by Tawny Weber
“According to Captain Jarrett, it’s currently lollygagging in red tape. They’re holding Ramsey in the brig but he’s got a hotshot rep who, while not denying the assault charges, insists his scumbag of a client isn’t guilty of murder or treason.”
No more than Nic had expected.
“Jarrett said they’re still digging, but so far his men haven’t discovered any leads on Ramsey’s partner or, more likely, partners. Jarrett doesn’t deny there are others,” Lansky added quickly when Nic gave a low growl. “He simply doesn’t have a clue who they are.”
Nic exchanged his empty beer for a full one, rubbing the cold bottle against his forehead. He respected Jarrett’s skills, and had faith the guy had Poseidon’s best interest in mind. Hell, the Captain had almost been one of the team. If they hadn’t decided to stick with BUD/S graduates only, they’d quite likely have brought their first-phase instructor in with them. He’d been damn awesome at motivating and pulling them together as a team. But while Nic had been all for it, the others had elected him leader and mandated they close the team at the twelve of them.
But the guy should have more intel by now. Hell, he should have shut down Navel Intelligence’s investigation of Team Poseidon from the get-go. That he hadn’t was giving Nic a serious knot in his gut.
“I shouldn’t be on leave,” he muttered. His scowl faded a little as he watched a sexy brunette sashay across the patio, her little sundress highlighting one hell of a figure. But all it took was a blink to put her out of his mind. Because nothing interfered with his focus when it came to doing his job.
“You couldn’t ignore a direct order,” Lansky pointed out. “Word is Admiral Cree wanted you out of the way until the... How did he put it? Oh, yeah, the shit storm died down.”
Shit storm. The murder of one of his men in a mission to clear their name and take down a traitor, leaving Team Poseidon framed to take the blame for the entire treasonous network.
Yeah. Shit storm was a good description.
“I’m back in six days. Storm or no.”
“Good. I’ll have something for you then.”
And just like that, the knot in Nic’s belly loosened.
“You’re close?”
“Damn close,” Lansky promised. “I hacked deeper into Ramsey’s computer history. I just need to dig through some layers, pull out a few more bytes. I’ll have it cleaned up by the time you get back.”
“Good. I’m ready to end this.”
With that and a few instructions, Nic ended the call with his Lieutenant.
And wished like hell he was still on duty, doing his damn job. Leave was all well and good when he could roll it into a team-building excursion, or even the occasional family obligation. But this vacation while his men were under fire?
It was a fuckup.
He’d have argued against it—the timing was wrong, his team needed him, instincts told him to stay alert and ready for the next hit to strike. But none of his arguments could counter the simple fact that he’d taken a hit. A hard one. It’d left him vulnerable. And his men knew Nic Savino for many things, but vulnerability wasn’t one of them.
Orders were orders, and Nic prided himself in making the best of any order.
You’re on leave, Savino. Take a break. Get away. Clear your head, shed the baggage and relax, for God’s sake. The Admiral’s order echoed like a bell through his mind, a loud reminder of why he was here. Or rather, why he wasn’t in Coronado, where he belonged.
Nic pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure beating behind them like steel drums. He could have pushed against the Admiral’s suggestion. But he couldn’t ignore the lack of sleep, the headaches or the feeling that he was losing hold of the fraying thread of the control he so prized.
So he’d finally had to admit it. He needed the break. He needed to get away, before he put them at any further risk.
So here he was.
On Kauai, where he’d always come as a child to renew. At his uncle’s resort, where he could kill two birds with one stone. Family obligation and relaxation, all rolled into one.
He angled his jaw left, then right, and turned in his seat to scan the patio. Tiki-style right down to the totem-pole bar and palm-frond overhang, the area boasted a dozen small bamboo tables set up to provide cozy beachside relaxation.
To his right was a seashell-shaped dais sporting yet more palm fronds. Since it was too early in the evening for the band, music drifted down from cleverly hidden speakers.
To his left was his life’s blood. His one true love.
The ocean.
The Pacific, to be exact. Oh, he loved the Atlantic, the Indian and the Arctic just as truly. But he’d first lost his heart to the Pacific here. Right here on Hanalei, actually, twenty-five years ago when his uncle had opened his first resort. He’d sat in the soft sand, pail in one hand, shovel in the other, and stared in fascination at the endless waves of blue.
In the years since, Keola Hanalei had become one of the premier luxury destinations in Hawaii and Nic had continued his love affair with the sea. He managed to make it back here every few years for a little downtime.
Not just downtime, he admitted as he absently took another swallow of beer. Renewal. There was something about this particular view that always reminded him of where he’d come from—and why he’d ended up where he was.
He didn’t mind that the reminder came with 400-count sheets, island entertainment and gourmet food. It made for a pretty sweet setup.
His gaze, always watchful, shifted again.
Because the sexy powerhouse at the third table was pretty sweet, too. The woman he’d watched sweep down the circular staircase ten minutes before.
