by Tawny Weber
He snorted. “Not stepping anywhere near that one, Lieutenant.”
This whole thing seemed to be blowing up in her face. She’d intended to catch him off guard, somewhere they could both feel free to talk. Well, she was more uncomfortable around him here than she’d been in his office. But in his office, in uniform, communication was a one-way street.
Refusing to get sidetracked, she started over. “Can we sit and talk?”
“You had your chance yesterday.”
“I just thought—”
“Monday morning.” He crossed his arms. “Right now I’m playing pool. And you’re leaving.”
“Really?” The man was in denial. The study would happen. And the sooner he accepted that, the sooner she could get started. “Is that an order, Marc?”
They both knew damn well he couldn’t order her to leave.
“Consider it a suggestion.”
Tabby pulled a couple of bills from her jacket pocket and tossed them to the green felt top. “I owe you.”
He raised a brow.
“You bought my beer.”
“I don’t want your money.”
She could have asked him what he did want. But he would have just said he wanted her to leave. She tilted her head toward the triangle of waiting balls. “Play you for it?”
Marc shook his head. She didn’t give up, and he was about to give in.
If only to prove a point. “Winner buys. Loser takes the cash and leaves.”
“Win or lose, I’m not going anywhere. So here’s the deal. You win and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night. I win and you give me ten minutes of your undivided attention.”
“A smart man might take you up on that offer.”
“You’re on.”
“I never said I was smart.” He picked up his discarded cue stick and handed her another. “Stay if you want. No shop talk,” he said before letting go.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She opened her eyes wide with feigned innocence.
“Yeah, right.” That innocent act didn’t cut it with him and neither did the femme fatale. She could hang around all night, use every feminine wile she possessed, and still wouldn’t change his mind. He would not endorse a study on how to incorporate women into his world.
But why not enjoy the company?
Setting aside her beer and stick, she shrugged off her pack and jacket, stashing them under the table.
Without the oversize bomber jacket, her curves were even more pronounced. He recalled the feel of her skin as he took in those toned arms. There was some definition there. But sleek and smooth. Not the tough hide of a seasoned SEAL. It’d be easy to let himself get wrapped up in all that softness.
He should have run when he had the chance.
“Ladies first.” He gestured toward the table. “Your break.”
“I guess that means you think you’re pretty good.” She moved to the top of the table.
“That’s exactly what it means.”
“Then you’d better show me.” She made a playful poke at his gut with the butt end of her stick.
He contracted his stomach muscles with a grunt.
“Who are you kidding?” she said without the least bit of sympathy. “That six-pack’s no beer belly.”
Snorting at the offhand compliment, he leaned back against the jukebox with his beer to enjoy the view.
Tabby stole a glance over her shoulder, struck once again by the contrast between the on duty and off duty officer. She forced herself to concentrate on the game, sinking two solid balls on the break and pocketing a third before losing her turn. “I’m better than you thought I’d be.” She stepped back to switch places.
“No.” He held her gaze. “I knew you’d be good.”
“Careful. That sounds like a compliment.” Or like he was flirting with her. No harm in that as long as neither of them got carried away.
She tucked herself into the corner. From there she admired his fluid movements as he circled the table, calculating each shot with precision. When he grinned across the length of the pool table, she wondered how she’d ever missed the laugh lines. They were clearly visible in the light from the ceiling lamp.
Throughout the game, she managed to stay one shot ahead. But she didn’t know if it was luck, or skill, or even some maneuvering on his part. She chose to believe they were well matched.
But she was so focused on their game the conversation never stretched beyond flirty banter.
Tabby missed her shot and the chance to end it. “Don’t look so smug,” she scolded. “You haven’t won yet.” Yet being relative because he sank his last ball easily.
“Looks like I bought that round after all. And you’re leaving.”
“I only agreed to leave you alone.” Without the slightest hesitation, Tabby pocketed the cash. “And you only won because I know which battles are worth fighting.”
“You didn’t let me win.”
She lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug and laid her cue stick across the table. “No,” she agreed with an impish grin implying she did.
“You’re playing with my pride. You know that, don’t you?”
Leaning against the cushioned bumper, she refused to acknowledge his dilemma. “I’ll never tell.” She sent the cue ball spinning across the felt top before looking up again. Her eyes met and held his. A man like Miller was all pride. That was the problem.
“I wouldn’t get in the way of training. You won’t even notice I was there.”
He skimmed her from breasts to boots, then back up to her face. “Oh, I’d notice.”
If the blush had ever left her cheeks this evening, it was back now in Technicolor. She should’ve been insulted. Instead, her gaze followed a similar pattern over his body. From broad shoulders to low- heeled, low-cut boots, and back up to those morning glory eyes. “I guess I’m just not as observant.”
“Ouch.” He winced.
“I’m back,” Brad announced. “But I can go away again,” he added, looking first at Miller, then her.
“No,” Miller answered. “Our game’s over.”
The hidden meaning wasn’t lost on her.
