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A SEAL's Seduction
Tawny Weber


Navy SEAL Blake Landon (a.k.a. “Boy Scout”) knows the rule book inside and out. But when a mission ends badly, his entire team is ordered on leave. And that’s when Blake sees the tall redhead whose dark eyes suggest that the rules – especially in bed – are made to be broken…










Twelve military heroes. Twelve indomitable heroines. One UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries.

Mills & Boon


Blaze


’s bestselling miniseries continues with another year of irresistible soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.

Don’t miss

THE RISK-TAKER

by Kira Sinclair

March 2013

A SEAL’S SEDUCTION

by Tawny Weber

April 2013

A SEAL’S SURRENDER

by Tawny Weber

May 2013

UNIFORMLY HOT!

The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell.


Dear Reader,

I adore hot heroes. And I think Blake Landon definitely qualifies. His dedication to his country, his service and his friends are almost as sexy as his rock-hard body and gorgeous smile. He’s perfect for Alexia, especially since he forces her to do the one thing she believes in so strongly for others, but avoids for herself—healing her past.

Alexia is a strong woman who follows her heart and believes in grabbing life with both hands. But can she let herself fall in love with a guy who breaks the two absolute rules she’s set for her love life? He’s military, and he’s not only similar to her estranged father…he’s her father’s protégé.

I loved writing this story and bringing two such powerful, strong-willed characters together and watching them rescue each other. I hope you enjoy their journey, too.

And if you’re on the web, I hope you’ll stop by and visit. I’ll be sharing Blake’s breakfast recipe on my website, and insider peeks into this story and others. Stop by my website at www.tawnyweber.com or find me on Facebook.

Happy reading!

Tawny Weber




About the Author


TAWNY WEBER has been writing sassy, sexy romances for Mills & Boon


Blaze


since her first book hit the shelves in 2009. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordinating, Tawny spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking and hanging out on Facebook. Come by and visit her on the web at www.tawnyweber.com.


A SEAL’s

Seduction





Tawny Weber
















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Thank you to all of the men and women

who serve their country.

You are amazing heroes.




1


And they who for their country die shall fill an honored grave, for glory lights the soldier’s tomb, and beauty weeps the brave…

—Joseph Drake

A LOUD BLAST FILLED the air as seven guns exploded in succession. Once, twice, thrice. Twenty-one shots. Faces implacable, the honor guard shouldered their guns and stood as tall and rigid as the oaks lining the cemetery.

The echoing silence broke when the bugler sounded taps. Lieutenant Blake Landon stood at attention, his eyes narrowed against the bright morning sun. The chaplain’s words of honor, bravery and sacrifice rolled over him like the gentle breeze, teasing, hinting but not really making an impact.

There was no mention of Phil’s sense of humor, of how he always carried a rubber snake on missions to break the tension. That he’d hit a McDonald’s the minute they were stateside for a bagful of French fries. The chaplain didn’t know that before jumping from a plane, Phil always kissed his mother’s picture, then rubbed a rabbit foot. He wouldn’t mention Phil’s love for the beach. It didn’t matter how godforsaken hot their assignment might have been, the minute he was off duty, he’d hit the beach—sun, surf and girls in bikinis. He’d often said those were his reward for getting shot at on a regular basis.

But that wasn’t the Phil they were honoring right now.

Here, at Arlington National Cemetery, Lieutenant Phil Hawkins was a soldier. Here, the sacred tradition of honoring the noble warrior focused on service, dedication and sacrifice to country.

The entire SEAL platoon in attendance, Blake stood shoulder to shoulder with his team. His squadmates. The men he served with, fought with, trained with. Prepared to offer up the ultimate sacrifice for their country.

Later tonight, they’d all celebrate Phil, the man. Their squadmate, buddy, friend. The Joker.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes glancing off the flag-draped casket, then shifting to the distant trees again when the captain began the ritual of folding the red, white and blue material. As the chaplain offered his final words of comfort, the captain gently placed the folded flag into Mrs. Hawkins’s hands.

Blake’s focus locked on that triangle of fabric and didn’t waver as the funeral finished. The people around him moved, shifted, left. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

They’d gone through BUDS training together. He, Phil and Cade. All cocky as hell, all determined to push their limits, to be superheroes. The Three Amigos, the rest of the team had called them. Inseparable.

Now permanently separated.

A large, beefy man joined him, scattering his thoughts. Grateful for the distraction, Blake directed his attention to the admiral. His hair as white and gleaming as his uniform, the older man topped Blake’s own six feet by at least two inches.

“Lieutenant,” Admiral Pierce greeted quietly. “I know this is a hard loss for you and your team. You have my sympathies.”

“Thank you, sir,” Blake said, his words stiff as he watched Phil’s mom softly smooth her fingers over the folded flag, as if running her fingers over her son’s cheek. Blake cringed when she lost it, her slender shoulders shaking as she sobbed into the triangle.

Desperate for distance, he ripped his gaze away. He looked at the trees. Oaks, mighty and strong, stood tall. Symbolic, probably. But he was having trouble finding solace.

“It never gets easier,” the admiral said.

“Should it?” Blake asked, looking at the older man. His superior. His trainer. His mentor.

“No.” The admiral glanced over at the trees. He sighed, then looked at Blake again. “No. But it’s something you’ll revisit. One way or another. Make sure you don’t let it get in your way.”

Just like that? Blake wanted to protest. To call bullshit on it being that easy to simply push the loss of his comrade, his friend, aside. But years of training, the respect he had for the man who’d recruited him to the SEALs, eliminated that thought almost before it formed. Instead, he inclined his head to indicate he’d handle it.

Clearly expecting exactly that, the admiral nodded. Then he cast an assessing glance around the graveside.

“Lieutenant Commander,” the admiral called, his words carrying over the gentle grasses and soft murmur of the milling crowd.

Cade Sullivan, Blake’s team commander and the third amigo, subtly came to attention. With a quiet word and a brush of his hand over Mrs. Hawkins’s shoulder, he turned and strode across the lawn.

“Sir?”

“I’m assigning your men leave.”

Blake and Cade exchanged looks. All it took was two seconds, a slight furrow of the brow and a shift of their shoulders to know both men were in perfect accord. They didn’t want to go on leave.

“Sir?”

“Two weeks R&R, effective immediately.”

For the second time since joining the navy—and both in the space of the last few minutes—Blake wanted to protest an order. He didn’t want time off. He needed distraction. Work. A mission. Preferably one that included blowing up large buildings and letting loose vast amounts of ammo.

Fury was like a storm, brewing and stewing inside him.

It needed an outlet. The shooting range would work. Or the base gym.

