Revealing Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 4) (5 page)

The music swelled. For crying out loud.

Rachel stormed out of her room and banged on Anna’s door. “Some of us are trying to concentrate here.”

Nothing. Anna didn’t bother to acknowledge her, or she couldn’t hear Rachel at the door over Kanye West. Fine. She’d go somewhere else. Hadn’t she just espoused the merits of the beach? Why stay indoors when she didn’t have to? Grabbing her laptop and phone, Rachel shoved both into a bag, thrust her feet into flip-flops, and yanked open the front door.

Rain poured down from a cloudburst that hovered directly over the island. Sun shone all around, lighting up the blue water in a maddening juxtaposition of weather. Figured. She couldn’t go to the beach and couldn’t walk all the way to the resort to camp out in the dining room, not unless she wanted to sit in wet clothes and risk ruining her laptop.

A string of curses spilled from her mouth.

Her phone beeped. She pulled it out to see a text from Emma:
Got the house. Dex and I are moving in tomorrow.

Which left Evan all by his lonesome in a bungalow built for two. Instantly Rachel came up with the perfect combo solution to her two biggest frustrations.

She’d never been one to abandon a goal. Maybe the problem wasn’t that she’d been trying to score with Evan to no avail, but that she’d picked the wrong playing field. Nothing like a little home court advantage, right?

R
achel pulled her favorite sundress from the closet and poured herself into it. Red, of course. The mirror didn’t lie; she looked good.

No, she didn’t have a Playboy physique, but the dress went a long way toward pumping up what she did have: a five-foot-nine frame that wasn’t too much wider than it had been in college, high, perky breasts, and legs that she kept in shape. There was nothing worse than finding yourself in the middle of a physically challenging sexcapade and not being able to hold up under the muscle strain.

Lip gloss finished off Rachel’s battle armor. Cosmetics were for women who had something to hide, and Rachel preferred to be as honest as possible with people.
This is what I look like. If you don’t like it, shut your eyes.
Men generally approved. Except for one.

As soon as it stopped raining, which thankfully didn’t take long, Rachel walked down the street to Evan’s bungalow. With the weather being iffy, the guys would likely not have any excursions booked for the afternoon. She’d already texted Emma and begged her to take Dex shopping for towels or something for their new house. Which had taken zero coaxing. Emma would be dragging Dex around Freeport for hours.

Meanwhile, Rachel had a man to ambush.

Evan answered the door on the first knock, his expression blank as he took in the red surprise on his tiny front porch.

Since he didn’t slam the door in her face, she’d consider the welcome warm. “Hey. Got a few minutes?”

He widened the opening between the door and the frame, tilting his head ever so slightly toward the interior. Her pulse bobbled for a second as she registered his quick acquiescence. She’d expected an argument or an excuse or a… quirky eyebrow. The lack of any of the above threw her game completely off.

Before he changed his mind, she brushed past him, letting her bare arm slide not the slightest bit accidentally across his torso. It was the small things that made life livable and the feel of his hard chest… delicious.

Now she was back on track. Seduce and conquer, but never let them see you sweat.

Carefully she arranged her legs as she sank onto the big sofa in the small living area, angling her best feature toward Evan. This bungalow mirrored the one she shared with Anna, laid out in a square with two bedrooms at the top, a bathroom and a living room/kitchen combo at the bottom. It was designed for two people who had no qualms with being on top of each other constantly.

Or on bottom. Whatever floated their collective boats. Which was precisely the reason she was here.

“So,” she said as Evan crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Come on now. I can keep my hands to myself. Have a seat.”

Warily he complied, wedging his wiry frame onto the giant couch, clearly bought with supremely built men in mind who would want their space. It was way too much space when Evan fairly vibrated with masculinity that Rachel could almost taste.

God, what
was
it about this man that got her salivating the moment her senses picked up his proximity? If she was being honest, that was a huge part of her motivation for being here—she needed to slake her Evan-induced thirst, get it out of her system, and move on.

It was worth a shot.

“Emma and Dex found a place together, did they tell you?”

Evan nodded but otherwise remained still.

“It got me thinking about my own living situation. Anna is… interesting,” Rachel hedged in case she and Evan were friendly. Geez, if they were though—she might have to whack him over the head until he quit. “But she’s got a totally different schedule than I do, and well, frankly it makes it difficult to concentrate. On the legal stuff,” she threw in helpfully in case he couldn’t connect the dots on his own.

His shoulder lifted an inch, so she forged on ahead.

“I was thinking how much quieter it would be here—”

“No.”

His gaze bored into hers, unflinching and uncompromising, and she scowled to cover the way her skin prickled when he turned her into glass, peering around inside her without her permission. He’d ferreted out her agenda instantly, and she didn’t like it.

“You haven’t even heard what I was going to say.”

“I don’t have to.”

She nearly did a double take at his mulish expression and caught herself at the last minute. Mr. Silva had a bit of a stubborn streak. Good to know.

“Yeah, you do.” Flustered, she swallowed and put on her own don’t-screw-with-me face. He did not want to tangle with her, at least not verbally. She got paid to win arguments. It was time to show him who was the boss here. “You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”

Something flashed deep in Evan’s dark eyes. Discomfort.

Wow, usually nothing she said penetrated his rhino-hide. Since the advantage had unexpectedly fallen in her lap, she pressed it. Hard.

“What do you think I want from you, Evan? Blood? Your soul? I may have been accused of being a vampire and the devil before, once in the same sentence, but that’s only in the courtroom.” She waved it off without shifting her focus. “You’re a sexy, well-built man and yeah, I like looking at you. I’d like to do more than look. But let’s be honest. This island is crawling with sexy, well-built men. I’ll scratch my itch with one of them if need be.”

