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A SEAL's Fantasy
Tawny Weber
Subject: Navy SEAL Lieutenant Dominic CastilloMission: Protect-not seduce! -his sexy target…Dominic Castillo loves his SEAL team like brothers-except one, who made sure Castillo was left behind during the latest mission. But when his rival is kidnapped by a vicious drug lord, Castillo receives a black ops mission of his own: protect his rival's sister. And any mistakes will either result in her death… or his. Lara Banks clearly has no interest in being protected by a military man, especially an acquaintance of her estranged brother. So why is she doing her best to drive him crazy with pure temptation? Lara insists on having her naughty way with him-over and over-but is fulfilling their fantasies worth the price?


Subject: Navy SEAL Lieutenant Dominic Castillo
Mission: Protect—not seduce!—his sexy target
Dominic Castillo loves his SEAL team like brothers—except one, who made sure Castillo was left behind during the latest mission. But when his rival is kidnapped by a vicious drug lord, Castillo receives a black ops mission of his own: protect his rival’s sister. And any mistakes will either result in her death…or his.
Lara Banks clearly has no interest in being protected by a military man, especially an acquaintance of her estranged brother. So why is she doing her best to drive him crazy with pure temptation? Lara insists on having her naughty way with him—over and over—but is fulfilling their fantasies worth the price?
Castillo, on the floor naked. Oh, my…
Lust.
It was pure, passion-driven, desire-sparking lust. And this time, Lara wasn’t in it for testing a little sample.
Her tongue slipped between his lips, swirling along his before backing out to dance over his mouth.
Letting her body run the show, she slid closer, her knees angling down his thighs and her bare breasts pressed to his chest. Her mouth brushed his in a series of teasing kisses. Each one grew wetter, hotter, more intense.
A response echoed in her body.
But she wanted more. More kisses, more heat.
Her fingers scraped across the velvet hardness of Castillo’s shoulders, down the rock-hard curve of his biceps.
Isn’t he a big one?
With a little growl of anticipation, Lara decided to do some exploring. She nibbled her way over that irresistible dimple, dipping her tongue in before sliding kisses along the hard plane of his jaw.
Oh, he was tasty.
Angling her body over the promising bulge beneath the blanket, Lara bit the chain around his neck, tugging the dog tags aside with a jingle of metal.
Now this was worth waking up for….


Dear Reader (#ulink_8a747b38-47a0-52b7-ab52-12855a63b2cf),
There is something so compelling about a military hero. A focus, an intensity that always draws me in. And, of course, military men tend to be in awesome shape. I’ve got to tell you, writing about guys with hard bodies is a lot of fun!
When Dominic Castillo first made his appearance in A SEAL’s Kiss, I knew he needed a special story and a very strong heroine. One who could challenge his well-fed ego and keep him on his toes. Who better than the sister of his least-favorite person in the world? Lara is strong, confident and edgy, and she’s more than ready to handle anything Dominic can offer up. Because this story is part of the Unrated! miniseries, it means a lot of what he offered up was pretty sexy!
I hope you enjoy reading A SEAL’s Fantasy—and that you’ll check out the earlier sexy SEALs: A SEAL’s Seduction, A SEAL’s Surrender, A SEAL’s Salvation and A SEAL’s Kiss. I’d love to hear what you think. Drop by my website at www.tawnyweber.com (http://tawnyweber.com) or find me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tawnyweber.romanceauthor (http://www.facebook.com/tawnyweber.romanceauthor).
Hugs,
Tawny Weber
A SEAL’s Fantasy
Tawny Weber

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_477029c6-2fa9-56eb-961f-7846e0d798f6)
A New York Times bestselling author of over twenty-five hot books, TAWNY WEBER has been writing sassy, sexy romances since her first Mills & Boon Blaze book was published in 2007. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordination, she spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking and hanging out on Facebook.
Readers can check out Tawny’s books at her website, www.tawnyweber.com (http://www.tawnyweber.com), or join her Red Hot Readers Club for goodies like free reads, complete first chapter excerpts, recipes, insider story info and much more. Look for her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tawnyweber.romanceauthor (http://www.facebook.com/tawnyweber.romanceauthor).
To the Sassy Sweethearts—the most amazing group of awesome ladies!
You all rock. Thank you for all the book love and fun.
Contents
Cover (#u9b1fda96-815a-5cfa-ac08-0c665bf592a1)
Back Cover Text (#uf35bb40e-977a-5943-a7b1-5dfce168d926)
Introduction (#uba381a91-be01-5f62-bde2-82894adad18e)
Dear Reader (#u76546d66-fdf5-5c58-b886-a2be92914022)
Title Page (#u742be945-a349-5b8f-b4c3-dc4b00ecd4a9)
About the Author (#uafd03f55-5521-5143-ba43-3dfb1ccab7ee)
Dedication (#u972f85f8-fe96-5fd5-8583-3c53a2664a97)
Chapter 1 (#ua0a6818f-417d-5214-849b-464fb4d6eecb)
Chapter 2 (#u548928b9-7468-5a0c-ad5f-586c0a26eb1b)
Chapter 3 (#u837df327-da35-5caf-8fa4-dc389a5999dc)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#ulink_c7346fad-b4d1-5c8e-943d-10aad3f8ed45)
THERE WAS NOTHING like a little bare skin to turn twenty adult men into drooling adolescents. Throw in a long, hard pole and a pair of glittery high heels, and they were a sad bunch of throbbing glands.
“Take it off, baby. Show us what you got.”
As if she’d been waiting for those lovely and enticing instructions, the stripper offered a sharp smile and, quick as a whip, yanked her dress in half and threw it across the room.
Dominic Castillo listened to his brothers and cousins whoop and holler, half of them waving dollar bills as if they were winning lottery tickets and the stripper their prize. Once he’d have been right there with them, front and center. Not that he’d have to call out lame suggestions and wave money to get her attention. Nope, all Dominic needed was his charming smile to beat out all of his relatives for the sexy woman’s attention.
But tonight his dollars were safe in his pocket and here he was, on the quiet side of the bar, sucking down a soda and wondering what the hell had happened to his life.
A year—damn, six months—ago everything had been golden. He’d been a kick-ass SEAL rocking his way up the ranks, carrying out death-defying missions and loving every second of it. Women flocked to him; he had a great family and a brotherhood of SEALs who had his back and kept life fun.
Hell, he used to wake up most mornings expecting to see a big ole S on his chest.
Used to.
Now?
He carefully shifted his head from one side to the other, glad his brain stayed put.
He’d gone on dozens of missions in his five years as a SEAL. His solid muscles and the scars were a tribute to his dedication to his career. He’d been hurt plenty of times. He’d dodged bullets, pulled shrapnel out of his boot and, on one memorable occasion, plummeted through the sky when the team’s plane took on heavy fire.
Now he was sitting on his butt while his teammates carried out a mission he’d spent the past few months training for. All because of an equipment malfunction while he’d been fast-roping from a helicopter. When the cable snapped, he’d only dropped ten feet, but the impact had left him bruised, aching and sporting a severe concussion.
And feeling like a loser.
He blamed Banks. Lieutenant Phillip Banks, the biggest pain in the ass to ever earn the SEAL trident.
“I didn’t think you were going to be able to make it until the wedding,” Lucas said, watching the show with a bored look.
“Miss my little cousin’s bachelor party? Bite your tongue.” Dominic forced a smile for his big brother’s sake. And, of course, to keep Lucas off his back. If his brother knew he’d been released from a doctor’s supervision less than a dozen hours ago, he’d nag like crazy.
“You mean you didn’t want to miss Lotta Oomph shaking her stuff,” Lucas said, snickering.
“I’ve seen plenty of shaking in my time,” Dominic replied dismissively, even while acknowledging that Lotta had an impressive shake. “Thirty states and eight countries, big brother. Can you top that?”
Lucas considered his beer bottle for a second, then tilted it and his head to one side. “Saw triplets pole dancing with their trained dogs in Reno once.”
“Matching dogs?”
“Right down to their spots.”
Dominic pursed his lips, imagining what that might have looked like, then gave his brother a nod.
“That’s worth at least ten states, China and Mexico,” he decided.
“I was in Mexico on a case two years ago. Gotta say, my job doesn’t take me to many strip joints. Guess we know which one of us works harder.”
As if, Dominic snickered.
Lucas ran Castillo Security. Providing private and corporate security for the past twenty years, Castillo was a family business, and it and their parents’ ranch employed, well, the entire family. Four generations of Castillos lived in Seaside, the tiny town in Sonoma founded by Dominic’s great-grandfather. From his grandfather Ramon to his little sister, Celia, they bred show horses, built security systems and provided bodyguards.
