Wicked Secrets (6 page)

Dimly, she heard the boxer start barking up a storm as she came apart completely in Tag’s arms. Mr. Bentley hollered something back, and none of it mattered. She dug her nails into Tag’s beautiful, bare shoulders, his hands holding her up as he thrust and thrust again. The roof could come down or the door burst wide open. She didn’t care.

“Jesus,” he bit out. “You’re—”

She didn’t need to know how he would finish his sentence. She laid two fingers over his exquisite mouth.

“Take me to bed.”

And, because his lips quirked up and they were still joined intimately, she added one more word, just to make him happy. “Please.”

5

L
IKE
 
THE
 
PAST
 
180 nights since she’d come home—or, more accurately, made it stateside—Mia jerked awake. Her head refused to let her body sleep uninterrupted because bad shit could be coming through the door. Or the window, the roof, or even the wall. She’d seen what a mortar round could do to plaster and rebar. Adrenaline hit her hard, her heart thumping erratically as she jackknifed upright.
Breathe.
In. Out.
Count
. Her fingers clenched the pillowcase.
One.
She was in bed. With Tag.

See? No enemy hostiles here. Everyone was friendly.

Breathe out.
Two.
His bedding smelled good, like Tide and dryer sheets. Had he picked the stuff out himself or had he just grabbed the first box he saw at the store?
Three.
At some point during the night, the sheet had tangled around her bare legs. The room was silent except for the soft in and out of the man breathing next to her. Breathing was good. Her brain skipped over that intel, not wanting to deal with the memories of other companions who hadn’t been breathing.

Four.
Her breathing leveled out. The room was empty of threats. See? She could lie back down like a normal person and go to sleep. More breathing sounds came from somewhere too close. A whuffling, snoring sigh—a cat? Twisting, she spotted Tag’s geriatric cat curled up on the pillows between their heads like the feline owned the place.

The Army psychologist she’d seen under much duress had suggested counting. A little yoga breathing and things would look better. Right. Tag’s big, solid presence on the other side of the bed, on the other hand, seemed to be her anchor in the semidarkness tonight. She’d learned not to question what made her heartbeat slow to a nice, steady pace. If it worked, good enough for her. Interesting, though, how her head had decided Tag was some kind of lifeline. Maybe it was the whole rescue-swimmer thing. Maybe he gave off some kind of white-knight vibe.

Or maybe it was just Tag.

She needed to move. The bedroom door was at her five o’clock. Two windows lay at her nine o’clock. Unless a Stinger missile launcher blew a hole in Tag’s roof—unlikely—those were the only routes in and out of the room. His room was clear. She slid out of bed silently and then checked the door and the windows. Just to make certain. The courtyard was empty. Good. Part of her had expected to find Mr. Bentley parked there, ready to opine about what she and Tag had gotten up to last night.

She blew out a breath as she scanned her surroundings one more time. Early morning light seeped into the room. Apparently, Discovery Island actually had birds, because they were making a ruckus outside. Apache. Chinook. Black Hawk. Her bird identifying skills didn’t extend further than the standard Army fare. And roosters. She could do roosters, too, but thankfully none of those appeared to be parked outside Tag’s place. She moved around the bed and positioned herself where she could see Tag’s wrist and his dive watch. It was six in the morning—civilized enough for her. Had she noticed how sexy his wrists were when she’d picked him up at the Star Bar? Because they
were
, strong and sprinkled with dark hairs. Even all relaxed as he slept, something about him read
powerful
. She had no idea why she was staring at his wrist, for crying out loud.

Okay, she knew. God. He was gorgeous.

Fall back.

They had some kind of weird power-struggle dynamic
thing
going on. The sexual tension between them was amazing and scary as hell at the same time. She really wasn’t the kind of woman who did one-night stands, and yet Tag made her want to break those rules, again and again. He was her one and only exception.

She eyed her side of the bed. The sheets were probably cooling down, just the way she liked, and the pillow was punched down.
No
. See, that was what was wrong with this picture. She didn’t have a
side of the bed
. She wasn’t staying. He’d offered a place for the night. Nothing more.

It had to be her naked state making her think about hopping onto the bed and waking Tag up with a hand beneath the sheets. Morning sex was even better than good-night sex.
Stop it
. She needed her clothes. Before she could second-guess herself and get back in bed, she padded out into the hallway to recon where her stuff had ended up.