She would do no such thing, though why she couldn’t manage to find a man outside of Evan worthy of a second glance bothered her. A lot. Now was not the time to examine that.

Or why she’d gotten the distinct sense he needed to hear that she wasn’t going to jump him in the shower.

His mouth tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. Which was good. She had a lot more to say.

“Right now I’m trying to secure a place to live that doesn’t include a woman who hates me and enough rap music to drive a person clinically insane. I have a lot to do in the next little while if Aqueous Adventures hopes to block Jared Anderson from buying Ilhota Rosa. You are the sole owner of the last empty space on Duchess Island. How badly do you want me to succeed?”

Evan’s jaw clamped down hard, carving lines into his face that looked a lot like fatigue all at once, and her resolve crumbled. This wasn’t a divorce negotiation where the slightest turn of your neck exposed a weakness that neither side would hesitate to exploit. No one here got an extra million for every inch of throat she ripped out.

Yeah, she wanted to stick to her word, which meant she needed quiet to learn the legalities behind her case. And she desperately wished to figure out how to exorcise Evan from her consciousness, one way or another. Both could be accomplished living under his roof. But her tactics needed work.

“Hey,” she said softly and reached out, laying her fingers on his tightly crossed arms before realizing she’d just proved herself a big fat liar—apparently she
couldn’t
keep her hands to herself. “I’ll make you a deal. Ready? Because I don’t do this for just anyone. You let me move into Dex and Emma’s empty bedroom and I’ll cook for you every night.”

Cooking was her trump card. But it was also something she didn’t offer lightly. It was her escape, the thing that soothed her soul in the midst of a brutal case. Cooking returned her humanity, reminded her of simple, basic values. When she cooked, she could assuage her need to nurture without becoming maudlin about the fact that she had no one to feed.

And since coming to Duchess Island, she’d had the distinct lack of motivation to set up a proper kitchen because she had no idea where she was going to land. Moving into Evan’s house had an air of permanence to it that she didn’t hate. The kitchen could be solely hers.

The thought made her a little giddy. She could totally use a bit of self-therapy.

Wow. How had she not realized how much she’d missed cooking?

His gaze dropped to her hand, but he didn’t shrug it off. “Every night?”

Victory, thy name is Rachel
. The thrill slapped a smile in place that she couldn’t wipe off if she tried. “As long as it’s just you. If you have a hot date, you’re on your own.”

Wonder of wonders, his mouth turned up in kind. “What if you have a date?”

His smile sizzled through her abdomen and spread into her blood, warming everything in its wake. She wished she could put her finger on why he, of all people, affected her like this. Evan’s simple smile had the power to unravel her, but at the same time, she craved it.

This was so not her style. Control was her vice of choice, yet here she was, standing in line for whatever he doled out. Because she couldn’t stop herself.

“Weren’t you listening?” She tossed her hair over her shoulders. “I don’t cook for anyone. This is a special deal, only for you. If I have a date, he better plan to take me to the most expensive restaurant in Freeport or keep walking.”

He lifted his chin a fraction.

“Is that a yes?” she asked.

“I’ll let you know.”

And that’s when he shut down. She could feel him slipping away as if she’d punctured his skin and all his essence started leaking out. “I’ll sweeten the pot.”

His left eyebrow lifted a millimeter, barely enough to register, but she always tuned into Channel Evan Silva. Otherwise, she might miss something important.

“I won’t make you talk to me.”

That was it, all she had to offer. Her cards, they were on the table. If that didn’t do it, she’d have to concede defeat. For now. And then go back to Anna’s Hellhole and strategize.

Of course, not speaking to each other might put a huge crimp in her plan to seduce Evan with chicken tortilla soup and homemade cornbread. But it was certainly conducive to her secondary goal—peace and quiet so she could get her legal feet under her. That small favor might one day parlay into a paying, full-time gig, and that could be interesting.

The Caribbean might be the place where she could finally find enough peace to build a life. It could happen. But only if she crossed this first bridge toward it.

His expression shifted into something she didn’t recognize. It was new. Mesmerizing. Equal parts surveillance and appreciation, as if he’d done a thorough sweep and liked what he saw. For once. He drew her into his bottomless gaze, revealing depths even she, in her many hours of contemplation of his layers, hadn’t begun to fathom.

She was caught in the whirlpool of his eyes, and she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it. Didn’t want to move unless it was into his arms so she could discover his secrets and hold them close. Examine them. And somehow use that information to understand herself better.

This man dug into her very center. Unexpectedly. She didn’t know what to do with that. What she
should
be doing was running very fast in the other direction. Evan stirred up things that scared her.

“You never expect me to talk,” he finally said. “That’s the only reason why I’m considering it.”

Um… what? “I do so. I talk to you all the time.”

He titled his head, and somehow that increased his enigmatic quotient by a thousand. “But you don’t mind if I don’t participate. That’s why I’m talking to you now. I don’t feel pressured. You have a unique way of making me… comfortable. I appreciate that.”

She
made
him
comfortable. Ironic considering he’d been driving her slowly mad from day one.

His penetrating gaze intensified, heavy with meaning and implications that she scarcely knew how to catalogue. But craved instantly. Her lungs hitched, driving every drop of oxygen from her body. What was she doing here, playing sexual chicken with a man whose still waters ran so deep they were clearly out of her realm of experience?

All at once she wasn’t so sure who had the upper hand in this conversation anymore, and she didn’t like it. She felt exposed, more so than usual. His x-ray vision had unlocked a longing inside her that she’d only just begun to realize had very little to do with sex and a lot to do with things she’d never contemplated. Never experienced.