by Anne Marsh
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifted her off her feet and wrestled her phone from her hand. Keeping her in place while he thumbed through her photos, looking for the picture, wasn’t difficult. The woman had to weigh less than half of what he did, and a damn sight less than the last SEAL he’d deadlifted in a training exercise.
“I didn’t take pictures of you last night.”
She snorted. “And I didn’t kill you while you slept.”
He reached around and smacked her on the ass. “Don’t threaten. That’s not nice.”
“It was just a small threat.” She batted her eyelashes at him and grinned. “Put me down and give me back my phone.”
“Uh-huh.” He set her down, but no way he returned her phone until he’d purged it of all potential blackmail material. She’d been shockingly industrious. Not only did she have two shots of his bright red mug, but she had at least a dozen snaps immortalizing the GROOM written in faux diamond sparkly shit on his backside. “Checking me out?”
“Give it to me.” She lunged for the camera. The move put some of his favorite parts in direct contact with a certain portion of her anatomy he had definitely not gotten to explore last night.
He quickly thumbed through the surprisingly small number of pictures on her phone. It was possible she didn’t feel the need to photo-document every moment—or maybe she didn’t have that many moments. He knew she was focused on her career and had been jonesing for a promotion. She had a cat. At least, he thought the enormous mountain of fur was an obese Siamese and not some kind of mutant mountain lion.
And bingo. Twelve butt pictures and two face pictures gone. “Say goodbye to your blackmail material.”
“Destroy the evidence, but you can’t make me forget.” She tapped her forehead. “I’ve got it all stored up here. You’re downright cute, sailor. It’s like you’ve got no idea what to do when your feet are on the sand and imminent death has been averted.”
“You’re damned hard on a guy’s ego.”
She grinned at him. “Your ego’s oversize. Shrinkage would be beneficial.”
“You think the whole week will be like this?”
He winked at her. “Me rescuing pretty ladies? I’m willing to give you your shot.”
8
GOD. LEVI WAS kind of irresistible when he cut loose. Ashley suddenly understood how he’d cut a swath through the female ranks. It would help if she could slap a Post-it note on his forehead. Something she could look at to remind herself of all the reasons getting involved with him was a bad idea. The first note would read emotionally unavailable. And then she’d need notes for off-limits, commitment-phobic, and voted most likely to never have feelings.
Levi was six feet two inches of hard, hot SEAL and bad boy attitude. He’d put out for every female in a hundred mile radius—except for her. Except for that one super brief, really embarrassing, scorchingly hot encounter in a very nasty alley in Sacramento, California. A moment that still featured prominently in her mental “best of” sexual highlights tape. What she needed to remember was that she was one of the boys—and the moment she slept with one of the boys, she’d move from team member to girlfriend. She’d worked too hard to risk that.
“Sun’s going down,” he drawled, sounding delighted. She knew what was next. Since she didn’t feel like admitting to defeat, she pretended acute fascination as the pathway lighting came on and the spider monkeys up in the trees started in on making a ruckus. The birds calling back and forth made decent camouflage, as well.
“So?” She’d bet he knew the precise moment the sun was scheduled to hit the horizon. That kind of information was his stock in trade. Plus the dive watch strapped to his wrist looked as if it could launch nuclear submarines.
He patted her on the back. “So, you owe me a second drink.”
Rats. She’d be regretting that particular dare for the rest of her life.
She stopped walking. Might as well get it over with now, because she doubted he’d be breaking his vow of celibacy in the next thirty seconds on a very public, very uncomfortable path. What had she been thinking?
You weren’t thinking at all. You were just pissed off.
She was fairly certain she’d be more careful in the future. “So what are you choosing?”
“You want to do it right here?” Levi made a show of looking around. Yeah, yeah. She got it. He thought he was in charge and the one calling the shots, which made it practically public service on her part to put him in his place.
“I’m going to win tomorrow,” she informed him.
“Keep telling yourself that, babe.” He didn’t sound concerned. Of course when you were a big, strapping SEAL, you probably didn’t have to worry all that often. She got the impression he hadn’t run into too many situations that he couldn’t control. She couldn’t wait to turn the tables on him.
“Pick a drink or shut up.” Her forfeit didn’t include listening to him run his mouth. Or nicknames. “And try using my name.”
“Dixon,” he said cheerfully. “Nope. It’s not working for me now that I’ve seen your panties.”
He was just trying to get a rise out of her, she reminded herself. Ignore him and his new blackmail material, and he’d move on to something else.
“You strike me as more of a...” He waved a hand. “Dixie Cup.”
That was not an improvement. “Sure, if you wanted to die.”
“The problem with you is that you don’t follow through.” He tugged her along the path, his strong fingers tangled with hers. Despite the casual touch, heat zinged through her. Apparently her body was pathetic—or Levi just got her going that much. She wasn’t sure which would be worse. “All these threats, and yet here I am. Completely unscathed.”
“I can change that,” she muttered. “Pick your drink.”
“Always in such a rush, Dixie. Makes a guy wonder what else you’d be in a hurry about.”
