Bought by the SEAL

by Zoe York

  It was a basic chemistry test, and they had it in spades. Holy shit, did they ever. In his arms, she was warm and alive, pressing closer as they kissed again and again. Not too deep, just little tastes. More salt. More lime. That delicious, endless surprise.

  He whispered her name, and she exhaled against his mouth. A sudden softening, a tumble back to reality.

  He waited.

  She didn't pull away.

  His heart thudded in his chest, against her body. She was softer than anything he'd ever felt before in his entire life.

  It would be so damn easy to kiss this woman again and again. A whole year of kissing and then—

  He jerked back.

  A year. Then this charade would come to an end, and his drunken brain had forgotten that for a second. Had set that fact aside for the length of time it took to taste Daphne's slick, pink mouth and get lost.

  Margaritas were the devil.

  Daphne stared up at him, her eyes glassy and her lips parted.

  Deep in his gut, he felt a heady tug. Kiss her again. Fucking hell, he wanted to. Christ, he wanted that too damn much for his own good. For her own good, too.

  Their chemistry would make this easy, but it could also be their undoing.

  “What was that?” She whispered.

  “Not sure.”

  She laughed weakly and touched her fingertips to the corner of her mouth. “You can’t just kiss me like that and not be sure what it is,” she said, her voice still soft.

  He hadn’t fucking meant to, that was the damnedest part of it all. He had a plan. He needed to stick to it. “Understood. I won’t do that again.” He took a deep breath. “I got carried away. From now on, I’ll only kiss you—”

  “On the cheek,” she offered, tipping her head to the side. Her eyes were twinkling, like she was enjoying this. “Or on the hand would be okay.”

  He snorted and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Nobody will believe that.”

  She laughed. “All right, we’ll figure out some kissing rules later. Are you suitably cooled down now?”

  Not even a little bit. “I’m fine. Sorry if you thought I overreacted at the bar.” And maybe in the shadow of darkness, too, although he suspected she’d enjoyed that just as much as him.

  “Nah, it’s fine.” Her voice was back to normal now. Brisk and cool. Whatever spell had just fallen over them, it was gone on her end. “Although I thought you might break his arm.”

  He turned away, guilt twisting inside him. He stepped onto the sand and headed for the water. It wasn’t until he stopped that he realized Daphne was still beside him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I don’t like, uh, using my strength like that.” He took a deep breath as he stared out at the ocean. “It does weird things to a person to have the freedom to inflict pain on others at will.”

  “Oh.” He could feel her gaze on him, and it was unexpectedly soft again. Gentle, careful observation.

  It would never do to let her know he saw that kindness. She’d shove it away. Daphne had reasons to think it was better to kick back at bullies, to punch assholes right in the face. And yet when he showed her this little slice of him, she went soft. Like when he kissed her. She had so many sweet little secrets hidden behind her tough exterior.

  Daphne Strike was the rarest kind of human being. Genuinely good at her core and wrapped in righteous indignation. She was a precious commodity and he made a silent vow to himself. He wouldn’t hurt her in this crazy escapade of theirs. She’d probably been hurt enough in her life.

  “I don’t regret anything I’ve done,” he said quietly. “But I know that it’s all changed me. For better or worse.”

  “If it means anything, tonight I decided that maybe you’re not all bad.”

  He smiled out at the ocean, disappearing into the night. “It means something.”

  “We do need to talk about that kiss, though.”

  His smile got bigger. “Yeah?”

  “It can’t happen again.”

  “Of course not.” Their first kiss would never happen again. And their second kiss would be totally different.

  Chapter Six

  Will crashed hard into his bed in the Bunkhouse at Villa Sucre somewhere well past three in the morning, and was summarily dragged from it barely four hours later.

  “But I don’t feel like going for a run,” he muttered as Brayden threw running shoes at his bunk.

  “Gotta work off those margaritas, man. And we’ve got brunch in a couple of hours, too.”

  “We do?”

  “Apparently so.”

  Maybe Daphne had said something about that as she’d scampered away from him on the beach. He felt his face soften as he grinned. “Okay. But just a short run.”

  “Of course.” Brayden chuckled as he disappeared.

  Once dressed, Will headed into the kitchen and found his friend Mick up as well. Mick was the reason Will had started this whole messy adventure in the first place. His buddy had been injured, badly, and after a couple of surgeries on his leg had been forced to medically discharge from the navy.

  At the same time, Will had been informed that he’d inherited this estate in the Caribbean.

  An idea was borne, and he sent Mick ahead as his emissary. Find out the status of Villa Sucre and start planning for the arrival of Brayden, who would take point on the construction and renovation.

  Except when Mick arrived, a beautiful historian stood in his way—literally.

  Now Mick and Cara, a native Miralindan, lived here in the Bunkhouse full-time and were working together to figure out the best way to preserve the historic significance of Villa Sucre. Brayden was moving full-steam ahead on their executive training company, and now that Will was here full-time, they were ready to hit the go-live button on their inaugural training program.

  Just as soon as he officially owned Villa Sucre free and clear.

