Daring Her SEAL (16 page)

“You need this stuff?” Because the only line he saw was the pissed-off pucker she got between her eyebrows. Usually when she was talking to him. Or thinking about him, spending time with him or just standing in his general vicinity. Come to think about it, the only time he hadn't seen that line was when they'd been in bed, which was reason 1,213,457 for getting between the sheets together again. “It's just gonna wash off as soon as we step outside.”

She snatched the jar back and growled, “Towel.”

He looked down at his bare chest. Okay. So he'd gotten a little wet. Was this an expression of wifely concern?
Not your wife,
he reminded himself. Which was a good thing. He couldn't do married, and failure was unacceptable.

“You sure you want to get rid of me?”

She gave him a look and slapped a second towel into his arms. “You have no idea.”

“So tell me what you're thinking.”

She leaned back against the sink and crossed her arms over her chest. The robe gaped and he dragged his gaze back up. Her face screamed sex, too. Her long, dark hair tumbled everywhere, messed up from his fingers, and her lips were pink and kiss-swollen. He could see the red marks from his beard on her throat, and he'd bet she had some lower, too. If only he could convince her to lose the robe. He liked looking at her. Liked seeing her wearing his mark. It was sexy. Perfect.

Not his usual thing.

“We're not married,” she said. “So everything's easier. Getting a divorce could have been difficult to explain.”

Which was just one more way they were different. Even if they had turned out to be married, it wouldn't have been the end of the world. She was much more worried about what other people thought—and about how
she
thought he lived his personal life. Would he really be such a bad husband? Part of him kind of wanted a shot at showing her how good he could be.

Wait. Did he really want that?

He did fun, casual sex and he didn't want a wife. She didn't want a husband. Apparently some previously undiscovered part of him didn't care about those wants, because
it
wanted to hang on to Ashley. Real tight.
She's not ours, you idiot
.

“You have to leave,” she said fiercely.

“Whatever you want, babe.” If she wanted him to go, he'd go.

15

T
HE
RIVERBOAT
CASINO
was rocking. Levi had dropped mortar that was quieter. Still, hundreds of gamblers, drinkers and partiers made happier noise than hundreds of 81 mm rounds pounding into an Iraqi palace. He'd spent that particular desert “party” taking the rounds closer and closer to the group of insurgents holed up behind the walls and laying down enough fire to keep the SEAL team from advancing. The riverboat wasn't a bad change, and he'd been happy enough to come out here when he'd gotten the invite to the joint bachelor party for Mason Black and Gray Jackson.

Too bad his heart felt so damned heavy.

Sometime between when he'd swung by Quantico and blackmailed Dixie into joining him on a Belizean adventure and when he'd hightailed it back to the mainland, that organ had taken a direct hit. The SEALs had commandeered a booth in the front of the bar that fronted the casino floor because
we're always on the frontlines
or so Gray claimed. Their seats gave them an excellent view of the casino's goings-on, although most of the guys were more interested in giving Gray and Mason a hard time about their upcoming weddings than in checking out what was happening on the floor.

What was Ashley up to? Had she scored her promotion? He knew she'd knocked them dead at the corruption hearing, because he'd watched the videos on C-SPAN. She'd fielded every question lobbed at her like a pro, giving her testimony about what she knew to be the truth as unflinchingly as any SEAL leading a run under enemy fire.

Work hard. Play hard. That had been SEAL Team Sigma's informal motto for the years they'd fought together. The upcoming weddings were good things, but Levi had to wonder if the team would change afterward. Mason and Gray would be more than just SEALs. The
lover
label wasn't the challenge, but
husband
and, way down the road of the future, maybe
daddy
? Yeah. That was weird. But his brothers seemed to welcome the new claims on their loyalties and hearts. Fuck. He'd never imagined the day would come when he'd be thinking about
hearts
as anything other than a target for his M4, but things changed.
He
changed.

Not that he seemed to get credit for changing. As far as he could tell, he still fell into the category of The Last Man on Earth in Ashley's romantic universe. She didn't want anything to do with him—enough so that she'd kicked his sorry ass off her island. He really needed to stop betting, at least on things that mattered. Standing up, he grabbed his untouched beer and made his escape from the table.