As if reading his thoughts, the admiral inclined his head, offered a stern look and added, “You’ve just finished a tense mission, and lost one of your own. I hope you have places off base to stay, as I’ll be leaving word at the gate that you’re on inactive duty until September seventeenth.”

For a second, Cade’s usual charming facade cracked, the same anger Blake was dealing with showing in the other man’s vivid green eyes. In an instant, it disappeared, and his smile—the one that lulled friend and foe alike into thinking he was a nice guy—flashed.

“Looks like it’s time for a trip home. My father will be thrilled. Thank you, sir. I’m sure the team will be excited about the R&R.”

You had to admire Cade’s talent for lying. The man had a way with sincerity that, when added to that smile, was pure gold. At least it was if you weren’t the one he was conning. The truth was, the team was going to be pissed, Cade hated visiting home and his father hated having him there. Yet the guy still smiled as if he’d just been pinned with the Congressional Medal of Honor.

That’s why Phil had always called Cade Slick. Blake was Boy Scout. By the book, a goody-goody, his whole life was focused on being prepared. On being the best SEAL he could be. And Phil? He’d been the Joker. The last thing he’d said before that bomb had blown him in two? Knock knock.

Knock knock.

Jaw clenched, Blake glared at the sleek black lines of the casket.

Cade excused himself to inform the other men of their spiffy little vacation, leaving Blake and the admiral standing alone. The rest of the mourners were dispersing, civilians leaning against each other, shoulders low as they made their way across the lawn.

“Landon?” the admiral prodded. As if there was any option. Cade, like the admiral, was Blake’s superior. He’d accepted the order, so it was a done deal.

“I’m sure I can find something to do,” he said quietly. Not go home. He was less welcome in the trailer park he’d been raised in than Cade was at his big fancy mansion.

The guys were meeting later at JR’s, the local bar and dance club Phil had favored. After that, Blake would go back to California. Drive up the coast, check out Alcatraz, the Golden Gate. Anything.

“I’ll see you on the fifteenth.”

Blake frowned. “I thought we were ordered off base until the seventeenth.”

Had he misunderstood? Hell, it was only two days, but he’d take them.

“My retirement party. I expect you there. You can meet my daughter.” With that, a stern smile and a clap to the shoulder that would have put a lesser man a foot into the ground, the admiral strode off.

Leaving Blake to contemplate those last words.

Meet the admiral’s daughter?

Shit.

HOT. HOT. HOT.

There were a lot of things to be grateful for in life. Good friends. A healthy body. Chocolate-covered caramel.

All good.

But not nearly as good as the sight of a gorgeous, mostly undressed man. The kind of man who made a woman very aware of all her girlie parts.

The one striding along the water’s edge was that kind of guy, Alexia Pierce’s girlie parts assured her. Gorgeous, built and, since he seemed oblivious to the women he left panting in his wake, as humble as he was hot.

Tall, she’d bet his body lined up perfectly with her five-ten frame. Long legs ate up the sand as he strode toward the ocean, his deliciously broad shoulders straight, his flat belly framed by a tapered waist. He had that sleek, muscled look that said he could kick some ass, but didn’t have the bodybuilder bulk that screamed mirror-whore.

Dark hair, a little too short for her taste, had just a hint of curl. She wrapped her finger around one of her own ringlets, figuring a guy who fought the wave would have a little sympathy when humid days made her look like a demented poodle. She couldn’t see his eyes from this distance, but he had those dark, intense brows that made guys look ferociously sexy. Either blessed genetics or the summer sun had washed his body with a pale golden hue.

She wondered if he was just as golden beneath those summer-blue swim trunks. Was it too much to hope a big wave would help out in giving her a peek?

C’mon, waves.

The guy was a potent combination, guaranteed to make a strong, independent woman whimper with desire.

At least, in her own mind.

As she mentally whimpered, Alexia shaded her eyes against the bright arcs of sunlight reflecting off the Pacific and interfering with her view of the gorgeous specimen of manhood as he dived into the ocean.

She actually envied the water as it slid over that rock-hard body.

“Want a towel?”

“Hmm?” she murmured, absently taking the soft fabric that was handed to her. Frowning, she glanced at the red beach towel, then at her brother. “What’s this for?”

“To wipe your chin.”

“Goof.” She laughed, tossing the towel back at him before sitting back on her beach chair, her toes digging into the warm sand. “That’s sweat from the sun. I’m not used to it being this warm the second week of September.”

Or, admittedly, to seeing a man sexy enough to make her sit up and drool.

“Right. It’s the heat.” Michael was a master at sarcasm, his words as dry as the sand beneath their feet. “Aren’t you in a relationship?”

Even as Alexia waved that question away with a flick of her wrist, she yanked her gaze from the water. She didn’t know why. Even if she were in a relationship, looking wasn’t cheating. And at this point, she and Edward were just colleagues who’d dated a few times. Friends—without benefits. Buddies, even.

“Not so much in a relationship as considering one. Dancing around it, maybe,” she admitted. More like trying to justify pushing herself into taking a handful of dates and a solid friendship and making them something more. Something bigger. Of course, she’d been trying to talk herself into it for three months now. If there was one thing Alexia was good at, it was talking. “I don’t know what we are, to be honest.”

Michael tilted his red sunglasses down to peer at her. His eyes were the same dark, depthless brown as her own, but he was blessed with thick lashes while she was stuck relying on volumizing mascara. It’d be so easy to hate him for that. “You moved across the country for a guy. That says relationship to me.”

Alexia lifted her bottle of water and sipped, her eyes sliding back to the ocean. All she could see of the swimmer was the occasional elbow. Why did that turn her on so much more than the idea of seeing all of Edward, naked?

Which was the problem in a nutshell. She liked everything about Edward. The man was brilliant, one of the foremost scientists specializing in psychoacoustics. She’d studied under him for two years when he was in New York, before he’d moved to California to take over the Science Institute. They had a lot in common, enjoyed each other’s company and always had a ton to talk about.

The only problem was, she wasn’t sexually attracted to him. And she couldn’t imagine a relationship without sex. Without heat. Excitement and orgasms and spontaneous wall-banging releases. Those were as high on her relationship list as honesty and communication.

“I moved across the country for a once-in-a-lifetime job. That says career to me,” she said as she dug her bottle back into the sand. “This position is off-the-charts exciting. I’ll be doing in-depth research into correcting and enhancing sexual recovery for abuse victims by means of subliminal messaging, neurolinguistic programming and brain-wave technology. And get to be the face of the Reclaiming Yourself project. I’ll meet with investors, promote the project and make a difference in how it’s perceived by the press.”

“You’re an acoustical physicist with a minor in psychology. How does that translate into PR shill?”

Alexia grimaced at her brother’s irritated tone.

