by Anne Marsh
Teaching Ashley a sexy lesson or two would be a pleasure.
The villa was good and dark when he returned. He debated knocking on the door—or just going to the front desk and getting a second key card—but where was the fun in that? Possibly he’d lost his mind, needling his not-so-sweet bride like that, but what was done was done, and he wasn’t sleeping on the porch. Their goodnight kiss had been hot, even hotter than their first kiss. She’d opened up beneath his mouth, sexy and determined. And she hadn’t stopped him, either. In fact, she had given as good as she got. Ashley always kept up in any contest, so it figured she’d turn their kiss into a marathon.
Slipping into the palm trees surrounding the villa, he worked his way to the stone wall around the outdoor bathroom. It took only seconds to pull himself up on top. Jesus. The resort definitely wasn’t concerned about security. He dropped down silently on the other side. He hadn’t seen much of the villas’ interiors on his previous undercover mission on the island. Mostly he’d delivered towels in his guise as a pool boy, and staff quarters were nowhere near as plush as this bathroom. Guess that explained why his credit card had all but expired of heart failure earlier.
Moving silently, he crossed the bathroom to the door. The outdoor shower looked promising. Showering with Ashley could be fun. She’d worked her fingers into his hair during their all-too-brief kiss, and he’d like to return that favor. Fist her hair, pull her head back to the perfect angle for his mouth to hungrily claim hers. He groaned, feeling a sudden rush of heat in his groin. Fantasizing about her was probably a mistake, especially since she’d put having sex with him in the category of last man on Earth. Of course, their kiss seemed proof to the contrary, but he had no idea how Ashley thought. Getting him off could have been her next move in some devious game. Or her way of ensuring he lost his dare with her.
Perhaps he’d stride on into the bedroom and ask her. Imagining her reaction to that was enough to have him grinning again. She’d locked the door between the bedroom and the bathroom—maybe his easy breech of the outer perimeter wasn’t entirely unexpected—but picking the lock took less than a minute. The door swung inward silently, and he moved stealthily into the darkened bedroom.
Ashley slept like the dead. She always had. Guess that was the difference between a SEAL and a DEA agent. The gun under her pillow was common ground, although the presence of the firearm would be hard to explain to housekeeping. He gazed down at Ashley sprawled in the middle of the four-poster bed, the covers pulled up around her ears, her sleek dark hair fanned out against the pillow. He had no idea how she could be cold in the tropics, but apparently she’d managed.
Which made it his husbandly duty to get in there with her and warm her up. He gave her another thirty seconds, counting down the time as he stared at the feminine mound under the covers. If she was playing possum, he’d give her ample opportunity to move on to the next stage of her plan. Ashley always had plans and next steps. Maybe she’d plug his ass with the cute little handpiece stowed under her pillow, or at least rip him a new one.
She certainly didn’t bother sugarcoating her words. He had a feeling that the day she actually said something complimentary to him would be a red-letter day—and that she’d mean every word. Good to have a goal, he supposed with a wry twist of his lips.
When she didn’t budge, he deemed it safe to proceed. Stripping his clothes off, he dropped the lot by the side of the bed. When he was down to his boxers, he hesitated. Yeah. Best not to push his luck. Ashley was likely to knee first and ask questions later. Or do both. The woman could multitask.
Sliding a hand beneath the mountain of covers, he scooted her over. And hello, lucky night. The soft curves of her backside filled his palm. There was more to her than met the eye, and more than enough to hold on to. Still, since she hadn’t actually invited him in, he finished shifting her and let go. She’d have to settle for sharing the bed, because his ass wasn’t hanging off the edge of the mattress all night. Ashley mumbled something he wasn’t entirely certain was English and then fell back to sleep.
He paused to consider his next move. He could stay on his side, all nice and orderly, or spoon her. She had to be cold if she was hunkered down under all those covers so...screw it. He crawled in and wrapped himself around her.