The bar was on the second floor, and he had a bird's-eye view of the casino floor below. The machines buzzed and whirred, generating a crapton of noise as people won and lost. He should go toss a handful of quarters into the slots, and raise a beer to celebrate his friends' luck in landing two very special ladies. The casino floor—and Louisiana—was the last place he wanted to be, however.

A shoulder bumped his and he looked up. Figured that Mason had sneaked out of his own bachelor party. The poor besotted guy appeared to be counting the days until he slid a ring onto his bride's finger. Right now, though, he looked concerned, which officially made Levi the Party Loser because apparently Mason had come out here to make sure
he
was all right.

Mason leaned against the railing. “You want to talk about something?”

Not really. “Did proposing turn you into a girl?”

Mason grunted something. Probably safe to assume it was a negative. There was a beat, and then he asked, “You didn't really marry Ashley, did you?”

Apparently the word hadn't gotten around yet.

“Nope.” He saluted the other SEAL with his beer. “We still don't know how our names ended up on the certificate, but there's no license and no record of a wedding.”

“So you're still single.”

He nodded and took a swig of his beer. “That I am.”

Mason nodded slowly. “Bet Ashley was relieved.”

“You think being married to me would be so bad?” Levi felt something inside him snap as Mason managed to sum up everything that sucked about the situation. Why would Ashley want to be married to him? What made him think he'd be a good husband and partner?

Mason threw up a hand. “Your wedding started as a joke.”

So his teammate agreed with him. Nice to know. “Which means it had to end that way too?”

“I just meant that the two of you hadn't so much as dated before you were waving that piece of paper in front of her face, telling her you were married. She's pretty career focused, and the two of you never seemed to hit it off.”

Well, except when they were exploring each other's tonsils. She'd liked him just fine then. “When did you turn into Dear Abby?”

Mason grinned. “I have sisters. They have magazines. A guy's got to read something in the john.”

The mental image of Mason flipping through a
Cosmo
while in the john was all kinds of wrong. “Way too much information.”

They were silent for a minute, watching the action on the casino floor. A bridal party picked their way through the slot machines, all grins and white tulle. Levi hadn't realized until he'd come down here that casinos churned out almost as many brides as they did cocktails. Getting married on the beach was better—and a whole lot quieter.

“I asked her to marry me,” he blurted out. “She turned me down.”

“Maddie asked me.” A big grin split Mason's face. “
I
turned
her
down. When I came to my senses, I went after her and begged her to say
yes
. Sometimes you just have to keep trying.”

Since Mason was getting married in two weeks, Maddie's answer was obvious. Too bad going after Ashley wouldn't fix this or get her back. He needed a better plan than just asking her.

“I'm gonna try my luck,” he said to Mason and headed for the slots. Not taking the hint, Mason followed and parked himself on the stool next to Levi's. To stave off more conversation, he fed ten dollars into the machine and punched the buttons. The machine had some kind of star-spangled banner theme, and he half expected fireworks or a marching band to come popping out, but instead he got a row of red, white and blue stars. He was still thinking about that later when he hit. The lights flashed, the sirens whooped, and pretty much every eye in the place turned his way.

“Lucky,” Mason drawled.

Levi sure didn't feel lucky. Winning a thousand bucks wasn't what he wanted.

The doors to the casino chapel burst open—to what must be bride number seven hundred for the night—and guests spilled out. The bride and groom wore T-shirts—his with a tuxedo front and hers mimicking a white dress, and the bride had a headband sprouting tulle. Their guests surrounded them, laughing and shouting. You had to smile just looking at them, he thought. Based on the discussion of which buffet the group should hit for the post-wedding celebrations, there wasn't a whole lot of money to spare, but they were smiling, and he'd bet they'd still be smiling in forty years.

Not that he was any kind of marital expert, but he was lucky. He stared at the slip of paper in his hand and went over to the teller's cage to cash it in. He should have given Ashley that kind of wedding. She'd have liked the T-shirts, given her appreciation for their his-and-her swimsuits. Instead, they'd had a fake wedding on the beach, and he hadn't even asked her what kind of memories she really wanted. Or said
I love you
.

