by Anne Marsh
If she were Levi, where would she go? She didn’t think he was concerned about the resort’s infrastructure, so he’d been checking for people. She’d start with the guest villas followed by the employee housing.
Nine minutes later, she almost ran into him. The idiot was jogging up the path. She and Levi hadn’t spent all that much time together, and they’d spent even less thinking they might be married. None of which explained the sense of relief she felt when she spotted him. He was fine. He wasn’t dead or dying in a ditch, although she planned on hurting him herself now that she knew he was safe.
“They’re holding the boat for you.” She hoped. Truth was, she didn’t know how fast they could sprint a quarter mile, but one minute probably was insufficient. She turned and headed for the dock.
“I was making a last sweep. They know that.” He fell in beside her and winked. “But I’m touched you care enough to come looking for me.”
“It’s a free world. Think what you want to think.” So she didn’t like the idea of him alone on the island with a storm barreling in. That just meant she was nice. It didn’t mean she had a thing for Levi. “But they are either idiots or think you’re on an earlier boat. Your ass is about to get left behind.”
“Yours too, but fortunately I’m in communication with the resort manager.” He waved a walkie-talkie, punched a button and then swore. “Battery’s dead.”
She rolled her eyes. So he hadn’t been deliberately incommunicado. Just had bad equipment.
“Run faster,” she told him grimly. “Or we’re going to be camping.”
“Got it.” The rain was coming down pretty hard now, and they were both soaked. She knew he could run faster than she could, but he held back, damn him. They were three minutes past her deadline.
“You should run ahead,” she told him. There was no point in being stupid about it. If anyone could hold a boat, it was her SEAL. He nodded, and took off. When she skidded onto the dock two minutes later, there was no boat.
Damn it.
She was going to have words with the resort manager when she caught up with him. Unfortunately, it looked as though first she had a date with a hurricane. Double damn.
Levi jogged back down the dock toward her. “Guess we missed the boat.”
She threw up her hands and glared. “It’s not funny.”
Was everything a joke to him?
“Come on.” He turned, grabbed her hand and started back down the dock. It had to be shock that had her following him. The rain beat down harder, making it difficult to even see the end of the dock. She wanted her money back, because this downpour looked nothing like the pictures on the resort website.
“Where are we going?” Since the airport was out, she was open to suggestions. As soon as they stepped off the dock, she sank ankle-deep into a shockingly cold puddle. Lovely.
“Dixie, we’re stranded on an island with a Category One storm headed toward us. I’m not hosting a welcome party on the dock.”
11
THE WIND SLAMMED into the villa and the walls shook. It felt kind of like they were camping in a kid’s fort, and someone had decided to kick the blocks over.
Ashley nudged him. “Thank you.”
He had no idea what she was thanking him for, so he shot her a questioning look. They were cozied up on the bed together. After checking out the other buildings on the island, he’d decided that their villa wasn’t such a bad place to wait out the storm. They were in the center of the island, and there were storm shutters to pull over the windows. The public areas he’d checked out already showed signs of flooding, and at least they were dry here.
He nudged her back. “For what?”
“You want me to spell it out?” She made a face, but must have figured out that he was genuinely clueless because she laid it out for him. “You’re pretty amazing in action. If I had to get stuck on a teeny-tiny island in the path of a hurricane, you’re a good man to get stuck with.”
Wow. He hadn’t seen that coming. She liked his body, but he knew that was a temporary thing. So they had awesome chemistry—but she hadn’t admitted to anything else. And now she blindsided him with her approval? It figured. Ashley wasn’t the kind of person who liked to chat about her feelings. She was tough, and she focused on the job. That was just one more reason why she’d made such a fucking amazing honorary SEAL.
“You’re not too bad, either,” he said gruffly. While he’d gathered supplies and storm-proofed the villa, she’d gone online and sent up a distress flare. Plenty of people now knew they were stuck on the island, so help would arrive just as soon as the wind and the waves died down some. And he was willing to bet SEAL Team Sigma wouldn’t wait that long. Ashley had “accessed” the National Hurricane Center’s servers too, and then backdoored her way into the systems of the reconnaissance aircraft flying into the heart of the storm. He’d pointed out that the data from those flights was close to real time, but she’d wanted “to see shit” as it unfolded. If the hurricane itself had been a piece of software, she’d have been inside it and reprogramming it to do what she wanted.
Sexy as hell.
“Sweet talker.” She punched his arm lightly, and he caught her fingers in his.
The power had gone out an hour ago, taking their internet access with it, but from what Ashley had seen—and he was not asking how she’d gotten access to those servers—the storm was actually no longer on a course to broadside Fantasy Island. It would probably pass several hundred miles to the west, and they’d get one hell of a storm but not much else. The wind beat at the roof, and Ashley looked up.
They’d both agreed that candles were too much of a hazard, so even though it was only midafternoon, they were all but sitting in the dark. If shit hit the fan and conditions got worse, he’d laid out a backup plan. They’d make a run for it to the restaurant and take shelter inside the walk-in cooler. He’d considered that spot earlier, but the restaurant had a palapa roof that was undoubtedly halfway to Belize by now, plus there hadn’t been enough time to empty the cooler. Spending a day or three surrounded by rotting meat and produce wasn’t anyone’s first choice.