He reached under the table for her things. Grudgingly, she accepted them. She hadn’t accomplished what she set out to do. But she wasn’t ready to give up yet either. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into a dance?”
“No,” he said coolly.
It was her turn to wince. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“About?” His tone held a note of caution.
“Why I really came looking for you tonight?”
“I think it’s going to start with ‘pretty please’ and end in a tantrum. And the result is still going to be the same. On Monday, you’re headed back to D.C.”
The man was too stubborn for his own good. “We’ll see who winds up throwing a tantrum.” Turning on her boot heels, she marched off.
Tabby ignored a slew of invitations as she settled in at the closest unoccupied table. Far enough to ignore the man, near enough to irritate him.
She’d hang around the noisy SEAL bar and fend off their advances all night if she had to. The word ‘surrender’ was not in her vocabulary. Not back in the fifth grade when the school bully showed no mercy in blackening both her eyes. And not now when an even bigger bully wanted her off his playground.
Tabby felt some small sense of satisfaction when Brad won the next two games. She nursed her beer and watched them play pool for the better part of an hour. With a growing sense of restlessness she decided to look for Master Chief Thomas by way of the jukebox.
Which took her right past Miller. Not that she wanted his attention. She just wanted him to know he didn’t have hers. Feeding the coin slot, she pressed the numbers for half a dozen selections, and her first choice kicked in.
Marc noticed the change in tempo from hard rock to a slower, more seductive song. All night he’d stared down any man bold enough to rise to his feet, or even look in Tabitha Chapel’s di
rection. Just standing there, she practically issued the whole damn bar an invitation.
He watched Hugh strut toward her.
“Game over,” Marc said, throwing his cue stick to the felt top even though he was up by four balls. The only use he could think of for the pool table right now involved laying Tabitha back on it and would get him fifteen to twenty in Leavenworth.
Like sire, like son.
That thought brought him up short.
“Dance?” Hugh slurred the single word.
Marc stepped up behind her. “The Lieutenant’s dance card is full.”
She turned to look at him, but he didn’t break eye contact with Hugh.
Her orders made her his responsibility. At least that’s how he saw it. He didn’t even want to explore any other motives.
“That a fact?” Hugh’s slur disappeared.
“It is now.” Rank and reputation made further words unnecessary.
“Excuse me!” She interrupted as he continued his stare down with Hugh.
“My mistake,” Hugh conceded. “Another time, Lieutenant.” Leighton offered a curt nod before he swaggered off.
Marc got the full glare then. “I love to dance—”
He latched on to her elbow. “So do I.”
She snatched her arm back and hissed under her breath, “That was not an invitation. And we’re not together.”
It was his turn to cock a brow. “I thought we were. Isn’t that what you told Manny?”
“How—”
“I read lips,” he lied. He knew Manny.
She worried her lower lip with even white teeth, and another way of reading lips came to mind. “For the record I said no such thing. He just assumed…”
“You can’t blame me if I take exception to your dancing with other men when you have them all believing you’re with me.” He leaned in to whisper his next words. “It’s a guy thing.”
It suited Tabby’s purpose to let him believe he was leading her to the dance floor and not the other way around.
A guy thing? It was a girl thing now. “I have some say in this.”
“Indulge me,” he coaxed. “Not an hour ago you were asking me to dance. I’m offering you ten minutes of my undivided attention. Here’s your chance to whisper sweet nothings in my ear about how women have a chance in hell of making it through BUD/S and on to become Navy SEALs.”
“A chance in hell? Tell me how you really feel why don’t you?”
“That’s the one thing I can’t do.”
He didn’t say another word, but simply held out his hand.
Her throat constricted. Her resolve to make him grovel crumbled with one look in his eyes. How had she completely lost control of the situation?
As the next slow song started, she slipped her hand in his. He drew her into his arms. Strong arms. Secure arms.
With barely a whisper between them, he led her to the rhythm. It wasn’t every day she got to dance with a man tall enough for her to rest her head on his shoulder. She was tentative at first, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way her cheek brushed his collar.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. The sea, the air, the land, all clung to him, forming his own unique scent. Okay, so it could be deodorant by Mennen and soap by Zest. But he wore it well. His stubble-rough chin touched her forehead and she melted into his arms with the abrasive heat.
What was going on here? She’d come here to talk. She shouldn’t be dancing with the man determined to send her packing. No, no, no, this was all wrong.
Another song started. Country singer Deana Carter belted out the words to Strawberry Wine. His shoulder tensed beneath her resting hand. Tabby kneaded the corded muscle lightly with her fingertips. She stole a furtive glance upward.
The dim lighting softened his handsome features. Getting to know him did serve a purpose. She could discover his strengths and his weaknesses. Just so long as she didn’t cross the line from professional to personal.
Not with him—not while he was her Commanding Officer.
But she could flirt awfully close to the edge.
“Marc...”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing,” she said, capitulating.
“I apologize if I do. And I apologize if I don’t,” he murmured.
She cocked her head, curious about his comment.