Because it was the
I love you
s written on the faces of the newly married couple that promised everything was going to be okay.

Huh.

Mason elbowed him. “You okay?

The only person Levi was discussing love with was Ashley, so he just grunted in reply. If he got on his bike, he could get up to Virginia in seventeen hours. Fourteen or fifteen if he broke a few speed limits and didn't stop to pee. He could go find Ashley and ask her to marry him. Again. In fact, this time he could bring up love and see what she had to say about that.

Mason elbowed him again, a little harder. Fuck. Any harder and Levi would be sporting broken ribs.

“I have to go,” he said. “I've got something to do.”

“Someone,” Mason said with a smirk.

“Maybe I'm just grossed out watching Gray sext with his bride-to-be.” He'd accidentally read a line over the man's shoulder, and no. Just no. Gray flipped him the bird, and Levi said his goodbyes.

The newlyweds in the T-shirts were dancing in the buffet line to a sound track only they could hear. He went over and slipped the bride's mother the thousand bucks. He had a feeling the couple could use it, and they deserved more than ten dollar steak for dinner.

He had eleven hundred miles to come up with a plan to win Ashley back.

17

A
SHLEY
PARKED
HER
CAR
,
mentally counting down the seconds until she made it through her front door. Her
town house had a postage-stamp front garden that was all over roses and
surrounded by a black iron fence full of Gothic curlicues. It was a little over
the top, but she liked it.

Her condo was a skinny three stories, and if she forgot to shut
her drapes she gave the neighbors a peep show, but it was hers. Her brain
promptly inserted Levi into the picture, and she mentally kicked herself. The
man lived in foxholes, base camps and air hangars. When he was stateside, he was
either deep undercover, or living on base. He wouldn't give a hoot about
her...flowers.

Thank God the day was over. She'd testified about the Central
American fiesta some of her coworkers had had going on. She'd felt slightly
hypocritical at times, calling them on the carpet for exploring their sexual
dark sides, but she and Levi hadn't gotten it on on the taxpayer's dime—or the
cartel's. Their mistakes were their own, no thanks to anybody else. At least it
was over and she could move on to the next challenge. And yet she felt empty.
Work wasn't enough anymore. She couldn't stop thinking about Levi, which made
her do stupid things like remember how she'd fallen in love with the big jerk.
And
why
. The
why
was the
kicker that made her regret pushing him away. Maybe they could have made it work
for a little longer, maybe she could have kept her SEAL. For another week,
another month, another lifetime.
Stop thinking
. She
patted her pocket where she kept Stupidity Exhibit A.

Her cat wandered out to say hello as soon as she made it
through the front door, proving that at least one someone was glad to see her.
He bumped around her ankles as she turned to the security panel to disarm the
alarm. She had thirty seconds to punch in her code or she'd be having date night
with the security company's team. Except the alarm was already off. A smiley
face blinked at her from the panel. Oookay.

Adrenaline rushed through her as she palmed her service piece,
and she forced herself to take a deep breath. Think. What were the odds that
burglar had bypassed her system and programmed an emoticon? Rather than, say,
cleaning her place out or lying in wait to add her to his list of victims?
Mentally she ran through the recent news pieces on crimes, but no one had
mentioned a serial killer who left a smiley face behind. Her foot nudged
something and she looked down. A burglar who left his steel-toes by her front
door.

If she was playing things smart, she'd go outside and call the
security company from the relative safety of her car. Let them check her place
out. Or she could go looking for the boots' owner. Her heartrate kicked up a
notch.

The Siamese meeped at her and bumped her calf again. The cat
didn't sense a threat. Or—she eyed the plate by the door—he'd been bribed with
tuna fish. She and her burglar were going to have words about the proper care
and feeding of cats, because the boots were familiar. Probably. They were
standard military issue. That was true. It was possible a random SEAL had broken
into her house. And left a message on her alarm panel after feeding her cat.

Unlikely.

There was more evidence in her living room, two socks and a
belt laid out to form an arrow pointing up the stairs. Okay. So probably not a
burglar. She hid her grin. Encouraging Levi was trouble, but she couldn't stop
the feeling of giddy excitement from sweeping through her. He'd come back, and
when she found him, she'd know why.

