Wicked Secrets

by Anne Marsh

  Highly suspect fish tales. Mia was fairly certain the guy closest to her had not, in fact, spotted a twenty-foot hammerhead shark. Asking for help sucked. She’d rather be wrangling the hammerhead.

  As if he could read her mind, Tag popped the door open and stuck his head out. His hair was damp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower, a scenario she could imagine all too easily. The slow, knowing smile he gave her made her want to scream. He couldn’t possibly know her mortgage broker. She’d called someone off-island, and it wasn’t like she was wearing a sign reading Desperate Woman Here.

  “Are you coming in?” He waggled his fingers at her. “Or are you planning on standing there all day?”

  As if it hadn’t been three days since he’d announced their pseudo-engagement and she’d kissed him. Okay. She’d practically scaled his big, tempting body on the front porch of what she really, really hoped was her new house. Details.

  “Baby.” Since two could play at this game, she gave him a saccharine sweet grin and followed him inside. She needed to talk to him—beg, the little voice in her head noted—and an audience wasn’t her first choice, so inside it was. He disappeared through a side door and...wow. The command center Tag and his boys had set up here would have made Uncle Sam proud. Floor-to-ceiling monitors displayed real-time information about weather conditions, and banks of high-powered computers filled the available floor space. A radar map tracked incoming weather. The sun outside explained the calm inside, but Mia could imagine what happened when a storm hit.

  Tag dropped down onto a chair, swung his feet up onto the desk, and leaned back. Nope. He had no intention of making this easy for her.

  “Coffee?” He pointed to an ancient Mr. Coffee as low-tech as the rest of the room was high-tech. She weighed her need for caffeine against the sludge-like consistency of the liquid in the pot, and her stomach voted no.

  “Uh...I’m good.”

  Or would be, as soon she got this over with.

  He shrugged, clearly in no hurry. Of course, he wasn’t the one who needed an insta-job and wanted to get it wrapped before five o’clock, to boot. It was just Tag, she reminded herself. She recognized the old dive-shop T-shirt he wore—which said something about the state of either his wardrobe or his washing machine—and his military cargo pants and steel-toes were familiar gear. He looked badass and sexy as hell, which of course made her want to swing herself onto his lap and ride him like a cowgirl. Kiss him some and see if she could distract him from his work. Which, a quick eyeball of the room revealed, they had all to themselves. Given the amount of high-dollar hardware in here, the door had to have at least one lock.

  She could have the place locked down in less than a minute and then...

  No. House first.

  Then sex? Her libido begged.

  “Tag, I—” Her voice cracked, the throaty rasp giving her away.

  She moved toward him, not sure how to start. Getting her hands on his body, however, would probably send the wrong message. Deceptively simple lines of text covered his computer screen. She’d bet the code was as elegant and lean as the man lounging in front of the screen. He could probably blow up the world with a few keystrokes.

  “So.” His eyes gleamed as he pressed a combination of keys and blanked his screen. Tag had always been good at giving her his undivided attention. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  Stalling sounded good to her. “You don’t need to watch the screen?”

  “In case there’s a killer storm barreling up the Pacific I’ve been blissfully unaware of for the last three days?” His amused smile shouldn’t have made her panties wet. “We’re good. I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

  Oh, damn. Where did she start?

  “Three guesses,” she said huskily. When she perched on the edge of his desk, he didn’t even blink. Of course, the surface was also preternaturally clear. No stacks of papers or binders for her butt to crush or knock over. He probably figured he was okay.

  “You came to say hello to your fiancé.” He folded his arms over his chest and grinned at her. He had a really nice chest. She should have looked at him and seen a threat. Instead, she saw safety. How strange.

  “Nice try. Do your boys know?”

  “That we’re engaged? Absolutely. That you’re just using me for my body? That, too.” He leaned forward and clasped her hand. He gently dug his thumbs into her palm, massaging away the tension there. She might marry him for real if he’d just promise to do the same every night.

