by Anne Marsh
“You’re in so much trouble here, soldier,” he muttered to himself, and then he deliberately brought his boot down hard on the path. She was jumpy as hell; he didn’t need to scare her.
Her head shot up, and she twisted around, glaring at him. An orange tabby cat wreathed around her ankles, and he’d bet the damned thing was purring. He would be if she let him close. She frowned and opened her mouth.
“Search and rescue,” he said, before she could say anything. “I’m here in my official capacity.”
“They sent you?” To his eternal disappointment, she dropped her leg. He’d been admiring the view.
“Discovery Island doesn’t have Animal Control,” he said lightly. “I’m the best they’ve got.”
She exhaled, blowing her hair off her face. “Right. And sending a Navy search-and-rescue swimmer didn’t seem like overkill for six felines?”
Something else he didn’t bother answering. Instead, he looked down at the cat marking her leg possessively. Again, an urge he completely understood. “That’s one. Where are cats two through six?”
She smiled slowly. Yeah. He was in trouble. “Under the porch,” she said and pointed, while Ben Franklin barked encouragement from the truck.
This was why he preferred water. Sure, the ocean was well-stocked with predators and a good storm surge could beat the hell out of a swimmer, but those waters were also spiderless. And he had a mask and a wetsuit.
“Damn,” he sighed.
“Have at it,” she said, sounding amused. Apparently, her help didn’t extend past making a phone call for a rescue assist, because she dropped down onto the step to watch him work. He made a quick detour back to his truck and grabbed a pet carrier and a can of tuna fish from the bed. He wasn’t above bribery.
Momma cat was happy to accept the treat. Unfortunately, she was the only one. He flashed Mia a smile and then dropped on to his stomach and started crawling. It was just like boot camp, except no one shouted obscenities and urged him to go faster.
“Are you looking at this place?” Sure enough, the porch’s underside was liberally festooned with cobwebs and where there were cobwebs...yeah. Not thinking about eight-legged surprises was probably his wisest move. Two feet in, he spied his target, an ancient T-shirt swaddling a handful of kittens.
He set the tuna-fish can down, but the kittens didn’t budge. Maybe momma had trained them not to accept candy from strangers.
“Excuse me?” Mia’s voice floated down from the porch. She was smart enough to stay far, far away from the glorious kingdom of spiders.
“Talk to me,” he ordered, inching forward slowly. If the kittens bolted, he’d have to go under the house and the odds of his getting stuck would go up exponentially. He made a note to add a smaller person to their search-and-rescue team ASAP. “If I’m braving spiders to rescue your kittens, the least you can do is talk to me.”
“They’re not mine.” He didn’t miss the note of uncertainty in her voice.
“Finders, keepers,” he muttered and tugged gently on the T-shirt. After all, as she knew very well, he had a menagerie and a half at his place, so where else would the kittens go but home with them? The island wasn’t big enough to have an animal shelter. “I’m going to hand them out to you, and you’re going to put them in the carrier, okay?”
The porch creaked as Mia stood up, so he decided she was on board with his plan. The first four kittens didn’t object too strenuously when he plucked them out of their nest and carefully handed them over to Mia. Kitten number five, however, didn’t think any amount of tuna fish could compensate for the indignity of being removed from its bed. It beelined for the back wall. Damn it. He lunged and... Got you.
“Did you lose one? I can’t have a kitten lost under my house.”
“Your house?” He handed over the escapee kitten by executing a strategic tuck and roll onto his back. Their fingers brushed as he handed over his prize. She didn’t react, just competently tucked the kitten into the crowded carrier.
“It’s for sale,” she said defensively. “Maybe I want to buy it.”
House lust, not man lust. That put him in his place. Her reasons for sticking around on Discovery Island didn’t include him. He had no idea where the notion had come from, but he scuttled it fast. He’d obviously been around Daeg and Cal too long. Possibly, diamond rings and happily-ever-afters were contagious.
