by Tawny Weber
Except Blake wasn’t in the market.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Blake said. “I’d be happy to make your daughter’s acquaintance, but I won’t be asking her out. I’m seeing someone.”
It wasn’t until he saw the shock on his superior’s face that Blake realized this was the first time he’d said no. His shoulders twitched again. It wasn’t as if he’d refused an order, he told himself. All he’d done was sidestep the questionable honor of being dangled in front of the admiral’s daughter.
“Elliot, darling,” Mrs. Pierce said, giving Blake an apologetic smile before dismissing him with a tilt of her head. “It’s time for the toast.”
“Excellent,” Pierce said, arching his brow at Blake. “You’ll wait, of course. I’d like to finish this discussion.”
Blake almost saluted out of habit.
“I’m a soldier, not a lapdog,” he muttered instead as soon as the old guy was out of earshot.
“What’s the big deal? You meet his daughter, play nice, then skip out to hook up with that hot redhead again.”
Blake frowned.
“What? You didn’t think I could figure out why you’ve been mooning all night?” Cade laughed. “Dude, it’s practically written on your face. I’m surprised you can drink that beer with the hook stuck so tight in your lip.”
Like feeding jackals, denial was pointless. Besides, Blake shifted uncomfortably, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that he wasn’t hooked good.
He was spared the need to think of a comeback thanks to a chiming crystal bell.
First time he’d ever been grateful for a speech.
The gratitude lasted about five minutes.
“I hate politics,” Blake decided under his breath, not for the first time.
“You want to get anywhere, get anything done, you play the game.” Cade shrugged as though it didn’t matter. But his lips twisted, a bitter indication that he, too, thought the game sucked.
Blake ignored the droning accolades, letting his mind wander back to Alexia. As soon as this toast was over—regardless of who the admiral wanted him to meet—he was outta there. He wanted to see her. To talk to her. To taste and touch and have her.
No surprise, really, since he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Except the wanting to talk to part. That could probably be filed under shocking.
But as hot as things were between them, he knew she wasn’t going to be satisfied with just sex much longer. She’d already been pushing, hinting. He remembered the aggravation in her eyes that morning. She wanted more, and if he wanted her, he was going to have to pony up.
He shifted, his uniform suddenly tightening like a straitjacket. Sharing his past wasn’t an issue. Admitting his job? It was going to take a whole lot of charm to get her naked after he fessed up to being not only navy, but a SEAL, too.
He was pretty sure he had enough, though.
“Well, now...” Cade murmured, his grin wicked.
Blake followed his gaze.
He recognized the man first. Strawberry-blond hair fashionably tousled, alligator tuxedo lapels indicating not just custom, but way-out-there custom, and a ruby pinkie ring that glinted as he waved a friendly greeting to the crowd.
Michael?
What was he doing here? Was he a part of the entertainment? Blake wondered what he’d missed while he was obsessing over Alexia.
He watched the younger man reach out to assist someone onto the raised dais. His hand closed over slender fingers. It took an obvious tug to get the rest of the woman’s body to move. Despite his confusion, Blake grinned. Somebody didn’t like the spotlight.
Then, as people shifted, he saw who Michael was trying to drag onstage.
Her hair tumbled in loose curls over one bare shoulder, the red so deep it was almost black in places, so light it shone gold in others. Something black draped a tall, willowy body, the effect saved from elegance by the slender rose tattooed on her bare shoulder. The fabric was deceptively loose, but wrapped in a way that drew his eyes to the sweet curve of her breasts, the slender indention of her waist.
Breasts he’d tasted just hours before. A waist he’d gripped as he’d held her body over his, watching as she slid in a glorious rhythm, up and down his straining erection.
Alexia.
His sexy temptation.
His gaze shifted from her to the man of the hour, suddenly seeing the resemblance in the shape of their faces, the arch of their brows.
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck that warned of trouble stood on end.
Alexia was the admiral’s daughter?
Shit.
* * *
STANDING ON DISPLAY, Alexia kept her expression neutral and her shoulders erect. She hated these things. Her mother was as social as the admiral was bossy, which meant growing up there had been four over-the-top fancy functions a year.
Since Margaret Pierce came from money—lots and lots of money—that meant the parties were not only boring, but super-upscale boring. The only upside was that events on this scale meant that other than assuring themselves their offspring were in attendance and properly behaved, the admiral and Mrs. Pierce were too busy to do anything but ignore them all night.
When it came to her parents, Alexia usually believed that being ignored was best. But she’d forgotten how hellishly boring it was.
“Hide the ennui,” Michael whispered. Thanks to her heels, he only had to lean sideways, so the exchange wasn’t that noticeable. Good thing, since their mother was a stickler for social protocol.
“I’m swimming in ennui,” she whispered back, her lips barely moving from their frozen smile.
Actually, she was swimming in anticipation. She glanced at the ornate grandfather clock on the landing and sighed. Only an hour till midnight. That meant a few boring speeches, a couple ostentatious odes to her father’s brilliance, and whatever pompous response he ended the toast with, and she could leave.