* * *
THE ENEMY HAD infiltrated during the night and Ashley’s hormones were clearly happy to surrender. A large, muscled forearm was wrapped around her waist, the owner’s hand brushing the bottom of her breast. Her tank top had worked its way down during the night, exposing her breasts, and when she inhaled her uninvited guest got a handful. Her right nipple was jealous of the left, since the tip rubbed against warm male fingers with each breath she took.
Or maybe she was dreaming, in which case she really, really needed to not wake up. Another five minutes of this, and she might come without Fantasy Man ever making it to third base.
The masculine snore in her ear was proof that she was awake. Her brain had more sense than to invite a dream lover who snored. And—she assessed the situation—hogged the bed. Judging by the light in the room, it was approximately the ass-crack of dawn, a guess confirmed by a bleary-eyed stare at the clock on the nightstand. Six in the morning. Even without rolling over, she knew who her companion was. Levi had an impressive set of scars on his forearm, plus there was zero chance of anyone else breaking into her villa when he was around. Even if he hadn’t let himself in and made himself at home in her bed, he’d have been camped out on the porch on self-imposed guard duty. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.
The man certainly wasn’t easy to overlook—nor was the impressive erection tucked against her butt. The close contact must have short-circuited every last brain cell she had, because she actually took a moment to enjoy. Followed by a second moment and a third. There was plenty of Levi to appreciate.
She meant to drop-kick the man out of her bed so fast that his head spun, but instead, somehow, she wiggled back against him in a shameless move that felt damned good. Worse, the man did some kind of sliding thing that actually made her moan, which was the exact opposite of serving him an eviction notice.
Admittedly, it had been far too long since she’d had sex of any kind. And it had been even longer since she’d had mind-blowing, toe-curling, hot sex. She was busy. Had a big job interview coming up. And she had a major corruption hearing to prep for. Those were all perfectly logical explanations for her lack of a sex life—and for why she was actually thinking about taking advantage of the hunky SEAL currently sprawled in her bed.
Even if said SEAL was Levi Brandon.
Her accidental, pain-in-the ass, temporary husband.
She could have sex with him, her libido suggested, and then kill him. After all, why waste a perfectly good SEAL?
“Brandon,” she growled to drown out her baser impulses.
“Morning to you, too.” He nipped her ear, and nerve endings she hadn’t even known she possessed zinged to life. Why couldn’t his reputation as the hottest US Navy SEAL stud ever to come out of Coronado be even a wee bit exaggerated?
“I don’t recall inviting you to come in and make yourself at home.”
“Nope,” he said huskily, agreeable as always. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen him angry. “But I’m a self-serve kind of guy.”
She fought the urge to sink back into him. He might be self-serving when it came to letting himself inside the villa—and she’d be finding out exactly how he’d done that later—but he’d also be the kind of guy who made sure his partner had a darn good time. Her girl bits leaped to life, suggesting she put him to the test. Just once.
“Keep your penis to yourself,” she snapped, reluctantly rolling away from him. Or trying to. His arm tightened, keeping her pinned in place.
He grinned down at her. “And here I thought you were checking to make sure I wasn’t cheating.”
“Not a chance in hell,” she bit out. Her brain didn’t get that memo, however. Oh, no. Her stupid, sex-deprived, overactive imagination immediately played her a full-color porn flick in which she slapped a hand on said penis. Squeezed. Ran her palm up and down the hard length until he was slick and they were both moaning. The fantasy was a little high school but God, it worked for her.
“You gonna spank me if I’m bad?” The rough rumble in her ear just made her melt further. Holy gods, but the man was trouble. From the smile in his voice, he knew it, too. There was a lesson in that.
“In your dreams.”