Except Dominic.
Dominic was a Navy SEAL.
The first, and so far the only, Castillo not pulling in an income from the family corporation. Which he’d worked damned hard for. When a guy grew up in a family as big as the Castillos’, standing out wasn’t easy. He’d never be as smart as Lucas or as sneaky as Marco. At six-four, he wasn’t even as tall as Jose.
What he was was his own man.
The one everyone came to for help. Advice. Directions, even. He was hell on wheels when it came to directions. Handy, since he generally served as the point man and navigator for his SEAL team. Something he was proud of.
“Seriously,” Lucas said, interrupting his mental back patting. “I thought Joe said you weren’t gonna make it home for the party. What changed?”
Buying time, Dominic took a drink, the cola doing nothing to relax his aching muscles. A beer would go down sweet right now. A half dozen of them would go a long way to ease the pain racking his body. But the doctor had warned that severe concussions and alcohol were a bad mix for the next few days.
“The team is on a mission, I’m not. That means I could snag an extra week’s leave and come home.”
Lotta started her countdown, tossing her spangled bra into the rowdy crowd, then taking a few swings around her pole. Dominic made a show of watching, hoping Lucas would let the conversation die if he seemed fascinated by silicone so tight it didn’t even sway as the stripper spun.
“Your team is on a mission and you’re not?” Lucas asked, an intense frown creasing his brows. “What happened? Turning yellow?”
“I can still kick your ass.” Dominic matched his brother’s glower. Then he shrugged. “They didn’t need me for this one. Plenty of them speak the language and I needed some downtime.”
And a little distance.
There was no way in hell he could sit around the barracks, resting, while the team kicked mission ass.
The SEAL team was like a brotherhood. Every man had the other’s back. Every man knew he was a part of the team, each one vital to the success of their missions. They lived together, they trained together, they fought together.
Sometimes it was the best deal in the world. Sometimes it sucked.
Dominic had grown up with five siblings. He knew that life wasn’t always smooth, that all relationships had plenty of ups and downs.
What he didn’t know was how to deal with a guy who wasn’t a part of the brotherhood. Who didn’t fit, didn’t even try to fit.
Especially when that guy was, thanks to his irritatingly stellar record, now the ranking officer on the team.
Who was so by-the-book uptight that he made Dominic sit out on a hot mission because the helicopter launched at 0700 and Dominic’s medical profile said he was grounded until 0830. Hell, they wouldn’t even have reached their destination by then. He could have gone if it wasn’t for Banks’s uptight ass.
Instead, the jerk had taken the team one man short and left Dominic feeling like a let down loser.
He freaking hated that guy.
“I’m thinking about transferring,” he muttered.
His eyes wide enough to pop out of his head, Lucas dropped his chair flat, the front legs hitting the floor with a bang.
“Out of the SEALs?”
Dominic had taken a bullet, broken multiple bones and was currently sporting bruises down to the bone over three-quarters of his body, not to mention a concussion hangover and a weak ankle.
But none of them hurt like the idea of leaving the SEALs.
“Hell, no. Just, you know, transfer. Virginia, Hawaii. SEALs are based other places besides Coronado. I might like to see a few, you know.”
“Because thirty states and eight countries aren’t enough?”
“I saw this act in Oahu once. Erotic fire dancer.” Dominic blew out a breath, then fanned his hand in the air as if cooling off the memory. “Let me tell ya, a woman who dances naked with a flaming baton knows her way around big, hot sticks.”
Lucas winced and shook his head.
“Sad, little brother. If that lame story is the best distraction you can offer up, you’ve obviously got something bugging you.” He waited a beat, as if giving Dominic an opening to confess. But Dom did the advising—he didn’t go looking for it. Finally, Lucas shrugged and lifted his beer again.
“You wanna talk, you know where I am,” he offered.
Dominic nodded, even though they both knew he wouldn’t take him up on it.
Not because he was such a snob that he couldn’t reach out from time to time for a little guidance. But there was a reason he was the advice guy. In the family, on the team, with his friends. He knew stuff. Military stuff, girl stuff, sex stuff. Thanks to his nana, he even knew cooking stuff.
He stared at his drink, muscles aching and head throbbing.
It was a damned shame he didn’t know what to do for his own stuff.
Two hours and three Motrin later he poured three cousins and one of his brothers into a limo. Patting the hood, he signaled the driver to hit the road.
Hands in the front pockets of his jeans, Dominic laughed as Marco popped his head out of the sunroof to serenade him with “Happy Birthday.”
“It your birthday, big boy?”
He turned, grin in place, to watch the woman saunter over. Even fully clothed, Lotta still exuded sex the way some women wore perfume. Strong, heady and inviting.
“Nope. He’s having a tequila-inspired calendar mix-up,” Dominic told her.
“Too bad. I was gonna offer you a little birthday goodie,” she said when she stopped in front of him. He wanted to tell her she’d be a lot prettier with about half as much makeup on, but didn’t figure it was his advice she was interested in.
“I watched you while I danced.”
Dominic looked down, noting that all it’d take was a cold breeze across her thin blouse to bring their bodies into contact.
Then he met her eyes, the hot interest and hard edge.
Message received.
“Isn’t that a coincidence? I watched you, too,” he said, giving her his most charming smile. He wasn’t interested—yet another thing he figured he could blame Banks for—but he didn’t believe in leaving women disappointed. He might not be going to give her a wild ride, but there was no reason not to make her feel good. In a fully clothed kind of way.
“Did you like what you saw?” she asked, her tone saying she had no doubts about that at all. She moved closer, so close that her ice-pick nipples stabbed his chest. Dominic had to wonder if she’d blasted those babies full of silicone, too.
“You do know your way around a pole.”
“I do good work with long and hard.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
Dominic looked her over again. He had a special appreciation for dancers. They were so damned good with their bodies.
Rethinking his body’s aches and pains, he debated a little naked boogie with the stripper. He did a quick check to see if lust was stronger than bruises.
Nope. Not enough lust or too many bruises. Either way, he wasn’t up for dancing.
Dammit.
“You interested in buying me a drink? I’ll fill you in on some of my specialties.”
The only reason the Castillo clan had vacated the club was because it’d been last call. Which meant the drinking destination Lotta had in mind was hers, his or of the rent-by-the hour variety.
Dominic loved women. Strippers, dancers, teachers, nurses. He’d dated them all. His only requirement was that the woman take the relationship as light and easy as he did.
He’d heard plenty of times that his sex life was better than most guys’ fantasies.
But if he had one particular weakness when it came to the fairer sex, it was for dancers. Ballet, jazz, exotic, tap. It didn’t matter. There was something about a woman who knew how to make the most of rhythm that drove him wild.
But even if his body had screamed otherwise, he just wasn’t in the mood.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said sincerely. “I’m not drinking tonight. Doctor’s orders.”
She narrowed her eyes, clearly wondering if that was a euphemism. Then she gave a good-natured shrug.
“You ever get released from those orders, you come back. I’ll do a dance just for you.” She skimmed her fingers up his chest, giving him a smile that promised that it’d be a dance to remember. Then she tapped her palm against his cheek and turned to go.
Dominic leaned back on his heels, his own smile turning a little cocky. He didn’t get guys who bitched that women were a pain in the ass. Himself, he’d never met a woman who wasn’t a pleasure, in or out of bed. All it took was a little charm and a friendly smile.
He watched the stripper walked away, her hips swinging a hot rhythm beneath her short skirt. For one second he regretted saying no. Then, as he shifted his weight, his body sang out a protest.
A part of him, mostly the part cozied up behind his zipper, wanted to call her back. Not out of undeniable lust or anything crazy like that. More to prove he could still make her see stars and sing hallelujah, even if half of his body was bruised and the other half a step up from numb.
As far as Dominic’s dick—and admittedly, his ego—were concerned, he was a man with many talents, all of which made women sigh with pleasure. He was better at sex when he was half-asleep, totally drunk and/or straight off a ten-day mission from hell than most guys managed to be even in their wildest dreams. He was damned good-looking—a blessing owed more to the fine Castillo genes than any effort on his part. He was a formidable SEAL, a savvy sailor and a weapon the U.S. Navy should be giving thanks for on a daily basis. Okay, weekly. He was wise—the team always looked to him for advice, hence his call sign, Auntie. He was smart and good with money.
All but the first were characteristics his own sainted mother recited to any single woman she found worthy. And all, including the former, were reasons Dominic saw as vital to his goal of staying single. When a man was as blessed as he was, it’d be cruel to limit his gifts to just one woman.
He watched Lotta slide into her Miata and frowned.
Maybe a good time was just what Auntie ordered. A hot ride would be a nice distraction.
It only took him a second to brush it aside.
