Wicked Secrets (17 page)

“It was just a ring.” He shrugged. “No big deal.”

He didn’t say anything more and she was already out on an emotional limb. She didn’t need to cut the branch off while she was sitting on it, did she? Maybe he hadn’t meant anything. He was leaving the island soon and he’d never, not once, mentioned the possibility of continuing their relationship after he deployed. If he’d wanted more from her, he’d have said something.

“Don’t call me Sergeant Dominatrix again,” she said.

“Got it.” He scanned the ocean’s surface, but she could have told him that the ring hadn’t magically popped up. He was out of luck in the jewelry department. “I’m sorry.”

Was he apologizing for the ring? The nickname? Both sucked. For a few brief moments, she’d thought they’d had something. It turned out, though, that both at the Star Bar and here on Discovery Island he was simply playing games she didn’t know the rules to. Trusting Tag had been a mistake. She’d let him in and he’d...let her down.

There was a lesson there that she needed to learn. She turned and started to walk away. Stopped.

“Tag?”

He shifted, but he didn’t come after her and that right there was lesson number two. “What?”

“Next time, make sure you insure it,” she said and left.

* * *

“Y
OU
 
UP
 
FOR
some shore diving?” Tag strode into Deep Dive and stopped in front of Daeg. It was time to go all in.

“Sure. When did you have in mind?” Daeg acted like Tag hadn’t just slammed into Deep Dive as though he’d spotted the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Or they hadn’t just spent eight hours flying and diving. “Count me in.”

“Now.” Because with every passing minute, the risk increased of the current moving the ring farther and farther offshore. “Cal?”

Cal looked up from the pile of gear he was sorting. “Group field trip?”

“Mission,” he said shortly. The guys didn’t ask questions, just helped him grab fresh tanks and their gear bags. He did some quick calculations. He had enough surface time, and he wasn’t going too deep. Diving would be fine.

Please, God, let it be fine.

Daeg slanted him a look as they slogged across the sand toward the pier “So who are we rescuing this time?”

He’d rather jump gearless from the Blackhawk than have this conversation. “Me.”

Cal folded his arms on the back of the front seat and poked Daeg’s shoulder. “He’s the king of one-word answers today. What are the odds the next word is
Mia
?”

Bull’s-eye.

“Got it in one,” he admitted.

“I’m assuming she’s not drowning or trapped on a burning vessel,” Daeg drawled. “Because, if that’s the case, I’m going to remind you to dial 911 first.”

“Okay, smart-ass. You want me to say it? Fine.” He took a breath, let it out. “We hooked up once in San Diego. She let me take her home from the Star Bar, and we spent the night together. The attraction was still there when she showed up here, and the whole damned island kept trying to set me up. She said she didn’t mind pretending to be my fiancée and it just seemed like a good idea.”

Daeg punched him in the shoulder. “Here’s a clue, dude. When someone asks you out on a date, you should feel free to use the word
no
.”

He’d had hot sex.

He’d had the best night of his life.

But they
hadn’t
had a relationship. That hadn’t come until Discovery Island.

“So, just for our edification, at what point did ‘fake engagement’ become ‘real engagement with a real ring?’” Cal asked.

He didn’t know. He tightened his grip on the tank, because damned if he could figure it out. He and Mia had had chemistry from the moment they met, an out-of-this-world sexy attraction for each other. He’d never felt like that for anyone else, before or since, and he got the impression she shared those particular feelings.

And then...what he’d felt had been
more
.

He was leaving in a week, and he wanted to stay. There was nothing fake about his feelings for her. She was his. His one and only. His pain-in-the-butt, take-charge, stubbornly fantastic woman. Or she had been, and then he’d thrown it all away, as easily as she’d chucked his ring. She made him think about things he’d sworn weren’t on the table for him. Things like
longer than six damn weeks
and
possibly forever.

Okay. Definitely forever. He cared about her in ways he had no intention of explaining to Cal and Daeg, although, judging by the sympathetic looks on their faces, they already knew. Funny how the beach looked the same—albeit Mia-less—and the riptide was still alive and kicking just offshore. The rocks would make the shore entry tricky, and then they’d have to deal with the currents.

Cal eyed the water and shook his head. “I can give you a few words. Boneheaded. Stupid. Doomed to failure. Take your pick. FYI, those apply to this dive site as well as to your relationship skills.”

He was all that. The thing was, when he was with Mia, he was also something more.
Someone
more. He wanted to be that man all the time.

“I’m not disagreeing, but I’m getting her back.” Somehow. When he came up with a good plan, which might take the next ten or twenty years, by which time she’d definitely have moved on. Damn it.

Daeg whistled. “And this leads to us shore diving because...”