“Show a little more enthusiasm, why don’t you,” she said, swiping her towel at him. “It got me back to California, so you should be grateful. Investors want to talk to someone directly involved who is working on the project. I’m better at the social stuff than Edward is, and since the project focuses more on female sexuality, it’s better to have a woman front and center.”

“In other words, Dr. Darling isn’t as good at talking sex as you are?”

Alexia grinned, but as the words sank in, her smile dimmed. Yeah. Edward was great at the science of sex. But talking about it? Doing it? She wasn’t so sure.

“I’m just giving you a bad time. I really am excited that you’re back home,” Michael said, patting her shoulder. He gave her a cheeky look. “With you here, publicly talking sex all the time, the heat’s going to be off me with the parents. So thank Dr. Darling for me, ’kay?”

Alexia’s smile disappeared completely.

“They’re going to have a fit, aren’t they?” she murmured.

“Yep.”

By the time she’d started third grade, Alexia had known three things. One, that she was much, much smarter than the average bear. Two, that she didn’t quite fit in anywhere—not with kids her age, not with the agenda her parents lined up for her and not with what her child psychologist had deemed society’s norms. And three, that her father would never love her. After a few years of exploiting the first while trying to hide the second, she’d finally realized that there was nothing she could do about the third. At thirteen, with a slew of academic awards, a couple of skipped grades and a social calendar filled with normal, acceptable, shoot-me-now-I’m-going-crazy boring activities, she’d done a tight one-eighty.

She’d stopped socializing and started failing classes. She’d turned to fatty food and sugar for comfort. She’d explored more ways to numb herself than she liked to remember. And to this day, she wasn’t sure if her father had noticed any of that.

But he had noticed when, at sixteen, she’d been picked up by the base MPs, drunk and half-naked with an ensign thirteen years her senior. That’d been the second turning point in her short life. Her father’s fury hadn’t mattered. His blustering and disgust had barely dented her hangover. Seeing that, the admiral had proceeded to show her once and for all where she got her brains. In an ice-cold voice, he’d promised that the next time she stepped out of line, she’d be out of his house and no longer a part of the family. She’d shrugged, saying that she didn’t care. He’d nodded, as if he’d expected exactly that response, before adding he’d then send Michael to boarding school overseas.

Michael. The one person who loved Alexia. Who accepted and celebrated her. Who she’d be cut off from until he was eighteen, if their father had any say in it.

Yep. The admiral was a scary man.

“Don’t stress about it,” Michael said quietly, clearly tracking her trip down memory lane. “Mom’s thrilled you’re back and Dad will come around eventually. They might not like what you’re talking about, but the prestige of seeing you on TV, hearing you’re at the big fancy billionaire parties like any good socialite will bring them around.”

“Sure, as long as they ignore the part about me publicly talking sex.” Alexia sighed. As much as she wanted to be tough and emotionless when it came to their parents, a part of her still craved—with the desperation of a small child—that approval. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—change who she was to get it.

“You could almost feel sorry for them.” Michael laughed. “We’re not exactly their idea of poster children, huh? To make it easier on them, when I go to Sunday brunch, I pretend to be straight. Not an easy thing for the headliner of Sassy’s Fancy, an all-male revue. Last month I mentioned my photo shoot for Calvin Klein and you’d have thought I tried to jump the waiter, the way Dad choked and Mom sputtered.”

“Maybe they’ll focus more on the fact that this research project will potentially help abuse victims overcome their fears than the sex part of things,” Alexia mused. When her brother looked at her as if she’d jumped right over naive into delusional, she wrinkled her nose.

“So enough about how proud we make the parents,” Michael said with a dismissive wave to both the topic and the low-level guilt Alexia was starting to feel. “What’s the real deal with you and Dr. Darling?”

“Edward’s last name is Darshwin,” she corrected for the zillionth time, following his lead and sitting up to reach for the sunscreen. Unlike many redheads, Alexia didn’t have a problem tanning. She did, however, turn into one giant freckle after too much sunshine. “And I don’t know what the deal is, really. He’s a sweetie. Smart, cute and really big on communication. A guy who likes to talk feelings. What’s better than that?”

“A guy who makes you feel things worth talking about,” Michael ventured quietly.

Yeah. She sighed. That.

“When did you get so smart?” Alexia slanted him a look. Spread out on a bright turquoise beach towel, he looked too pretty, and honestly too vain, to offer up such deep thoughts. Sleek and toned, he was a man who made his living by looking good.

“Babe, just because I’m not a superbrainiac like you doesn’t mean I’m not a pretty sharp cookie.”

Wasn’t that the truth.

Joy, as warm as a big squishy hug, filled her. Alexia could have turned down the job offer that’d brought her back to San Diego. But between her dream job and a chance to live close to her brother again, she hadn’t been able to resist. They’d grown up as military brats, and the only steady thing in their lives had been each other. And while she didn’t look for a lot of steadiness these days, she needed love. Needed to feel important. Special. If only to one person—and even if that person was her brother.

As if taunting her with Michael’s words, her gaze sought out the gorgeous specimen of manhood again. Now, that was a guy who’d make a girl feel things worth talking about. She let the sight of his body, cutting strong and sure through the ocean waves, soothe her. Relax away the tension and worries.

Then he stepped out of the water.

And a whole new kind of tension seeped into her body.

At the same time, all thoughts, and most of her brain function, vanished. Every cell of her being was focused, like a laser, on his body.

His gorgeous body.

Sleek muscles, from the top of his sexy head to his well-shaped feet. The man was a work of art. Not in the bodybuilder-obsessed way, but pure streamlined power.

Him, she was sexually attracted to. Him, she could easily see herself begging for.

“You know, I might have questioned your judgment and hairstyle over the years,” Michael said quietly. “But I’ve never faulted your eyesight. That is one fine-looking man.”

“He’s okay,” she downplayed as if her body wasn’t melting just looking at him.

“Okay? Just okay?” Michael’s voice rose in indignation, as if she’d just insulted gorgeous men everywhere. “What’d New York do to you? You say you’re not in a relationship, but your butt’s still planted on this towel. Why aren’t you going for it?”

“Because, as you pointed out, I’m in a relationship.”

“Considering a relationship.”

“Which means I should finish considering before I do anything crazy,” she retorted. “Like hit on some stranger just because he’s gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous is the best reason to hit,” Michael mused. Then he gave her an arch look. “Of course, he might not be your type.”

“I don’t think he’s yours,” she said with a laugh, eyeing the sexy swimmer. A man who exuded that much sexual energy, who made her wonder how many hours it’d take to try her top ten favorite Kama Sutra positions, gay? That’d be a crime against women everywhere.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Michael suggested as the man walked toward them, either because his stuff was up the beach past where they sat or maybe in response to intense do-me signals Alexia was mentally sending.