Resigned, he watched her headlights fade into the dark night and sighed. It wasn’t his bruises or irritation that made him a bad bet tonight, he realized. It was the same nagging feeling that’d been dogging him for the last couple of months.
Dissatisfaction.
What the hell was up with that?
Dominic was a man who made a point to be satisfied. In every way, every chance he got. Some might say he specialized in it.
So why the hell was he so damned bored?
Bored, discontent and frustrated.
All new emotions, and not one of them welcome.
Needing to move, wanting the rush of speed, Dominic straddled his Harley, tugged on his helmet and rode.
In the next three hours, he covered most of Sonoma. The wine country had a special beauty in the moonlight, but even that didn’t help clear his mind. Finally, annoyed and still clueless over what he wanted to do, Dominic headed for the Castillo Ranch and home.
He cruised through the wide gate, its bronze C and R woven around the image of a horse, and throttled back. The sun was just making its appearance, casting a golden glow over the fields on either side, which meant the family was probably rising. Still, his nana slept late and her cottage was just around the bend.
The ranch housed thirty family members and a handful of hands and provided homes for a few, like Dominic, who needed their own place but didn’t live there full-time. He came to a dirt road that cut through the emerald expanse of grass before curving behind a hill. His cabin was a few miles back. Remote, the way he liked it, and private. He spent most of his life sharing quarters. First with his brothers, now with his SEAL team. When he was home, he liked his space.
But he didn’t take the turn. Instead, he barreled straight on down toward the main house. Ranch-style, it was big and sprawling, surrounded by gardens and manicured lawns. Lights glinted in the windows, especially, he noted, in the kitchen. Good. That meant Rosa was up, and likely making pancakes.
Dominic swept his motorcycle back behind the house to the wide driveway. Before he could cut the engine, his brother flew out the back door.
“Where the hell you been?” Lucas snapped, looking as if he was going to reach over and grab his younger brother right off the bike.
Just to be contrary, Dominic took his time slipping off his helmet and ran his hand over the stubble of his military haircut. He hooked the helmet over the handlebar, then swung his leg off the bike, shoved both hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels.
“What’s up?” he asked with a half grin. “I miss curfew?”
“Don’t you answer your phone?”
“Not when I leave it on my dresser by mistake,” Dominic said with a shrug. He didn’t carry a cell phone on duty, and he spent most of his life on duty. So unlike his brother, he didn’t hyperventilate without an electronic leash in his pocket.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for the last couple of hours.”
“Here I am,” Dominic pointed out. “You can reach me now.”
“Before me, your buddy Brody was trying to reach you.”
“Brody?” Brody couldn’t have called. Petty Officer Brody Lane was on day two of a mission in Guatemala, taking down a drug lord who was pissing off the good ole U.S. of A. Lucas had met Brody a few times when he’d visited Dominic in Coronado or when Brody had tagged along on leave to the Castillo Ranch. “Dude, you want to play games, play them when I’m awake.”
“No game. Your buddy called. He has a problem.”
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“Maybe if you carried your phone, you’d know.”
“Cut the crap and tell me what’s going on,” Dominic snarled, worry tight in his gut. Brody wouldn’t call unless the issue was major.
Chest to chest, the brothers glared at each other. Then, with a look that said he was doing his little brother a favor, Lucas stepped back.
“A mission went bad. Your friend didn’t say that. He didn’t offer any information except for you to call him as soon as you got back, no matter what time it was.”
Crap. Hell, damn, crap.
Dominic paced, his boots kicking up dirt as he stomped from one end of the bike to the fence and back.
“How do you know he’s on a mission?” he asked finally. “It could be anything. Hell, Brody might be calling for bachelor party advice, seeing as he’s getting married next month.”
Yeah, that was lame. Lucas didn’t roll his eyes, but he looked as though the effort cost him. Instead, he gave a jerky one-shouldered shrug and glanced away for a second. Just one, but it was enough to make Dominic growl.
“Dammit. I told you to quit hacking military computers. That shit’s top secret.”
“I don’t. I mean, not as a rule.” Lucas grimaced. “Just, you know, once in a while, to keep in practice. Like maybe when I know you’re doing something really dangerous. Just so I know to tell Ma to light an extra candle.”
Holy crap. Dominic shoved both hands through his short hair, the thick stubble scraping his palms. For one second he envied his teammates who didn’t have families. No nagging, no nosiness, no pain-in-the-butt interference.
“You get caught, you’re going to prison,” he finally said.
“I told you, I didn’t hack anything top secret. Nothing military, even.”
This time went unspoken.
“Then why are you claiming a mission went bad? Brody didn’t tell you that.”
“No, but he wouldn’t call at three in the morning to get Lotta’s number. I figured something was wrong, so I did some poking around.” When Dominic just glared, Lucas shrugged again. “You said something earlier about plenty of people speaking the language. Since the only ones you speak are English and Spanish, I pulled info on a few hot spots in Guatemala that might require specialized intervention.”
Pride and irritation surged in equal measures. It was a good thing Lucas was as honest as the day was long.
“You are a pain in my ass,” Dominic muttered. “That mission is top secret.”
Top secret. And still underway. He clenched his teeth against the stirring of the hair on the back of his neck, warning serious shit was going down. Brody was supposed to be in Guatemala right now, blowing the hell out of a drug lord’s compound, taking down his cartel and ending his reign of terror.
Not making phone calls in the middle of the night.
“When’s he calling back?”
“He didn’t say.”
Of course he didn’t.
“You okay?” Lucas stepped forward, looking concerned. He shot a glance at the big house, then back at Dominic. “Do you want me to do some more searching? See what happened?”
Lucas thought he could poke his digital fingers into a U.S. Navy SEAL operation. One that took place outside of the country, and was classified as a top-secret government mission. Dominic gave a halfhearted laugh, scrubbing his hands over his face. Likely big brother probably could. But that didn’t mean he was going to.
“No. I’ll wait.”
“Want breakfast?” Lucas jerked his head toward the house.
Appetite gone, Dominic shook his head. He’d take the call in private.
“I’ll check in later,” he said, pulling his helmet back on. Even though he was on private property, if he didn’t wear it, his mother would have a tizzy. He didn’t bother with the straps, though. Just kicked his bike to life and roared off. Three minutes later, he shoved open his cabin door, threw his leather coat over the back of a chair and strode into his bedroom.
Yep. There was his cell phone. Right where he said it was. He snagged it off the dresser, checking even though he knew there would be no message, nor a return number. He debated for two seconds.
As far as the Navy was concerned, he might be on leave, but Dominic knew he was now on duty. Whatever was going down would take his skill, his talent and his absolute attention. He’d been up all night, barely slept the one before. It wasn’t a part of his SEAL training that allowed him to sleep at will and awaken instantly, but his years in the Navy had honed that talent. He knew if the phone rang, he’d be immediately alert, even from the deepest sleep.
He didn’t even glance at the neatly made bed as he headed for the kitchen.
He grabbed a box of cereal, a quart of milk and a huge bowl.
It might not be pancakes, but it beat the hell out of field rations.
He was on his second helping when his cell lit up.
It didn’t finish the first ring before he had it to his ear.
“Castillo.”
“Trouble, Auntie,” Petty Officer Brody Lane said in a low growl. His use of Dominic’s call sign instead of his name made it clear this was military business. “You at home?”
“Yeah, took leave. No point sitting around like a pansy on light duty.”
“You up to handling a problem?”
Shit.
“Name it.”
“The Candy Man grabbed Sir.”
Son of a bitch.
Lieutenant Phillip Banks. Call sign Sir.
Dominic’s gut clenched, adrenaline rushing hard. His fist hit the wall before he even realized he’d lifted his hand. He didn’t have to like the guy to be furious. Furious and, yeah, a little scared. Part of training for the mission had been studying detailed information about the Candy Man, as Pedro Alvarez Valdero had been tagged by the team. The man was a cold-blooded sociopath, his morals as low as his ambition was high. He specialized in drugs, torture and various forms of corruption.
If he’d grabbed Banks, that meant the mission had failed. The team wouldn’t leave until they got the lieutenant back. And, of course, completed the mission.
“You want me to get him out?”
Brody’s laugh was a soft gust.
“We got that covered. It ain’t gonna be fast, though. While we deal, we need someone to defuse the repercussions.”
Repercussions. Dominic stood at the window, glaring out at the soft morning sun as it bounced off the trees. The Candy Man was known for forcing cooperation by kidnapping and torturing his victims’ family members.
“I thought Sir was repercussion-free,” Dominic said quietly. Not that he was close to the guy, but he was sure someone had said the guy’s parents had died, leaving him all alone with his uptight self.
“Tap your repercussions.”