After all, since her luggage was currently headed to Mexico, she couldn’t afford to lose the clothes she’d arrived with. Discovery Island didn’t seem like the kind of place to have a Walmart. Fortunately, her clothes were exactly where she remembered parting company with them. More or less. They’d dropped her borrowed T-shirt on the living room floor, while her bikini bottoms were on the kitchen floor. Oh, boy. She had no idea how that had happened, although she had some mighty fine memories of Tag pressing her up against the wall and then working his way down... Yeah. He was the best cure ever for insomnia.

She took stock. Her assets at the moment consisted of a cell phone, a pair of shorts, a hoodie, two flip-flops, a T-shirt and twenty bucks. If she’d been former Spec Ops, she probably could have constructed an airplane out of the lot and flown back to the cruise ship. Since she wasn’t, however, she’d need to come up with an alternative plan. For instance, she could phone her brothers and one of them would be here in half a day.

No. No how, no way.

She wasn’t ten, and calling her family wasn’t an option. Not only would she never live it down, she didn’t
need
to. She had this situation under control.
As long as you stay out of Tag’s bed
, a little voice whispered.
Because you don’t have any control around
that
man.
Decision made, she bent over and grabbed the top.

“Do it again.” Tag said, low and rough, from the shadows behind her.

* * *

M
IA
 
BENT
 
OVER
 
and naked in his living room was an excellent way to wake up. Far better than waking up alone and lined up on the left side of his bed, as if his head had been making room for her while he slept. And she’d stood him up. Whatever her reasons for abandoning the bedroom, the sound of his voice had her going all rigid. She turned around and there it was...the Mia glare he knew so well. Yeah, he was in trouble again, but it wasn’t his fault she was all long legs and sun-kissed skin. Beneath the prickly exterior, she was real pretty, and what he’d seen when she reached down for her top ranked right up there in the category of world’s sexiest sights. Her butt was all sweet curves and lower...

“So that’s a no?” A man could hope.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me.” She yanked the T-shirt over her head. Since she still had yesterday’s swimsuit in her hands, she was naked underneath. Possibilities tempted him. He had the day off, and she’d already missed the boat. Literally. They could go back to bed together. He could think of plenty of things to do to pass the time until she was ready to figure out a game plan.

Was she blushing? He inspected her face more closely. Sure enough, a pink flush painted her cheeks.

“Are you embarrassed?” Imagining his take-charge master sergeant—emphasis on
master
—being self-conscious was a stretch, even if he did have an excellent imagination.

“I have a million things to do.” The way she eyed his body—the
lower
half of his body—had him wondering what exactly was on her mental itinerary. Last night had been fantastic. She probably did have things to do, however. Things completely unrelated to his taking her back to bed. Mia always seemed to have a plan. She’d certainly organized yesterday’s bridal group with frightening efficiency.

“For example?” He propped a shoulder against his kitchen wall and eyed the swimsuit in her hand. Mostly naked was a good start on his own personal agenda for the day.

“I need to call for new credit cards.” She ticked her to-do’s off on her fingers. “I need to let my cousin know my plans and make arrangements for my luggage to be forwarded from the cruise. Then I need to find the ferry schedule and book a hotel room until the cards can arrive. Is there a Western Union?”

She was almost out of fingers. “If you need money, I’m good for it.”

Smooth, Johnson. Real smooth
. She huffed out a breath. Did she think he was offering to pay her for last night? The idea rankled. Truth was, he’d make the offer of cash to any of his friends. She was in a tight spot and he could help. And...when had Sergeant Dominatrix become a friend? Or, rather, when had he developed friendly feelings toward her? Lust, absolutely. But friendship? A dangerous notion. “I’m happy to help,” he said, meaning it.

She stared at him suspiciously, foot tapping. Somehow, she managed to look take-charge even though all she was wearing was his T-shirt. That shirt was his new favorite.

“I don’t need a handout.”

“Okay.” He understood...because he’d feel the same way. And right now, he needed coffee. His head simply wasn’t capable of getting into the game without a healthy dose of caffeine. He loaded up the Mr. Coffee, doubling the proportions. Scooping grounds he could do. Making the woman standing in his living room happy was a whole different proposition. Last night had been fantastic. Amazing. He had a feeling he was sporting a stupid grin. She, on the other hand, was making to-do lists.