“Michael,” she hissed, suddenly wishing she were on a plane back to New York. Or buried in the sand. Either would be better than what she knew was coming. “Don’t you dare.”

“Did you say dare?” Michael’s grin shifted to one hundred degrees of wicked.

“Michael.” Jackknifing upright, Alexia made a grab for her brother’s arm. And growled when she missed.

“Oh, hey, excuse me,” he called as he slid gracefully to his feet. “Do you have a second?”

Gorgeous slowed, walking toward them. His eyes—yes, just as fabulous as the rest of him—bypassed Michael to lock on to Alexia.

His gaze was like being bathed in a deliciously sensual bath. The dark blue depths were warm, luxurious and bone-meltingly wonderful.

Alexia swore she felt the world shift. Or maybe it was just the sand beneath her butt as her brother hurried forward to offer his hand.

“I’m Michael,” he said, his smile big and bright as he gestured her way. “That’s my sister, Alexia.”

“Blake,” the man introduced quietly, his voice carrying just a hint of the South.

“I was wondering if you wanted to join me, us, for a drink?” Michael reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle of water, offering it. “It’d be a great favor. You can help settle an argument between my sister and I.”

BLAKE GLANCED AT PRETTY BOY, and the proffered water, then at the sexy beach siren lounging at his feet. She looked like a parting gift from summer, as hot as the season itself. All red hair and gold skin, she made his mouth water.

Any other time, he’d have made a move to join her. But instead of offering healing, solace, the last two weeks had simply hammered home his grief. Made it worse. He’d hung out at Cade’s apartment for a while. Only back a couple of days from a visit home, Cade had been lousy company. Silent, morose and distant, wallowing in the bitch of a mood that always went with dealing with his family. So Blake had escaped to the beach.

The sun hadn’t helped. Neither had the surf. And he was sure talking to strangers was just as pointless. Just make an excuse and go, he told himself.

“What argument?” he heard himself asking instead.

“Alexia thinks a hot date is dinner and a movie,” the guy told him, tilting his bright red sunglasses down his nose to offer a comical eye roll. “Boring, right? Me, I think a club and dancing is the way to go. What’s your take?”

The bottle of water halfway to his mouth, Blake paused to stare.

Was the guy hitting on him?

Tempted to laugh, Blake offered the redhead a baffled look. Her answering smile was like a ray of sunshine, reaching out to pull him out of a dark hole he hadn’t even realized he’d been hiding in.

“Both,” Blake said. “Dinner and dancing. I’m traditional that way.”

“Ah.” The guy’s smile didn’t shift, his attitude didn’t change. But his nod made it clear he’d got the message that he wasn’t Blake’s type. “Then I guess it’s a draw.”

“You’ll have to excuse Michael,” the redhead said. “He’s a nothing-ventured, nothing-gained kind of guy.”

“Can’t fault him for that.”

“You’re sweet,” she decided softly, her smile flashing bright. At first glance, her features weren’t traditionally beautiful. They were too striking, too bold. Eyes almost too large for her face were direct under a slash of dark brows. Her jaw was strong, her lips full with an obvious underbite that spelled all kinds of sexy to Blake’s suddenly wide-awake libido.

A red-rose tattoo on her shoulder twined down her biceps, twisting and circling. Her body, hot enough to make a man grateful for summer, was stunning. Packaged in a tiny purple swimsuit that hugged and highlighted curves, he suddenly wished like hell he’d met her another time. One when he could lavish on her every bit of attention she deserved.

Blake was the kind of guy who’d built his career on doing the right thing. Who lived his life by the rules. He not only followed the book, but double-checked it to ensure the rules he was following were exactly as written.

Anal?

It worked for him.

At least, it had.

The image of Phil flashed through Blake’s mind, the last thing he’d seen from his buddy was his big, cheesy grin just before the shrapnel had pierced his helmet.

Phil had followed the rules.

The entire team had, to the letter.

And they’d still lost their teammate.

Overwhelmed by the memory, Blake turned to stare toward the ocean, trying to find peace again. The water wasn’t giving any up, though. Of its own volition, his gaze returned to the stunning redhead.

She didn’t look like the kind who followed rules.

Maybe that’s what he needed right now.

His eyes traveled over the smooth golden skin of her bare belly, noting the tiny strings tying her bikini bottoms to her slender hips. His body stirred. Blood pumped. For the first time in two weeks, he felt alive.

He’d come here to heal, though.

And as much as losing himself in a body as lush and welcoming as Alexia’s appealed, he knew better. A smart man fighting demons avoided addictive substances. Alcohol, drugs, gambling. Gorgeous, sexy women. Anything that let a man numb himself to the memories.

Blake’s body screamed a number of ugly epithets at him. Ten years in the navy meant it had a ton to choose from. Still, he’d put his body through worse than denying it a gorgeous woman. He’d get over it.

“Thanks,” he finally said, splitting his smile between the brother and sister. “But I’ve got to go.”

Before he could change his mind, he lifted the water bottle in acknowledgment, and strode away. And regretted every step.




2


“EDWARD, I’VE THOUGHT about it a lot,” Alexia said, her tone low in an attempt to keep their conversation private from the rest of the diners. After her talk with Michael on the beach that afternoon, she’d realized she had to deal with the issue before she started work the following week. “I value our friendship, it’s really important to me. But I don’t think we should risk it by trying to turn it into more.”

After uttering those totally uncomfortable words, Alexia held her breath and waited for Edward’s response. Sounds suddenly amplified, forks against plates, the rushing servers’ feet against the tile floor, even the sound of the still-warm tortilla chips sliding into salsa.

The smile not shifting on his handsome face, Edward blotted his lips with his napkin, then took a sip of his water. Buying time to sort his reaction, Alexia realized with a wince.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. Nerves are natural before taking a big step in a relationship. Don’t let it worry you.”

No. Anticipation was natural. Excitement was. And sure, nerves if they were along the lines of will he like seeing me naked and is he open to kinky positions. But this stomach-churning, feet-twitching-to-run, little-voice-screaming-nooooo feeling? This wasn’t normal.

What did she have to say to get through? She really didn’t want to hurt him.

But after her reaction earlier that morning to hot, sexy and gorgeous on the beach, as she still thought of the hot-tie named Blake, there was no way she could settle for a sexless relationship. Spark, desire, passion, they were too important. It’d been all she could do not to chase the guy down the beach, throw herself at his feet and beg him to let her make up for her brother’s odd behavior by licking her way up his body.

Heck, she’d stayed so turned on and sexually charged thinking about him, she’d come twice in the shower preparing for this dinner. Clearly her subconscious was sending her a strong message that she and Edward weren’t meant to be a couple.

