Claiming Her SEAL(16)

The kiss did not end. Emma wound through his head like an opiate,  fuzzing his mind to the point where he lost all sense of what he'd been  trying to prove. She kissed like she did everything-no holds barred,  jumping straight in without warning. It was enthralling to be the object  of her attentions, as if by sheer virtue of being kissed by Emma, he  was something more than he'd been a minute ago.

Somehow she shifted, and one of her legs wedged between his. His fierce  erection found that soft, welcoming spot against her abdomen, where he  could feel the faint line of her bikini bottom bisecting the flesh. It  was the strangest thrill as it rubbed at him, and that only increased  his fervor.

He shoved deeper into her mouth, seeking desperate relief from the swirl  of lust, but the willing way she met him …  his control nearly snapped.  No. This wasn't what was supposed to be happening. Emma's innocence was  not on the menu. This was not about his pleasure, slaking his  animalistic thirst by using and abusing this woman, and it definitely  wasn't about her being a willing subject to his assault.

She clearly wasn't scared enough yet.

A gull cried overhead as he hooked two fingers around one of the white  triangles and yanked. A gorgeous, darkened nipple popped free, and he  groaned as it seared his vision. Beautiful.

He'd meant to suck it into his mouth, to take it brutally and punish her  flesh with his temper and frustration. But he couldn't move all at once  as the perfection of her washed over him.

And somehow his gaze on her breast hardened it further, and she moaned,  her eyes fluttering closed as her palm slid down the side of her breast,  cupping it slightly. Offering it up like a sacrifice, and something  broke open inside him.

With a sigh, he resettled her bikini top, hiding her nipple away again,  though it didn't matter if it was covered or not. The rosy tip would  haunt his dreams.

"I can't," he choked out.

Her eyelids flew open and darkened with confusion. "Dex? Why did you stop?"

He shook his head because how the hell should he know why he had such a  ridiculous sense of honor that wouldn't allow him to take advantage of  her fresh innocence? The last thing she needed after her triumph in the  water was Dex's version of a lesson in what happened when he was  provoked-after all, she'd already had to work through one issue today  caused by a man she'd once trusted.

Instead of running away very fast, she stomped her foot and glared at  him, hands on her hips. "You're ruining my vacation fling, Dex, and it's  really starting to make me mad."

Her stance nearly made him chuckle, but there was nothing funny about this. "I'm no one's vacation fling."

"But you could be." She eyed him with a scowl. "That's the part I don't  get. I'm not after something heavy and meaningful and significant. This  is the Caribbean. Sun, sand, and half-dressed people. The concept isn't  new. You come here, you meet someone, you spend a few days naked and go  home. Nothing more complicated than that. Why are you making it so  difficult?"

"Because you deserve to have that uncomplicated fling. I can't give you  that." Before she could voice the denial in her gaze, he held up a  finger. "No. Listen to me. You're already emotionally compromised, and  don't lie to me and say you're not. Worst of all, stop lying to  yourself. You think because I chased away a creep on the beach and  helped you do something as meaningless as snorkeling that we have some  kind of connection. We don't."

Her head snapped backward as she took his words like a slap to the face. "Meaningless?"

Something sharp with razor teeth zigzagged through his chest as the  light in her eyes dimmed. Of course she'd zeroed in on that one small  word. He'd meant her to, meant for her to interpret it exactly as it  sounded. Like it was nothing special. And now he had to heap even more  coals on that fire and try like hell not to let on that it was hurting  him far more than it should.         

     



 

"Yeah. It's my job to help people with the equipment and stuff. I do it  five times a week. You think you're the first person to be a little  intimidated? I work with all sorts of people who have never been in the  ocean before."

And now he was the liar. There'd been nothing regulation about how he'd  encouraged her, how he'd held her hand as she acclimated. She was  certainly the only one he'd ever kissed-hell, she was the first woman  he'd kissed twice in a million years.