Castillo Security? If searching out Banks’s family required those kind of resources, did Dominic really need to defuse the situation? Wouldn’t the team have Banks out before it was an issue?
A heartbeat later, Dominic closed his eyes and bit back a groan.
Yeah. It was already an issue or Brody wouldn’t have dropped the order.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Top priority.”
“Who do I report to?”
The silence was only broken by static.
Then the line went dead.
Dominic knew it wasn’t a bad connection.
It was Brody’s way of telling him they’d just crossed over into black-ops territory. This particular mission wasn’t sanctioned, hadn’t been green-lighted—or probably even heard of—by the powers that be.
If he got in trouble, he was on his own.
If he needed help, he’d have to find it himself.
And if he screwed up, he’d be tidily disciplined.
The military was funny that way.
Dominic dumped his bowl into the sink, only taking a second to rinse it. He knew Rosa would be by to clean before shutting the cabin up until his return, and dirty dishes pissed her off.
He grabbed his duffel, checked his wallet for cash and pulled his jacket back on. As he straddled the Harley, he punched a button on his phone.
“Lucas, I got a job for you.”
* * *
GLEAMING JUST AS brightly as the glittering curtains and glistening stage, Lara Banks stood tall. Shoulders back, chest out and chin high. Sequins decorated the lush curves of her breasts and her shimmering skin reflected the multicolored lights.
Turquoise feathers floating around her thighs matched the ones on her headdress, a vivid contrast with the fuchsia lamé bikini bottoms and the gloves that stretched from her fingertips to the elbows she held bent at a forty-five-degree angle to hold up the feather fan at just the right angle to contrast with the rest of the girls in the line.
The music’s tempo changed, and Lara swept the fan down to her knee. The vivid purple ostrich plumes tickled her bare flesh as she swished the fan high again and hitch kicked with the rest of the chorus line. She breathed through her nose, her cheeks stretched in a smile so wide her cheeks hurt. As hard as it was to dance in high platform heels, some nights her face ached more than her arches.
She could have taken a position farther back on the stage. She’d still have had to smile, but not as big. But stage left, smack-dab in front of the audience, meant she had to show not just her teeth, but a whole lot of enthusiasm. But the first position paid more, and the enthusiasm didn’t have to be real.
Once she’d loved dancing. It’d been her life, her everything. She’d reveled in the training and embraced the discipline it took to make the body move in ways to which it wasn’t naturally inclined. She’d donned her first tutu at three, tap shoes at eight and, dammit, a showgirl’s headdress at twenty-two.
She’d given up her childhood for dance. Dating, the mall with girlfriends, even proms had all been happily sacrificed for dance. When push came to shove, she’d chosen dancing over her family. Not that they cared. It’d been eight years since she’d had contact with any of them, and she still wasn’t sure if they’d noticed she was gone.
But life, being the big ole kick in the butt that it was, had made sure that all her passion, all her sacrifices hadn’t mattered. A car accident four years ago had resulted in a bad break of her left femur and the end of her stint on Broadway. Fate and its wicked sense of humor had followed that up by sending her Mr. Perfect. And he’d been just that...perfectly charming, perfectly seductive, perfectly reasonable when he’d convinced her to drain her savings account and run away with him to his casino in Reno, where she’d choreograph his latest headlining show. Talk about a break.
It’d only taken her a week and all but her last hundred to realize he’d been full of shit. Well, that and walking into the room of the hotel he’d claimed to own and finding all of her stuff—and him—gone, and the bill waiting under the door. The only things he’d owned were a great ass, a charming smile and a BMW.
She’d learned her lesson.
Don’t trust men. There was no such thing as a big break and when a pretty girl was broke, friendless and alone in Reno, almost every choice involved taking off her clothes.
She’d chosen to take hers off on stage wearing feathers and a ten-pound headdress, with twenty other women. And since she was a showgirl who only danced the early shows and not a principal, she only had to strip down to the equivalent of a sequined bikini.
It wasn’t Broadway.
But dance wasn’t her passion anymore, so she figured that evened out.
As she strutted along the edge of the stage, her gaze skimmed the audience with disinterested eyes. She couldn’t see past the front row, and most guys who ponied up the dough for up close and personal were card-carrying members of the pervert posse.
She found her mark, front stage left, shimmying in place while the principals gracefully mounted ribbon-covered swings, arching their topless bodies backward as the swings rose to sweep out over the crowd. Catcalls rang over the applause as the women shifted upward to dance on the slender bars of the swings.
One of the perverts jumped onto the stage and tried to grab a swing, coming away with just a handful of plastic flowers. The dancers didn’t miss a step as a burly man dressed in black wove through their still-kicking legs to grab the guy and haul him off the stage.
Lara barely resisted rolling her eyes as the security man dragged the idiot away. Then a movement in the front row caught her eye.
Her gaze shifted to the left.
Oh, my. A little breathless, and not from the dance steps, her smile dimmed a little.
He was gorgeous.
Dark, intense and emitting such a gimme vibe that she was grateful that the sequins of her bra kept her nipples from showing.
He was big. Big enough to loom over the guys in the seats around him.
He was sexy. The kind of sexy that made her knees weak and her tummy shake. The kind of sexy that made her want to promise anything, just for one taste.
But she’d learned the hard way that every bite, nibble or lick cost a girl. And there was nothing she was willing to pay anymore. The good times just weren’t that good.
Dance, she told herself.
Focus on the dance.
Next to her, Christi put in enough extra shimmy that the beaded fringe of her bra swung in circles. Lara was impressed. Used to working the late show, the statuesque blonde had a gift for swinging her pasties, but the costume top was a lot heavier than a tiny flap of fabric and a few dangling glitters.
Without thinking, Lara shifted her gaze to the sexy guy in the audience to see if he was impressed, too. But despite the blinding lights, she could tell his eyes were still locked on her. It was unnerving. Flattering. And one hell of a turn-on.
Let it go, she told herself. Thankfully, the music changed, and Lara led the chorus line in a swirling series of steps, upstage, then right, then back.
She’d seen plenty of gorgeous men in her time. Dancers didn’t have to be pretty, but many of them were. Especially the guys. Of course, most of them were only interested in the other pretty guys, but that was beside the point. They were still plenty hot.
So hot wasn’t worth wasting her thoughts on.
And sexy was pure trouble.
Now on the opposite side of the room, she felt safe looking at him again.
But oh, what a yummy mouthful of trouble he’d be.
It was probably the long, dry spell without sex that had her getting all wet and wild over a guy whose face she couldn’t even see clearly. Maybe she should break open her piggy bank and hit the toy store. An adult toy might take the edge off.
And, more importantly, keep her from thinking about doing anything stupid.
She had plenty to think about already. She had goals, big goals. Goals she was this close to making a reality. And those goals required every single one of her thoughts.
So, sorry, gorgeous guy. None for you.
2 (#ulink_b7632b13-76f3-508c-bd19-8ad1027f1e3d)
“LARA!”
Half the women in the dressing room were nude, another quarter stripped to the waist, but nobody batted an eyelash at the lumpy grease spot of a guy standing in the doorway.
“What?” she answered, tightening the belt of her robe. Some of the other dancers smirked at modesty, but she didn’t care. For one, she figured her costume showed about as much of her body as she was willing to share with a bunch of people whose last names she didn’t even know. And two, Rudy had a habit of following up his impromptu visits with irritating attention. A lot of the women were cool with that, since his attention usually came with better dance roles.
But not Lara.
“You busy tonight?” he asked, leaning one bony shoulder against the door frame and staring past her at one of the blonde principals who was cleaning the rouge off her nipples.
“Why?”
“Dana called in sick,” Rudy muttered around a cheekful of tobacco. “You want her spot in the ten o’clock show?”
Lara grimaced. Her new textbooks had cost twice what she’d budgeted and rent was due in five days. The only way she was going to make it through this month was if she survived on ramen noodles and cold cereal for two weeks.
Of course, given the size of her costume, keeping the calorie count down wasn’t a bad thing. But she had class tonight. It was her last semester, which brought her within kissing distance of her goal. And nothing, not even affording fresh vegetables, got in the way of her goals.
“Thanks, but I can’t,” she said with just a hint of regret.
She’d survived on less for longer.
And, hopefully, she wouldn’t be worrying about barely making it paycheck to paycheck soon.
“Mistake,” Rudy said, his gaze cutting to her.
“What’re you doing in here?” Flo pushed past Rudy, cast a glance over the undressed state of her various dancers, then shoved the man out of the way. Once a dancer, now a stage mom, the statuesque redhead wore a beehive straight out of the fifties and blue eye shadow to match. “Get. I’ll report you to Roberto, you sneak in here one more time.”
