When work became shit, he realized that it was the only thing he had in his life. He needed some serious personal do-overs.
Whisky could help with that. He reached to his side and grabbed a cold cup filled with delicious liquid. The only thing better than the paradise all around him was the fact that the resort staff constantly brought him drinks. Exclusive luxury whiskies, sakes. Imports from Asia, Europe, everywhere. Everything and anything.
Mason shook his head, wondering how Senior Chief Blackshot had gotten this decompression approved. He must have dipped into some sort of slush fund. Then again, the troop commander seemed to go along with everything the senior chief said.
Mason didn’t want to think about how he was being bribed and manipulated into silence. As he tried to forget, the whisky continued to find its way into his mouth. The flavor was incredible, and the alcohol burned nicely on his tongue.
He was a tall guy with significant mass, so it took a lot to feel the effects of alcohol. He never got drunk. He could drink all day, and—hell, yes—he planned on it.
He wished he had someone to enjoy it with. Someone he could actually talk to. He hadn’t seen his troop mate Jake in four or five months—not since Jake flat-out quit the SEALs when he saw what the senior chief did.
Mason had never questioned his own principles before, but maybe Jake had a stronger moral compass than he did.
Mason sucked back the rest of the drink and left the cup beside him. A nearby waiter scurried away, presumably to fetch another. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, but Mason was starting to feel that glow. The heat crept into his bones and taunted the ball of ice he held inside. It had frozen sometime in the last year and wouldn’t melt.
To distract himself again, he grabbed his smartphone from his pocket, thanking god that it was water resistant as his sweaty hands grappled with the unbreakable case.
He slid open the screen and hit up his apps. No new mail. No new messages. Nothing. Didn’t people realize it was his birthday? He couldn’t blame them. He didn’t use social media. Didn’t advertise his birthday.
The only person who knew and cared was his dad. Since his mom had passed away, it was just the two of them. Give the old man a break, Mason thought. He’s probably busy being a productive member of society.
Mason flipped again through his apps, browsing around for something fun. His finger hovered over the dating app he’d downloaded the year before. He hadn’t yet made a profile, but occasionally he cruised around to see what was out there.
There were certainly lots of great candidates. But no one he cared to hurt and ruin. His ex had taught him not to date someone if he wasn’t willing to give it his all. It was a one-way ticket to accidentally hurting someone. And no guy wanted to think of himself as a dick.
He was just a workaholic. He was dedicated to DEVGRU and the mission, wholesale. When he’d completed his SEAL training, the troop commander had talked about cultivating character and putting the needs of the country above your own. Mason thought of those words often, especially when he was lonely.
But he liked to think that if the right girl came along, he’d make it work. Of course he would. One day he wanted little kids running around, and loads of guys in the troop had wives and children. One day, Mason wanted to flip burgers on the barbecue while he stole kisses from his wife behind the shrubs.
He felt himself grinning at the thought—and at fond memories of his mom and dad when he was very, very young.
With the happy memory rattling around his mind, he found himself absently syncing his location to the app and flipping around the “who’s available” column. Surprisingly, lots of resort goers along the stretch were advertising themselves.
But he was still incognito. Still in private mode. Unreachable.
Not surprisingly, the Beach Rouge club was practically overflowing with people looking to mingle.
He clicked on an athletic brunette, twenty-seven. She was on vacation with her girlfriends. A bachelorette party. Looking for someone to escape with. Not bad, he thought. She was a nice-looking girl. British.
He kept flipping. Electronically spying on hot chicks was probably the closest he’d get to socializing with any of them.
Next profile: a blonde, thirty-three, visiting with her brother’s family. Trying to escape the kids, he figured. She wasn’t shy with her pics and revealed some nice long legs topped with a bright yellow bikini. German.
She was beautiful, but he felt nothing when he looked at her nearly naked body.
Next: a beautiful Vietnamese woman vacationing with her husband, looking for a third to spice up their holiday. Mason chuckled to himself but cruised past. Good for them.
Four, five, ten profiles later, he decided to put away his phone. He wasn’t going to message anyone anyway, and he could see how flipping could quickly become addictive.
His dad would tell him to get off the fucking Internet and try being a human in real life.
But Mason just liked to look. Fantasizing was about as far as he’d go these days.
He didn’t hunt for tail on tour, which was true for most of the guys in his troop. Sex, a huge distraction, wasn’t allowed or tolerated in theatre, although there were always a few guys who managed to find a way.
As lowered his phone to turn it off, another profile slipped onscreen. He couldn’t resist taking one last look.
Bringing the phone up to his face, he lifted his sunglasses. What the hell? He’d just discovered exactly what it would take to get him to set up a profile. To send a message.
Within seconds, he was scrambling to open a profile. How the fuck did this app work? How could he message someone? He felt old-fashioned and technologically challenged, even though he was only twenty-six.
That’s what happens when your job forces you to stay off social media, Mason grumbled silently—you fall behind the times.
But, god, that chick. That profile. Of course, she was ten-out-of-ten hot. Those icy blue eyes screamed trouble—the type of trouble he couldn’t get enough of. But they weren’t the only reason he wanted to connect with her.