She snorted. “You go right ahead and dream, big guy.”
There was a pause. Levi whistled. She tried desperately to think of a way out of their bet. Whatever he came up with, one thing was for sure. She wasn’t going to like it.
“Sex on the Beach,” he said at last.
“Hey. Remember the rules. No twosomes, threesomes, or more-somes. Sex on the beach is out.”
His teeth flashed in the gathering darkness. “You’ve got two hands and ten fingers. Use your imagination.”
If anyone else had said that to her, she’d be saying something catty back and probably it would be the end of her date night. Normally she hated that kind of talk, but Levi wasn’t saying it to be demeaning or even because he was a guy, she was a girl, and all he could think about was sex. It was more that the man didn’t have a filter. He said what he thought, and it was kind of flattering that all he could think about right now was her. Losing their bet would be impossible if he wasn’t as into her as she was him.
So she let it go, let him tug her along. After a brief pit stop at their villa to collect a bottle of champagne and some towels, he laid in a course for the beach. It was dark, but not that dark, and they passed another couple and a housekeeping cart on their way.
“We need to wait until it’s darker.”
He gave her a look. “What do you think is going to happen?”
She thought about that as the beach got closer and closer. “Hotel security? Fellow guests with cell phone cameras? Bet or no bet, I’m not starring in an international incident.”
Her feet hit sand. The beach stretched out before them, and it was nothing but open space, sand, and the occasional way-too-skinny palm tree. She groaned.
He smiled. “Sweetheart. I’m a US Navy SEAL. No one’s catching us.”
“You’re a SEAL, not a ninja,” she grumbled. “And I’m DEA. We usually only go where we have a warrant.�
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He flashed her another grin, the annoying kind that made her want to introduce her elbow to his rib cage. “I can send out invitations if you prefer.”
Kill her now.
* * *
HE WAS A lucky, lucky man. Ashley strode across the sand with the determination of a SEAL team storming an enemy beach. Based on her current trajectory, she’d decided the palm trees on the far side were the most private spot in public that she could find. That, or she was just hoping to wear him down before they got there. No such luck.
Usually when he was on a beach, he moved double-time. Or carried heavy weaponry and took fire. Typically all of the above. It was strange to have the time to notice that this beach was unspeakably pretty. There were stars overhead and reflected in the water. Jesus. It was positively romantic and like some kind of postcard. The place even smelled pretty, much better than the last beach he’d visited. That beach had reeked of diesel fuel and other less pleasant things that happened when your beach day included six SEALs, a bay full of underwater mines and twelve surprised hostiles. He flicked the nearest palm tree with his finger. White flowers marched up the side like Mother Nature had decorated just for Dixie.
“Are we hiking to Antarctica?” Not that he wouldn’t if that was where she really wanted to go, but it would be nice to know.
She didn’t slow down. “You said beach. This is a beach. A beach without people.”
He was quite aware of that. He had sand in his boots and his night vision was excellent. He grabbed a flower and followed her.
When she reached the far side, she paused, clearly assessing the trees for cover. “Is there something wrong with my choice?”
If it involved any parts of her getting naked, he thought it was a most excellent beach.
“Your beach is easy.” He had to smile when she rolled her eyes. “I could put an assault team of SEALs in the water, and have them ride the surf in for the last twenty feet. A quick look for hostiles, and then we’d be up and charging all this nice, flat sand. Not too much current or chop, no underwater obstacles, plus a nice flat run in? I’d own this beach. No way you’d hold it.”
She stared at him. “It’s a good thing we’re not dating, because that has to be the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“We’re married.” Which was actually pretty convenient, now that he’d gotten over the shock of the thing. He kind of liked Ashley, when she wasn’t ripping into him.
She snorted. “Don’t go to my head, sailor.”
“We’re almost out of beach,” he volunteered. Unless she decided to actually hike around the island, she needed to pick a spot, and soon.
She pointed. “There.”
The patch of sand she’d chosen looked like just about every other spot on the beach, but it was lady’s choice. If she said this place was better, he’d believe her. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She sounded suspicious.
“Sure.” It was sweet how she always wanted to be in control. Since she looked more than a little nervous, he opened the bottle and handed it to her.
“No glasses?” The lack of stemware didn’t stop her from chugging the champagne.
“Be nice,” he said mildly, and she lowered the bottle. When she didn’t hit him with it, settling for twisting the base into the sand, he counted that as a victory. She was nervous, he had the upper hand and somehow he still hadn’t gotten it through her adorably stubborn head that all he wanted to do was give her pleasure. And, sure, he intended to do that by wrestling some of her famous control away from her, but she was going to enjoy it. He’d make sure of that.
She was smoking hot. Of course, she was that every day of the week, but since she’d followed him out here to give him her own personal version of Sex on the Beach, she looked doubly hot. Or maybe that was just him anticipating some of her clothes coming off. She wore cotton shorts that hugged her butt and a tank top with little straps. Because those straps were both thin and slippery, he’d gotten more than one peek at her bra on their walk to the beach. He knew definitively that tonight it was blue, which naturally made him wonder if her panties matched. Given how much Ashley liked things organized, he’d bet the answer was yes.