“Is staying with me that bad?” As far as he knew, she’d been planning on leaving the island some day in the very near future. The question was rude, but he didn’t care. Mia understood blunt. Frankly, anything else was lost on her.
“Eager to be rid of me?” She sounded unconcerned. She also clearly had no intention of sharing her long-term plans with him, but he was good at guessing. The military recommended at least thirty days of downtime before former soldiers tried to reintegrate, find a job and all that crap. Mia would take whatever time she needed to get her feet on the ground and her head straight. And whatever plans she made were her business. He was deploying soon, so what did it matter to him?
He gently shook the T-shirt-nest, just to make sure he’d gotten everyone. No man left behind, even if the man in question had four legs and a tail and weighed less than two pounds.
His instincts must have been talking up a storm because...bonus kitten. The first five kittens matched, but the sixth was a white-and-orange Siamese that stuck out like a sore thumb. There had been some two daddy action here.
“Momma here apparently had herself a ménage.” The last kitten was feistier than her brothers and sisters, too. Hissing and spitting, it sprinted, tail up, ears back, for the crawl space under the house. Damn it. He hated small spaces.
* * *
A CAR CRUNCHED to a stop in front of the cottage to the accompaniment of Ben Franklin’s happy, excited bark. The older model BMW screamed posh and drive me fast. A woman who had to be the Realtor popped the driver’s-side door, swung her legs out and froze. Mia followed the other woman’s gaze...straight to Tag’s mighty fine butt sticking out from under the porch. The man was definitely worth a second glance. Her own eyes certainly refused to stop looking. She’d had him twice yesterday, and she was no closer to being over him than before. Their sexual chemistry was off the charts.
The possessiveness welling up in her was less familiar—or understandable. She didn’t have any claim on Tag, but apparently her brain hadn’t fully processed the message. Viewing the house suddenly seemed less important than keeping the Realtor far, far away from Tag. Just in case he was in a dating mood.
The real estate agent pulled herself together and tapped up the path toward Mia, smile in place and hand extended.
“I’m Mary Jane Barker. M.J.” She eyed Tag’s butt again, seemingly not put off by the loud cursing emanating from under the porch. The last kitten was apparently posing a challenge. Whatever. If Tag could handle a South Pacific tsunami, he could certainly take charge of one small feline.
M.J. sported a chic little pantsuit number and espadrilles. She’d come prepared for business, too, with an enormous tote bag and an iPad. While Tag chased the last kitten, Mia explained her interest in the place. Casual-like, of course.
The agent was all uh-huh-uh-huh, but clearly distracted while she fished in the bottomless bag for a flyer. Mia eyeballed the numbers on the four-color ad while the Realtor finished ogling Tag, who was now backing out, an orange-and-white kitten cupped against his broad chest. He’d had more than one close encounter with the dirt and leaves from the jasmine strangling the porch’s decorative trim. A particularly large leaf was stuck on his very fine butt. Bonus.
“You look like you could use a hand.” The Realtor’s throaty purr had Mia biting her tongue. Really? She wanted to buy a house and all the agent could do was flirt with Tag? Oblivious to Mia, the other woman leaned in and brushed random bits of vegetation out of Tag’s h
air as she worked up her nerve to go for the gold and remove the leaf from Tag’s butt.
Mia could see where this was going. The Realtor would manufacture a constant stream of endangered animals so she could call on Tag to come out and help her. She’d probably produce a rhinoceros or a ten-foot crocodile next. Tag’s apartment was already full up with rescues. Cats, dogs, the mangy rabbit and...her.
Apparently, however, Tag had defensive moves of his own. He took a step backward, bumping up against Mia, and her hormones revved in approval. He was big and male and...leafy.
“Honey,” he said, and she didn’t think he was discussing bee-based toast products. Large hands curled around her shoulders, and his mouth brushed her throat. Her nipples tightened immediately which was probably all too obvious to everyone, thanks to her sports bra. God, did he have any clue what he was doing to her...? The Realtor stared first at Tag and then switched her gaze to Mia. Yeah. That made two of them who were confused. Maybe Tag had hit his head under there.