  Which meant Daphne needed to be his bride and pronto.

  In the meantime, apparently he was going to jump through a brunch hoop, and before that, get a run in.

  “I made you a coffee,” Mick said cheerfully.

  “It’s far too early for all of this.”

  “Didn’t take you long to go soft.”

  Will grinned ruefully. No, no it hadn’t. But he’d never been a natural morning person like many of his SEAL peers. He could deprive himself of sleep for days, but once he was safe and tucked into bed, he liked to stay there for a solid chunk of time. “The booze helped this morning.”

  Brayden chucked him on the shoulder. “That wasn’t like you last night.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. It wasn’t.” He hesitated. He knew what to say next, but it stuck a little in his throat. Just for a minute, though. It was worth deceiving his friends. The spirit of what he and Daphne were doing was for them, after all. “Saw a whole different side of Daphne, too.”

  Brayden smirked. “We noticed. You guys disappeared to the beach for a while, too.”

  Will rubbed the stubble on his jaw and let himself look suitably embarrassed. “She talked some sense into me after I got into it with that guy at the bar.”

  “He was pissed at you,” Brayden laughed. “And then he got into it with the bartender, too.”

  “I should have seen him out to the road.”

  “Nah. Better to let Daphne…talk sense into you, was it?”

  “Shut up.” He grinned. “But if something happens at brunch, I wouldn’t say no to her doing it again.”

  Mick and Brayden both gave him surprised but impressed looks, and with that, the scene for brunch was set.

  Daphne arrived early, with fresh pineapple juice and her favorite guava cake. All she needed was coffee, but brunch with her friends promised more treats, too.

  She found Cara on the wide verandah behind the villa, overlooking the gardens that ran down to the Bunkhouse and to the ocean beyond that.

  “Morning,” her friend said. “I wasn’t expecting you for another
hour. I heard you had a late night.”

  Daphne winked. “Late but fun. And where were you?”

  “Tucked into bed with my husband, thank you very much.” Cara winked right back. “Coffee?”

  “You know it.”

  “Want to help yourself down at the Bunkhouse? I’ll wait here for Arielle. Brayden’s already here, but he said he let her sleep in after all the excitement.”

  “Wait, just what did he tell you about last night?”

  “Go and get coffee. We can discuss how you dragged Will out of a fight and into a romantic cuddle on the beach later.”

  “That’s not what happened,” Daphne protested. It really wasn’t, but her protest was also deliberate. She needed to be seen by her friends to be pretending Will meant nothing to her…when really, he meant freedom—eventually. First, she was going to be his wife.

  “You’re blushing,” Cara said with a happy sigh. “Tell me more later. But now go and get coffee, because the guys will be back from their run shortly.”

  Daphne’s mouth fell open. “They went running?”

  “Will and Brayden did. Mick went swimming instead.” Cara took a big sip of her coffee. “Something about working off brunch in advance. Crazy men.”

  Daphne snorted. She liked to keep active as much as the next person, but working off brunch in advance? There were limits, and that was a hard one. Jeez.

  She set her brunch contributions on the antique sideboard along the verandah wall, where Cara had already laid out a simple display of plates and glassware. Then she scurried down the path in search of caffeine.

  She poured herself an oversized mug and settled against the counter to have a moment alone with the deliciousness. Miralindan coffee was one of her favorite things about the island. Strong, naturally sweet, and literally life-saving first thing in the morning.

  That’s not what literally means. She could hear her mother’s voice, sharp and pointed. Ugh. She didn’t care. And some days, she was pretty sure it was what literally meant. Today, for example. This coffee meant she would have her wits about her when Will returned, and surely that would play a role in her life—

  The door slapped open, interrupting her inner monologue.

  And then the view in front of her obliterated the tattered remnants of her thoughts. Will, taking up more space in the doorway than should be legal, and none of it safe for public consumption. He was wearing a light grey t-shirt…sort of. It was soaking wet and plastered to his body, and she could see the ridges of his abdomen as he squeezed his hands to his hips and arched his back, looking at the ceiling.

  He groaned and turned around, directing his words back out the still-open door. “That…was…brutal.”

  Clearly he hadn’t seen her yet. Which meant he didn’t know she was looking at him in all his masculine glory.

  And what glory it was. His ass was cupped just as nicely as his six-pack, the fabric of his running shorts equally soaked as his shirt.

  He must have ended his run in the ocean, and then sprinted back to the Bunkhouse.

  She was so glad she’d shown up early.

  Eyes off the merchandise, she told herself. Except she was the merchandise, not him. He was buying her to be his bride, and what they had was a transactional relationship. Ogling wasn’t helpful, because it confused the issue—like right now, previous dislike set aside, she could imagine consummating a hell of a lot with her secret husband-to-be.

  Add in the still-very-yummy memory of their kiss the night before and… ooh. She mentally fanned herself.

  On the outside, though, she didn’t move. If she moved, he might realize she was there and hadn’t announced herself.

  “Yeah,” he growled to the door. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Then he turned again, with purpose, striding toward the hallway. Interesting. She had somehow missed the fact that he was staying here. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was going to use the facilities to mop up some of the water dripping off him.

