a bright smile.
“Sure.”
As soon as they reached the point where the wooden slats gave way to silken sand, Alexia stood on one foot to remove her shoe, then switched to the other. Not sure when he’d become a gentleman, Blake held her hand to help her balance. Her fingers were dainty. Slender and fragile. Warm. Strong.
The kind of fingers that would feel incredible skimming over his naked flesh. Tugging his zipper down and gripping his hardening erection. Stroking, guiding.
Hell. As soon as she was barefoot, he not only grabbed his hand back, he put a safe couple feet between them. The woman was potent.
“You’re not taking yours off?” she asked.
“Nope.” To end the discussion, he strode onto the beach, his tennis shoes sinking, sand filtering into his socks. Didn’t matter. He had the feeling he’d do better to keep every article of clothing intact.
Although he didn’t have Cade’s track record and fancy-faced looks, he’d had his fair share of women hitting on him. Hitting back always depended on three things.
Timing. Was he fresh off a mission and in need of shedding some pent-up energy, or about to embark on a mission, which would provide him with an inarguable exit strategy?
Spark. A lot of guys he’d served with banged anything that moved. For the notch, for the cheap thrill, to stroke their ego. Whatever. Blake didn’t want notches, thrills or strokes when he got naked with a woman. What he did want was spark. Heat. Something wild and intense, like the rest of his life.
/> But the most important return-hit factor was the commitment perspective. Years of SEAL training had sharpened his instincts to a razor’s edge, and years of avoiding commitment had honed his ability to discern a woman’s intentions—even if she didn’t realize them herself.
Timing and spark didn’t mean jack if the woman’s perspective was skewed toward long term.
The redhead smiled. A slow, wicked curve of her lips. It didn’t matter that the look wasn’t aimed at him. Blake’s muscles still bunched, his senses sprang to full alert and his dick hardened. Yeah. There was plenty of spark. It was the timing, and the scary depths of her perception, that worried him.
“I’ve missed the beach,” Alexia said after a few minutes of silent strolling along the water’s edge.
“Where’ve you been?”
“New York.” She gave him a saucy look, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Can’t you tell from my accent?”
Before training for the SEALs, Blake had served as a cryptologic technician. In civilian terms, a linguist. He spoke fluent Spanish, Russian, Arabic and Persian. And once in a while, pretty decent English.
“I meet a lot of people from a lot of places,” he told her. “Most are easy to place by their accents. You don’t have one, though.”
“Seriously? I don’t have any accent?”
He grinned at her affronted tone.
“I’m an expert,” he assured her. “Take it from me, you’re accent free.”
Then, maybe because he was starting to relax for the first time since watching Phil’s helmet blown to smithereens, he decided to show off a little.
“Bet you moved around a lot as a kid. Not just the U.S. Your tones are too rounded to be purely American. Europe. Maybe Asia?”
She stood rock still, music from the party ahead filling the air with a Motown beat, her hands fisted on her hips, and gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Did Michael track you down and say something this afternoon?”
Blake laughed. There wasn’t a whole lot to do for entertainment on a ship in the middle of the ocean, so he’d built a rep guessing where the guys were from. Name that accent in ten words or less, Phil had called it.
His laughter faded. The memory didn’t hurt as much, though. Maybe it was the dark. Or the company.
“Your brother didn’t spill any secrets,” he assured her. “I told you, I’m good at accents.”
“You really are clever.” She laughed, the sound as alluring and mysterious as the ocean itself. “I’ll bet it’s a handy skill. Does your job involve languages?”
“Yep.” But he didn’t want to talk about his job. He wanted to escape it right now. He watched her dip her feet in the surf, kicking up droplets and catching them in her fingers. What’d it feel like to be that free? That comfortable with yourself, with life. “What about you? You a psychologist or something?”
“Like I said. Clever,” she complimented as they reached the edges of the party. People milled about, dancing in the light of tiki torches, diving fully clothed—and in a couple cases totally unclothed—into the night surf. “I have a minor in psychology, actually. But I don’t practice.”
“What do you do?”
“Until recently, I worked at a private New York lab as an acoustical physicist.”
“Seriously?” he asked, throwing her word back at her.
A science geek? With a minor in psychology? Blake fingered his keys again, figuring he could make it up the beach to his truck in about six seconds flat.
“Yes, seriously,” she chided with a laugh. “I specialize in psychoacoustics.”
What was that? Crazy talk?
He shifted on the balls of his feet, gauging the sand’s inertia effect on his escape.
“And psychoacoustics is...?” he asked tentatively.
“The technical definition is the study of sound perception, measuring the psychological and physiological response to sounds.”
“So you do research?”
“Research, development,” she agreed with a shrug before giving him an arch look. “My current research is focused on correcting and enhancing sexual health through subliminal messaging, neurolinguistic programming and brain-wave technology.”