He answered by pulling her closer. Their entwined fingers rested against his shoulder while his other hand settled at the small of her back. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and her thighs brushed his. The friction of their bodies swaying together left little to the imagination.
He was hard in all the right places. And getting harder in some.
A knowing smile curved her lips. ‘‘Apology accepted.” She saw the tightly held control in his eyes. She wanted to be the one to make him let go. “Marc,” she whispered, “has anyone ever told you your eyes are the color of morning glories?”
“We’d have to dance ’til dawn to find out.” The low timbre of his voice caressed her ear, but the tone was light and playful.
Who was flirting with whom?
“You’re teasing,” she accused, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. She wanted the man to take her seriously, and he wouldn’t do that as long as she kept sending the wrong signals.
She may be attracted to him, he may be attracted to her, but he could get in a lot of trouble if either of them acted on that attraction. The worst that could happen to her was a slap on the wrist and transfer out of his command.
Which would be a very, very bad thing. And considering how hard she’d worked to get here, the last thing she wanted.
The song ended abruptly and he spun her away, relieving the tension. He pulled her back and dropped her into an exaggerated dip, holding it a moment too long. “What’s the Chief of SEALs doing here?”
“Where?” From her topsy-turvy view of the world, she spotted the uniformed officer headed in their direction. Fiftyish and distinguished with graying temples, he leaned heavily on his walking stick. Otherwise he looked every bit as fit as any Navy SEAL. “Uncle Mitch!”
Marc jerked her back up. “Uncle?”
Chapter 4
“Uncle!” Marc choked out a second time, making the word sound like the childhood cry of surrender.
“Actually, he’s my godfather,” Tabitha admitted. “I just call him Uncle Mitch. When I’m not in uniform, of course.”
“The Chief of SEALs is your godfather.” He ground his teeth to keep from uttering a string of expletives.
Her godfather. His boss.
“I tried to tell you.” She left him standing in the middle of the dance floor.
She hadn’t tried very hard. Of course, he hadn’t exactly been open to communication—at least not verbal communication. The body had a language all its own and theirs had been talking all night.
He’d never been in the position of being attracted to a subordinate before. It didn’t help that she had no business being under his command, even temporarily.
But even if she wasn’t, she’d still be the Chief of SEALs’ goddaughter and the Toad Prince’s daughter. Not to mention he’d sworn off dancing until the right woman came along. Tabitha Chapel was definitely not that woman.
“I’m glad you made it in early,” she was saying when Marc joined them.
“I didn’t have a choice. Somebody left D.C. ahead of schedule.” The Admiral directed his penetrating stare at Tabitha.
Marc watched her squirm. Somebody didn’t have her brass as polished as it appeared.
“Admiral.” He extended his hand.
Shifting his walking stick, Admiral Mitchell Dann shook hands with a confidence befitting his rank. “Good to see you again, Miller.”
“Likewise, sir.”
“I see you’ve met my goddaughter.” There was a subtle undertone to his words.
“The Lieutenant was just explaining that connection.”
“I’m surprised she mentioned it at all.” The
Admiral turned to his goddaughter. “So tell me, Tabby, how’ve you been keeping yourself busy?”
“Giving the Commander a hard time.” Her words dared Marc to deny it.
“Not at all,” he said, hoping to deflect the insinuation
“Relax, you two.” The Admiral looked from one to the other. “This is a social call. The uniform is just for travel. Which reminds me... Tabby, I have a FedEx for you from your parents. It came after you left.” He signaled the very tall junior officer who’d arrived with him and stood at the ready. “You two know my aide, Lieutenant Alan Ogden,” he said as the other man joined them.
A hint of admiration gleamed in the giant’s deep-eyes. “Ms. Chapel.”
“Thanks, Alan.” She accepted the package apparently oblivious to the man’s attraction and her own appeal.
“Oh, I know what this is.” Tabitha tore open the envelope. “A little something for Master Chief Thomas and his wife. I mentioned to my folks I’d be coming to Coronado.”
Mentioned? If her father knew why wouldn’t that warrant more of a conversation. Why wasn’t he here trying to stop her? Or maybe he had that to look forward to next.
“Excuse me,” Tabitha said. “I haven’t paid my respects to the man of the hour.” She bussed her godfather’s cheek. “Be right back.”
Marc stepped aside to let her pass.
“Thanks for the dance.” She moved to shoulder past him, but he latched on to her arm. Her lips parted in surprise, tempting him to kiss the look right off her face.
She was an odd mix of grit and determination. And getting rid of her was becoming complicated. He could handle complicated. But he was beginning to wonder if he could handle Tabitha Chapel.
One wrong move and he could flush his career down the shitter. Superior officers did not kiss subordinates.
All the more reason to send her back where she belonged.
Until then, he’d put her in her place.
“I look forward to our next tango, Lieutenant.”
She walked away without a comment.
The Admiral cleared his throat. “Mind telling me what that was all about?”
Marc held his own under the older man’s scrutiny. “I’d really like to know where you stand on this feasibility study.”