But he had to get that hero worship out of her gaze, even if he had to make her bleed to do it.

That didn't happen. At all.

Instead, she stabbed her arms into a pretzel and glared at him. "Now  you're just being ridiculous. We have a connection whether you want to  admit it or not. If I want to think you're a kind, sensitive man, I'm  allowed. If I want you to make love to me, there's no reason for you to  say no. Stop trying to make my decisions for me. I'm going into this  eyes wide open. And if I'm a little sad when I get back to Boston  because I miss you? My business. Not yours."

Dear God. It was his worst nightmare rising from the shadows as the  sheer emotion in her voice crawled inside him. Greedily, his soul  latched onto it, hid it away, and started bargaining with his good  conscience.

She'll be okay. Take her home and do all the wicked things to her you've  been dreaming of. She can take it. She wants it. Then she'll leave, and  you don't have to think about her anymore.

"Emma," he croaked.

"No, don't Emma me. You're the one who told me your name rhymes with  your best talent," she reminded him as if he'd somehow forgotten the  fabricated explanation behind his name. "I'm not under any illusions  that I'm the first woman you've used that line on, if that's part of  your concern."

Not by a long shot. But she was the only one he'd ever backed off from  after uttering it. And the only one who couldn't be shaken loose, no  matter what he did.

So he'd have to go with the truth, as much as he hated pulling out those  skeletons. But the alternative didn't bear thinking about, especially  not the thin tendril of hope that if he told her everything-no holds  barred-she might not react the way Malika had.

It was a vain hope. Because if Emma could forgive him for being a mass  murderer, she wasn't the bright, sensational woman he thought she was.

"Dex isn't even my real name," he muttered as his heart squeezed so  tight it was fifty-fifty on whether it would flatten enough to slide  right out of his chest, fitting easily between two ribs. "But it sure  beats Dexter."

"Well of course it does! Dex is far sexier. Though there's nothing wrong  with Dexter either." She touched his lips with a forefinger. "You're  still you in there."

"Yes. There is something wrong with Dexter." His voice grew steady, calm  as he squinted through the sights of the loaded rifle he was about to  fire; he always did his best work under extreme pressure. "Because  that's not my real name either."

For the first time in this whole conversation, she faltered. "It's not?"

At last, the note of caution that should have been there all along  surfaced in her voice, in her stance. And that caution needed to spread a  whole lot deeper.

"Dexter is what they called me. In Iraq. You see, there's a TV show  about a guy named Dexter. Someone thought he and I had some remarkable  parallels."

"Dexter." Her eyes widened. "Isn't that the show about the serial …  killer."

She swallowed the last word, but he had no trouble filling in the blank.  "Oh, you've seen it? Then you know how disturbed and twisted Dexter is.  They try to make it seem like he's a killer with a conscience, but at  the end of the day, he's got blood on his hands. The same as I do."

"Dex, what are you … " She cleared her throat. "I don't even know what to call you. What's your real name if it's not Dex?"

"It's not important. I am Dexter, whether that's what's on my birth  certificate or not." And now she was the only woman who'd ever heard the  real explanation for his nickname. He'd never even told Malika. But  then, she'd never asked.

"I don't understand. You were in the navy, right? How can you be a …  a  serial killer?" The faintest tinge of hope clung to her voice, like she  might not be getting all the facts right, and somehow he was going to  explain everything away until it was okay again.         

     



 

That wasn't going to happen.

"Because, Emma." Her name spread across his tongue, seeping down his  throat, coating it. "I was a sniper. My job was to shoot people. And I  was very, very good at it."

Her huge rounded eyes blinked as she processed that. "This is your big secret. The thing you didn't think I could handle."

The quaver in her voice …  it was killing him. She was off-kilter, a  little freaked out and still standing firm. Not running away. This  conversation was as much a testament to her strength as anything she'd  done in the water. And he couldn't even admire her for it, because he  was doing everything in his power to break that down.