“I do have great dreams,” he allowed. She didn’t need to see his face to imagine the grin stretching it. He was impossible. Shameless and irritating were two other equally apt adjectives that came to mind, but getting into an argument with Levi while they were sharing a bed was a recipe for disaster. Their arguments had always been heated, and her brain happily, gleefully reminded her of the one time they’d shared a little more than close proximity on a stakeout. He’d kissed her in the alley in back of the bar and she...needed to stop thinking. Attraction had always lurked beneath the surface of their encounters, and she suspected he knew it as well as she did.
“Why are you here?”
“You forgot already?” He nipped her ear again and that did not make her want to squirm. “Somebody demanded a divorce. I was just giving her what she wanted, because I’m such a giver.”
“In. My. Bed.” Levi had always loved to get her going. Not in the bedroom, but verbally. She’d say something, he’d counter, and before she knew it words were flying like tennis balls at Wimbledon, and the rest of the SEAL team had been captive spectators. She couldn’t make so much as a simple statement about the weather without Levi turning it into a sexual innuendo.
He sighed dramatically. “Because you’ve got a mattress and I’m banking on Belize being a community property state, which means you have to share?”
Case in point.
“Belize isn’t a state,” she pointed out.
“Details. You’re too damned picky.” He bit her ear for a third time—although she had no idea why—and then rolled away from her. Right. But...was she really too picky? Someone had to call him on his crap, didn’t they? And since he regularly said the most ridiculous things, it was practically a full-time job.
He bounded out of bed with cheerful good humor, the mattress shaking as he left. She’d forgotten how much she hated his early-morning perkiness.
“It’s too early,” she groaned, reaching for the pillow. If nothing else, she could drown him out. Or smother herself.
“Are you getting up? Or is that an invitation to join you?” Levi moved like a ninja. Somehow he’d made it around the edge of the bed and now stood over her, hands on his hips. At least he’d had the decency to wear something to bed—either that, or he’d collected his boxers on his round trip to her side of the mattress. The navy blue boxers hung low, exposing way too much SEAL for her peace of mind and highlighting ripped abs and an intriguing pair of hip bones. Holy God, the man had muscles. All sorts of delicious lines and ridges—and that was before she gave in to temptation and eyed his junk. Her Navy SEAL Ken had impressive...accessories.
He waggled his hips. Jesus. Had he gotten larger? Was that even anatomically possible? Because she was fairly certain he was already in the top percentile when it came to penis size.
“I’m happy to perform my husbandly duties. Just say the word.”
She bet.
“Give it up,” she advised, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow. No. No superspectacular, too-big-to-be-believed penis for her—especially when the penis in question was attached to one pain-in-her-butt SEAL. She must have been tired last night, though, because that was the only way a man that fine looking could have crawled into bed with her without some piece of her noticing.
A short, sharp smack on her butt had her lifting her head. She’d like to think he wouldn’t dare, but this was Levi. There was nothing the man wouldn’t do. If she was smart, she’d double-check the cocktail menu and make sure it contained no Fifty Shades of Grey-inspired drinks.
He rocked back on his heels and raised a brow. “Did you like that?”
“I’m not having this conversation now.” Or ever.
Her refusal didn’t stop her traitorous brain from immediately supplying an image of Levi spanking her. Her bare butt. His big hand rising and falling in a series of erotic slaps. Nope. No way. Kink was not her thing. She liked to be in control. So it was a big-time problem that, around Levi, she was out of control.
“Later?” He actually sounded hopeful.
His optimism should be illegal. She gave him a look. He could infer when hell freezes over for himself.
“If you’re saving yourself for marriage, it’s your lucky day,” he said brightly.
“You’d make a terrible husband,” she mumbled into her pillow.
There was a moment of blissful, wonderful, Levi-free silence. Since she didn’t think she’d actually managed to hurt his feelings—the only sensations Levi seemed to entertain centered around his cock and his guns—she lifted her head. He stared back at her. Mr. Inscrutable had replaced Mr. Playful.
“The worst,” he agreed, a shadow crossing his face. “I’d be awful.”