Reaching up, he grabbed two mugs from the kitchen cupboard. His temporary place had come fully furnished, which meant he had a grand total of two mugs and two glasses. Two plates, two bowls and two sets of silverware. His kitchen was a veritable Noah’s ark. At least they wouldn’t have to share. Or drink straight from the pot, although he’d certainly done worse. For coffee, he had no reservations. He’d do whatever it took.

He shoved a mug in her direction. Bonus: whoever had picked the mugs had a sense of humor. His had Adam and Eve on the side. As soon as the two heated up, their fig leaves disappeared. It might be more than Mia wanted to see this early in the morning. “Cream and sugar?”

“Hit me,” she said. “And don’t hold back.”

Huh. He wouldn’t have guessed she had a sweet tooth. The sugar was buried under a stack of invoices and dive-supply catalogs. He nudged the pile out of the way, not entirely sure when his kitchen counter had become an adjunct office. Shoot. Compared to Mount Paperwork on Cal’s desk, his stack was more steep hill than Alpine peak, but something had to change. Finding an office manager needed to be number one on
his
to-do list.

Maybe there was a solution to Mia’s current dilemma they would both benefit from.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “How about a job, then?”

“You want to hire me? To do what?” Mia latched on to the mug, and he bit back a smile. She might not take handouts, but coffee was apparently an exception they had in common.

“The dive shop needs help.” He pulled a carton of coffee creamer out of the fridge. Damn it. He should go grocery shopping. He had three bottles of beer, the coffee creamer and a well-aged take-out container of hot-and-sour soup. Making her breakfast in bed was so not happening. Instead, he grabbed a few packets of sugar he’d boosted from the corner coffee shop and dropped them on the counter. She came around and reached for the creamer. His kitchen was approximately the size of a coffin, and her hip bumped his.

“Okay. You need more hands on deck. But again, where do I fit in?”

He couldn’t tell if she was seriously considering his offer or not. Cal and Daeg wouldn’t mind. They were swimming in paper when all of them preferred to be out on the water. They needed to be able to focus on what they did best: diving and rescuing. Mia could be a godsend.

“We need an office manager.”

Humor lit her eyes. She took a sip from the mug, curling her hands around the side. “You want to play the boss and the secretary?”

Her mug was black with two rabbits on the front. As the hot coffee did its thing, the mug changed color. Purple with crazed bunnies replicating everywhere.
Yeah. He was subtle.

She looked down at the mug. “Nice. I’m glad we used a condom.”

The image of Mia holding a baby was shocking and unexpected. He had no idea where it came from or why it didn’t have him running for the door. “I aim to please.”

“You have good aim.” She grinned at him.

“So, how about it? You want to come work with us?”

She was shaking her head almost before he got the question out. “I’m not planning on sticking around, but thanks. I’ll call Visa and get them to send another card out here. I’ll be out of your hair ASAP.”

“Think about it. Even a temp until we can hire a full-time person would be helpful.”

“We’d kill each other.”

He gave her a bemused look. “I can restrain myself.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tag knew his concern wasn’t something she wanted, but he worried about her. She was pretty much screwed, as far as he could tell. Her purse was somewhere between here and Mexico, and a job could help with her immediate cash flow problem. “You want breakfast? There’s a breakfast burrito place near the dive shop—” Before he could finish the invitation, she was—as usual—two steps ahead of him.

“Go.” She slapped a twenty-dollar bill into his hands. Damn it. He’d bet the bill represented all the cash she had on her at the moment. “Do the hunter-gatherer thing. Food sounds good.”

Somehow, he found himself standing outside his own place. Shoes, check. Pants, check. Hell, he even had a shirt. Which was good, because even the burrito place had standards. He’d go this time because he hadn’t missed the flash of vulnerability in her eyes—right now, she needed to be in charge. He was humoring her. Making sure she felt safe, because she was alone on his island and he owed her.

“Damn, boy.” Mr. Bentley rolled his eyes, limping toward him. “She’s got you coming and going, don’t she?”

Also true.

“You want a burrito?”

* * *

T
AG
 
DISPOSED
 
OF
 
and breakfast arranged for, Mia kicked it into high gear. She sent a few quick Skype messages to her cousin, then arranged for new credit cards and an ATM card to be overnighted to her. At the twenty-minute mark, she’d booked a room at Sweet Moon’s. Thank God for the power of PayPal and the internet. Okay, Tag had offered up his couch and his help, but she could do this without him. Unfortunately, her girly bits were all too happy to remind her of the areas where he
could
help.