Vivacious was the word she brought to mind.
Not in a bubbly, sparkling way. She looked like the type to kick a guy in the head before she’d giggle.
No. She looked alive. Powerful, intense and intriguing.
He didn’t know if it was his body’s reaction to the woman—hot, intense interest that reached deep into his gut and demanded attention—or if it was simply the idea of having something to focus on other than the emotionally exhausting thoughts that kept circling his mind like a vulture waiting to pick his soul clean.
Whatever it was, he was grateful.
Because like Lansky said, if he was going to be forced to take leave, he might as well enjoy himself.
And he’d just found a way to do exactly that.
All he had to do was convince the pixie to join him.
CHAPTER TWO
AS DISTRACTIONS WENT, Nic had to admit this one was pretty damn compelling.
Short black hair framed her face with sharp lines and spiked edges, the glossy style reminding him of a jagged piece of obsidian. The late-afternoon sun glinted gold off a face worthy of a second, third and even fourth look. Slashing cheekbones aimed toward her lush mouth and strong brows arched over her wide-framed sunglasses.
There was nothing overtly sexy about her simple green sundress. Wide straps and a squared-off neckline didn’t show a lot of skin. The loose fabric fluttered and settled, but didn’t hug tight enough to show the curves beneath. And while the skirt hit her knees, he’d gotten a good enough look at those legs on her trip down the stairs to know they were prime.
She looked like a sexy anime figure or a sassy fairy. Not the sugary sweet kind, though. The kind that could kick serious ass and stir up all manner of mischief. It was an interesting contrast to the back-off vibe she exuded.
He probably could have ignored her sultry intensity, or the hint of wildness. But all of that and the challenge of breaking through her shield of indifference? That was almost impossible to resist.
Nic tipped back his beer and watched her scan her cell phone. After a quick check, she set it facedown on th
e table. Tapped her fingers on the case while staring out at the ocean. Lifted the phone and checked again. This time when she set it down, she slid it behind her drink.
He started the countdown in his head.
Ten seconds.
He could practically see her vibrating her way through them before she reached for the phone again.
Not used to relaxing, he deduced.
He could relate.
It’d taken him years to learn to shut it off and be in the moment. Especially if the moment demanded relaxation.
His gaze roamed her face again, with its impression of sharp energy contrasting with her sensual beauty.
Maybe he could give her a few tips.
Nic leaned against the bar and considered.
Not since his college days had Nic had to pick up a woman. Since he’d joined the Navy, especially since becoming a SEAL, the women usually made the initial move. From a time-management standpoint, he appreciated that. It meant he simply accepted or deflected, depending on the circumstances.
Not that he was a dog about it. But like Flipper always said, there was something about being a SEAL that turned any man into a total chick magnet.
A rock-hard knot of pain hit him in the gut at the thought of Flipper, as the team had dubbed Chief Warrant Officer Mason Powers over a decade ago. Nic swallowed against the misery in his throat, trying to shrug off the heavy weight of what he knew a Navy shrink would term depression.
Another reason he’d agreed to take leave—to avoid the threatened psych eval the Admiral’s assistant kept muttering about.
So instead of delving into his reasonable grief in search of underlying issues, or parsing the text of his remorse over the lack of power in an untenable situation, he’d opted for the beach.
Now he had the choice to sit and brood in his beer over things that couldn’t be changed. Or to make the most of the moment.
A man trained to respect that moment rarely lasted long, Nic didn’t have to debate that choice. Instead, he stood and, beer in hand, headed across the patio.
“Hello,” Nic greeted, and sat down opposite the sexy pixie.
She was even better looking up close, he noted, his gaze skimming the fullness of her lower lip and the tiny sprinkle of freckles scattered over her shoulders.
“Hello,” she returned in a voice just as sexy as her appearance. The sound was low and hinting at husky—the underlying strength spoke of confident assurance.
She didn’t act surprised or attempt coyness. She simply gave the slightest tilt of her chin and waited.
“Are you here alone?”
“Why? Are you looking for a threesome?”
Whoa. Nic blinked. He didn’t know if it was the image flashing through his mind—both women looking exactly like the one in front of him—or the bold declaration. But damn, he got hot.
It’d been a long time since his squid days if a comment like that could make him blank on a response. But shore leave was like riding a bicycle. Hop back on, take a second to balance, then ride it for all it was worth.
“I’ll be honest. I’ve never had to go looking,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “How about you? If I stay in this seat, is it going to be an issue for someone joining you?”
She seemed to consider that question for a long moment before her smile widened. Reaching up, she slipped those oversize glasses off so the dark lenses no longer shielded her eyes.
Nic could only stare.
Damn.
He’d taken a hit to the head once when blocks of an exploding building bounced off his helmet. It’d left him stunned, staring and stupid.
Kind of like now.
The woman was hot, no question about it. But those eyes? Those eyes were amazing.
Huge, so big they almost overwhelmed her face. Round, with just the slightest tilt at the corners, her molten-gold gaze was lushly lashed and oddly erotic.