But he wasn’t listening to her subconscious. Or her words, for that matter. What did that say about their wavelength? Edward had a habit of believing that if he ignored something he didn’t like, it’d eventually go away. Having tried that often enough, and still having the parents to prove it didn’t work, Alexia could empathize.

“Sweetie, we have a great time together,” Edward said brightly, dismissing her concerns with a wave of his fork. His blond hair glinted in the colorful piñata-shaped lights and his perfect teeth flashed. “We’re great together. We’re on the same wavelength, totally in tune. Our interests, our goals, our values, they all click. That’s what counts, right?”

Alexia forced her lips to curve in agreement. Because he was right. They were in tune and did have a great time. But that wasn’t enough.

“That’s all important,” she said, pushing her barely tasted enchiladas aside to reach across the table and take his hand. “But those are things that make for a strong friendship. Not a…”

She couldn’t do it. Alexia wanted to pound her head on the table a few times to try to shake the words loose, but didn’t figure it’d do much good. So she took a deep sip of her pomegranate margarita—her third—instead. How was she supposed to say that she had absolutely zip sexual interest in him? She specialized in the art of subliminally messaging the center of the brain that controlled sexual response. She was about to start a job that required her to be front and center, publicly talking about how to heal and stimulate sexual responses. How could she work with test subjects and expect people who’d had sexual trauma to trust her to help them if she couldn’t even talk about her own sexual needs?

“Look,” Edward said, twining his fingers with hers. “I know what you’re worried about. That mythical spark isn’t blazing between us. You think there should be some energy, some physical manifestation of attraction.”

It was all she could do not to throw her hands in the air and say duh.

“And you don’t?” She’d worked enough in the field of sexual health to know there were men who couldn’t perform. Others whose libidos were so low, they had no interest in sex. But she wouldn’t have thought that Edward fit that category. He was a geek, sure. And a little socially awkward sometimes. But if he had issues, he wouldn’t hide them. He’d self-diagnose and dive into treatment, using himself as a test subject.

“Our species was made to experience sexual connections,” she said, shifting the discussion into scientific mode instead of personal, and instantly relaxing. “You know the statistics as well as I do. The odds of a romantic relationship lasting without sex are slim.”

“Alexia, relationships based on sexual heat don’t last. They flare hot and intense, then burn out just as fast.” Edward leaned forward, his words as sincere as the fervent look on his face. “Better to base a relationship on more solid, long-lasting emotions. Like friendship and similar interests. We share the same values, the same goals in life. That matters more than a few paltry orgasms.”

Well, sure. If they were paltry, she could see his point. Who needed that? Alexia thought, dumbfounded.

“We’re scientists who specialize in sexual health,” he continued. “Layering the physical elements into our relationship won’t be an issue. And when we do, it’ll be done in a well-thought-out, practical and measured way. Just as it should be between two intelligent scientists focused on the long term.”

Well…Wasn’t that sexy.

Alexia drained her margarita, the bitter tang of the pomegranate matching the taste on her tongue. Was that how she came across? As the kind of woman who would settle for measured practicality? In bed? There was only one thing she wanted to be measuring in bed.

Edward must have sensed her disquiet, because he shook his head, as if to stop her from saying anything.

“Think about it,” he said, giving her fingers one last squeeze before trading them for his fork again. “In the meantime, don’t worry about us. Get settled in your apartment, enjoy the weekend. Maybe reacquaint yourself with some of your old haunts. That’d be fun, right? Don’t you have a family event this weekend?”

“My father’s retirement party,” she acknowledged with an inward cringe. How fun was that going to be? The only thing that might appeal more was finding a gynecologist with a hook for a hand. Alexia signaled the waiter for another margarita.

“Just let it go for now. Let your subconscious work it through. I’ll wait awhile before I bring it up again.” He looked so sincere, so sweet, that it actively hurt to have to set him straight. But she wasn’t going to change her mind, and the sooner he accepted that, the sooner they could reestablish their friendship on its original terms. Alexia sighed, then, not seeing any choice, opened her mouth to tell him that she’d made up her mind already.

As if reading her intention, he hurried to say, “In the meantime, did I tell you about the latest round of crackpot threats the institute is getting?”

“The bitter women’s brigade is protesting sex again?” she asked, giving in and graciously letting him change the subject. That was part of the art of communication. Read the signals in order to know when to talk and when to let things go until a better time. Between his sidestepping the issue, refusing to listen and stiff-shouldered body language, she might as well give up. For now.

He nodded. “Oh, we hear from the women’s brigade about once a week. But this was a new one. A European gentleman wanted to offer us a grant to study anger and aggression.”

“There have been a number of studies in that area,” Alexia said, smiling her thanks to the waiter as he swapped her empty glass for a full one.

“Not with the focus of using subliminal messaging and brain-wave manipulation to incite anger.”

“Incite? Isn’t five o’clock on the 405 freeway enough to do that?”

After a brow-furrowed second, Edward quirked a smile, then shook his head. “Apparently not. This gentleman offered a huge sum of money. Enough that I was actually tempted, if not for the fact that we’re already so committed to the current project that it’d hurt our reputation to pull out at this point.”

Well, goody for future funding and the need to keep up one’s reputation. She hadn’t signed on for anger management, and didn’t like the idea that Edward and the institute’s focus could be bought. Alexia gripped her fork so tight it left a dent in her fingers, but managed to smother the anger before she made a nasty remark. Dating, friendship and the rest aside, Edward was still her boss. Calling him a greedy weasel was probably a bad idea.

But she’d taken the position at the institute because she wanted to help people. Because she knew the power sexual satisfaction could offer and truly believed that everyone deserved a chance at that kind of pleasure. Not to make money for whoever had the deepest pockets.

Her mind flashed back to hot, sexy and gorgeous on the beach that afternoon. As she let herself focus on the image of his butt, so tight and solid beneath those wet swim trunks, the red edges of anger faded from her vision. Now, that was the kind of guy who inspired fantasies and made a woman very, very aware that she was female. But for women with issues, whether from conditioning or abuse, that delight was out of reach.

Too bad she hadn’t gotten a chance to see if the reality of hot, sexy and gorgeous was as delicious as the fantasy. She could have called it work incentive.

Or just mind-blowingly awesome sex.

AN HOUR AND A HALF later, Alexia paid the cab and stepped onto the shell-encrusted sidewalk in front of JR’s. The club-slash-bar fronted a long stretch of beach, both lit up like carnival attractions.