“Didn’t sneak. Came in to offer Lara a spot at ten. She refused. Stupid.” He looked past Flo to give Lara a derisive look, then shook his head and walked out.
The door ricocheted as it slammed closed.
“He’s right.”
Lara glanced at the redhead, then shrugged. Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer, because the older woman stomped over, shooing dancers out of the room as she came. By the time she reached Lara’s locker, half the room was empty and the rest were moving fast.
“I have plans,” Lara said before Flo could poke at her.
“How long have you been here?” Flo asked, paying more attention to the costume she was inspecting for tears than to the woman she was bitching out.
“Two years.”
“And you’re not principal yet?” Flo adjusted the costume on its hanger, then pushed it aside to check the next one. “You’re good. Better than most of the girls. You’ve got the moves, the talent. Your body is solid, sexy. Your looks stand out, even on stage.”
As uncomfortable with the compliment as she was with realizing that the women left in the room were listening, Lara just shrugged and grabbed her street clothes out of her locker.
“So why aren’t you headlining?”
“Maybe because I don’t want to?” Lara said, tugging on her thong, then yanking up her jeans.
Christi gave Lara a sympathetic pat, then scurried around Flo and headed for the door.
Lara grimaced. She wasn’t oblivious to the whispers that her answer caused. Nor was she blind to the expression of relief on more than one face. Dancers might put on the we’re-all-friends facade, but it was as false as their stage lashes. And usually just as brittle. The chorus went out for drinks together; some even roomed with each other. But every single one of them knew that it was every woman for herself. If stepping over one to get up the ladder was what it took, then watch your scalp for stiletto gouges.
“That’s the third time you’ve been offered extra. Rudy won’t be giving you too many more shots.”
Dammit.
Since Rudy wasn’t likely to make another appearance so soon, Lara didn’t hesitate to drop her robe. She pulled on her bra, the flowery lace stretching over her ample Ds as she slipped the satin straps up and snapped it closed. Unlike most of the women who were dressing, she didn’t bother to check her half-dressed appearance in the mirror. She knew her boobs were full and high. At twenty-four, she had no worries about drooping. Her stomach was flat, and since she didn’t have time to shower before class, it still shimmered with body glitter. Her long legs were poured into tight denim and as she pulled a light blue sweater over her head, the soft fabric draped and flowed to her hips.
“Roberto knows I need Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays off after eight,” she finally said. “I’ve got a commitment, and he’s fine with it. Rudy’s just playing a power game.”
“Roberto might be the choreographer,” Flo agreed, referring to the man in charge of the showgirls at the Silver Dust Casino, “but everyone knows that Rudy has plenty of power. Enough to trip you up if you aren’t careful.”
Balancing on one foot while she pulled on a knee-high stiletto boot, Lara sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t need Flo’s warning to know she was tiptoeing along the edge of blowing her job.
She’d run across plenty of Rudys in her days. She’d been dancing professionally since she was seventeen. Broadway in New York or casinos in Reno, it didn’t matter. There were always power-hungry egomaniacs with hard-ons out to screw you over.
She knew it didn’t matter if you were the best, if you were the brightest or if you had the most talent. She knew promises didn’t mean a thing and that trusting anyone was an invitation to be screwed over backward.
This was the third casino she’d danced at since being dumped here in Reno three years ago. But dammit, it was going to be her last.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, zipping her other boot, then grabbing her purse and backpack out of the locker before slamming it shut.
She gave Flo a smile, rare for being real, and shrugged.
“I know what I’m doing, and I’ll be fine,” she repeated. “I don’t play by any guy’s rules. Doesn’t matter how much power he thinks he has. He can’t mess with me.”
Two minutes later, Lara had to sigh and wonder why life always sent her words back to bite her. Did she flip life the bird and tempt fate? No. Did she ignore hard-learned lessons and traipse down the same stupid path time and time again? No, no, a million times no.
But life clearly didn’t trust her.
Lara walked down the long service hall toward the employee exit. The door was usually manned by a guard or two, big burly guys posted to keep the lowlifes away and make sure nobody played grab ass with the girls when they left.
Tonight the door had been left unguarded. And she was the only dancer leaving between shows.
Rudy might not be able to punish her officially for not taking his generous offer. But like petty men everywhere, he found a way to slap at her.
Message received.
And, she determined, her chin high, ignored.
She tugged her denim jacket on over the purse she’d draped from one shoulder to the opposite hip, automatically tucked her keys between her knuckles. She shoved the heavy door open.
She didn’t make it three steps before catching the attention of the creep cadre, as she had disdainfully dubbed the men who littered the back alley of the casino. Dealers, dopers and desperate losers gathered in clumps. A dozen sets of eyes cut to her, then over her shoulder to the empty doorway. The nasty smiles made her stomach knot. But only because dealing with the creeps might make her late. At least, that’s what she told herself. She wasn’t a fan of lying, but sometimes a little fib kept a girl from turning tail and running.
For every step she made, the creeps slinked one closer. Her fingers tightened around her keys while she shifted her backpack off her shoulder so it dropped to the crook of her elbow, better for swinging.
“Yo.”
Lara ignored the call just as she ignored the disgusting suggestions and lewd propositions. Her feet wanted to run, but she knew better. Jackals loved it when their prey showed fear.
“Lara Banks?”
She kept moving, her steps a little faster now. Twenty feet to the end of the alley and the road. Crowds, tourists, cops. She was almost there. Footsteps sounded like thunder as they came closer; the catcalls and rude comments were so loud now they echoed in her head.
Her breath hitching a little, she anchored her fist around the strap of her backpack and prepared to sprint to the end of the alley.
Before she made it three feet, a hand grabbed her shoulder.
Without thinking, Lara spun, swinging her pack with all her strength.
The only reaction the guy showed was a slight huff as it slammed into his belly.
She wouldn’t get any help from the creep cadre. They were more likely to pull out their cameras and film the attack.
Fist high and ready to scrap her keys across his face, Lara froze.
It was him.
The guy from the front row.
Her stomach did a slow, twirling sort of dive, leaving fear behind and coiling into a deep, intense lust.
He was even more gorgeous up close.
And he was a creep who accosted women in an alley, she reminded herself.
Figured.
* * *
WELL, WELL. APPARENTLY little sister Lara had gotten all the looks in the Banks family, Dominic decided. And all the style. She had the same mahogany hair and green eyes as her brother, but the resemblance stopped there.
Her hair was short, a wicked angle that highlighted sharp cheekbones and exotically long-lidded eyes. And her mouth...oh, baby. Her lips were full and rosy, erotic enough to put a porn star to shame. Of course, that impression might be the result of watching her strutting her incredibly sexy body onstage for an hour.
He dropped his gaze to take in that body up close. It was definitely one worth getting personal with. She was tall, in her heels just a few inches shorter than he was, with most of her height in those long, sleek legs. The kind of legs made to wrap around a man and take him for a wild ride. Her jacket obscured but didn’t hide the lush curves of her breasts. His fingers itched to move that denim aside and get a better look.
He resisted.
Not because she was glaring at him. Nor because of any stupid rules about her being off-limits because she was Banks’s sister.
Nope.
He yanked his lust back, holding it in check.
She was his mission.
“Hi,” he said, his smile pure charm. He didn’t figure it’d take more than that. It rarely did. “You’re Lara, right?”
“Excuse me,” she said, moving her hand from side to side as if flicking him out of her path. “I’m in a hurry.”
He’d been able to resist her looks, stunning though they were.
But that voice. Hello, darlin’, that voice was pure sexual invitation. Low and husky, it was meant for dark rooms and silk sheets.
“You’ve got a second, though, right?”
She gave him a look, a combination of irritation and inquiry, as if she couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t listening.
He could have told her he was listening just fine. But her order and his wishes were in direct conflict, and Dominic made a habit out of getting his way. Especially when it came to beautiful women.
With that in mind, he amped up the charm a little and tilted his head.
“Look, I just want to talk to you.”
“Right,” Lara mocked with a roll of her eyes. “Talk. Sorry, big boy. I’m busy. Why don’t you grab one of the girls on the corner? They’re never too busy to chat.”
He snorted. Damned if her smart-ass mouth wasn’t just as sexy as her legs.
“We can keep it public. There’s a diner across the street. We’ll talk there.”
“I’m not into talking, even in public,” she said as she tried again to pull her arm from his grip. He didn’t let go.
“Sweetheart, you just bared your all to a theater full of drooling guys. You obviously have no problem with public displays.” A fact for which he was very grateful. He might not be planning to enjoy what she had to offer, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to appreciate its existence. Covered in shiny fabric or simple denim, the woman had a body of a goddess.
“My all was fully covered,” she reminded him with frown.