  It took him three long steps to register her presence. When he froze, she squeaked. Recovering quickly, she waved as he turned just his head in her direction. “Hey.”

  “You’re here.”

  “I am.”

  “Great.” He sucked in a big breath, his chest still rising and falling heavily. “Don’t move a muscle, I’ll be right back. I got thrown in the ocean by affectionate assholes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Twenty seconds. Don’t move.”

  “Got it.”

  She counted, and he made it back in eighteen seconds, barefoot and in a new pair of athletic shorts. He was pulling a dry shirt over his head, which…hello, abs. Yep, what she’d seen before had been pretty much an accurate impression against the wet shirt.

  He stopped in front of her. “While we have a minute alone—and hey, good morning—I did some research this morning.”

  Her brain scrambled to get off the six-pack track. “Research? Before a run that looks like it turned you inside out?”

  “While I drank my coffee, yeah.”

  “Okay. We use our coffee time very differently.” Speaking of which, her hands were shaking, so she set her mug down on the counter.

  He was undeterred. “We have a couple of options for getting married.”

  “Whoa, mister, I’m not that kind of girl.” She winked. “Just kidding, I totally am. As you already know.”

  He leaned in and she tried hard not to take a big sniff of his yummy man sweat. “Can you be serious for ten seconds?”

  “Is that a requirement of putting a ring on it?” She clapped her hand over her own mouth and flashed her eyes apologetically at him. She really didn’t know what had gotten into her this morning. Probably a lack of sleep combined with unexpected lusty reactions to his body. It was weird.

  A giggle bubbled up inside her chest and threatened to push against her fingers.

  One corner of his mouth twitched like he knew she was trying hard not to laugh.

  So. Weird.

  Focus, Daphne Jane. FO. CUS. “Options?” She whispered through her fingers.

  “We could fly to Vegas, of course.”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  He shook his head. “No, okay, that’s fair. Then if you want to get married here, it sounds like we can either do a civil marriage license or—”

  “Do the priest thing!” She burst out, her hand dropping away. “Sorry, I got excited because I knew the answer there.”

  He picked up her coffee from the counter and pressed it into her hand. “Here,” he said softly. “Have more caffeine. I want to see what happens when you’re fully topped up.”

  She took the mug, sensations tingling along her fingers as their hands brushed in transfer.

  “Anyway, you’ve got it. Apparently if we want to get married immediately, we need to meet with a priest? Getting married purposely-by-accident is more complicated than I first envisioned.”

  “Welcome to island life,” she said, smiling broadly.

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “Very much so.”

  “Well, all right then.” He shook his head. “We’ll convince a man of the cloth that we’re on the up-and-up.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I can arrange—” Before Daphne could finish, the door to the Bunkhouse flew open and Mick stalked in.

  Behind him was everyone else.

  They were all looking at her, and Will, and the lack of distance between them.

  She blushed. “I’ll explain more later,” she murmured as she grabbed her coffee mug and moved out of looming range.

  The rest of brunch went pretty much like that. Will pursued, she demurred, and their friends grew more and more fascinated with each passing minute.

  By the time the last bite of food disappeared, the illusion was complete. Will was, on paper, falling hard and fast for her—and by some magic of time and circumstance, she was receptive to his advances.

  On paper only. She knew the bubbly excitement in her be
lly was nothing more than the thrill of the con.

  When she gathered up her stuff to leave, Will made a point of following her out front to her scooter.

  “They think I’m making a date with you,” he said with a grin.

  “Or arranging a booty call.”

  His eyebrow quirked. “Do you think?”

  She really didn’t know. “Let’s stick with the script we want them to follow. They think we’re falling madly, passionately, unexpectedly in love, and the next thing that happens is a whirlwind date that just doesn’t end, and with enough rum…”

  “We end up at a church, talking to a priest, and one thing leads to another?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Sounds perfect. Tell me when and where, and I’ll meet you there.”

  She took a deep breath. “Tonight. I’ll have to find out what time the priest is available, and then I’ll text you the details.”

  “You’ll need my number for that.”

  “I will.” Any second now, she’d pull her phone out and put his number in it. Even after signing all the legal paperwork, she’d somehow dodged the ultimate intimacy—putting Mr. Billionaire’s digits in her contact list.

  And she’d probably have to put him at the top of her Favorites list, too.

  A smile spread across his face. “I’m enjoying this.”

  She returned the grin. “Good. See you tonight.”

  The text came mid-afternoon.

  Daphne: This is Daphne

  Will: Good to know

  Daphne: Don’t laugh at me

  Will: I wouldn’t dare

  Daphne: My priest friend can meet with us tonight, or tomorrow, your choice

  Will: Tonight

  Daphne: Pick me up at six-thirty. We’ll work on our cover story on the way.

  Will: Sure. But the first rule of cover stories is you don’t text about them.

  Daphne: That feels like you’re making fun of me a little.

  He laughed out loud.

  Will: Never.

  Daphne: Make it six, sharp. We’ll take the long way and talk about your attitude.