She wasn’t sure why she was here. She definitely didn’t need another drink. But she didn’t want to go home, either. And the idea of spending any more time with Edward, pretending that everything was peachy keen, was enough to make her scream. She wanted to dance. To relax in a crowd of strangers. And JR’s was the only bar she knew well enough to feel safe. A regular hangout of the navy locals, it wasn’t that it didn’t get rowdy or wild. But it had three major advantages. One, it was a familiar place so she knew what she’d get when she walked through the door. Two, she was there to dance, and if anyone tried to push for more, her get-out-of-trouble-free card, aka the mention of her father’s name, would cut them off at the knee. And three, she’d never get involved with a military man. Ever. She’d had enough of the military growing up to know that a sailor’s first priority was to his very dangerous, often secretive career. And while she respected that, she had no interest in being background noise in someone’s life.

Still, walking into the club was like stepping face-first into chaos. Noise, so loud the music had to be felt instead of heard, pounded through her. Heat from the crowd of bodies swirled with an ambitious air conditioner. Lights flashed, strobed and glowed, depending on which way she turned her head.

Maybe she should have just gone home.

But she’d have gone crazy there, with only her thoughts and guilt for company. Michael was on a date, and three days back wasn’t enough time for her to have made any new friendships. So she was on her own.

And she needed action. Movement. Something to shake off the sexual tension that’d been driving at her all afternoon. Since hunting down the sexy guy from the beach wasn’t an option, she’d figured she’d do the next best thing to release body tension. Dance.

About to head for the flashing lights of the dance floor and kick up the heels of her favorite Manolos, a man at the bar caught her attention.

Blake?

The hot, sexy and gorgeous from the beach?

A slow, wicked smile curved her lips at the sight.

He was just as appealing dry and clothed as he’d been wet and half-naked. In jeans and a simple T-shirt that did wonders for his broad shoulders, he looked like a guy who just wanted a drink and some alone-time. Too bad for him, though, since a blonde barracuda was tiptoeing her red talons up his chest. Was that his type? Blatant, busty and ballsy? He grabbed the blonde’s hand on its downward sweep, shaking his head. She didn’t back off. Alexia bit her lip to keep from laughing at the range of emotions chasing across his face. Irritation, confusion and just a hint of amusement. Poor guy, he probably hadn’t realized this was a navy bar. Which meant pushy, desperate women all focused on one thing. Catching themselves a sailor boy.

He looked as if he needed saving.

Sliding and pressing her way through the crowd of bodies, she made a path to the bar. The music was quieter here, but the cacophony of voices made up for it. She was about five feet away when Blake’s gaze found her. Delight flared in those blue depths, making her girl parts feel oh-so-happy. Happy enough that she hesitated. Getting all hot and wet over a stranger wasn’t a bad thing. But it wasn’t where she was at in her life right now, either. Despite what she’d told Michael, she had feelings for Edward. Ones that deserved to be explored. She couldn’t explore feelings for one guy while another was tickling her girlie parts. It just wasn’t right.

But could she leave Blake there at the mercy of the red-taloned barracuda?

As if sensing her struggle, Blake gave her a wide-eyed look of desperation. Hurry up, he mouthed. Alexia’s lips twitched, but her feet started moving again.

She bypassed the blonde and positioned herself behind Blake. Heavily made-up eyes glanced her way, dismissing her with a flick of false lashes.

It was going to take stronger measures, Alexia realized. Warning her girlie parts not to get too excited, she moved in close, draping her arm over the broad muscles of Blake’s shoulders. He was like steel. Solid, strong, sleek. Her mouth watered. To give it something to do before she actually drooled, she leaned forward to brush a friendly kiss over his cheek. He smelled like the ocean. Clean, salty, intoxicating.

“He’s with me,” she said, giving the blonde a go-away tilt of her head.

“He’s not wearing a ring.”

Alexia’s expression didn’t change. All she did was curve her hand over Blake’s shoulder. Possession. Then she leaned her body closer to his. Whether he knew what she was doing or he was preparing to use her for a shield, he wrapped his own arm around her waist, pulling her tight to his side.

Desire sent her body into a tailspin at his touch. Warm tingles swirled, heating her nipples to pebbled warmth before trickling down to her belly. Because he was sitting on the bar stool and she was standing, his head was level with her shoulder. All it would take was for him to turn his head and his lips could brush her nipples.

Alexia had to force her breath to steady, her vision to clear. She couldn’t do anything about the damp heat between her thighs as her girlie parts did a happy dance, though.

“Like I said,” Alexia repeated as soon as she knew her voice was steady, “he’s with me.”

Proving that brains and bleach weren’t mutually exclusive, the barracuda hissed through a smile clenched so tight her jaw had to ache, then shrugged.

“Fine. You two have fun,” she said. Flicking a challenging look at Alexia, she leaned against Blake, pressing so tight her silicone squished out the sides of her tank top. She sank both hands into the sides of his neck, pulled his head down and slapped a slurpy wet kiss on his shocked mouth.

“Just in case you change your mind,” the blonde said when she released him.

Grinding her teeth, Alexia almost reached over Blake’s shoulder and smacked the smile off the blonde’s face. Whether it was just her nature, or a by-product of the red hair, anger was an emotion she visited daily. But jealousy was brand-new to her. Trying to tamp down the green-eyed gnawing fury in her belly, she decided it wasn’t one she liked.

Still, her fingers curled into a fist and her eyes narrowed as she sized up the other woman. At five-ten and dedicated to her gym membership, Alexia was pretty sure she could take her.

“I guess I’ll join my friends now,” the blonde said, looking a little afraid.

Subliminal messaging at its best.

Realizing that she still had her hand fisted, Alexia took a deep, calming breath and relaxed her fingers. Then, because she really needed the rest of her body to relax, too, she shifted away from Blake. Touching him was anything but calming. It took another deep breath before she had enough control to put on a friendly expression and walk around to face him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, shaking his head as he watched Blondie sashay away. Like if he took his eyes off her before she’d reached a safe distance, she might ricochet back and plaster herself all over his body. “She wasn’t interested in hearing no.”

“It’s a hard word for some people to accept,” Alexia agreed with a grimace, thinking of her dinner date. “I spent most of my upbringing trying to get people to listen when I said no. Or yes. Or anything, actually.”

She tried to laugh away her discomfort at oversharing. Communication was important. But it was a two-way street, not a one-way emotional dump. Blake didn’t look uncomfortable, though. More…curious.

“You don’t seem like a wimp to me,” he said after a long contemplation.

“Well, aren’t you the sweet talker,” she said, both amused and relieved. Not that she figured on tossing him over her shoulder and carrying him off to have her wicked way with his body or anything—mostly because he was too heavy to carry. But she’d hate to think that she was on par with the barracuda when it came to scaring guys off.

“Sweet talk is a game, isn’t it?” he said. Then he shrugged. “I don’t play games.”

Ooh. Intriguing. If his sexy body hadn’t already caught her interest, the idea of finding out if he was for real—or if that statement was simply a game in itself—would have hooked her for sure.