Go back to her place and wait for Blake.
She’d been so amped up after he’d left, she’d finally dug into the packing boxes. Sure, she’d opened the first one in search of her favorite teddy, a confection of black lace and red satin. But within a few hours, she’d turned her barren bedroom into a comfortable oasis. One she’d be happy to spend another two days of sexual ecstasy in.
The image of Blake popped into her mind, his eyes intense, his incredible body poised over hers. So delicious.
She sighed, a soft fog of sexual warmth wrapping around her as it always did when she pictured the two of them together.
She couldn’t wait to touch him again. To feel his body inside her. To taste the intense heat of his kisses. But first, before she let herself have any of that, the two of them would be sitting down for a little chat.
Because as wonderful as things were between them, she wasn’t having sex with a stranger again. And, despite the fact that she now knew his body as well as she did her own, facts were facts. Blake was an emotional stranger to her.
“Why isn’t Dr. Darling here to distract you?”
Guilt, sharp and cutting, sliced through Alexia’s sexual fog. She had no reason to feel bad. There was no commitment between her and Edward, either concrete or implicit. It was stupid to feel guilty. Just because she’d spent the previous couple of nights rolling around naked in the sand, surf and sheets with the hottest, sexiest, most passionate man she’d ever met instead of calling the guy who wanted her to be his one and only?
She winced. Nope. No reason for guilt.
Michael’s nudge reminded her that he was waiting for an answer. Since this probably wasn’t the right moment to share her emotional confusion, she shrugged and went for humor instead.
“Are you kidding? Bring a date to a family affair?” she whispered back in mock horror. “That’s never a good idea.”
“It’d help you decide if you want to take the relationship plunge, though,” Michael mused quietly. “What better way to see what a guy’s made of than let him go up against the o
ld man? If he caves, you know he’s a wimp. If he cozies up, you know he’s an ass.”
Alexia shrugged. The only measure of her father she cared about was that any guy she was in a relationship with was nothing like the man who’d sired her. Other than that, she didn’t care how he acted around the admiral.
She was just about to ask Michael to run interference once the toast ended—so she could slide out the door—when she caught the steely disapproval in her mother’s stare. Alexia subtly nudged her brother, who straightened, too, both of them shifting their fake-smiling faces toward center ring as their father started speaking.
As the cadence shifted, winding down, she felt some of the tension seeping from her shoulders, out her fingers. They were in the end zone. She focused in on the words, listening to her father thank a laundry list of dignitaries, ranking officers and political cronies for their support of his career over the last four decades.
She leaned toward Michael.
“Think he’ll include us?” she whispered.
“Nah,” he whispered back. “The only time we come up in a speech is in terms of the challenges and struggles he’s had to overcome.”
“As soon as this is over, I’m outta here,” she muttered.
“Not so fast. Remember, we’re part of the receiving line. You have to stand and smile until everyone’s done worshipping—I mean, congratulating Dad. Besides, you should stick around.” Michael’s smile was pure delight. “I’ll bet your night improves.”
“I’m sure it will.”
Just as soon as she got out of here and called Blake. She surreptitiously glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, noting it was already eleven-thirty.
Why couldn’t her father have toasted goodbye to all his glory at a reasonable hour, instead of pushing it to the limits and forcing everyone to stay so late? She glanced around. Most of the guests were pretty darned old. They probably wanted warm milk and their beds instead of a boring speech and champagne.
Skimming the crowd, her gaze flew right past one particular face. Then, her brain screaming a warning, her eyes flew back so fast she probably lost a few lashes.
Blake?
Brow furrowed, she shook her head in denial.
What was he doing here?
Then her focus widened. Horror filled her with a cold, icy sort of misery.
No!
Her eyes bounced from his uniform to the medals glinting off his chest, back to his face and then to the crowd of men he was standing with. SEALs.
Navy SEALs.
The man who’d driven her crazy, who had her thinking forever thoughts and craving a relationship, the one who made her want to play house—naked—was also the one thing, the only thing, on her forbidden-relationship list. Military. Elite military, and up until one speech ago, under her father’s command.
How had she missed the signs?
Why hadn’t he told her?
And when the hell would these speeches be over so she could run away?
* * *
BLAKE WATCHED the expressions chase across Alexia’s face. Shock, then disbelief, quickly followed by fury. Then she shifted. Her body weight, the tilt of her head and her expression. It was as if she’d slammed the door shut.
Shit.
As much as he wanted to avoid any matchmaking from the admiral, he was equally determined to hold on to the sweet, pleasurable oblivion Alexia’s body provided.
Hurry, hurry, hurry, he silently urged his commanding officer, knowing the longer Alexia had to stew, the harder it would be to charm her out of her snit.
Thankfully, the older man chose that moment to raise his glass in thanks. Blake absently followed along with the rest of the room, raising his, as well. But his eyes didn’t leave Alexia.
A good thing, because as soon as the crowd shifted, she lost herself in it. Clearly, growing up with military influence had taught her a thing or two.