And since time was wasting, he spread their towels out on the sand and dropped down, bracing his back against a fallen palm. She eyed him, and then the bottle she’d dug into the sand. Apparently he was in a neck-and-neck race with the champagne. Before she could break his heart by opting for the drink, he reached up and tugged her down. She let him pull her back against him between his spread legs, her butt nestled up against his dick in a way that had him thinking about her underwear again. And possible ways to convince her to take it off.
It was hard to get a read on Ashley. She was a good sport, and she hated losing with a passion. So how much of her lap dance last night had been her having a good time, and how much of it had been a ploy to get him to lose their bet? He mentally replayed their kiss, too, but that only made him hard. Which she had to notice, given her current position.
Giving up on trying to figure out her motives, he plucked a flower from the side of the palm and tucked it behind her ear. “Brought you flowers.”
There was a pause.
“Tell me you checked for ants first.”
He stared at the back of her head. “You’re worried about me not being romantic enough?”
She fingered the flower he’d stuck in her hair and shrugged. “So we’re a good match for each other.”
Were they? A good match? He kind of liked the idea of that, and it was true that they had some things in common, like being too stubborn for their own good and willing to wade into just about any fight. He liked to think he was practical, too, although Ashley kind of had him beat there. He stared at the water for a moment. Kind of peaceful, except for the nonstop hard-on he always had around Ashley these days. Sure enough, said hard-on twitched, getting bigger, and she sighed. Not a happy, soft, God-that-feels-great sigh, but a huff of exasperation.
“You might as well say it before you burst,” he said.
Her teeth clicked shut. “You—”
Apparently using his erection as her backrest had rendered her almost speechless. He made a mental note of that for their future interactions, because he needed any advantage he could get.
“So I find you attractive. That’s my problem, not yours. You don’t worry about that.”
She sighed. “Why are we doing this again?”
Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing here. He should let her retreat or leave or do whatever cross-eyed, stupid, incomprehensible thing it was she thought she should be doing. Problem was, he didn’t know how not to fight. He couldn’t stay down. Give up and die—or keep moving. That was how it worked in the field, and apparently relationships weren’t all that different from a SEAL mission gone FUBAR.
From a civvy perspective, those missions could look...hell if he knew which word to use. Glamorous? Exciting? Purpose-driven, like that self-help shit he’d read on deployment once because it had been the only book in English. All he knew was that as a SEAL he made decisions every day that changed lives. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. Go left, run into an ambush. Turn right instead, and avoid the IED planted in the middle of the goddamned road.
He was here on this beach in the middle of nowhere because Ashley had said yes. That one word meant everything to him. She was funny, sarcastic, and, yeah, drop-dead gorgeous. He loved pushing her buttons and had no intention of stopping anytime soon. And when he pushed her, she pushed back. He liked that, too. He didn’t stand a chance in hell of ordering her around or walking over her, and that was good. When he was around Ashley, he felt things. Good things. That was a nice change.
She was still talking though, and it would have been disrespectful not to listen to at least some of the words, so he tuned back in. Apparently she
’d moved on from their marriage to their bet, questioning the wisdom and validity of both. Uh-huh. He knew excuses when he heard them, and she was not getting out of this. Not when he wanted it so badly.
“You lost the dare, so you gotta pay up.”
She sputtered. Honestly, he figured she wasn’t about to go all porno flick on him but that was kind of okay, too. This wasn’t about him, but about her. He wanted her hot, sure, but he also wanted her...happy? He shoved that thought aside.
“I could help. If you let me.”
She made a little noise that kind of sounded like she was choking, probably on her current situation and the out he’d just offered her. He got it. She didn’t like asking for help. Didn’t like needing it either. So maybe he just made sure she took it. Wasn’t like she didn’t know how to tell him to fuck off, if that was what she really wanted.
“Say yes, Dixie.” This was a game, but he didn’t want her getting hurt—and he wouldn’t take the chance that he misunderstood her limits. “Give me a yes.”
She stilled, and for a moment he thought he’d lost her. She didn’t move, but she kind of shut down and he could practically hear her thinking. There were so many reasons they shouldn’t do this, but the only thought filling his head right now was that she was perfect. And here. In his arms. Not touching her more was killing him, but what if he’d misread her? What if he’d—
“Yes,” she said. Three letters and nothing more, but she sounded certain and that was good enough for him.
He took her down to the sand in one quick move, snaking an arm around her waist, his hand cupping the back of her head. She looked down the beach, apparently still worried about uninvited guests spotting them. He’d patrolled this particular stretch of sand more than one night when they’d been undercover on the island six months ago. He knew the security patterns, and the likelihood of anyone coming out here was low. But her worry was kind of endearing, which made him itch to tease her more.
“Let me help,” he said again, then moved down her body just in case there was any question about the how. He figured the why was obvious.