His BDUs waited neatly folded at the top of the stairs. She had
no idea why he'd bothered being tidy. Or why she was picking the stuff up. But
she was, and she added his T-shirt, then moved down the hall toward her bedroom
following the trail of clothing, and...hello. She had herself a pair of
navy-blue boxers. With a ring box on top of them. There was a smiley-face
Post-it note and a small key stuck to the top of the box.
Don't read anything into it.

She and her SEAL needed to have words, starting with a lesson
on how to knock on the front door. Or call, email or text. The bedroom door was
open and she'd bet he'd made himself at home. Honestly, she didn't know whether
she should read him the riot act or smother him with kisses. What kind of man
committed a felony to get her attention?

Your man,
her heart whispered.
He could be
your
man.

Tamping the hope down, she stepped inside the bedroom. “I could
have called the security company to check out my burglar.”

And they'd have either thanked her for the view or charged
extra depending on which way they swung. She blinked. Levi was naked. She'd kind
of figured he had to be since she was holding his clothes in her arms, but...he
was
naked
. And sprawled on her bed. With both wrists
handcuffed to said bed. Now she knew what the key was for. A grin split his face
as he took her in, like he was genuinely happy to see her. Or maybe that smile
was because she'd brought his clothes and was carrying a gun. Darn it. She set
the stuff down on the dresser.

“Thanks for not shooting me,” he drawled. How did he manage to
just lie there like it was no big deal? Of course, if she looked like Levi,
maybe she'd be happy to let her stuff hang out all over the place too. Good
lord, he was spectacular.

“When I said marriage was a pile of laundry, you didn't have to
take me literally.” What was he doing here and why was she letting him get her
hopes up? She should be practical about this. She'd had a long day. Her feet
were killing her, her bra strap was attempting to carve a second Grand Canyon
into her rib cage, and she was three pounds too heavy for her skirt, which made
her painfully aware of the waistband. She'd been looking forward to losing her
own clothes and dating her tub. Instead, she got Levi—and that was just another
word for heartbreak.

He shrugged, and the handcuffs clinked. She couldn't help but
notice that these ones weren't purple. “I didn't want to scare you.”

“So losing your clothes in my living room was a public
service?” Whatever his reasons for being here, they clearly didn't include
turning over a new leaf.

He winked at her. “Absolutely.”

The man was incorrigible. It would serve him right if she left
him tied up. Instead of leaving, however, she strolled closer. Levi naked was
always worth looking at and he made her pulse race. She flicked a cuff. “I see
you've rethought your position on kink.”

“I brought presents,” he coaxed.

“Your dirty laundry?” She was
not
going to ask about the ring. It was childish, and she knew it, but Levi could
drive her crazy in under thirty seconds and that was a gift right there.

He nodded toward her desk, the one that sat right in front of
the window. The
open
window. Her next-door neighbor
had a perfect view of naked Levi if the woman happened to look out.

“I like my place,” she snapped, striding over to the window and
closing the blinds. Sharing was
not
in her
vocabulary, not tonight, not if there was any chance Levi might be here because
he'd realized he was
hers
.

“It's great,” he said agreeably.

“And I don't want to have to move.” She rattled the blinds to
make her point. “Close. The. Curtains.”

He just grinned at her. “We had sex on a beach, Dixie. It's a
little late to be shy now.”

“
I
had an orgasm on the beach.
There was no naked penis involved.” Wait. That hadn't come out right.

“I'm mixing things up.” He spread his arms as wide as the cuffs
would allow. She probably needed to get a bigger bed. Or a smaller SEAL. “And
I'll give you another orgasm. Three, if you ask me nicely.”

“I'm not in the mood to ask you for anything,” she informed
him, inspecting the display on her desk. He'd brought a red plastic sand pail
filled with ice and a bottle of very nice champagne. The dozen red roses matched
the bucket, although his flower-arranging skills sucked. He'd lined the twelve
flowers up in a row.

“You missed a bow on your penis.”

He looked down. “Would that have helped? Because I'm willing to
take suggestions.”

She was tired, she was stressed, and he made her feel hopeful.
Damn it.

“What are you doing here?”