Something about her look intrigued him. Like she knew something that she wasn’t going to tell anyone. She stood out completely. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he wanted to find out.
When he finished filling out the profile form, a window popped up on the screen. Error. He hadn’t filled something in right.
“What the fuck?” he grumbled at his phone. “What the hell did I do wrong?”
He slammed a few more buttons, looking for the error.
“Fuck.”
Error.
“How the hell does this shit work?” His voice was rising. He was almost yelling—yelling!—at his phone.
Incorrect, the app scolded him. He needed to add a face shot. Another error message appeared. He needed to validate a phone number.
“Dumb fucking thing.”
He wasn’t going to put his face on a dating app. He was careful as hell with his identity. But as he exhaled a frustrated “aaaaaargh,” he heard a sweet songbird voice coming from five feet above.
This time, it wasn’t an exotic bird. It was a real live human being—a woman, at that.
“Need a hand?”
He looked up, then back at his phone, and then he snapped his gaze up again.
Holy fuck.
2
How could it be?
It was her. From the app. The same fucking profile he was trying to message. Her.
Mason stared for a second, his mouth gaping open.
“Having a problem?” her sultry voice prompted as she stood at the foot of his beach towel where he sat and raised one slim dark eyebrow above her aviator sunglasses.
“Nope. No,” he said quickly, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “No problem here.” Recovering, he cleared his throat and looked back up at her standing over him.
She seductively flipped her long auburn brown hair over her shoulder. “Just checking. I heard it’s your birthday
.”
She grinned and slowly made to keep walking down the beach. As her body turned on the sand in front of him, Mason quickly got within clutching distance of her long, lean, well-proportioned, bikini-clad body.
“Drink to my birthday?” he said, not wanting her to leave.
He raised his replenished cocktail, which had begun to sweat in the sun. Before she could walk away, he motioned beside him and flipped out a corner of the towel for her to sit on.
She put on a good show of considering whether to take him up on the offer, but ultimately she took a seat. Something told him that she wasn’t debating it at all.
Her tight-as-fuck derrière in its black string bikini hit the sandy towel beside him, and she smoothed her dark hair over her shoulder, looking over at him sensually.
Raising her aviators to the top of her head, those icy blue eyes studied him from mere inches away. Her long black lashes danced on her beautiful face and cast shadows on her cheeks. The woman mesmerized him, and he clearly wasn’t alone—he noticed several other men eyeing her from the edges of the beach.
“I’m Avery,” she said with a perfect smile.
A sultry grin.
A sultry, fuck-me grin.
Oh, god—Mason couldn’t believe how quickly his birthday was turning into a completely different day. He didn’t want to question his luck.
“Mason.” He grinned back. “Good timing. I’ve been looking for someone to trap… so I don’t have to drink alone.”
It seemed they were on the same page. Her beautiful, round red lips sent shivers of tension through his abdomen and down to his dick. In an instant, he felt more than he had in months.
“And… you’re here alone?” Her cool gaze glanced around.
“Unfortunately,” he replied. “You?”
Her wicked mouth twisted up. “Fortunately.”
From a tray being lowered by a passing by waiter, she picked up a cup and tapped it against his. They both took a swig while her eyes never lost contact with his. He loved her dedication.
A few drops escaped her lips and ran down her chin. Down her throat. Slowly, she made a show of tracing her fingers up her throat and wiping off the booze. Suddenly, he felt much, much less numb than earlier.
He was alert, alive, awake. Aroused.
Engorged.
But Mason was good at one thing if nothing else, and that was keeping cool. His time as a SEAL had taught him exactly that.
He shot her a casual smile. “How did you know it’s my birthday?”
“A little bird told me.” She bit her shiny bottom lip, and her eyelashes gave the slightest pause when her gaze fell on his mouth. She knew how to play. “And I thought, here’s a guy that shouldn’t be alone.” She sighed, her breasts heaving.
“I like where your head’s at.”
She winked at him and licked the whisky remnants off her lips. His mouth watered at the thought of her mouth touching his. It looked like a Red Delicious apple. Dipped in booze.
She was so fucking hot.
A little devil popped up on his shoulder and told him that he should fuck her. Have a fling. He deserved it.
“Did a little bird tell you anything else about me?” he probed, intrigued by the mystery woman who had magically dropped into his life.
She laughed. “Not so much. But my guess is that most of the women on this beach were wondering how long it would take for someone to show up and claim you.”
“Are you claiming me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow underneath his sunglasses.
She touched her chin thoughtfully and returned her aviators to her hungry, predator eyes.
“Maybe.” She considered him thoughtfully. “Maybe not.”
He chuckled, returning the cup to his lips.
“We’ll see how you do.” She playfully swayed into him, breaking that physical barrier.
The slightest graze of her skin was electrifying. He grinned. She sure knew how to turn his crank.
For a fleeting moment, her icy, predatory eyes reminded him of someone. They reminded him of… himself, when he was on an operation. Focused. Ready to fight.