On the other hand, he knew exactly who was his first choice.
To hell with it.
He had all the time in the world right now, so it was time to put his plan into action. He patted his pocket. He’d do this. Here she was. And here he was. He’d spent a lifetime planning like hell—then acting on instinct when he’d put the plans into motion and he was live on the battlefield. Everything in him said that he’d be a fool to let Ashley walk away from him. From them. What they had together was too good to let it end just because their time on the island was coming to an end.
He rolled onto his side because he needed to see her face for this. “You want to get married for real?”
“Are you crazy?” She stared at him as if he’d lost his ever-loving mind, and that wasn’t the reaction he’d been going for.
“I’m serious.”
“Pull the other one.” She grinned at him. Clearly she didn’t think he was serious, so he pulled out the little black box from his pocket. He’d ducked into the resort’s jewelry store because a palm tree had already knocked the door in, and he’d figured maybe there was a back room or some kind of walk-in safe where they could take shelter. He hadn’t found that, but he had found a ring. Hell, he’d even charged it to the room, leaving an IOU. He was one hundred percent, completely legit.
“Open it.” He nudged her hand with the box, and she took it automatically, thumbing open the lid.
He’d liked the ring on first sight. It wasn’t some big piece of bling, because that wasn’t the kind of woman his Dixie was. The little sign had claimed it was a conch pearl, but he’d just seen pink. A pretty pink stone shaped kind of like a quirky jelly bean in the middle of all those flashy little diamonds. It was pre
tty and bold, and he kind of wanted to buy one for each finger.
She slammed the lid shut. “You can’t do this.”
He certainly could. He flicked the box back open.
“Marry me,” he repeated.
She looked away. “No.”
“That’s it? Just no?” he said slowly. This was not going according to plan. He was supposed to be sliding that ring on her finger, and then he’d had high hopes for happy-engagement sex. She shoved the box at him, and he took it automatically. “You got a thing against the institution, or is it just me you have a problem with?”
“You think you’re Freud now, and I should tell you all about my lousy childhood and my daddy issues?”
Whatever worked for her. The ring winked up at him, kind of a fuck you now that he thought about it. He snapped the box shut, and shoved it into the bedside drawer.
“You’re hot. We’re stuck here.” She ticked the reasons off. If she kept going, she’d run out of fingers before she ran out of steam.
“Those are reasons not to marry me?” He wasn’t sure how he’d gone from having I love you on the tip of his tongue, to jonesing for a knockdown, drag-out fight, but that was Ashley and him. They were the relationship equivalent of those super-balls you got for a quarter from the machines by the grocery store’s front door. They had highs and lows and plenty of bounce between the two extremes. Love her. Hate her. Love her.
Naturally Ashley wasn’t done enumerating his shortcomings. Nope. She was just getting going, even though the wind and the rain pretty much meant she had to yell to make herself heard. Not a problem either, for her.
“You should be just a hot SEAL I want to have angry sex with. My head says hey, fuck buddy! But I just know my body’s going to start releasing all these chemicals, and the next thing I know, I’ll be bonding with you and then I’m going to be thinking about you, wanting to keep you. No, thank you.”
His entire body tensed. “How’s that a bad thing? I just volunteered for a lifetime deployment with you, babe. Keeping me is exactly what I want you to do.”
Same way he wanted to hang on to her.
Despite the near darkness inside the villa, he could see the look of pity she shot him. “For a day, a year, forever—it doesn’t matter because you, Levi Brandon, aren’t keeper material.”
“I don’t get a say in this?” Because he really thought he should.
“You can’t help what you are,” she said, and then she patted his chest like he had some kind of terminal illness. “I’ve seen your kind before. You’re darn cute, and tons of fun, but you don’t know how to stick. You’ll be off—first on another mission, then just somewhere else. That’s the way it goes.”
The hurricane meant he couldn’t prove her point and slam out. Probably he should be down on his knees thanking a higher power for that rain out there, but right now he was pretty damned confused.
“So I’ve got a terminal case of the stupids, and you’re also condemning me because you think I’m a good-looking guy? That makes no sense, Dixie. Sure, SEALs don’t have the best track record when it comes to love and marriage. We’re out in the field for months at a time, and that leaves you at home. But I can tell you one thing. If you’re home, I’m coming home.”
* * *
LEVI BRANDON HAD asked her to marry him. Voluntarily and without a gun to his head. Guess that made today a when pigs fly kind of day but she had a hard time believing he was serious. The man had a new girlfriend every other week, and yet he was waving a ring in front of her face? Whatever he was smoking, she wanted some. If she’d learned one thing growing up, it was that marriage wasn’t a happiness guarantee. Exchanging vows made laundry. It made a great big to-do list, and “great” didn’t mean “awesome,” “really fun,” or “let’s do this again!” Marriage worked because the two people in it both wanted to give something to each other, and the only thing Levi seemed to want to give her was carnal pleasure. And one hell of a gorgeous ring. Why can’t we say yes? That had to be her girl parts talking, and not her head—or her heart. He couldn’t possibly be The One because she had standards—and he was a player. Levi Brandon hadn’t met a woman he wouldn’t sleep with. She might not settle for less than perfection, but he wouldn’t settle down.