* * *

“I'
M
NAKED
.” I
F
SHE
hadn't noticed that, they had
bigger problems. Okay.
He
had bigger problems. He
honestly hadn't considered the open curtains when he'd cuffed himself to
Ashley's bed, but was it really a big deal if her neighbor saw?

“You sure are.” She popped the champagne open in one smooth,
practiced move. She didn't sound impressed—or look at him. This mission was not
going to plan.

“You could get naked, too. That's what married people do.
Although you could keep the shoes.” Because he really, really liked those shoes.
The heels were four inches of come-fuck-me-pretty-please goodness and the
leather might be boring beige but some very sexy straps crisscrossed her instep
and wrapped around her ankle. When she'd reached over, he'd spotted little
zippers running up her heels. Tugging those zippers down with his teeth had
suddenly shot to the top of his fantasy list.

She sat down on the bed, still holding the bottle. The
bottom
of the bed and a good four feet away from him.
On the plus side, she was wearing another one of those suits he liked so much.
The skirt hugged her ass and her thighs, stopping just below her knees, and the
jacket was buttoned tightly over her breasts. He wasn't sure what she was
wearing underneath it, but he'd really like to find out.

“We're not married,” she said.

They could fix that. “I'd like to be.”

“Uh-huh.” She lifted the bottle to her mouth and stared at him
over the rim. “I put you on my to-do list.” He had no idea what that meant, but
apparently it was her cue to drink, because she took a swig of the champagne.
“We need to be clear on a few things.”

“Shoot,” he said, which probably wasn't his smartest comment.
Ashley was more than capable of shooting him if she felt like it. He'd spent his
first twenty minutes in her condo unloading the various weapons she had stashed
around the place. He was all for home security, but he didn't need her plugging
him if she misinterpreted his small rewiring of her home security system.

“One. I can handle my life myself.” She took another swig from
the bottle and paused. “My skirt is killing me. I had to get all dressed up for
the hearing today.”

“Take it off,” he suggested. It wasn't like she didn't know he
was thinking it. For Christ's sake, he was naked. He had no secrets. She shot
him a look as if he wasn't supposed to say those things, but he'd always been
honest with her. She set the bottle on the floor and stood up. It got
incrementally harder to breath when her fingers went to the buttons on the front
of her jacket and slipped the first one free. She hesitated, but her having
second thoughts wasn't part of his plan.

“Got it,” he said gruffly, to distract her. “You can take care
of business on your own, but feel free to pass the crap stuff to me.”

“You're going to do the mental equivalent of taking out the
trash for me?” The second button popped free.

“If that's what you need,” he agreed. She was too far away. He
jerked his chin toward the bed beside him. “Come up here.”

She ignored him and shrugged out of her jacket. She had one of
those silky little shells underneath, the kind of shirt that looked more like
underwear than anything. The suit jacket might be practical navy blue, but her
shirt was red. Made him wonder what color her bra was.

“Two, I don't need a hero.” She stalked closer when she said
this, hands on her hips.

“Roger that, but I could damn sure use a heroine like you, if
you'll give me another chance. You got the key handy?”

She sighed and patted her chest. “Tucked it in my bra,
sailor.”

“You want to uncuff me? Or come over here and ride me?”

She grinned. “Maybe I'm saving you for Christmas.”

The holiday was months away. “I sure hope you're the kind of
gal who peeks at her presents.”

She made a face, but she came up to the top of the bed and
turned around, presenting him with her backside. “Unzip,” she commanded.

“Houston, we have a problem,” he said dryly, rattling his
cuffs.

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Use your
imagination.”

“We need a new dare,” he said roughly, leaning forward and
grabbing the zipper with his teeth.
Challenge
accepted
.
One swift tug and her skirt
hung loose around her hips. She stepped away and let it fall to the ground with
a little shimmy that made him curse his stupid handcuff idea. He'd been trying
to make a point about being willing to stick, but now her sweet curves were
calling his name and it would take him at least thirty seconds to get the cuffs
off without her help.

She stepped out of the skirt, bent over and picked it up. She
had an amazing ass—and a killer red thong. He groaned. When she whisked her
shirt over her head, he was a goner. Her red satin bra matched her panties. He
didn't see the key, though, and that was a problem.