Of course, Blake had some pretty solid training on his side. He noted the direction she was going, then skirted the outside of the crowd, cutting her off before she reached the door.
He placed his hand on her shoulder with just enough pressure to stop her escape. She hissed, a sound like cold water being thrown on a sizzling fire.
Blake dropped his hand.
“Surprise,” he said quietly, suddenly very aware that they were surrounded by her family and his superiors. None of whom needed any details as to his and Alexia’s relationship. “I didn’t realize you were Admiral Pierce’s daughter.”
“And I didn’t realize it mattered who my father was.” Her tone was as cold as her eyes. A temperature he’d have sworn a woman as hot as she was could never drop to.
“It doesn’t,” he said, dancing out of that trap. Alert, knowing there were more to come, he weighed his words carefully. “I hadn’t realized we had mutual interests.”
She gave him a long, considering look that made him wish he was in combat gear.
“I hadn’t, either. That’s one of those things that usually comes up in conversation. Which is another thing we never had.”
Blake shifted to block her exit again.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Away.”
Blake had swum through the Arctic Ocean once and swore it’d been warmer than her tone. Brows arched, he gestured to the open French doors.
“Why not go this way, then?” he suggested. “We can talk.”
“No.” Lips pressed so tight together they were white at the edges, she took a long, deep breath through her nose, then exhaled slowly. “No, thank you. I’d rather not go out on the patio. I’d rather not talk. I prefer to go home.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“I prefer to go alone.”
Before Blake could counter that, they were interrupted.
“Lieutenant,” the admiral greeted with the biggest smile Blake had ever seen on his face. The empty champagne flute in his hand might factor in, but retirement probably didn’t hurt.
“Sir.” Blake shifted aside just a little so the older man could talk to his daughter. But instead of words, Pierce’s smile dimmed and all he offered his daughter was a nod.
Then, proving that a dozen or so toasts hadn’t affected his perception, his gaze shifted back and forth between them. “The two of you have met already?”
Blake waited for Alexia to answer.
“We said hello on the beach last week,” she finally told her father.
“And?”
“And, nothing.” Her words were as flat as her expression. Blake didn’t get it. Alexia was unquestionably the brightest woman he’d ever met. Not just smart, although he was pretty sure she topped that chart, too. But bright in energy, in color. With her vivid red curls, her expressive face and her enthusiasm, she shone like neon.
Until now.
The color was still there. Her hair as red, her eyes as brown. Her smile, painted a vivid rusty rose, didn’t alter. But she looked as if someone had flipped a switch and shut her down. Turned her off.
The last thing a woman like Alexia was meant to be was off.
Even pissed at him, she’d still shot off a few sparks. Like a woman with a fabulous temper who’d learned to control it. But now? Blake’s gaze cut from her to the admiral, then back. What the hell was going on?
“I told you to plan on staying for at least an hour after the address to perform some specific social duties I required,” the admiral informed his daughter, his gaze shifting from her face to her purse, clutched in white fingers, and then to the door.
“And I told you that I was here to celebrate your retirement, as mother requested. But that I’d have to leave as soon as the address was finished.”
Blake was starting to get the impression that this wasn’t a loving father-daughter relationship.
“I gave you an order, young lady. I expect it to be obeyed.” The admiral gestured to Blake. “Luckily, the two of you have already broken the ice. Lieutenant Landon is one of my protégés. I’d l
ike you to spend some time getting to know each other.”
And there it was—Blake sighed—the last nail in his coffin.
He stepped forward, surreptitiously putting himself between father and daughter. Before he could defuse the situation, Alexia gave a chilly smile and shook her head.
“I’m sorry. We’ve spent enough time getting to know each other already and discovered we’re completely incompatible. Now, if you’ll excuse me...?”
Her icy smile skated over both of them before she turned heel and walked out.
Just walked right out the door.
It was a toss-up who was more shocked.
Blake, or her father.
Looked as if he didn’t have quite as much charm as he’d thought.
“Excuse me,” the admiral said stiffly before following her. Blake deemed it wise to stay where he was. Neither would welcome his presence at this point.
But he wasn’t willing to let it go, let her go. Blake looked around.
There.
He made his way across the room to a small cluster of people.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted, not caring about protocol or manners at this point. “Michael, I need to speak with you.”
Alexia’s brother’s eyes widened as he realized who Blake was. He did a visual up and down, taking in the uniform, then offered a morose shake of his head. “Yep, we should talk.”
He cheerfully excused himself from the couple, then gestured toward the same door Blake had tried to get Alexia through earlier. At least one of the Pierce siblings was willing to take a walk under the moonlight with him.
“I didn’t know you were navy,” Michael said as soon as they cleared the French doors. With an elegant wave of his hand, he indicated they sit on the bench swing.
“Does it matter?” Blake asked, not wanting to sit since he saw this as more an interrogation than a friendly chat. Leaning comfortably against the wooden back, one foot cocked over his knee, Michael didn’t seem to care.
“Not to me.”
“But it matters to Alexia,” Blake guessed. “Why didn’t she say anything?”