Before he could say anything stupid—before he could even think of anything stupid to say—a movement caught the corner of his eye.
Shit.
Nothing put the skids on a successful pickup than a gregarious relative with a million stories to tell and family pride oozing from his veins.
Before he could signal his uncle to stay back, the older man strode over with a wide smile and slapped Nic on the back.
“Dominic, there you are. And with such a lovely companion. Welcome to Keola Hanalei, madam,” the large man greeted, lifting the brunette’s hand to his lips. Nic watched her face, noting her surprise at the move, but he was glad to see there was no insult or disdain on her face.
“Your resort is lovely, Mr. Keola.”
“Michael. Any friend of Dominic’s must call me Michael.”
Nic sat back, silently watching as his uncle deployed his legendary charm and asked the brunette if she’d ever visited Hawaii before, then suggested sights to see, things to do. More, he watched her reaction. Respect, a hint of flattery and sincere interest as Michael covered topics ranging from his favorite meals to try to the best places to buy souvenirs.
“It’s not often that my nephew is here to visit, but he knows the island and its delights as well as anyone. You’re in good hands. But if there is anything you need, you’ve only to ask.”
With that and another of those old-world hand kisses that Nic figured only his uncle could pull off, the man left them to greet more guests.
And the woman simply stared, those anime eyes assessing for a long moment before she smiled.
“So, Dominic? What do you recommend?”
He started to correct her. He was only Dominic to a few stubborn holdouts in his family. Everyone else had called him Nic since he was ten. But there was something about the way she said his name, the syllables rolling off her tongue, that stayed his words.
“Are you a fan of fluffy drinks?” he asked instead.
“Only inasmuch as I can now say I’ve had one,” she responded with a laugh.
“Then I recommend we get to know each other better over a real drink.”
“Define real.”
Nic’s smile widened. He leaned back in the chair and prepared to enjoy himself. As he did, he noted that the band was setting up. Within twenty minutes of tuning up, the lanai would be crowded with bodies boogying to the island beat.
“Real, as in not decorated with flowers. If you’re hungry, the food down here is good. Simple, upscale from the usual bar choices.” He tapped the menu she’d yet to check out. “I can recommend the taco platter. The chef has a way with pork and pineapple.”
“Mmm.” She drew one long finger over the menu but didn’t pull it closer or try to open it. “Any other recommendations?”
A few came to mind, but it seemed a little early in the evening to suggest naked dancing. Yeah. His gaze swept over her curves. He’d bet she’d look damn good at it.
But he had no clue if she could dance.
He should find that out, first.
That, and her name.
“The band is solid and you’ve got a good seat for the show. But if you were more interested in a quiet dinner watching the sun set over the ocean, you might want to try the third-floor restaurant.” He indicated the spiral staircase she’d descended earlier. “The view is worth the climb.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. Call it my public service announcement for the evening.”
That teased a hint of a smile out of her. One she quickly hid by sipping her drink.
“Do you do that often? Serve the public and help them avoid overly loud dinners?”
“You could say I’ve made a career of it.”
“Do tell.” Her body language was subtly flirtatious, but even with those huge eyes locked on his face, he couldn’t read her well enough to kn
ow if that was a green light or a cautious yellow.
Nic didn’t brag about what he did, but he didn’t hide it, either. Simply put, there was nothing relaxing about talking about his work. Not right now. Not when just thinking about it felt like a blow to the chest, leaving him breathless and empty.
So he sidestepped.
“Let’s just say I’m gifted at seeing my way around any variety of obstacles while engineering the successful outcome that serves people of all walks of life.”
Check him, he thought, grinning. He could have a future in politics. Or with the Navy brass, which was sometimes the same thing.
“Well, that’s intriguingly vague,” she said with a laugh.
“Intriguing enough to tempt you to have dinner with me?”
Narrowing those eyes in a cautious way that made him want to know all of her secrets, she gave him a considering look before offering the smallest of shrugs.
“I’d hate to let your public service announcement go to waste. And this will give you time to tell me all about how you serve people with engineered outcomes.”
Instead of answering, he held out his hand to help her to her feet. As soon as her slender fingers were tucked in his, he changed the subject. Walking up the stairs to the restaurant, he shared the family story of how his uncle and father had collected every single shell that was embedded in the airy spiral staircase.
He wasn’t going to talk about his career.
He was on leave, and for the first time in his life, he was focusing on his wants. His needs. And right now, he needed to simply be a man.
One evening wouldn’t hurt, he told himself, ignoring the stabbing sense of disloyalty.
Not if that one evening brought him even an iota of solace against the pain.
* * *
SO...
This was romance.
Darby released a long, surreptitious breath as she stared across the table, crystal shimmering in the moonlight, silver gleaming in the glow of three fat candles flaming in their abalone bowls. The ocean hummed a gentle symphony in the background, the waves cresting white while rich purple blossoms scented the air with sweet seduction.