“Because she threw her ring away.”

“Groveling.” Daeg punched him in the shoulder. “You’re going to have plenty of practice.”

“We’re going to have sand in our Skivvies,” Cal added.

“I don’t want to know.” He really didn’t.

Pulling on their gear, they headed down to the water’s edge. With the tanks they could stay down longer and, looking at the expanse of water, they’d need every minute they could get.

“Okay. Give me an approximate idea of where Mia launched the ring?”

Tag pointed and explained. Unfortunately, she had a strong arm. The ring had to be at least fifty feet out past the end of the pier.

“Jesus Christ,” Daeg grumbled. “Next time you lose a ring, try dropping it in the shallow part, okay?” Yeah. He’d do that. He pulled on his mask and waded in. Ten feet in and the waves broke chest-high already. This was a fool’s errand. He wasn’t finding shit out here. Cal and Daeg moved in behind him, right on his back and looking out for him.

“Shut up and dive.”

17

N
OT
 
SURPRISINGLY
,
M
IA
had already put her stamp on the house, like she’d done to his damned heart. Either she was going for the English cottage garden effect or she’d simply purchased every plant available at the local nursery and then shoehorned them in wherever she’d found a spare inch. In precise rows and squares. Her front yard was a happy explosion of color and scents.

He liked it.

He climbed the steps to the front door and knocked. Busting right on in was a fiancé privilege, and she’d revoked his access permit. Still, she answered the door, which was something. And then she didn’t slam it in his face. Another point for him. He hoped. God. How had Cal and Daeg
done
this? Daeg’s crazy-ass T-shirts suddenly made a whole lot more sense. Maybe it was some kind of secret fiancé-fiancée communication code.

He looked at her. “Can I come in?”

She stared up at him through the screen door. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She looked cool, collected and one hundred percent in charge. On the other hand, she was wearing his US Navy T-shirt and not much else, which left her long bare legs on display.

Ridiculously, he felt happy just seeing her, like everything would be okay because she was here.

“No.” She glared at him. It was certainly hard to interpret that kind of answer positively. So much for hope springing eternal.

“I’d rather have this conversation face-to-face, but I’ll bellow from the front yard if I have to.” Nope. He apparently had no shame. Good to know.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and the T-shirt rode up higher. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Yeah. But I have some things I need to say, starting with
I’m sorry
.”

“Those words are a good start.”

She turned and walked away, but she didn’t slam the door closed. That was as good as an invitation, so he opened the screen door and followed her. Because he didn’t want to have to do a John Cusack imitation and stand in her front yard singing with a boom box. He was even worse at singing than he was at talking.

He reached and caught her flying ponytail, gently tugging her to a stop. “Can I start now?”

She didn’t look back at him, but she didn’t move, either. “Hair pulling is so second grade.”

“Hey. I’m desperate.”

“Really?” She turned and slapped her hands against his chest. She packed quite a wallop, and he took a step backward. Her T-shirt slipped down her shoulder. No bra strap—just the pale white line from her bikini. She was beautiful and flushed. “Because I think I’m okay with your desperation.”

The John Cusack thing suddenly made a whole lot more sense. The guy probably had a cheat sheet taped to the back of the boom box. Tag should have tried it.

“Can we sit down?” Because if he stalled for time, maybe he’d have an epiphany in the extra seconds.

“I own two pieces of furniture. A bed and a cat tree. Neither of those is working for me.” She whirled and headed for the back door with her little announcement. He followed her, of course. He probably always would. Yeah. He’d be ninety and chasing her around the nursing home. Best-case scenario.

She pushed open the back door and gestured toward the steps. “That’s the best I’ve got to offer.”

Worked for him. He dropped down onto the topmost step, looked up—and realized
she
hadn’t intended to pull up a seat with him. She stood over him, foot tapping, and clearly oblivious to their respective angles. Because, Jesus, he had a fantastic look up her—
his
—T-shirt. Her panties were some kind of silky navy blue fabric with pink lace absolutely guaranteed to drive him crazy.

“You don’t want to sit?” he said a little hoarsely. “Because I really think you should.”

He knew the moment she figured out the issue. Her face flushed a deeper pink, and she dropped down onto the step beside him.

“You don’t get to sleep with me just because you feel sorry for me,” she announced. “And we’re both going to pretend you didn’t just see my panties.”

He couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face.

“No.” He leaned in a little closer, testing the waters. “I don’t feel sorry for you. But your panties happen to be truly spectacular.”

She elbowed him. “Keep talking.”

“You needed help. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He lost the battle to keep his hands to himself and reached out, carefully tugging her hair free. “The thing is, I need you, too.”