“Not fully enough to diminish the fabulous view,” he corrected, his smile automatically shifting to flirtatious before he could stop it. Not that he’d have tried. After all, a goddess had to expect a little worship with a body like hers.
“I’m betting at some point, your mama probably taught you that look doesn’t mean touch.” She shot a pointed glance at his hand, still holding her arm. “You wouldn’t want her disappointed, now would you?”
Dominic grinned. She was as clever as she was pretty.
Still, he didn’t let go. Clever and pretty wouldn’t keep her safe. He, on the other hand, would.
He just had to convince her of that.
After giving him an arch look, she tossed a glance over his shoulder. He knew there were a bunch of losers leaning against the back of the casino, all in various states of uselessness.
“Look, I’ve gotta go,” she said, twisting the arm he held to the side so she could check her watch. “You have something to say, do it now. In thirty seconds I’ll call the goons back. They might not be able to take you, but you’ll have to let go of me to deal and then I’m gone.”
“I need to talk to you about your brother,” he said, trying not to sound amused. He knew from experience that women didn’t like it when he wasn’t intimidated by their threats.
Maybe she sensed that he was trying not to laugh, because she stiffened, her spine rigid and her chin lifting. She swallowed once, then glared and shook her head.
“Sorry, buddy. I don’t have a brother.”
“Phillip Banks. Lieutenant Phillip Banks. Navy SEAL.”
She tilted her head, giving him a long look, then shrugged.
“Like I said, I don’t have a brother.”
Dominic rocked back on his heels.
It’d taken Lucas all of five minutes to pull Banks’s family info. Parents deceased two years ago, sister estranged and living in Reno working as a showgirl. The house and ample family coffers willed to the eldest and only son, and all sitting in wait back in Maryland. From the info Lucas had pulled up, which had included Banks’s sister’s driver’s license, home address and last known work address, the woman in front of him was none other.
“Look, sweetheart, I can’t blame you for denying it. If I had Phillip Banks for a brother, I’d probably lie, too. But facts are facts, no matter how much we might not like them.”
“I said I don’t have a brother.” With a stubborn look she tried to yank her arm away, then growled when his grip didn’t budge.
“And I said you do. Why don’t we go somewhere, get a cup of coffee and make a list of all the reasons Phillip Banks pisses us off?” Dominic saw the humor flash in her eyes for one second before her scowl buried it. He lowered his voice to a flirtatious whisper. “C’mon. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. It’s a long one.”
* * *
LARA HAD TO press her lips together to keep the grin at bay.
Long one, indeed.
No matter how long he thought his...list might be, she wasn’t interested. Besides, when it came to reasons to be pissed, no matter how impressively big he thought his was—and she was pretty sure it was damned impressive—her list was way longer.
And any guy who could flirt with a woman while insulting her apparent relative definitely appealed to her. She had a thing for cocky guys.
But that thing tended to get her in trouble. So she’d learned the hard way that it was better—that she was better—if she straight up ignored it. Or, in unignorable cases such as the gorgeous guy standing in front of her, if she got the hell away as fast as possible.
With that in mind, she shifted her weight back on her heels, wrapped her fingers tighter around her backpack and prepared to swing again if he didn’t let go.
Before she could, before she could even issue her warning, one of the creep cadre sauntered over.
“You okay?”
The temptation to say no, to ask for help, lasted about a second and a half. Lara flicked a glance at the gorgeous mountain of a guy holding her arm, then jerked her head at the four guys, indicating they should split. Even if they did manage to take him, the price they’d want for helping her was more than she was willing to shell out.
Nope, she’d take her chances with the gorgeous mountain.
She could handle him.
Forcing herself to ignore the mental images of the various parts of him she’d really like to handle, she cocked her head to one side, giving the hand on her arm a flick of her fingers.
“You’ve got an interesting pickup line, big guy. What do you call this? The Neanderthal approach? Grab a woman in an alley, grunt a few times about fake relatives and show off your studly moves for the local cockroaches?” She hoped her smile was snarky and not shaky, but her nerves were wound too tight to tell.
If she’d hoped to offend him into letting go, she straight up failed.
Instead, he shifted. His thigh grazed hers and while his fingers didn’t actually move, she felt as if he’d just caressed her arm. His dark eyes turned molten, and his lips quirked into a sexy little smile. Heat swirled through Lara’s system like a whirlwind, filling her body with longings and her mind with crazy thoughts.
“Tell you what, sweetheart. Why don’t we get out of this alley and I’ll work up a line you’ll like much better.” His words were silky smooth. So slick and easy that she doubted he’d ever had a single unsure moment in his life.
Now her nerves were racing for a whole different reason.
Eyes wide, Lara wet her lips.
His eyes dropped, amusement fading.
Lara’s stomach clenched.
Not out of fear.
This was pure, liquid desire.
She’d rather be afraid.
But she also wanted out of the alley. She knew all eyes were still on them, that the creep cadre was only waiting for a chance to unleash their ugly.
“Why don’t we go out front,” she suggested after clearing her throat a couple of times. Out front were real people. Tourists and cops and traffic. She figured it’d take her three, maybe five minutes to ditch him there.
“Let’s go,” he agreed.
As if he knew she was going to bolt, he kept hold of her arm as they made their way to the end of the building. As soon as they rounded the corner, Lara relaxed. Like a lullaby, the sounds of traffic, people and music soothed. She glanced at the mountain out of the corner of her eye, then wished she hadn’t.
He shouldn’t look as intimidating out here.
But he was.
The dim alley lighting had hid his scariest feature.
Lara cringed, averting her eyes in hopes that the stained, dirty sidewalk would wipe the image away.
He had dimples.
Damn him.
Dimples on a guy—those were fatal.
“Coffee?” Dimpled and Gorgeous asked.
“What?” Lara looked up and almost sighed. She didn’t have time for a guy like him.
It’d take hours, maybe days, even, to explore that body. Weeks just to get through her own fantasies about sex with a gorgeous, dimpled guy. God knew how long it’d take if he had fantasies of his own.
Nope. She glanced at her watch. She was already late.
She risked another look at him, noting the stubborn set of his chin and the determined light in those dark blue eyes. Blue, she thought as her nipples tightened. Blue eyes and dimples. The man was toxic.
Her mental debate took all of two seconds. She wasn’t going to convince him to let her go and she couldn’t match his strength. There was only one option left.
Seduce him stupid.
Depending on the street crowd and traffic to keep her from going overboard, Lara shifted. Just an inch to one side, but the move pushed her breast against his arm, her foot brushing his so their thighs touched.
She softened her stance, offering a soft smile, then gauged his reaction through her lashes.
His eyes flared hot, his gaze narrowing. He didn’t take her silent offer, though. Since he clearly wasn’t stupid, she figured he was either a gentleman—ha—or he was waiting to see how far she’d push it.
Far enough, she decided.
“Are you sure you don’t want to meet somewhere more, um, private?” she murmured, wetting her lips and shifting so her hip bumped his at the same time. A zing of desire shot through her from hip to core—a hot, needy surprise. She let it show in her eyes, even more turned on at his instant reaction. His smile deepened and his body curved as if to welcome hers.
A guy who caught on that quick, reacted that well? What would he be like in bed? Could he read her needs as fast? Would he meet them? Lara loved the idea of fast, wild sex. So hot and intense that her brain couldn’t have time to engage.
For a second, she forgot the reason behind her flirting. In that one moment, she was totally ready to blow off classes, quit her job, move across the country. All he’d have to do was get naked and worship her body.
“Why wait?” he asked, his voice seductively low.
Why, indeed.
Someone bumped Lara, shoving her backpack into her waist, the edges of the books jabbing her like a knife. She blinked, then frowned. Why? Because she had a life, dammit, and wasn’t about to have it messed up because some guy was sexy enough to fog her brain.
Keeping that firmly in mind this time, she locked her eyes on his and leaned forward. He was so tall she had to shift onto her toes, touching the tips of her fingers to his chest for balance. And yes, because she really wanted to touch that chest. She had to work to not let herself be distracted by the hard muscles. Instead, she came within a hot breath of his lips, then gave him a sexy smile and a flutter of her lashes.
Someone jostled her again, and music pounded around them as the dancers from Circus Circus hit the sidewalk. Music and acrobatics followed as they gathered a crowd. Lara didn’t have to check the time to know it was 8:05 and that she was late for class.
“We don’t have to wait,” she assured him, tapping her finger against that deliciously hard chest. It was all she could do not to follow it up with a pet of her palm. Since she figured good girls who resisted incredible temptations deserved a little something, she let herself lean forward that last inch and brush her lips over his.
Uh-oh.
He was so yummy.
Soft, warm lips that tasted so good.