He pushed the thought away, and the wild animal in his mind took over. Like he gave a fuck who she was. She was damn hot. Unbelievably hot. And here he was, enjoying a drink with her on the beach. He needed to chill. Enjoy the moment for what it was.
“It sounds to me like you’ve got an idea of how to solve all my problems.” He polished off his drink, and she sipped on hers.
“I do, do I? And what other problems do you need help with?” she asked, pouring on the flirtation.
He didn’t mind. It was amusing. “Oh, I’ve got a few,” he grumbled.
“Tell me about it.” She sighed softly. She scooped her dark hair with one hand and tossed it provocatively over her shoulder, squeezing her perfectly perky and round breasts as she returned her arms to a relaxed position.
He felt a throbbing beneath his shorts and wondered if she’d notice. At least his dick was alive again.
“I love this set.” She grinned, motioning to the DJ. “He’s been great all week.”
Mason nodded. At least she had good taste in music. That was one check in the box. “Absolutely. It’s my first day, actually.”
“You look like you’ve been here for a month.” She let out a velvety laugh.
Mason chuckled along. True enough. “I’ve been traveling.”
“Where?” she asked casually, checking her nails.
“Nowhere interesting.”
“I’m sure I’d find it interesting.” She pressed a little harder. “Where?”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to even get close to the subject of work. He couldn’t talk about it anyway. “Ah, don’t worry about it.”
He didn’t miss the flash of annoyance in her eyes. That was interesting. It was the first crack in what he was quickly recognizing as her facade. There was something about her… something mysterious… something underneath it all.
Without skipping a beat, Avery delicately picked up his coconut lotion and started rubbing it on her legs. Now she was just torturing him. She squeezed the sweet-scented goo over her long, taut limbs, gently rubbing it in. He toyed with the idea of offering to help, but watching her do it was even more fun.
Before he could find the right words, she tossed the bottle aside and shrugged. “Maybe I should do this after we swim.”
And just like that, she was changing the tempo of the conversation, throwing him off. Another man wouldn’t have caught it, but Mason had been trained to read people. He was a switched-on kind of guy. And he saw a woman trying to gain control of the situation. Trying to wrap him around her little finger.
“After we swim?” he repeated, glancing over at the waves rhythmically brushing up on the sand. They looked refreshing.
“Why not?” She lowered her glasses down her nose with a dare in her eyes.
Mason groaned. Those fucking eyes. They were icicles. Chilled and frosted. Gemstones. And she was a little devil—he saw trouble in her eyes. All he had to do was figure out what type of trouble she was.
She slid her glasses back on and popped up off the sand, adjusting her bikini bottom right before his eyes.
She drove a hard bargain.
Water was something he preferred to look at, not get into. He was an assaulter, not a diver. He’d never been that great at diving. Funny that, being a Navy SEAL. That’s why they kept him on the guns. If they wanted guys to stay alive, they did not want him diving. A close encounter with a great white off the coast of South Africa during a training exercise told Mason’s master chief everything about his aptitude. No, he didn’t want to get too deep.
But at the same time, he didn’t want to let her go.
“Are you scared? It’s too hot to sit here and roast. Come.” Avery was testing him. Reluctantly, he stood, and she led him by the hand toward the water.
Maybe all he wanted to do was sit there and roast. Why did she have to change his plan? He
wondered if she was trying to get him away from the prying eyes on the rest of the beach. It didn’t escape him that they received a lot of lingering glances. He felt like he had scored the baddest bitch on the beach.
Mason was holding her right hand, bur she carried a bottle of sake in her left. Where’d she get that from? Was he drunk? Had the waiter brought it? He usually observed everything. But not this. She was quick.
He had to hand it to her: she had an air of temptation about her. And an air of—danger? He wasn’t sure. But he looked forward to finding out. She-devil, for sure. He would have to keep a closer eye on her and turn up his game.
He reminded himself that it didn’t really matter what her deal was—they could have a little fun, and the world would still turn. It’s not like he was going to open up about what his deal was.
Maybe some hot sex was exactly what he needed to reconnect with the rest of the world. Maybe she was exactly what he needed for his birthday present.
She squeezed his hand as they tiptoed into the warm water on the powder-white beach. It felt fucking good. The breeze whipped around them. The waves gently lapped against their toes. He could see for miles into the abyss of the Indian Ocean as the translucent water eventually dropped off into the darkness of the depths. The thought of that drop sent a chill up his back.
“Amazing,” Avery said as she looked out at the view. She took a swig of the sake and handed the bottle to him with a wide, flirty grin. She was daring him to play. He was tempted. Caution and desire were playing a tennis match in his mind.
“Don’t leave me hanging. You shouldn’t be thirsty on your birthday.” She grinned, pushing the bottle at his chest.
Should he jump right in—or hang back and observe? His more mature self erred to the latter too often, missing out on life.
Not today. He wasn’t a special warfare operator today.
Mason grabbed the bottle and took three gulps. Sake and sweat ran down his chin and throat, getting caught in prickly stubble that needed a shave. The alcohol offered a nice, familiar burn on the way down.
Avery’s beautiful smile made something in his chest coil. She tugged on his hand and pulled him into the water until they were hip deep.
Eyes On Page 2