  “You came to check your kitten. I’m holding him for you until you’ve got your new place.” He nodded toward the cardboard box tucked underneath his desk.

  Rescuing things—people, military missions, felines—apparently came second nature to the man. She, on the other hand, wasn’t nice. She’d served and she’d fought hard, but this time she was getting what she wanted. Still, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed.

  “You know you want to.” A teasing smile flashed across his face. Problem number one? She didn’t even want to resist Tag. When he reached down and lifted the orange-and-white Siamese out of the box, she was lost.

  “You don’t fight fair.”

  “I saved you the best one,” he said. “The others have already been promised. You can thank me later. Here.”

  With no choice but to take the kitten, she cupped her hands and let Tag place the Siamese in her palms. The kitten tumbled into a small heap and then started giving her thumb a bath, industriously running its rough sandpaper tongue over her skin. Maybe it liked her. Or maybe it was leftover chicken salad from lunch making her so attractive.

  She needed to get back on solid ground. “I could be persuaded.”

  “How?” He swiveled in his chair, his shoulder bumping her thigh. While he waited for her answer, he reached down and plucked out a second kitten. The small bundle of warm and wriggly was accompanied by a motorboat-size purr. It looked fragile, but anything living under that porch had to have a core of steel.

  Tag watched her kitten for a moment. “He needs you.”

  “Or he’s hungry.”

  She liked the idea of being needed, though. Serving in the military, she’d had a job to do and a place on the team. Her teammates had needed her to perform, and she had. Now that she was done serving, however, she wasn’t sure what to do next.

  “Do I win a prize?” he drawled.

  “For...?”

  “For being right about why you came. I’m hoping it involves sexual favors.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not why I came.”

  “Huh.” He ran a finger down her thigh. When Dani had dropped off an armload of loaner clothes, Mia had registered the lack of practical, everyday stuff. Dani’s clothes were feminine. Flirty and fun. All things Mia wasn’t. Case in point? Her sundress. The skirt was yellow with tiny white polka dots. It was cheerful as hell and not something she would ever have bought. But since she felt different here on this island, why not wear it? “It’s not my charming good looks, is it?”

  “I need a job.” She blurted the words out. Smooth. She’d practiced what she was going to say, but apparently her brain had abandoned the script. “I want that job you mentioned, if it’s still available.”

  He raised a brow. Shit. He was going to make her work for this, wasn’t he? “I believe your exact words were over my dead body.”

  “Not true. I asked you if you had ambitions to play boss and secretary, and then I declined to participate.” She pointed to his kitten. “Fur baby there is about to take a header off your desk.”

  Effortlessly, he rerouted the kitten. Too bad it wasn’t as easy for the two-legged folks in the room to do the same.

  He curled his fingers around her kitten, stroking. The sensual jolt that went through her had to be coincidence. “So, Sam here
doesn’t interest you?”

  She really, really wished he didn’t, but too late. Tag had made it clear this was her kitten, and that she was keeping it. God, she hoped not. She had enough males in her life, thank you very much.

  “I said I’d changed my mind.”

  “Cat. Job. Next thing you know, you’ll be setting a date.” He shook his head in mock dismay.

  “Are you going to hire me or not?” She gritted the words out. Why did he have to make this so hard?

  His finger traced a wicked return path back up her thigh, the fabric of her borrowed sundress rucking up beneath his touch. It was just a finger. She shouldn’t be thinking about jumping his bones right here in his command center. Or how easy it would be for him to nudge her skirt out of the way.

  “Is it a conflict of interest if I hire my own fiancée?”

  “Better than someone else’s. Plus, I’m good. You wanted an office manager.”

  “I wanted a temp to help with the paperwork.”

  She leaned in. “I’m better than a temp. We both know it.”

  “You’re so certain?”

  Yes, yes she was.