His mouth shifted as if he were about to take control. Lara figured she wouldn’t get a better shot.
Taking advantage of his distraction, she gave a swift tug and pulled her arm free. Whooping and hollering, the crowd of dancers reached them, providing Lara just enough cover to run. She sprinted into traffic, not looking over her shoulder until she hit the opposite side of the busy four-lane street.
Damn. He’d untangled himself from the feather boa and was already in the second lane. Biting her lip, Lara looked left, then right. Spotting a cab at the corner, she used her long legs to their best advantage. Ten seconds later, she threw herself in the backseat, panting to the driver to hurry.
Angling to her knees, Lara twisted to look out the rear window. The mountain was only two car lengths away.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she chanted.
The taxi driver must’ve looked in his mirror, because suddenly he laid on his horn, then, muttering, hit the gas, drove up on the sidewalk and around the lookie-loos still stopped at the light.
As the car squealed around the corner, Lara relaxed enough to wave, a little finger wiggle, at the mountain.
The guy wasn’t even winded.
Nor, she noticed as she wrinkled her nose, did he look upset.
Instead, he only grinned and waved back.
“Lover’s quarrel?” the driver asked.
“Something like that,” Lara said, settling into the seat and giving him an address.
Nerves screaming with relief, she tried to shake off the adrenaline and settle her mind.
It wasn’t fear that was dogging her, though.
She laid her head back on the cracked seat, closed her eyes and took stock of her body.
Nope.
That wasn’t fear tightening her nipples or making her thighs tremble.
That was desire. Pure, lusty need.
Figured.
The first guy to turn her on in three years showed up now, when her entire focus was on—had to stay on—finishing her computer training and getting the plum internship the school offered. Which meant no distractions, no men, no sex. She’d made a vow—this time nothing was going to get in the way of her success.
It wasn’t that vow that put him firmly off-limits, though.
Nope. Sadly, she’d ditch her vow in a heartbeat for a sexy guy. That’s how she’d lost a plum role and effectively destroyed her career when she was dancing on Broadway. She’d called in sick one weekend to run off for a romantic trip. Snowy sleigh rides in the country, a quaint bed-and-breakfast with candlelight dinners and sex. Incredible, hot, wild sex. When she’d broken her leg, her boyfriend had left her in an E.R. two hundred miles from home and she’d been fired.
A year later, she’d given up a boring but lucrative teaching job at the dance institute to follow Mr. Perfect to Reno. A smart girl learned, after enough failures, to keep her vow and focus on the career.
Still, it wasn’t the vow that had her sagging in relief over the near miss.
What put the sexy hunk with the gorgeous dimples off-limits was one simple fact: he knew her brother.
And anyone who knew any member of her family wasn’t anyone she wanted to know. Even if he did have the good taste to admit that he’d deny a relationship with Phillip, too. That was guy talk, his way of trying to charm her.
“We’re here.”
Mulling and just a few breaths away from pouting, Lara grabbed her bag, glanced at the meter, then handed the driver the last of her cash and slid from the cab.
Phillip was a SEAL?
Lara blinked, trying to take that in. She’d known he was in the Navy. He’d been at Annapolis when she’d run away. No noncom status would suit a Banks, by God, nor would the heir apparent dare skip college. Two birds, one stone, that was Phillip.
A lot of people had been surprised that he’d joined the Navy. Phillip wasn’t exactly the fighting type, the let’s-serve-our-country type or the gung-ho-sailor type. But Lara had known better. Their grandfather, great-grandfather and a fistful more greats over the years had been naval officers for various countries, and he’d always been fascinated by the stories.
So the Navy didn’t surprise her at all.
But the SEALs? That was a straight-up shock.
She tried to imagine her brother doing heroic deeds, part of an elite team in the special forces. But the picture just wouldn’t jell in her mind.
Then she shook her head.
What did it matter? She hadn’t seen her brother in eight years. And even then, they’d been strangers.
One thing she did know, though, was that then or now, Phillip wanted nothing to do with her. So whatever his buddy was up to, her brother hadn’t instigated it.
The only thing worse than gorgeous, sexy guys wanting to lead her into temptation were gorgeous, sexy guys with their own secret agenda.
Lara settled into her classroom chair, ignoring the flirtatious wink from the guy at the station next to her and the glare from the woman on the other side. She smoothed a loving hand over the computer in front of her before sighing.
Nope.
She didn’t need men, no matter how gorgeous.
3 (#ulink_e3121d97-65c4-5056-a21e-af43b4cbf0d0)
THREE HOURS LATER, Lara stepped off the bus, shifting her bag into the crook of one arm while she dug out her keys. She didn’t angle them like a weapon. Her neighborhood was run-down and on the cheap side, but it wasn’t sleazy like the alley behind the casino.
It was the best she could afford. A far cry from what she’d grown up with, but a major step up from where she’d lived three years ago when she’d landed in Reno.
That didn’t mean she was satisfied.
Soon she’d be making good money, she promised herself as she crossed the street. She might not be able to swing the snooty gated community of her childhood, but she’d own a home. Not here in Reno. She wanted a place in the country, where she could look for miles and not see another person.
Someday.
Someday soon.
Except that damned cab ride had cost her three days’ meals.
She gritted her teeth. Leave it to Phillip to cost her more than she could afford.
She’d stopped blaming the sexy hunk about an hour after she’d escaped.
Sitting under the bright fluorescent lights of the classroom, she’d decided that tall, built and gorgeous was only the messenger. Between taking notes and coding HTML, she’d changed her mind about Phillip sending his friend. Maybe big brother had finally decided to clue her in about their parents’ death. Not one to get his lily-white hands dirty, he’d probably asked his friend to pass on a message. Guys being guys, the dimpled hunk had probably agreed out of loyalty.
Phillip. Prince Perfect, as she’d called him growing up. She’d never have figured her uptight, upright brother to inspire that kind of devotion, but who knew. It’d been a lot of years since she’d seen him. Maybe he’d developed warmth, or oh, inspired miracle, even a little compassion in the last decade.
Or the gorgeous messenger was simply a card-carrying member of the penis brigade, loyal to any and all who sported the same equipment.
Men were funny that way.
Lara knew the only person worthy of her loyalty was herself. It hadn’t taken long to figure that out—all she’d needed was for every single other person in her life to let her down before she’d clued in.
Climbing the steps to her building, she felt the weight of the day pressing on her shoulders. She’d danced the matinee and the early show, escaped a gorgeous mountain, then attended both class and lab.
She still had about twelve hours of homework before Monday night and eight shows to dance over the weekend. If she nailed this assignment, she’d have the top grade in the class. This cyberinspection program was the last of her course load and the school offered internships to the best graduating students with three top-flight security firms.
Six more weeks and she’d be working for one of those three. With a happy sigh, she rounded the hallway to her corridor. A year’s internship while she still danced on the side and she’d be ready to go out on her own.
Lara Lee, Cyber Detective.
She grinned, then blinked. Frowning, she noted the hall lighting was out. Weird. The super was a lech, but he was a conscientious one.
No biggie. She was the second door, so seeing her keyhole wasn’t a problem.
She’d just gotten her key in the lock when she felt him.
It wasn’t his body heat that tipped her off.
Nope, it was the lust swirling through her system, making her knees weak and her nipples ache.
Taking a deep breath, this time she did shift her keys between her knuckles as she turned around.
“Do you always lurk in the shadows?” she asked.
“Hall light is out. Shadows are all you’ve got here.”
“What do you want?”
“I already told you. I need to talk to you about your brother.”
“And I already told you. I don’t have a brother.”
Not anymore.
“Lieutenant Phillip Banks. Of the Maryland Banks’s. Parents were Randall and Ellen. Dad owned an investment firm and dabbled in politics. Ring any bells?” His words were easy, the look in his eyes as mellow as the half smile on his full lips. “Brother went to Annapolis right out of school. Top honors, joined the Navy as an ensign.”
Her eyes narrowed, noting the slight change in his tone. His expression didn’t change, but he didn’t sound as though he admired those accomplishments too much.
“My last name is Lee.” All her legal documents said so. It’d cost her a quarter of the small trust her grandmother had left her to make sure of it when she’d run away. Then, before she could stop herself, she asked, “Why are you running errands for this guy, anyway?”
His dark eyes flashed for a second before he gave a lazy shrug.
“Sweetheart, do I look like anyone’s errand boy?” he asked, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He still blocked her exit. He was that big. But at least he wasn’t looming anymore.
She couldn’t resist.
She let her eyes wander down the long, gloriously hard length of his body. Broad shoulders and a drool-worthy chest tapered to flat abs, narrow hips and strong thighs. His boots were black, worn and very, very big.