For once, he didn’t sound like he was joking.
“I’m not sure I’d be good at marriage, either,” she admitted quietly. “My parents got divorced, and I’m really fond of my career. Maybe too fond. I mean, I’m not a commitmentphobe like you, but I’m in no rush to settle down either.”
Levi made a rough noise, a sound she hadn’t heard from him before. “I’m not afraid of commitment.”
Apparently she could drive him crazy just by talking to him. Good to know. If the marriage turned out to be real and they couldn’t score an easy divorce, maybe she could have him declared insane.
“Give me a for example of this much-vaunted commitment of yours.”
He glared at her. “I’m a US Navy SEAL, babe. That takes commitment right there.”
“Not to a relationship,” she scoffed.
“The guys on my team are family,” he said, and she believed him. He might not be into dating women long term, or marriage, but he’d made promises to the SEALs and he intended to deliver. If she hadn’t been trapped in a fake marriage with him—a fake marriage she needed to undo ASAP before she jeopardized her own commitment to her career—she would have taken a moment to appreciate what he’d said. Her big, bad, playful SEAL had a soft spot. For his team.
“Maybe I’ve used up all my commitment being a SEAL,” Levi continued. Apparently he was determined to hammer his point home. “So maybe that means I’ve got nothing left to give when I’m off the field. Most of the guys who try BUD/S drop off. That’s not a slam on them, because it’s a hard thing. You don’t get in just by asking. You have to earn your spot in the training class, and then you have to earn it every single day thereafter. There’s no easy pass, no shortcut.”
“So you’re married to the SEALs,” she said. It made sense. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but he’d committed body and soul and he wasn’t the kind of guy who shirked on a responsibility.
“We started out with a hundred and twenty guys in our class and six months later there were less than thirty of us. You have to be the right guy and it has to be the right job. I won’t make a promise I can’t keep, and I can’t promise to be the guy who comes home after work, who hugs his wife and his kids, and who they can count on to be there. Because I’m busy being a SEAL.”
Who had replaced devil-may-care Levi with this passionate, earnest soldier? Sometimes a strategic retreat was a girl’s best bet.
“I call dibs on the bathroom,” she announced and ran for the shower.
The faster they got their divorce, the better.
* * *
SHARING A BED with Ashley shouldn’t have been any big deal, even after their awkward conversation the night before. Levi had bunked down in plenty of strange places, and with more than one team member. Limited space, enemy fire, temperatures cold enough to require the sharing of body heat—he’d done it all. It was all part of that married-to-the-SEAL-team thing.
So he’d had morning wood. He wasn’t going to apologize for recognizing that she was one beautiful woman and a big improvement on his usual hairy, sweating, cursing teammates. Even when she was half asleep, hair standing on end as she threatened to cut his balls off. Her aversion to morning was kind of cute, and she’d calmed down when he’d fetched her some coffee after she’d finished her shower.
The wedding coordinator had agreed to meet with them at eight o’clock. While he appreciated the early time, he had to wonder if she’d misunderstood the purpose of their meeting, because she’d arranged to meet them in the resort’s wedding chapel. The place was over water and was all light, airy shit with views of the surf and the lagoon below. At least the glass panels set in the floor guaranteed that if the ceremony got boring, guests had options.
He didn’t recall meeting the coordinator during his previous visit. He was sure he’d have remembered someone so...pink was the only word he could think of to describe Ms. Megan Hartly. From the pink dress hugging her skinny body to the pink ribbons on her shoes and the pink nail polish decorated with some kind of sparkly pink flower things—the woman was a pinkapalooza. Hell, she probably pooped pink, and he couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of weddings she organized.
She plunged straight into talking, not giving them so much as a second to explain their purpose in meeting with her. The weather, the shore, something the resort had recently done to the wedding chapel. An endless stream of blah-fucking-blah poured out of her mouth. Levi zoned out and let the words wash over him. She’d stop when she was done.