“Are the two of you a couple?”
And just like that...she was getting ideas.
“He’s poaching on your preserve,” someone—an old someone from the sounds of the voice—yelled from the direction of the BMW.
* * *
THE VOICE BELLOWING from the car was horribly familiar. Shit. Not only had Mia managed to call the one real estate agent on the island whom Tag would really like to avoid...but the Realtor had brought along her grandmother and Tag’s nemesis.
Ever since he’d rescued her from her fender bender with the ocean, Ellie Damiano had been determined to pair Tag with M.J.
Loudly determined.
There was absolutely, positively nothing wrong with M.J. She was attractive, well-educated and employed. He’d bet she had a 401K and dental insurance and, if he’d been even remotely interested in settling down, he would have gone out with her. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man had casual sex with, though, and he wasn’t the kind of guy who settled down. In approximately six weeks, he’d be getting his ass shot at, and there was always a chance he wouldn’t be coming home. Wherever that was. So, for once in his dating life, he was going to do the right thing and steer clear of long-term women.
M.J., however, hadn’t received that particular memo. She was confident, smart and could manage logistics with the deftness of a four-star general. She thought Tag should expand his dating horizons and go out with her while he was on the island. She was apparently fine with the whole deployment thing, as well, although she’d also made it clear that she’d be working on changing his mind.
He should just say yes.
Have a couple of drinks.
Kiss the woman and test for chemistry.
Except...he kind of already knew the answer. M.J. was a stunning woman, but he didn’t click with her like he did with Mia. For some reason—and he really had a beef to pick with the universe about this one—all he had to do was be near her, and his body went up in flames. His imagination went crazy, imagining all the wicked possibilities of his tongue on her skin, her mouth, her...
Yeah.
He and Mia had chemistry.
He and M.J.? Not so much.
“Get in there and fight for your man,” Ellie bellowed from the car.
“Sorry.” M.J. made a face. “I brought Grandma Ellie. Her aide had the afternoon off and I can’t leave her by herself.”
No. She couldn’t. The last time she’d left her grandmother alone, Ellie Damiano had hot-wired the car and taken it to the store to stock up on picnic supplies for a romantic evening out with a beau. Tag still wasn’t sure whether or not the boyfriend was imaginary—and he did not want to know since said picnic supplies included a tube of flavored lube and a disposable bullet vibrator—but M.J.’s grandmother had driven the car off the road and into the ocean. Fortunately, the water hadn’t been deep, but she’d wrecked the undercarriage. Tag had waded in, calmed her down, carried her to shore...and been stuck with her ever since.
He really needed to choose his rescues more carefully.
Ellie rolled the BMW’s window all the way down. “I’m doing you a favor, boy. It’s a Robin Hood thing. You saved my life. Now I get to stick by your side until I’ve saved yours. M.J. downloaded it on Netflix for me so I could see.”
Moving to a technology-free community suddenly seemed a whole lot more attractive. Was it too late to become Amish?
“You don’t owe me anything, Mrs. Damiano.”
Let alone your granddaughter. Please.
He looked over at M.J., who had the decency to look embarrassed. “I don’t suppose you have those child-safety lock things?”
M.J. shook her head and then smiled. “You buy this house and I’ll upgrade the car.”
M.J. was more like her grandmother than he’d realized.
Ellie leaned out the car window. Another few inches and he’d be looking at rescue number two. “She’s pretty. You’re pretty. I’ll have the best-looking grandkids on the island.”
There was no possible response, so he stayed silent.
“You take your time,” Ellie hollered back. “Check out the bedrooms. I’ll just be here taking a little nap and picking out baby names.”