“Tell me why you’re really mad,” he said forcefully, and her tempted ignited.
“You forced me to come here. You threatened to sabotage my career if I didn’t come along for the ride. Now I’m stuck on an island, and I’m about to miss my interview and blow my chance. And you want me to believe you’re ready to commit and settle down with me? The only way a guy like you sticks is if he’s handcuffed in place.”
He winked at her, and she got even madder. Why did guys do that? “Babe, if you want to play bondage games, just ask me.”
And she could guess which one of them got to play tied-up victim. “I could kill you and dump your body. Blame it on the storm.”
He shrugged. “I’m too pretty to waste?”
Oh, that did it. She stomped over and rummaged in the gift basket the resort had provided. She was pretty sure she remembered a particular toy they’d included. It was childish, but she didn’t care. She had a point to make.
“Don’t play games with me,” she snapped. Bingo. The resort had included a very pretty pair of bright purple handcuffs. Presumably they’d intended for her to be the one tied up, but a lesson in gender role reversal wouldn’t hurt Levi.
“Jesus, Dixon.” Guess she wasn’t Dixie anymore. Good. He could keep his stupid nicknames. “I asked you to marry me. I didn’t say suck my dick.”
And this was reason one million and sixty-seven why they weren’t getting married. “Do you have to be so crude?”
He slouched against the pillows. For a man who’d just been turned down, he didn’t look too devastated. “Do you have to walk around with that stick up your butt all the time?”
“Here’s a hint,” she told him, striding back toward the bed. “The next time you ask some woman to marry you? You don’t follow up your proposal by telling her she’s uptight and unattractive.”
He opened his mouth, but she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. Mother Nature apparently agreed with her because something toppled over outside the villa with a bone-shaking crash. When the roof didn’t cave in, she decided it was probably a palm tree biting the dust. Levi leaned forward, clearly on high alert, and she took advantage of his distraction to snap the cuff around his wrist.
He jerked. Poor baby. “What the hell, Dixon?”
“I’m making a point,” she said sweetly, fastening the other cuff around the bedpost before he could pull away. “You claim you know how to stick. I counter that this is the only way you’d stay put with one woman.”
12
HE WAS GOING to paddle her sweet butt.
If she wanted to play kinky games, he’d do the choosing, thank you very much. He eyed the handcuff. Not that a plastic toy would stop him for long.
“Smile for the camera,” she crowed, and his head snapped up just in time to meet the bright pop of Ashley’s flash. That was less okay, but since he sincerely doubted she had an internet connection, he had hours if not days to scrub the picture. The storm pinning them down wouldn’t be over for a while.
She paced up and down, giving him a piece of her mind. He listened for the first three minutes, but then the speech got old. He’d heard it all before from her. He was an irresponsible, pussy-loving adrenaline junkie who wouldn’t recognize a good relationship if it reached up and bit him on the ass. Yeah. He’d been working on that when she’d gone crazy on him. He yanked on the cuff, but it held much to his surprise. Guess the resort hadn’t skimped on its hardware. Its purple hardware.
He interrupted the itemized list of everything that was wrong with him. If he waited for her to finish, the sun would come
out first. “You gonna at least give me a paperclip?”
“Sorry. Office Depot’s closed due to a hurricane.”
Had he thought he was incapable of feeling? Because he recognized the feeling flooding him right now, faster and harder than the storm water pounding through the resort. She didn’t get to be the victim here, and he didn’t have to be the bad guy.
To hell with it. He could break the bed, his wrist or the handcuffs.
“You attached to these?” He shook his wrist at her. If the cuffs were her extra-special Fantasy Island souvenir, he could be convinced to go for the bed.
She smirked. “You’re the one who’s attached.”
“Watch me.” He slammed the handcuff down on the bedpost forcing the lock open. Too bad all of life’s little problems couldn’t be solved so simply.
Ashley threw up her hands. “Is that how you fix everything? An application of brute force?”
“You talk too much.” He lunged off the bed for her. She shrieked and took evasive action, but where was she gonna go? Hurricane outside. Him inside. He knew the moment she considered opening the door and abandoned the plan, because his Dixie had never, ever been stupid. Snaking an arm around her waist, he lifted her off her feet and tossed her onto the bed. Followed her down.
“You got anything to say now?” He was pissed off, his wrist ached from the he-man stunt and apparently she thought he was nothing more than a pretty face attached to a convenient set of muscles. Well, too bad for her. So he wasn’t good at talking. Or feeling. Around her he was developing a whole new set of skills, even if he was still better at coming in hot and blowing his target up. Not proposing marriage to a woman who apparently didn’t even like him much.
Or at all.
When his feelings had decided to come back from their vacation, they’d come back with a vengeance. Fuck if he could sort them out. It wasn’t like emotions came with a preloaded label maker.