“That must be tough, being a nongame kind of guy in an arena like this.” She twirled her fingers, indicating the lights, the bar, the bodies. “In here, like in life, almost everyone is playing a game of some kind.”

He looked around the bar, his expression blank. Just a little lost. As if he wasn’t sure how he’d got there. Alexia’s heart clenched. He was so wounded. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and pull him close. Let him rest his head on her breasts while she combed her fingers through his dark hair.

Her nipples tightened as if preparing for just that.

What’d happened that he felt so much pain? Maybe if she got him talking, he’d open up. Let it out so he could start healing.

Radiating damp heat and fresh off the dance floor, a guy tried to get past her to order a drink. Alexia wedged herself between Blake’s body and the bar stool. Now it wasn’t the music throbbing through her body. It was desire, hot, intense and needy. Nothing wrong with that. She was a red-blooded woman with a healthy appreciation for her sexuality. Didn’t mean she was going to act on it.

Maybe.

BLAKE WATCHED the sexy redhead closely, mulling over her comment. He didn’t like to think of himself as a game player. But she was right. Everyone probably did play games in one way or another. Hell, the military called them war games. A test, pitting man against man. Even man against himself. The endurance and strength training, weren’t those games of sorts?

And the mental gyrations he’d been playing before the blonde had tried to dig her lethal claws into him. It’d be a game, pure and simple, trying to convince himself that he’d exaggerated Alexia’s impact in his mind. That she wasn’t as sexy, as gorgeous, as appealing as he remembered.

But now that she was standing in front of him again? She had the same impact as an unexpected fist to the gut. Shocking, intense and demanding an instant response.

Her personality was as bubbly as her looks. Fiery curls, golden skin and molten dark eyes topped a body that made a man want to get on his knees to offer thanks…among other things.

The memory of her body, each and every delicious curve of it highlighted by tiny scraps of purple fabric, was etched in his mind. So he didn’t begrudge the loose fit of her dress, high at the neck but leaving her shoulders bare, the turquoise pleats barely skimming the tips of her breasts before draping to midthigh. Her legs were bare. Yards of silky golden leg stretched between the bottom of her dress and skyscraper heels.

“So,” she said after a long pause, her voice a little breathless. He wondered where her mental trip had taken her. And what kind of games it’d included. And if he’d been there. Maybe naked.

“So,” she said again, clearing her throat then giving him a bright, friendly but not flirty smile. “What brings you to a club like this? It doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

“Why not?”

“This is navyland,” she said, waving her hand around the room. “Soldiers and sailors, this is their hangout. Most guys avoid it unless they’re stationed at Coronado.”

Blake frowned into his beer before taking a drink.

“You don’t think I belong here?”

He didn’t know how to take that. He’d joined the navy the day after he’d graduated high school, and had found his home. His place in the world. With the SEALs, he’d found family. He’d never wanted to be anything else.

“Oh, I don’t know. You’ve got the body and the, well, energy, to be a sailor boy,” she said, her tone still teasing as she gave him a slow once-over. Her big brown eyes slid from his face and down his body. Proving he was alive and doing damn well, his body stirred in reaction. Hardened.

“But?” he prodded when her eyes stayed a little too long on his jeans. A few more seconds and she was going to be seeing a whole different terrain down there.

“But you don’t have that bravado I usually associate with soldiers,” she said a little breathlessly, looking into his eyes again.

“Bravado, hmm? Is that a requirement, something they issue along with the uniform?” He grinned. Maybe Cade was right. Maybe he was burned out. He liked the sound of that better than wallowing in grief. Whatever it was, he kinda liked that Alexia didn’t know he was a sailor. With her, he wasn’t Lieutenant Landon, decorated Navy SEAL, radioman, linguist and teammate. He wasn’t a finely honed weapon, a highly trained warrior. He wasn’t a military paycheck, or a score to be notched.

He was just a man.

That was so damn appealing.

“I think bravado is intrinsic,” she decided. “It either fits, or it doesn’t. But a uniform probably helps.”

“And you like the uniform?” Figured. Most women did. Most women didn’t even look past it. Plenty of guys didn’t care. Whatever bait worked, they reeled ’em in. Blake was pickier than that, though. And oddly deflated to think that Alexia wasn’t.

The bartender delivered a fresh drink and took the empty. Blake nodded his thanks and lifted the bottle, ready to wash some of the bitterness off his tongue.

“I’m not a fan, actually.”

Thirst forgotten, Blake slowly lowered his beer. Not a fan? Seriously?

Seeing his shock, she grinned. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate our servicemen and women. They are amazing. But when it comes to relationships, I’d rather steer clear.”

“Relationships?” He pulled a face. Women always used that word. What it meant was sex with a soldier—and let’s face it, SEALs did everything, including sex, better. Or a golden ticket to a soldier’s paycheck and benefits without the day-to-day work of being a wife.

Blake realized that this was probably the first time since he’d enlisted that he’d had a flirt going on with a woman who was only focused on him. Not the SEAL thrill. Yeah, this just-being-a-man thing was wildly appealing. He didn’t consider it a lie not to tell her he was navy. She’d made the assumption, after all. He was just letting her go with it.

“Yes, relationships.” She laughed, bringing him back to the conversation. “I’m a fan of the concept.”

How much of a fan? A groupie type? A desperately chase-after-it type? Blake frowned. Was she in one? Would she be here if she was? You never knew with women. He debated asking. The problem was, once that discussion door was open, it went both ways.

“But most women here,” she continued, waving her hand again to encompass the loud club. “They’re all about the goal, not the relationship.”

“What’s the goal?”

“Fishing. They’re here to fish for sailors,” she said, shifting closer so she didn’t have to shout the words. Close enough that her body heat wrapped around him, her scent filled his head with the image of sun, surf and sex. “Some, like Blondie, are catch and release. Others are looking for a keeper.”

“That’s awfully cynical,” he observed, laughing even though her words echoed his own thoughts. “Aren’t you women supposed to stick together? You know, group bathroom trip, the girl code, the secret sisterhood?”

Dark eyes dancing, Alexia leaned closer. Blake almost held his breath so as not to be tempted by her scent. Coconut, spices, just a hint of something floral and purely female. Then he remembered he was a solider. A navy SEAL, for crying out loud. He was brave enough to deal with sexy.

“Oh, believe me, if she was a friend I’d be distracting you while she slid that hook into your mouth,” she assured him with a laugh. “But tonight, you look like you could use someone on your side.”

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 bench-like 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 was 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, screamfor-help-before-it’s-too-late trouble.

Alexia knew all the signs.

Her heart was racing, even as her feet twitched, warning to run.