Was Mia enjoying the show? He was pretty sure she was, because she wasn’t the object of crazy granny’s matchmaking schemes. But since she really deserved an explanation—if only because she’d managed to keep a straight face during all this—he gave her one. “I rescued Mrs. Damiano. Now she wants to pay me back.”
* * *
“IN FLESH,” MUTTERED M.J., sounding disgruntled. Apparently, the other woman wasn’t a fan of the barter system after all. “Are you two dating? A girlfriend would certainly shut her up.”
Mia had no idea how to explain her relationship with Tag. Apparently, she didn’t need to, however, because Tag beat her to the punch.
“You bet,” he said, and then his mouth met her neck again in a move guaranteed to make her melt. Which was wrong. She didn’t melt. She was frozen and distant. Closed off. Whatever. Her ex had tossed plenty of adjectives her way when she’d returned, and some of them were even true. Letting people get too close was a mistake when you were playing in the sandbox. People died. They didn’t come back. On Monday, six of you sat down to argue hockey scores or compare fantasy teams and eat. On Tuesday, you could be five. “Mia and I are absolutely dating. In fact, we’re engaged. I’m completely off the market, and you can tell your grandmother so.”
Tag’s voice came out all low and husky. He also wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed. She had no idea why he’d just announced their engagement, but parts of him were clearly ready to skip straight to the honeymoon. She wriggled a little against the thick ridge pushing against her butt because he deserved to suffer, too.
“A little help here? Mrs. Damiano is a force of nature.” He muttered a rough plea against her ear. Then he nipped. The bright spark of pleasure was one good reason to humor him. Plus, having Tag at her mercy was a fantasy she particularly enjoyed.
“Baby,” she cooed, taking the Siamese from him. “I thought this was our little secret?”
Tag floundering had to be the cutest thing ever. Her big, gruff sailor was afraid of what she’d say next. So what the hell? He needed her help, and she was supposed to be practicing her new normal, right? She’d wanted a man and a family, a regular job and the mortgage and white picket fence to go with it.
She handed the kitten to the Realtor, stood up on tiptoe, flinging her arms around his neck and whispering, “You didn’t tell me this was in the job description.”
She’d had her way with him yesterday, but he’d handed her a second opportunity. Hooking a finger in his dog tags, she yanked him closer, feeling the silent laughter shake his chest. Laughter and Tag went together like sun and a day at the beach. He made her feel happy,
made her want to smile.
He also made her hot as hell.
All good things.
His body hit hers with just a little extra oomph that had to be deliberate. And as his legs brushed hers, his front pressed right where she wanted him. He knew what he did to her. His dark eyes gleamed down at her, still laughing and right there in the moment with her.
“Bad boy,” she said throatily.
“Are you complaining?” He cradled her hips with his hands, his thumbs rubbing small circles that were part tickle, part pleasure. He hadn’t left an inch of space between them, which made it clear he shared her interest because she could feel every delicious inch of his erection. She wrapped his tags around her fingers, pulling his head down to hers. Oh, look, she had a Navy rescue swimmer on her own personal chain. How perfect was that? She slid her other arm up his and cupped the back of his neck.
His mouth hovered an inch above hers. “Is this where I kiss you to shut you up? Or to seal the deal?”
She grinned because his words sure didn’t sound like a complaint. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Choices.” She felt rather than saw his smile as his lips covered hers. He gave her a perfectly well-behaved public kiss—except for what their lower bodies were doing—but the kiss wasn’t enough. She wanted him misbehaving, so she nipped his lower lip, demanding more. He took over, his tongue parting her lips and sweeping inside her mouth. A little rough, a whole lot sexy.
Tag Johnson didn’t have a tame bone in his body as his sweet, lazy, take-charge kiss proved. Because that’s what he did—take charge of her. His mouth devoured hers, sending the hot pleasure streaking through hers. Swept off her feet, she got a stranglehold on his dog tags because letting go now was impossible, even if he made her knees go weak. He kissed her and kissed her, as hungry for the contact as she was.