She wet her lips and met his eyes again.
He didn’t look mellow now.
He looked hot.
As if he’d like to strip her down and play show-and-tell.
Tempting, since she’d bet that’d be worth seeing.
“Sorry,” she said truthfully. “I’m not the woman you’re looking for.”
* * *
DAMN.
Not for the first time in his life, or even the first time today, Dominic cursed Banks. The guy was a major pain in the ass. Even while captured by a psychopathic drug lord, he was still causing trouble.
Didn’t it figure that long, lean and sexy was gonna be just as bad.
He wanted to grab her, haul her off to the nearest horizontal surface and show her exactly what he was looking for.
Which meant they’d both be naked, there’d be a bottle of warm body oil and a bowl of whipped cream nearby, and he’d be showing her with his mouth.
Insane.
He was on a mission. It might not be recognized by the brass, but it’d been handed down by his superior officer. So to Castillo, it was a duty.
She was his duty.
He’d never lusted after a mission before.
Not in the rock-hard-dick, blood-pounding-desire kind of way.
He didn’t like it.
He wished he could say the same about the woman in front of him.
Her chestnut hair swept over strong cheekbones like a heavy curtain, ending at the sharp angle of her chin. She was tall, at least six foot in those heels, and all leg. All long, delicious leg encased in tight denim.
Tall meant he could gaze straight into her eyes. She’d looked like a sexy goddess on stage, her eyes heavily made up, false eyelashes glittering with rhinestones and her lips a candy-apple red.
But here, now, she looked even sexier.
He knew women. Oh, boy, did he know women.
So he knew that the only thing she had on her face might be a layer of moisturizer. No matter, she was great without it. Her skin glistened with just a hint of gold, her full lips were rosy and her huge green eyes were fringed with thick dark lashes.
“So if you’re nobody’s errand boy, what are you doing here, bugging me with some message I don’t want to hear?” Those sloe eyes bland, she gave him a long look up, then down, as if she were assessing the goods. Since her expression didn’t change, it was hard to tell if she liked the view or not.
Dominic didn’t know why that fascinated him so much. It wasn’t as if he expected to appeal to all women, but for the most part, they pretty much fell at his feet. Most offering any variety of promises—everything from sex to bearing his children to general worship. So this cloaked indifference was an interesting change.
Intriguing.
“I serve with Banks,” he told her, figuring that said it all.
“Serve? Like, what? Drinks?” she asked, leaning against the wall and batting her eyelashes.
First an errand boy and now a waiter? She was either lousy at reading people, or she was hot on giving him a bad time.
His research said that their grandfather had been a Navy commander, that she’d grown up in Annapolis’s backyard and that her brother had been well on his way to graduating the Naval Academy with honors when she’d run away. So he figured she was all about the bad time.
“Look...” She paused, arching one slender brow in question.
“Castillo,” he filled in.
“Look, Castillo. I don’t know what you want with this Banks guy, or what info you think you can get from me about him.” As if sensing that he’d been about to interrupt, she held up her palm and shook her head. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
“I’m not here to get info, sweetheart. I’m here to protect you.”
Damn. Dominic grimaced. What was with his mouth? He shouldn’t have said that. He was just here to keep an eye out, not to scare the poor woman. Then he thought of the message he’d gotten while waiting outside her building.

Bad Ass says bad juju. Ugly on the move.

It didn’t take much to decode that Brody was warning that things were going bad in Guatemala, they hadn’t gotten Banks out and Valdero’s men were likely to grab Banks’s sister as leverage.
So maybe she should be a little scared. If that made her cautious, it was worth the info breach.
For one second, he thought he’d gotten through—her brow creased, her eyes clouded and her lips pursed.
Then she laughed in his face.
“Protect me? From what? Big burly guys accosting me in the dark hall of my apartment building? News flash, Castillo, you’re the only trouble I’ve got in my life right now.”
Her words were light, her tone amused. But Dominic knew how to read beneath the surface. He could tell that she’d had plenty of trouble before him and had probably handled it just fine.
Still, handling a drunk or a jerk of a boyfriend was aeons away from facing down drug-running goons who specialized in body decoration via knives and fishhooks.
Before he could tell her that in some form or another, he heard a noise in the hall.
Lightning fast, he grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the floor. At her quick inhalation, he slipped his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. He scanned the area. Four closed doors on the right, three on the left and a janitor’s closet at the end. He strode toward it, the kicking, squirming bundle in his arms not slowing him down at all. He regularly carried a backpack that weighed almost as much as she did. Although, granted, it didn’t try to bite him.
He reached the closet, glad it was unlocked. Jimmying the lock would have required taking at least one hand off the woman. Instead, he shoved her into the small, cramped, dark space and pulled the door closed, but not all the way. He peered through the crack, watching as two thugs rounded the corner.
Damn, talk about timing. Not for the first time in his life, Dominic gave thanks for whatever guardian angel was watching out for him.
He glanced down at the thrashing handful of woman trying to bite his fingers. Her breasts pressed tight against his chest, a minor turn-on even through both of their jackets. Damn, she was the perfect height. Pulled close to his body, her face was level with his, so he had a good view of the fury coating it. Her eyes spit fire and promised a nasty enough retribution that he tightened his hold on the wrists he’d snugged into the small of her back.
Power down, he warned his glands. Hot and horny was fine in the proper place and time. A closet with gun-toting goons outside looking for torture targets was neither.
As much to keep them safe as to get her out of temptation distance from his lips, Dominic leaned down to press his mouth against her ear.
“I’ll take my hand off your mouth if you promise to stay quiet,” he warned in a whisper. “Fair warning, you break the promise and someone is gonna end up hurt bad. Before you decide, take a look through that crack and check out your door.”
Her glare didn’t dim, but she did stop thrashing and trying to bite him. Suspicion joining the fury in her eyes, she stared for another second before shifting her gaze to the crack of dim light floating between the wall and the edge of the door.
He felt it the moment she saw them. She sucked in a breath, whether to scream or cuss didn’t matter. He pulled her back against his front, her ass snuggled up against his zipper and his cheek against hers. The move had a double payoff—she immediately stilled, and his dick was damned happy with the arrangement.
“Quiet,” he whispered as she growled against his fingers when the goons finished busting the lock on her door with a swift boot to the hinge. It flew open with a crack. They didn’t care about quiet. Guys like that were used to doing and taking as they saw fit.
One of the pair went inside while the other stood in the doorway, one hand inside his jacket. Since it was obvious he was gripping his weapon, Dominic figured Lara had clued in enough to the danger that he could slide his hand off her mouth. He didn’t pull it away completely, though.
Just in case.
But she didn’t scream. She didn’t even cuss. She just gave a low hiss, sounding like an infuriated snake ready to strike.
“That’d be what I’m here to protect you from,” he said, his voice so low it was as if he breathed the words.
Still cheek to cheek, she barely had to turn her head to look at him. Snapping with indignant fury, her eyes shifted from him to the door, as if asking what the hell he was going to do to protect her apartment.
“They’re armed, I’m not,” he whispered. “My job is to keep you out of their hands, not to take them down.”
“Pretty sure if you do the latter, the former is moot,” she whispered back.
“No engagement.” Unless absolutely necessary. He’d keep that to himself, since he was sure her idea of necessary and his weren’t quite the same.
Slowly, he’d like to think reluctantly, she pulled away. His body instantly went cold and a little lonely without her.
Damn.
He gave in to the torment for a second, closing his eyes, leaning his forehead against the edge of the door and giving a deep sigh.
“We should call the police.”
Her whisper pulled his attention back to the task at hand. He opened his eyes, peering through the crack at her apartment, with its door swinging drunkenly, only hinged on the bottom.
“Bet one of your neighbors already did,” he said. “The goons know it—they’ll be gone before the sirens get here.”
“What...” Her words trailed off in a volley of cursing echoed out of her apartment. She puffed out a nervous breath, then finished, “Are they looking for?”
Before Dominic had to decide how he wanted to answer that, the men reappeared in her door. After a quick consultation, they headed out. Neither bothered to look around, clearly not giving a damn about caution.
Dominic, on the other hand, was careful to give them a solid sixty seconds to clear the hall before he eased the door open. Gesturing for Lara to wait, he paused only long enough to make sure she obeyed before leaving the closet. He didn’t bother with stealth as he strode down the hall. Valdero’s men weren’t looking for him.
It only took a glance to be sure they were gone, but he still checked the stairs and landing, as well as the other hallways, always keeping the closet in sight.
A minute later, sure they’d left the building, he returned to Lara’s apartment. What a mess. He shook his head before gesturing for her to join him.
Lara stopped in her doorway, shock chased off her face by fury. Neither disguised the grief, though.

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