  “You’re bossy. You’re take-charge.” He ticked her attributes off on his fingers.

  “I’m good at what I do.” She carefully set the kitten back on the desk. “Do you want me to beg? Because I can probably manage it. I’m going to have to draw the line at groveling, though.”

  A grin split his handsome face. “Hell, yeah. Begging works for me. But I’ll settle for you saying: ‘Tag, I need your help.’”

  “You don’t want a pretty please with sugar on top to go with it?”

  “Mia...” He made a give it up gesture. “You have to say it. Give me that much.”

  Fine. She could do this. Think of the house. “I need your help. Please.”

  The words ran together, and the last word wasn’t as audible as the first but...she’d done it. And he rewarded her with a quick, hard kiss.

  “My pleasure.”

  No. It was her pleasure.

  * * *

  MIA CLUTCHED SAM, looking slightly dazed. Good, because that made two of them. He didn’t know what he was doing here, either, although he definitely recognized the feeling flooding through him. Satisfaction. Maybe his prickly ex-sergeant needed him for something more than sex.

  “Why the sudden interest in the job now?”

  “I want the house I saw.” A fiercely possessive tone shot through her voice and made him wonder: What would it take to make her talk about him the same way? She was still talking, though, so he forced his attention back to the here and now. “The mortgage broker wants me to have gainful employment before the bank commits to funding me. Hire me.” She paused a moment, then added, “Please.”

  Yanking open a desk drawer, he rifled through an explosion of paper and produced a W2. “Fill this out and we’ll get you on the payroll. Your desk is over there.”

  She followed his gaze and sucked in a breath. “I don’t think you’re paying me enough.”

  “You don’t know how much I’m paying you.”

  “It can’t possibly be enough.” She shook her head as if she’d never seen a mountain of papers hiding a desk before. True, the entire surface was covered, but they needed help. He’d made his position perfectly clear.

  “Give me the job description.”

  She held out a hand, as if he’d actually bothered to write a bullet-point list when he was drowning in paper.

  “Dream on,” he said, fighting the urge to grab her hand and pull. One good tug and he could have her laid out on top of the paper she’d stink-eyed. He might even consider clearing her desk for her with one good shove and then following her down for some illicit one-on-one. There were plenty of wicked things he could do to her. With her.

  “Earth to Tag.” She tapped his shoulder. “Unless you’re paying me to stand around while you daydream. In which case, lucky me. This is going to be a sinecure.”

  Right. Job duties. “Bottom line is whatever Deep Dive needs. Right now, that’s someone to coordinate our rescue-training ops and the first-responder team. There’s also going to be a mountain of paperwork.” He grinned at her. “Literally. We also book adventure dives, and we’re doing a Train Like Spec Ops program with Fiesta cruise lines.”

  She didn’t look fazed. “What kind of rescues do you get called out to?”

  “Drifting boats, foundered boats, missing fishermen, crashes, storm survivors.”

  “So basically when a boat goes ass up, literally or metaphorically, you’re the rescue party.”

  Her description worked for him. “You bet. Here’s the thing. Whatever we choose to do outside of the office, when we’re in the office, I’m in charge. I run the ship and you take orders. I need to know you can accept that.”

  She looked at him, her face not giving anything away. He told himself he didn’t care if she was ticked off or not. They needed to get some things clear, and who was running the show at Deep Dive was one of them. Because while they’d been lovers and he’d like to think he knew something about her, he wasn’t kidding himself. Mia had plenty of secrets. Saying she liked to be in charge was an understatement, because she was bossy as hell. And honestly, he didn’t mind when they were in bed. He had plenty of demands of his own, and as long as everybody had a good time, he was fine. When they were in the workplace...well, all bets were off. His world. His rules.

  “You’re blunt,” she said finally.

  “We’re not colleagues, and search and rescue can’t be a democracy. Sometimes, someone has to give the orders and someone else has to follow. I’m your boss.”