“We sound like a needy bunch. Maybe we should get counseling.” She didn’t sound like she was in a forgiving mood, but her lips were quirking up at the corners. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

The hell with trying to be elegant or smooth. He wasn’t poetic, and he’d be buying greeting cards for every major holiday because he had no idea how to put his feelings into his own words. Plus, only three words really mattered.

Which meant that all he had to say was: “I love you.”

* * *

B
REATHE
.

She counted each breath, but she sounded like an asthmatic with a two-pack-a-day habit.
One
. Tag lounged beside her, one big, warm thigh pressed against hers. So much for keeping her distance. Being more than half-naked wasn’t helping her, either, because bare skin made it all too easy to remember their bedroom activities.

“I’m no prize,” he warned, when she didn’t say anything. Because she was
counting
and trying not to hyperventilate. Her heart thundered in her ears, and, for all she knew, an entire tank battalion was doing wheelies in her front yard.
I love you
. What did that even mean? “I owe Uncle Sam one more tour of duty, and I’ll be gone for longer than I care to think about. I’m also fairly certain I don’t know how to get this relationship business right, and I’m terrified I’m going to screw it up.”

“Again.” She blinked fiercely and her backyard blurred. Because of rain, she thought. Not because this man was demanding her heart and—just possibly—offering his own in exchange.

“Again,” he agreed solemnly. “You see, I’ve met this woman, and I’m hoping she’ll agree to be my everything. She’s bold and confident and I wouldn’t change one thing about her.”

“Kick-ass.” She looked up at him, and, damn it, those
were
tears in her eyes. She didn’t cry. She wasn’t a girly girl, and she hadn’t cried in years. “Don’t forget kick-ass.”

“Never. So, can I try again?” He held his hand out to her, his fingers closed around something.

“Okay.” She extended her hand, and he dropped the
something
onto her palm. Her beautiful, gorgeous, all-too-real and sparkly engagement ring. “You found it.”

He smelled like salt water and outdoors and Tag. “I’m a professional diver. And I may have enlisted the troops. Cal says to tell you that you have one hell of an arm. He’d feel better if you put it back where it belonged, on your finger.”

“This is all for Cal’s benefit?”

Tag plucked the ring off her palm, turned her hand over and slid the ring back on her finger. “Not really, but I’d feel better if you told me you loved me and were going to marry me. I’m flexible on the order.”

She gave him a slow smile. “Oh, the choices.”

“I’m hopeful, but I don’t want to make any assumptions.”

She swung herself onto his lap, straddling his hips so she was face-to-face, mere inches of space between them. Cupping his face in her hands, she knew she believed in second chances. “I love you.”

“You do?” he asked gruffly, like he needed to hear her say it again.

“I do.” He’d opened up to her, so she could do this for him. It was that trust thing again. She trusted Tag. She trusted that the two of them together could be so much more than either of them alone could be. “I like letting go with you.
For
you
.
You’re my lifeline when things get rough. I didn’t know when I landed on Discovery Island that I’d be coming home to you.”

Just to prove her point, she leaned down and kissed him. He didn’t seem to mind, because he kissed her back. When eventually she lifted her head, both of them were breathing hard.

“I’d like to propose a new nickname,” he said.

He had a thing about putting names on things and people. She, on the other hand, just wanted to enjoy the moment. “Do you think that’s wise?”

He winced. “How much worse can I do?”

True. He’d kind of already hit rock bottom in the naming department. She slid her hands around his neck and drew him closer, getting ready to kiss him again. And then maybe again, just for good measure. Two inches was too much. “Give it a shot.”

“Sergeant Mine.”

“That’s not terribly catchy.”

“No.” He nuzzled her neck. “But I’m hoping it’s true.”

“You need a nickname.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

Oh, but she absolutely would. “Senior Petty Officer Naval Air Crewman Hottie of the Year doesn’t have quite the ring I was going for. Too many syllables.”

“Thank God for Navy job titles.” He grinned at her and slipped his hands beneath the edge of her T-shirt.

“I could just call you Mr. Brandt.”

“Is that a proposal?” His eyes crinkled at the corners with the smile he couldn’t hold back.

The man holding her so close was damned sexy, but the emotions flooding her were so much more. Happiness and hope. Love and lust. She had it all with this man.

“I do have a ring,” she pointed out. “And you went to all that trouble to bring it back to me. It would be a shame not to use it.”

“I’m always coming back,” he said huskily. “You can count on me.”

Nothing else mattered, because he was right. He’d be coming home to her and the rest of it they’d figure out as they went along.

“I love you,” she said, pulling him into her for that next kiss and the kiss after that.

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from THE MIGHTY QUINNS: ELI by Kate Hoffmann.