Anticipation curled, tight and low in her belly. Somewhere between desire and terror, it waited. Hope and fear entwined, making it impossible to know which to root for.

Her mind screamed warning, but her body wanted him, badly. Her nipples tightened and her thighs melted in anticipation. It was all she could do not to close the space between them, lean into that rock-hard body and trace her tongue over the hint of stubble along his jaw. She’d bet he tasted yummy.

Catching herself just before she fanned her hand in front of her face to try to chill, Alexia desperately grabbed control, reeling it tight.

It was time to make an excuse and leave. She had a very narrow window—maybe five minutes, tops—before she did something really, really stupid. And she’d spent a lot of years weaning stupid behavior from her repertoire.

She was proud of that. Even as a sneaky part of her brain whispered that she’d been good for so long, she deserved a little bad. Just a little, now and then.

Mostly now.

Then Blake stepped closer. Her eyes widened. Her pulse tripped over itself before racing off so fast it made her light-headed.

“I know it’s too soon,” he murmured, his words as dark and deep as the night sky, “but I have to taste you.”

Alexia’s mental gymnastics melted away, right along with her resistance. Desire swirled down into her belly in a slow, sinuous slide.

Then his lips brushed over hers and she didn’t care about stupid, resistance or the fact that they were on a public beach.

His breath was warm. His lips soft. The fingertips he traced over her shoulder a gentle whisper. It was sweetness personified. She felt like a fairy-tale princess being kissed for the first time by her prince.

And he was delicious.

Mouthwatering, heart-stopping, panty-creaming delicious. And clearly, he had no problem going after what he wanted, she realized as he slid the tips of his fingers over the bare skin of her shoulder. Alexia shivered at the contrast of his hard fingertips against her skin. Her breath caught as his hand shifted, sliding lower, hinting at, but not actually caressing, the upper swell of her breast.

Her heart pounded so hard against her throat, she was surprised it didn’t jump right out into his hand.

She wanted him. As she’d never wanted another man in her life. Years, she’d behaved. She’d carefully considered her actions, making sure she didn’t hurt others. She’d poured herself into her career, into making sure her life was one she was proud of.

She had a man who wanted her in his life. A nice, sweet man who she could talk through the night with and never run out of things to say.

But she wanted more.

She wanted a man who’d keep her up all night screaming with pleasure. Who’d drive her wild, who’d send her body to sexual places she’d never even dreamed of. She wanted orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms.

Even if it was only for one night.

And that, she realized, was the key. One night of crazy. One night of delicious, empowered, indulge-her-every-desire sex with a man who made her melt.

One night would be incredible.

One night would be enough.

“This is crazy,” she murmured against his lips.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his tongue sliding over her lower lip before he nipped the tender flesh. When she gasped, he soothed it with a soft kiss. “But crazy feels damn good.”

It did.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned into the hard, solid wall of his muscled body and gave a low moan of delight. He felt really, really good.

Blake pulled back then, giving her an intense look. As if he was trying to see past her heart, into her soul. As if he knew all her secrets, her every desire.

Then he smiled. A slow, wicked curve of his lips. As if he’d just figured out how to make every one of those desires a reality.

Now, that was a scary proposition. Scarier still, she was pretty sure he could.

She wanted him. Wanted nothing more than to strip him naked and run her hands over every inch of his hard body. To touch, to taste. To feel. Oh, God, she wanted to feel him. To give herself tonight to feel, to enjoy. To live.

“Did you ever want something you knew you shouldn’t have?” she asked, her words so soft they almost disappeared in the sound of the surf. She traced her fingertip over his lower lip, then sighed and met his eyes. “Something you knew you’d be better off not even considering, but were so tempted by?”

“No.”

Figured. Alexia laughed helplessly, dropping her forehead to his shoulder and closing her eyes.

“But I know what it’s like to want someone that bad,” he said quietly, his voice so intense she had to raise her head to look at him.

He shifted, sliding his hands in a whisper-soft caress up her cheeks, then tunneling his fingers into her hair. Cupping her head just above her ears, he tilted it back just a little and stared deep into her eyes.

Alexia shivered. Her heart skipped, then tumbled over itself trying to catch up.

His gaze was hypnotic. Penetrating. The moonlight glowed, glancing off his cheekbones and giving him an otherworldly air. As if he was straight out of one of her fantasies, sent by the universe as a reward for her being such a good girl for so long. A chance to be bad again for just a tiny little bit of time, and then she could go back to being on her best behavior.

She wanted Blake, and this feeling between them. His hands skimmed through her hair, fingers tangling softly in her curls. This delicious, overwhelmingly intense feeling of excitement. Her body hummed, her senses went on hyperalert. It was as if each touch of his fingers was amplified, exciting her more than she’d ever been before. More than she’d even imagined.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” she asked, desperately trying for sane and practical. “Make sure we know what we’re doing?”

“Babe, I promise you, I know what I’m doing.”

Whether to prove it, or to shut her up, he shifted again, his fingers strong, firm against the back of her head as he held her face up for his lips.

His tongue tangled with hers, demanding a response, pulling passion out of its worried hiding places and daring it to dance. Alexia’s fingers dug into his shoulders as her mind gave up the fight to be rational and dived into the delights he offered. To hell with discussing it. Who needed a clear understanding of what the parameters of this exchange were when the communication between their bodies was coming through loud and clear.

Sexual nirvana, his body promised.

Hers couldn’t respond with anything but Let’s rock.




4


BLAKE SPENT A GREAT DEAL of his life under fire. He’d honed his body to be a strong, powerful weapon, ready to face down and beat any danger.

He was pretty sure he’d never felt so out of control as he did right now. It was as if Alexia was a sudden addiction he couldn’t do without.

“You feel so good,” she breathed, her hands gripping his shoulders, then sliding down the hard muscles to curve over the rock-hard roundness of his biceps. “So strong. Big.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he said, his laughter a whisper of air over her throat.

“Then show me,” she challenged. Using her nails, she scraped a soft line back up his arms and shoulders, then down his shoulder blades, pulling his body closer against hers.

He groaned in reaction, both to her move and her aggressive attitude. She was clearly a woman who knew what she wanted, and wasn’t shy about getting it. Was there anything sexier? Still, they should probably go somewhere. Since he lived on base, and was currently banned, he’d been bunking at Cade’s. So that was out. A hotel seemed tacky. Her place?

She leaned in, her breasts softly pressing into his chest as she placed tiny, nibbling kisses along his jaw. When she reached his ear and blew a soft gust of warm air, he groaned again.

He wasn’t going to last till they found somewhere else. He had to have her. Here. Now.

Eyes narrowed, he peered up the beach. Their chances of being caught were slim. To narrow the odds even more, he swept her into his arms.




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