  She looked at him for a long moment.

  “Right.” He’d never heard a woman sound so unconvinced. “How medieval of you. So I’m the one taking orders. Okay.”

  “Okay?” Somehow, he’d expected resistance from her. Mia absolutely loved being the one in control.

  “Okay, but only in the office. Anywhere else, orders are off-limits.”

  Her gaze was one hundred percent challenge. Just as he was brainstorming a dozen different ways to show her exactly who was in charge here, Daeg joined them, schlepping an oversize gear bag. He wore a bright red T-shirt sporting an I love my accountant message and a goofy grin that had Tag wondering if the loving in question was a recent occurrence.

  The man was a lost cause. “Nice shirt.”

  Daeg patted his chest. “Now you’re just jealous.”

  “Dream on, buddy.”

  Daeg looked over at Mia who, having reorganized the papers on her new desk into three equidistant piles, now had her head bent over the W2, printing her information in neat block letters.

  “Is it bring-your-girl to work day? I didn’t get a memo.”

  “Meet Mia, our new office manager.”

  He made the introductions, and Daeg grinned at him. “So this is Mia, the mystery fiancée. Congratulations on the engagement of convenience. May the island gossips remain blissfully ignorant.”

  * * *

  MIA WASN’T SURE how she felt about the alliterative name, but it seemed like a nice first. She’d never been a woman of mystery before. Since her previous roles had been as the buddy and the boss, this was a welcome change.

  Apparently done teasing her, Tag grabbed Daeg and the two of them settled around a large conference table with a large box of green plastic soldiers. Not playing, she quickly realized, but sketching out the beginnings of a disaster-recovery training exercise Deep Dive would be leading in the coming month.

  She also met Cal, the founding member of Deep Dive, as well, but he was quickly sucked into the training preparations. The rumble of male voices filled the command center as they pushed the figures around, comparing various scenarios. Planning also seemed to require a great deal of g
ood-natured arguing about the relative merits of the different scenarios.

  While the guys plotted world domination or superhero rescues—the two seemed suspiciously similar—she organized the office filing system and sorted bills. She also made lists of necessary office supplies. Somehow, it was no surprise to discover the guys had a FEMA-worthy collection of emergency provisions and a gazillion dollars worth of computer hardware, but no staples or butterfly clips. She’d bet if she checked the office fridge, she’d find energy drinks and bottled water, but no coffee creamer.

  Mia was happily lost in creating to-do lists when the door slammed open, and an attractive woman came barreling in. Of average height, she had a great body and honey-colored hair. Based on the T-shirt alone, the woman had to be Daeg’s fiancée, which meant, thank God, she was taken. Her pink shirt announced I’m the accountant your mother warned you about.

  Tag shoved to his feet. “We just got our cue to leave.”

  Dani threw her arms around Daeg’s neck, pulling his head down to hers. Too late. With all the kissing not three feet from her, Mia was getting ideas of her own.

  Wow. Good thing she had a practice fiancé of her own or she might have been envious. “It’s like working in a love nest. I assume you’ve explained the definition of sexual harassment to them both?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Tag’s mouth. “Fortunately for Daeg, he’s not paying Dani.”

  She let Tag tug her to feet, curious to see what he would do next. “Horrific, isn’t it? We have to hire family now or we’d get sued for sexual harassment on a weekly basis. You don’t want to see what comes next. We’ll go grab some lunch. Hopefully, when we come back, they’ll have cleared out. Or finished.”

  Daeg flipped him the bird, but he didn’t leave off kissing his fiancée—and apparently all the PDA wasn’t contagious. Tag didn’t kiss her. Of course, she didn’t want him to. They were in the office, for God’s sake. His hands-off behavior wasn’t disappointing at all.

  Not in the slightest.

  “What if I do? Want to see what comes next?” Shoot. Her question sounded either creepily close to the marriage ceremony or outright pervy.