Intrigued, a little confused and, since she’d mentioned sex, totally open to being turned on, Blake settled his weight again, raised one brow and invited, “Tell me more.”
From the amused look she gave him, it was clear she knew which part he wanted to hear more about.
“If done right, subliminal messaging offers an opportunity to bypass the brain’s critical factor and speak directly with the subconscious. This is where the changes happen. Not just changes like smoking cessation or breaking a sugar addiction. But true physical changes. When trauma or conditioning are too strong for someone to overcome, the best way to make changes is on a subconscious level. This could be a powerful tool in helping abuse victims overcome blocks, in making inroads to libido dysfunction, healing emotional confidence.”
Between the animation in her voice and the way she was practically glowing with excitement, it was clear this was a woman who got passionate about her work. He gave her a questioning look. “So you’re talking about using sound to do the work of a psychologist?”
“Sure. It’s a little deeper than that, and should actually be done in concert with psychotherapy instead of replacing it, but you have the general idea of it right.”
Blake was all for a little mood music while doing the deed, but this was wild. Then again, he was getting pretty turned on just listening to her talk, that husky voice so passionate and excited—even if it was about her job rather than something more personal, like his body.
“How’d you go from acoustical physics to sexual health?” he wondered.
“While getting my psych degree, I interned at a clinic that helped abuse victims. It was heartbreaking,” she said quietly, staring out at the water. “Years, lifetimes were impacted by a single event, and no matter how much these people wanted to overcome that, or how much we tried to help them, there were things that the mind just wouldn’t let them get past.”
Blake didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His own mind was taking its oft-hourly trip back to the mission, to his last sight of Phil. She was right. Some things, they just didn’t go away.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” she asked, giving him a rueful look, the moonlight glistening off her downturned lips.
“Hell, no. I’m fascinated. Besides, I like a woman who gets this excited about sex,” Blake said with a wicked grin.
“Done right, sex is the ultimate excitement,” she said, her voice as sultry as the night itself.
“And done wrong?”
She smiled, slow and wide. Her look was filled with empathy, a sort of deep sympathetic understanding that told him this was a woman who cared. Not just about her job. But about people, about helping. About making things better.
And he’d thought she was scary when she was just perceptive.
Trying to regain control over the needs raging through his libido, Blake focused on the scenery. A few yards from the water’s edge, a crop of boulders marked the end of the beach. Up the dune, a large white tent sheltered the bulk of the wedding party, music pouring a soft wave of romance down toward the surf.
“Want to sit?” he asked, gesturing toward the benchlike rocks. “Or are you ready to head back?”
She nibbled her bottom lip, making him want to beg her to let him do it for her instead. The full flesh glistened, damp, in the tiny white lights twinkling around the tent. Since grabbing her would pretty much guarantee an end to the evening, he forced himself to be patient while she decided.
“We can sit for a few minutes,” she finally said.
Waiting for her to settle herself on the rock, watching her carefully arrange her shoes next to her, he wondered what she’d been thinking. What had been the deciding factor between staying or going?
“So you love your job,” he said, leaning his hip against the rock so he wa
s half facing her, half facing the water. “What else are you passionate about?”
Her fingers toyed with the tall grasses growing between the stone, the blades black in the moonlight. It was hard to tell since he couldn’t see her eyes, but she suddenly seemed sad. As if he’d rapped his knuckles on a healing bruise. Since he felt like one giant bruise himself, he could sympathize.
Before he could change the subject, she glanced up, her lashes a feathery frame to the intense look in her eyes.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve been passionate about anything except work for a long time. I learned pretty young that my passionate exuberance for certain things in life was a problem. So I pulled it in. Focused it. First on school, then on my career.”
Her words were matter-of-fact. But so sad, he felt like a self-pitying fool for settling into a pit of grief the way he had. For hiding instead of facing life the way Alexia did.
He should ask about her past. Find out what had hurt her, how she’d overcome it. Give her the comfort of getting it off her chest.
But the idea of that made his gut ache like no amount of enemy fire or threat of torture could. Feelings, emotions, opening up. They all seemed passive. He was a man of action. So he went with comfort-option number two. His body gave a silent woohoo.
He lifted her hand, amazed at its softness. Long, slender fingers trembled once. He watched as she took a quick breath, stilled her hand and lifted her chin. In a rare move, his body reacted without his say-so, hardening.
“All work can’t be good, even when it’s work you enjoy,” he said. “You should share that passion. Spread it around to other things. You know, maybe a hobby.”
“Hobbies are good,” she agreed softly, the look on her face both amused and patient. As if he was a cute little kid who entertained her. Not quite the image he’d been going for.
“But I think there are other things I’d rather be passionate about,” she said, her words almost lost in the pounding of the surf.
Or was that the pounding of his heart?
* * *
SHE WAS IN TROUBLE. Knee-deep, sinking-fast, scream-for-help-before-it’s-too-late trouble.
